So it was finally time to get out of Dodge … about six weeks or so of sleeping on an air mattress and we were getting ready to come home. The plans had changed with the passing of my wife’s father. Now we were bringing her mother back with us to stay. She has Alzheimer’s so it would be one day at a time, but at least we were coming back.

I do love Buffalo though, especially the junk food … Anderson’s soft serve ice cream, Ted’s, Anchor Bar, Duffs. But the jewel is Bocce Pizza.   As long as you go with double cheese and double sauce there is none finer. I know those from New York and Chicago might disagree and I am happy to discuss this matter here or offline. In any case, I ate three personal pies during the last two or three weeks. Double cheese, double sauce, with mushrooms and onions. The standard of course is double cheese, double sauce, mushrooms and pepperoni. I gave that up a long time ago, but I can still dream.

Our SUV wasn’t nearly large enough to get everything we would need to bring back from my mother in law’s condo so I needed to rent a truck. I had been to this rodeo before and figured a 12 footer would easily do the trick.

We found the place in a somewhat seedy location on the east side of town. I walked in to find Frank sitting at his desk eating one of the largest antipasti I had ever seen. It did look good though, and if I wasn’t a vegetarian I might have asked for a forkful given my sleep-deprived state of mind. As we were going trough the laborious paperwork out came Frank’s sidekick from the back room. I said hello and he told me his name … Frank. That’s two Franks for one business. Frank 2 was an agreeable fellow but after some introductory small talk he mentioned there had once been a third partner … Franco. Eventually Franco left, which thankfully made things somewhat less confusing.

Two Franks at one time was a lot to process, but three would be much too much for me! So I suggested we have a frank discussion. They quickly grasped the essence of my lame shtick and we had a few laughs until a large limo pulled up containing two very big scruffy guys outfitted in hunting garb. I checked to make sure that their names weren’t Frank, then signed on the doted line and left with my truck.

After taking a day to pack and load things up we were on our way. Driving a truck by yourself for almost eight hours gives you plenty of time to reflect on all sorts of things, and my bad humor from the previous day had got me thinking … about the need for us to be frank with others … but mostly with ourselves … about what is really important. To me that now means photographing only what I believe is compelling, interesting and entertaining to me.

It’s not important to me what’s hot, current or trending. Perhaps this isn’t helpful on a certain level, but I think it makes all the difference concerning what really matters. We only have so much creative time in our hectic lives, so it’s best to make that precious time count and create that which is meaningful.