A Trip to the Pro Football Hall of Fame

I walked into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio, carrying more than a ticket stub and a camera. I carried decades of memories.

Outside, the Ohio Historical Marker declared Canton, "The Cradle of Professional Football," and standing there, I realized I wasn't just visiting a museum. I was walking into part of America's story. The marker noted that representatives from ten professional football teams met in Canton on September 17, 1920, forming what would become the National Football League two years later. It spoke of rough beginnings, Midwestern factory towns, and a game that slowly spread across the nation like wildfire.

Inside, the history stretched even further back. One display described the birth of professional football in 1892, when William "Pudge" Heffelfinger accepted $500 to play for the Allegheny Athletic Association against the Pittsburgh Athletic Club. That simple cash payment became the first documented moment an athlete was paid to play football. Reading those words, I imagined muddy fields, leather helmets, and men playing for pride before glory, television contracts, or billion-dollar stadiums existed.

Another exhibit honored Jim Thorpe, the NFL's first president in 1920. His face stared out from an old black-and-white photograph with the same intensity that legends seem to carry forever. Thorpe had already conquered the Olympics before becoming one of professional football's earliest stars. Back then, the league was called the American Professional Football Association before becoming the NFL. Thorpe represented a bridge between football's rough frontier days and the national obsession it would eventually become.

As I wandered through the exhibits, I realized the Hall of Fame wasn't just about statistics or championships. It was about memory. Shared memory. Even if you are not a football fan, it can be said that the NFL's impact on American culture has been tremendous. It has united families, cities, generations, soldiers, workers, and dreamers every Sunday for more than a century.

My own memories began with my father. He was a Green Bay Packers fan, and some of my earliest childhood memories were of sitting beside him, watching Bart Starr hand off the ball with calm precision while Ray Nitschke terrorized offenses with that fierce stare of his. Football wasn't just a game in our house; it was part of the rhythm of life. Autumn meant cold weather, television glowing in the living room, and voices rising with every touchdown.
When our family finally bought a color television, I inherited the old black-and-white set. To me, it may as well have been a throne. I remember watching Joe Namath lead the Jets against the Miami Dolphins in the 1974 "Monday Night Miracle." The Dolphins were the two-time defending Super Bowl champions, and the Jets looked buried early, trailing 24–7. But Namath brought them roaring back for a dramatic 34–28 overtime victory. Even on that fuzzy black-and-white screen, I could feel the electricity of it all.

Years later, after I joined the Army, football followed me there too. I remember sitting on my barracks bunk watching Joe Montana launch "The Catch" to Dwight Clark, a play frozen forever in NFL history. Soldiers crowded around televisions in day rooms and barracks, cheering as though we were back home for a few hours. Football became a connection — to home, to family, to normal life in an uncertain world.

I can still remember seeing John Elway uncork a 70-yard shoestring pass in a preseason game that made everyone around me gasp in disbelief. I remember sitting only a few rows away from Franco Harris while watching the Tennessee Titans beat the Pittsburgh Steelers in the playoffs and advance to the AFC Championship Game. Moments like those stay with you because they become tied to places, people, and chapters of your life.

Growing up in Washington State before Seattle received an expansion franchise, I had the Oakland Raiders as my first team. Later, after life carried me to Tennessee, the Titans became my AFC team while the Seahawks remained my NFC team. My dream Super Bowl has always been Titans versus Seahawks — two parts of my life colliding under one stadium roof.

Then came the Seahawks' Super Bowl victory, and like millions of fans across America, I celebrated not just a championship but the feeling of belonging to something bigger than myself.

Walking through the Hall of Fame, all those memories seemed to gather in one place. The early pioneers from the 1890s. Jim Thorpe and the league founders in Canton. Bart Starr. Namath. Montana. Elway. Franco Harris. The Seahawks. The Titans. My father. My Army barracks. My old black-and-white television. The Hall of Fame tied all of it together.

Football has never simply been about wins and losses. It is America's same because it travels with us through every stage of life. It becomes part of family traditions, military service, friendships, heartbreaks, victories, and Sunday afternoons, all of which somehow become lifelong memories.

Standing there in Canton, I realized the NFL'sgreatest achievement is not the trophies inside the glass cases. It is the way the game has united us for generations.

A Visit to Sacred Ground: The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

I stepped into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland today, a wandering soldier looking for the heart of a movement, and found myself on a profound trip down memory lane.

As I walked through the exhibits, I kept thinking about where this massive global phenomenon actually began.  If you ever visit the Delta Blues Museum in Clarksdale, Mississippi, you will see plaques on the walls from rock royalty like the Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin.  They are all thanking the first blues artists for the music that laid the foundation for everything we hear today.

It all started right there in the Mississippi Delta cotton fields.  Enslaved people were given instruments to play, forced to entertain plantation owners and their neighbors at dinner parties and social events.  Over time, an amalgamation of the blues, country, and gospel gave rise to a thriving, undeniable beat that eventually energized a movement worldwide.

The Hall, as it's called here in Cleveland, serves as a stunning kaleidoscope of the diverse artists who grew from this uniquely American genre.  Walking its halls triggered a flood of personal memories, reminding me of when and where I have seen its legendary inductees perform over the years: hearing Joan Jett rock out in a small, sweaty dive bar in North Carolina, watching Little Feat bring the house down at the historic Ryman Auditorium, and witnessing the legendary Bruce Springsteen command the stage twice.  Standing among a roaring crowd at a race track in Germany to see the Rolling Stones.

Then, I reached one final exhibit that stopped me in my tracks.  A video screen showed Tom Petty and Prince playing together—two icons I never had the chance to see live in my travels.  Prince was delivering a guitar solo so indescribably beautiful it felt otherworldly.  Looking at the screen, I felt a sudden pang of being cheated, knowing I would never get to witness that dual magic in person.

Petty later summarized the jaw-dropping display by simply saying, "He just burned it up." You can watch the full remastered performance on the Rock Hall's YouTube Channel to re-live the magic anytime you want. 

Ultimately, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is an incredible, moving experience.  It is an absolute pilgrimage that any true lover of rock and roll music must make.

Flight of the Phoenix: A Wandering Soldier Returns to the National Museum of the US Air Force

DAYTON, Ohio — Stepping into the National Museum of the United States Air Force this week felt like stepping into a time machine. As the Wandering Soldier, my travels have taken me to many museums, but returning here for the first time since 1998 was a deeply personal homecoming. The sheer physical growth of this aviation mecca over the last nearly three decades is staggering. The addition of the massive 224,000-square-foot fourth building has completely transformed the footprint, turning what was already a world-class collection into an absolute titan of aerospace history.

The absolute highlight of my return was the rare privilege of walking through the cockpits of two legendary giants: the B-29 Superfortress and the B-52 Stratofortress. As I stood inside them, the stark generational leap in technology was mesmerizing. The B-29, a marvel of World War II, felt raw and mechanical. Moving into the B-52, however, revealed a massive leap forward in complexity and engineering. The rows of advanced gauges, switches, and early electronic warfare stations showed a whole new era of global reach. Amidst all that devastating Cold War power, one human detail caught my eye and made me smile: a built-in coffee pot right there in the B-52 cockpit. It was a poignant reminder of the grueling, marathon missions these crews endured.

Seeing these cockpits up close brought back a flood of memories from the 1980s, when I took a few flying lessons. I learned firsthand back then that keeping an aircraft in the sky is an unforgiving, complex discipline. Looking at these massive bombers, my respect for the pilots who tamed them doubled.

It also stirred up one of my genuine regrets in life. Due to financial constraints at the time, I discontinued my lessons and did not complete my pilot's license. Standing beneath those wings, that old ache returned. Yet, looking out at the sprawling, expanded museum, I felt a deep sense of gratitude. I may not have earned my wings, but as a soldier, walking through these living legends allowed me to touch the sky one more time.

The museum has grown to match that ambition. The exhibits are no longer just rows of planes; they are masterfully curated stories of survival, engineering triumphs, and technological leaps. For a Wandering Soldier who understands just a fraction of what it takes to leave the ground, this return trip was a humbling reminder that the sky is never truly conquered—it is merely negotiated with, by the very best of us.

A Wandering Soldier Finds Unexpected Adventure in his Hometown

Clarksville, TN - For years, I've been a wandering soldier, deployed overseas, traveling as a contractor, and now traveling for recreation. Using Clarksville as a quiet, unchanging place, as our home base. I have been visiting new places around town recently. It has felt like I was stepping into a completely new world. It is proof that new adventures await around every corner.

My reconnaissance led me to a cluster of new businesses I barely recognized. Walking into "Firepot Korean Barbecue and Hot Pot" gave me an eye-opening glimpse into our changing city. The sheer scale of the restaurant's buffets blew me away. Rows of metal trays filled with noodles, fried rice, and savory chicken dishes. The industrial expansion has completely transformed our local culinary scene.

The quiet streets I settled in are bustling with new construction. Clarksville is really coming up in the world, largely thanks to the massive Samsung and Hankook factories that recently opened in our industrial park. With these massive companies came a wave of Korean managers and engineers, and thankfully, they brought their incredible food culture with them. Intrigued by the changes in my own backyard, I set out to explore these new experiences.

But the main objective for the day was trying something totally new to me: Korean Hot Pot. We grabbed a table equipped with its own integrated induction burner. I sat back and watched as my dining companion showed me the ropes, expertly snipping fresh ingredients into the simmering broth with scissors.

Learning the local techniques: using scissors to prep ingredients for the bubbling, spicy broth. The fiery red broth was rich and complex, making a perfect base for our meal. I loaded up my plate with a beautifully glazed pork rib and some massive shrimp to enjoy on the side. The perfect combo: A pot of bubbling stew right next to my plate of expertly grilled pork ribs and large shrimp. Our raw ingredients are ready to be cooked at the table.

For the main event, we had an incredible spread of fresh ingredients to cook in the broth, including a huge variety of seafood, clams, squid, and lotus root. Cooking it all right in front of us made the whole experience feel interactive and exotic, yet firmly rooted in the modern town that Clarksville is quickly becoming. The food was, without a doubt, unbelievably good.

I'm already planning my next mission back here. Next time we go, we are definitely getting the Korean BBQ so we can grill our own meat right at the table. Who knew that after traveling the world, some of my favorite adventures would be waiting for me right down the street?

A Journey Through the Ozarks: Tracing the Bloodshed and Bravery of Wilson’s Creek and Pea Ridge

THE OZARKS —We recently embarked on a moving journey through the rolling hills of Missouri and Arkansas, tracing the intense and often overlooked Trans-Mississippi Theater of the American Civil War.

Our latest expedition took us to two of the most pivotal battlegrounds in the Western theater: Wilson’s Creek and Pea Ridge. Through our camera lens, we captured the stark contrast between the peaceful, sun-drenched landscapes of today and the brutal history that unfolded there over 160 years ago.

Wilson’s Creek: The First Major Battle of the West
  

The journey began in Republic, Missouri, at the Wilson’s Creek National Battlefield. Fought on August 10, 1861, just weeks after the Battle of Bull Run in the East, the Battle of Wilson’s Creek was the first major military engagement west of the Mississippi River. Union forces, led by Brigadier General Nathaniel Lyon, launched a surprise attack on a much larger encamped force of Confederate troops and Missouri State Guard.

Though the battle was a tactical victory for the South—and resulted in the death of General Lyon, the first Union general killed in action during the war—it failed to secure Missouri for the Confederacy. The fierce fighting bought the Union time to organize and ultimately keep the critical border state under federal control. While exploring the grounds, we could see where the heavy artillery that defined these engagements.

Pea Ridge: The Battle that Saved Missouri

Following the historical timeline, we traveled south across the border into Arkansas to visit Pea Ridge National Military Park. By early 1862, the war that many thought would last only 90 days had dragged on, and control of Missouri remained a highly contested prize.

Fought on March 7–8, 1862, the Battle of Pea Ridge (also known as the Battle of Elkhorn Tavern) was a decisive clash. A severely outnumbered Union Army of the Southwest, commanded by Brigadier General Samuel R. Curtis, managed to outmaneuver and defeat Major General Earl Van Dorn’s Confederate forces.

We looked upon sweeping views of the battleground from a high rocky overlook, illustrating the challenging, heavily wooded, and mountainous terrain both armies had to navigate.

The Union victory at Pea Ridge was monumental. It permanently cemented Union control over Missouri for the remainder of the war and opened the door for federal forces to push deeper into Arkansas.

A Somber Reflection

For us, walking the silent fields—now marked by wooden split-rail fences and silent iron cannons—was a stark reminder of the cost of a united nation. Through their travels, they continue to ensure that the sacrifices made in the rugged hills of the Ozarks are not forgotten by modern generations.

Stepping Through History: Our Day in Bentonville

BENTONVILLE- There's something about a crisp morning in Northwest Arkansas that makes you want to get moving. Terri and I recently headed over to Bentonville to knock out an AVA (American Volkssport Association) walk, and we couldn't have picked a better starting point than the historic downtown square. Between the fresh air and the deep dive into American retail history, it was a Saturday well spent.

We started our route right at the corner of NE 2nd Street, where the town's red-brick charm is on full display. Bentonville has done a fantastic job preserving its "Small Town, USA" feel, even as it serves as the home base for the global giant Walmart.  As we made our way through the square, we found ourselves standing in front of the iconic red-and-white striped awning of Walton's 5-10. You can't come here for a walk and not step inside the place where it all began.

Inside the museum, we followed the timeline of Sam Walton's journey. It's a classic American story: by June of 1945, Sam was discharged from the Army and looking for a place to settle down with his wife, Helen, and their first child, Rob.

He started out in Newport, Arkansas, running a Ben Franklin variety store, but eventually moved to Bentonville to open the store we were standing in. One of the most interesting tidbits we picked up was how the name "Walmart" came to be. In 1962, Sam was getting ready to open the first official Walmart in Rogers. A manager named Bob Bogle suggested the name, partly because it only had seven letters. Back then, you paid for signs by the letter, so "Walmart" was a whole lot cheaper to put on a building than "Walton's 5 & 10."

As we walked through the exhibits, one thing really stood out to me: Sam's 1979 Ford F-150 Custom. It's parked right there in the museum, looking exactly like it did when he drove it. It's got about 65,000 miles on the odometer, a four-speed manual transmission, and some old dog crates in the back. There was a quote on the wall that I think says everything you need to know about the man: "I just don't believe a big showy lifestyle is appropriate. Why do I drive a pickup truck? What am I supposed to haul my dogs around in, a Rolls-Royce?"

Seeing the original papers, keys, and even his sunglasses still sitting in the truck was a powerful reminder of the humility he expected from himself and his team, even as the company went public in 1970 and eventually crossed the billion-dollar-a-year mark.

After soaking in the history, Terri and I finished up our 5k loop. Walking past the old store interiors and the massive murals of the original "5-10" days really put the distance we covered into perspective. It wasn't just a walk through a town; it was a walk through a legacy of hard work and simple living.

If you're ever in the area for a hike or a ride, I highly recommend taking an hour to slow down on the Bentonville. It's a good reminder that even the biggest things usually start with a small shop, a cheap sign, and a reliable old truck.

Dinner on the Queen Mary 2

The Grand Lobby of the Queen Mary 2 was filled with the sound of the eighth bell. Right at noon, the Captain's voice came over the speakers, telling us where we were between South Africa and Australia. He also shared the word of the day, Snuffy, and explained that 18th-century sailors, forced into service, used handkerchiefs to wipe away their tears. But at Table 42, there were no tears. Instead, we heard the lively, steady clinking of silverware on china.

Our six-person dinner group felt like a small Commonwealth. Paul and Terri were adventurous Canadians from Yellowknife who once ran their own flying service with a slew of airplanes, including a sturdy C-123. Jeffry and Kink were a classic British couple living near Liverpool. Then there was us, the Americans, following the path of a Prussian great-grandfather who served the Kaiser as a cavalry soldier, who crossed the Atlantic three times to chase his dream in America.

Even though we came from different countries, we found we had something important in common. Each of us had two sons, all grown up with great families of their own. Every night, we quietly celebrated this shared legacy as we traveled together across the sea.

That night, we talked about the excitement of our departure. We remembered the cold, lively evening in Southampton 26 days earlier, when BBC cameras were filming, and the Royal Imperial Military Band played loudly in the Queen's Room. We recalled the fireworks lighting up the sky as the Queen Victoria sailed past us toward the Americas, while we turned east, honoring the old Royal world tours when people said: "the sun never sets."

Jeffry leaned in, eyes shining, and told us about his father. His dad knew the sound of a Rolls-Royce Merlin engine better than his own heartbeat. He worked on Spitfires that defended Britain and later maintained the same engines on Channel patrol boats that rescued pilots from cold waters. Hearing these stories made history feel real at our table.

Kink, who strongly supports the Monarchy, made us laugh with her story about her "unauthorized" visit to the Queen Mother's birthplace in the Scottish Highlands. She winked and said, "It's better to ask forgiveness than permission," as she described how she talked her way into the private gardens. She also predicted that King Charles might soon let William and Kate take over and bring new energy to the Commonwealth.

Then we started talking about Liverpool. Jeffry admitted he used to take girls on "cheap dates" to the Cavern Club in the 1960s for just a pound and a half." And what girl, exactly, would want to date you?" Kink joked, making everyone at the table laugh. We started talking about the Beatles. Both Jeffry and Kink had seen them play at local town halls before they became famous. For Kink, Paul McCartney was more than a rock star; she still thought of him as "a dream of a man."

In these 55 days, we have experienced a lot. We went through a Force 10 Gale in the Atlantic that made the QM2 feel alive. We walked among the "good rocks" of Stonehenge and saw the old ruins of Old Sarum. We had also just visited South Africa, where the animals paid no attention to our cameras.

But as we ate dessert, we felt a bit sad. In eleven days, we would reach Fremantle, and the "Yellowknife Flyers" and our British friends would leave the ship, ending the best dinner group we had at sea.

We felt like the world was ours, and the Queen Mary 2 was our home. But it was the people we met who made the trip special. We raised our glasses one last time, six proud parents and travelers far from home, making the most of every mile before we reached the pier in Perth.

Klaus Fragstein: A Life Lived in Music

The air in Nashville always seems to carry a faint hum, like a guitar string vibrating just out of reach. For most people walking down Belmont Boulevard, the historical markers are just bronze-and-black signs detailing the city’s rich past. But for Klaus Fragstein, these aren’t just facts—they are chapters of a life lived in twelve different languages and a thousand different melodies. As we stood there in the Nashville sun, Klaus rested a hand on the sign for the Jack Clement Recording Studios. Watching him look at that building—now known as the Sound Emporium—was like watching a man step back through time.

From the Vienna Boys Choir to Music City

Klaus’s journey didn’t start in the Tennessee hills; it began with the disciplined, crystalline harmonies of the Hannover and Vienna Boys Choirs. To go from the rigid tradition of German choral music to the raw, foot-stomping energy of 50s Rock & Roll is no small feat, yet Klaus bridged that gap with the stage name Cliff Nelson. Standing outside the studio Jack "Cowboy" Clement founded in 1969, you could almost hear the echoes of the sessions Klaus recorded there. Clement was a man who famously worked with legends like Johnny Cash and Charley Pride, and Klaus—with his unique blend of German heritage and American country soul—fit right into that eclectic tapestry of Nashville history.

The Sun Records Connection

The trip took an even more iconic turn when we moved to the site of the legendary Sun Record Company. Seeing Klaus stand beside that famous yellow rooster logo was a reminder of the "Memphis to Nashville" pipeline that defined the golden age of recording.

It’s one thing to read about a musician who performed on Musikladen or recorded across two continents; it’s another to see the man himself leaning against the siding of a studio that helped shape the sound of the world. Even after years of performing at Oktoberfests and touring as the "Fragstein Duo" with his wife Becky, that sparkle of the "Old Nashville" session singer hasn’t faded.

While the world knew him as "Cliff Nelson" under the studio lights, Klaus’s life was woven into the community in a much more personal way. Between the recording sessions in Nashville and the television appearances in Germany, Klaus built a life in the Denver area that was as much about people as it was about performance.

The Art of the Cut and the Song

In Denver, Klaus was a master of two very different kinds of "styles." As a professional hairdresser, he spent his days in the salon, where his rhythmic precision and flair for transformation extended beyond music. To his clients, he wasn't just a stylist; he was a storyteller with a world-class voice. It wasn't uncommon for the hum of the blow-dryer to be momentarily replaced by Klaus humming a bar of a song he had recently recorded or a melody from his choir days. He possessed that rare "old-school" charisma—making every person in his chair feel like the most important audience in the room.

The King of the German Clubs

When the sun went down, the shears were tucked away, and the entertainer emerged. Klaus became a fixture of the Denver-area German Clubs, such as the Edelweiss German American Club. In these halls, he was the heartbeat of the heritage.

He didn't just sing "German music"; he brought the atmosphere of a Munich beer hall to the Rockies. Singing in 12 languages allowed him to pivot from a traditional German folk song to a soulful country ballad or a high-energy 50s rock-and-roll number without missing a beat. For the local German-American community, Klaus was the bridge back to the "Old Country," providing a sense of home through his music.

Life on the Oktoberfest Circuit

Of course, the pinnacle of his year was always the Oktoberfest circuit. From the bustling streets of Denver’s own celebrations to regional festivals like the Island Oktoberfest, Klaus (often performing as the Fragstein Duo with Becky) was the ultimate master of ceremonies. The Energy: He mastered the art of the "Schunkel"—getting a room full of hundreds of people to link arms and sway in unison. 

The Versatility: One moment he’d be leading a spirited "Prosit der Gemütlichkeit," and the next, he’d be channeling his inner Elvis, proving why the stage name Cliff Nelson carried such weight. Standing outside those Nashville studios during our trip, it was easy to see how his life as a hairdresser and a club entertainer fed his musical soul. He never needed a stadium to be a star; whether he was at a salon station in Denver or on a wooden stage under an Oktoberfest tent, Klaus Fragstein lived his life making sure everyone around him left with a smile and a song in their head.

A Living Legacy

The photos from the day capture more than just a tourist stop. They show a homecoming. Whether he was singing in German or English, or playing the rock-and-roll hits that made Cliff Nelson a name to remember, Klaus’s presence at these studios felt right. As we stood by the historical marker—Becky on one side and Klaus on the other—it was clear that while the buildings might change names and the signs might get weathered, the music Klaus made inside those walls remains a permanent part of the Nashville story.

Rogers Arkansas: Home of the Daisy Air Rifle

The air in Rogers, Arkansas, was crisp and clear—perfect for a spring e-bike ride through the Ozark landscape. Today we did the Rogers Loop from Springdale, a 23-mile stretch that eventually led us right into the heart of downtown Rogers. Standing outside the Daisy Airgun Museum, it was hard to miss the towering "Red Ryder" leaning against the white brick wall, a giant reminder of the childhood staple that has lived in the American imagination for over a century.

Walking through the doors was like stepping into a timeline of mechanical ingenuity. The museum preserves a fascinating history: this company started making BB guns in 1888 in Plymouth, Michigan. However, by 1958, the booming auto industry began creating intense labor competition, prompting Daisy to move its production to Rogers. The story shifted again in the early 1990s when production began moving to China. Today, while most models are shipped from overseas, Rogers remains the hub for all distribution, and a handful of specialized competition models are still crafted right here in the USA.

The walls were lined with nostalgia. We spent a long time looking at the vintage advertisements and paintings that captured the "Golden Age" of the BB gun. There were the classic paintings: a young boy in a red sweater vest, proudly holding his rifle against a backdrop of rolling hills, and another of a family gathered around a target, the father with his pipe and the son beaming with pride. It felt like walking through a gallery of Americana.

The museum is filled with that kind of nostalgia, from the vintage "Singin' Wheels" advertisements to the oil paintings of families gathered around a target. It's a testament to a time when a simple air rifle was a rite of passage, even if some of us used them to "help" John Wayne a little too much.As we moved past the displays of the very first 1889 "Daisy" patent drawings and the "BallistiVet" large animal vaccination systems. One of the coolest parts of the collection was seeing how the designs evolved. We saw the Daisy Model 1894, which had a long production run from 1961 to 1985 and looked exactly like the classic lever-action carbines from the old Westerns.  

There it was, resting behind the glass, was the Daisy Model 1894. Seeing it brought back a specific summer afternoon in the early 1970s. I was sprawled out in front of the family's brand-new color TV, captivated by a John Wayne western. I took aim at an Indian on the screen with my own 1894 Daisy and pulled the trigger.

The "clack" of the spring was followed by a sickening "thwack" as the BB hit the glass. I had certainly left a permanent mark: a perfect, shimmering spider crack right in the middle of our new TV's picture tube.

Back then, you didn't just toss things out when they broke; you fixed them. My dad let that crack serve as a glowing, glass reminder of my marksmanship for a few months before he finally replaced the tube. Seeing that same rifle model in the museum—the wood grain, the lever action—it felt less like an exhibit and more like a piece of my own history.

Before we left, we made sure to get one last look at the "World's Largest" Red Ryder outside. It was the perfect capstone to a day spent exploring a piece of history that, for many, started with the simple words: "You'll shoot your eye out!"

 

The Greatest Museums in the World: The Met, The Louvre, The Prado, and The Hermitage

When I was in the Army, I was taking night classes to get my college degree.  I was required to take two Humanities electives.  So I decided to take Art Appreciation.  It seemed like an easy class, an easy A.  What I didn't count on was learning to appreciate Art.  It's funny how education works sometimes.  Since then, in our travels, we have visited art museums whenever the opportunity arises.  Over the years, we have been lucky enough to visit what some consider the 4 greatest museums in the world.  The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York; The Louvre in Paris, France; The Prado in Madrid, Spain; and The Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia.

Metropolitan Museum of Art

In 2001, I had just retired from the United States Army, so we decided to take a trip to New York City to celebrate.  We were still working, so it was a long Presidents' Day weekend.  Although this was a few years ago, I can remember that the Metropolitan Museum of Art, referred to as the Met, had a Frank Lyod Wright furniture exhibit.  Of course, I remember the 2 most famous paintings at the Met: Washington Crossing the Delaware, a huge painting at 12 X 21 feet, is impressive.  Although less known, Portrait of Madam X left an impression.  

The Louvre  

One cannot think about Paris without thinking about the Louvre.  Its Iconic glass pyramid in the museum's courtyard is the worldwide symbol for Art.  In 2013, I was working in Afghanistan, and our family decided to meet in Paris.  Of course, when in Paris, this should be on anyone's list of destinations.  Most people go to the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa, which we did.  But the Louvre is so much more.   The one thing I remember the most is the bust of George Washington. 

"Jean-Antoine Houdon's marble bust of George Washington, created between 1789 and 1808, is housed in the Louvre Museum in Paris.  Based on a 1785 life mask and studies from Mount Vernon, it is part of several highly accurate neoclassical portraits Houdon produced following a commission from Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin." - Wikipedia.

The Prado 

In 2022, before our Mediterranean Cruise, we spent a week in Madrid.  The Prado is one of the highlights of our stay in Madrid, Spain.  It houses some of the greatest European Art in existence.  The building was designed in 1785 and originally held only Spanish Art.  It continues to hold the Spanish Royal Collection.  Its 1st catalog was published in 1811.  Spain's most famous artist, Goya, has many works displayed here. 

The museum is divided into four floors.  We began at the top and worked our way into the basement.  The Art from the 11th century to the present is overwhelming and exhausting to take in on only one day.  It was a long day, but it was completely worth it.  We ate in the Museum Cafe for lunch and spent about six hours going through the museum. 

Much like the Mona Lisa at the Louvre in Paris, Goya's "The Executions" is a major attraction at the Prado.  It is a large painting, almost 9 Feet high and 12 Feet wide.  Its theme is emotional and historic, depicting the killing of Spanish rebels in Madrid by conquering Napoleonic French forces on 3 May 1808.  A trip to the Prado is something you will never forget. 

The Hermitage, in St. Petersburg, Russia.  

In 2018, we took a Scandinavian cruise, and at that time, we could visit St. Petersburg, Russia.  We had 2 full tour days there.  One afternoon was dedicated to the Hermitage, formerly known as the Winter Palace. Originally, it was Catherine the Great's winter home.  The palace was stormed during the 1917 revolution.  

The shot was heard worldwide from the Cruiser Aurora, which sparked the 1917 communist revolution.  Now a museum of both the palace and over 3 million pieces of Art.  It is the world's largest art museum, with the 4th-largest art collection.  It was an assault on the senses, overwhelming.  They have Rembrandt's last painting here in the Rembrandt wing.  A couple of El Greco's and 2 Da Vinci's. 
 

Walking through these museums was filled with magical moments.  It was the fulfillment of a dream to see many of the things I studied in that Art Appreciation class years ago.  This is what travel is all about.  It's about education; travel changes you.