Steel Kaleidoscopes

Sunset in Paradise

 
Travel writer Melanie Nayer captures an artistic sunset while relaxing in the British Virgin Islands.

Tiger Woods

Forget the fractured family.

Forget the lost endorsements.

Through all the media frenzy swirling around the world's greatest golfer amid his admittance of extramarital affairs, one thought stands out.

How is Tiger Woods going to play once he steps behind the tee boxes in tournament play?

This is a guy who demands silence and minimal distractions when he's on the golf course.

Woods is notorious for asking fans to "shhhh" and to move out of his peripheral line of vision.

He stares icily at photographers and seems annoyed when leaves bristle in the breeze.

Can you imagine how the galleries will react going forward?

Golf, unlike most sports, is set in a cathedral-quiet setting. You play in the NFL? You can't even hear yourself think. Major League Baseball? It's constant catcalls and drunken yeowls. Basketball and hockey? Sing  along to the roar of the crowd.

But golf?

One obnoxious comment is amplified tenfold, like a wet baby crying on a JetBlue flight.

And Woods is going to hear plenty of comments. The marshals, holding their "Quiet, please" signs, may as well change them to read "C'mon, be nice." There is no way Woods will benefit from a whisper-hush gallery.

Woods' mental toughness, his ability to filter out noise and distractions, will be put to the ultimate test next summer and you can be sure his female fan base will take part in the heckles and jeers.

No one is perfect. Many men (and women) cheat. But they're not the most recognized sports figure in the world. They're not Tiger Woods.

Jack Nicklaus' record of 18 major titles seems pretty safe right now.

Unless Woods finds some high-tech earplugs.

"You da man!"

Woods will miss those mindless frat boy yells.

Holding the Sun

Be sure to use both hands today. 

Picnic, 1938

 
That's my mom, near left, enjoying what looks to be a picnic lunch with her family sometime in 1938.

Kaaterskill Falls

We would ride our 10-speeds to the base of Kaaterskill Falls, looking upward at the descending, cascading double waterfall.

Our legs, trembling with growing muscle from the rigorous windy asphalt climb, balked at what our minds were saying.

But we would lock our bikes to a tree and enter the woods, cherishing the moss-grown stones and tall growths of pine and birch.

The circular path around the falls was narrow and moist from the fall's spray, and we would move slowly and carefully.

Inside the cavernous falls, the water rushed with a cathedral roar, silencing the birds or any conversation.

It was a peaceful interlude, an athletic accomplishment, a perfect way to use a few precious hours of a summer day.

Kaaterskill Falls.