Archive for the ‘United States.’ Category
WHALE OF A PAST IN NANUCKET
By Pat Neisser, Mature Life Features
NANTUCKET, Mass. —- Time on this island is warped back to the 17th century whaling era.
This outcropping 30 miles off Cape Cod has gray- and white-shingled homes dating back more than a couple of hundred years, charming historic villages, ancient lighthouses, and miles of bike paths all wrapped up in pristine beaches.
Its popularity is such that traffic is at a standstill during July and August. Installing even one stop light drew the residents’ wrath, as did the idea of speed bumps. And limiting cars was a no-no to the Massachusetts Department of Transportation.
The time to come here is spring or fall. The very lowest rates are found during the “quiet season,” January through March, but many businesses are closed then. Spring, before tourists swarm over this 14-by-3 1/2-mile island, and fall, after they leave, offer stunning blue skies and cool crisp days on uncrowded cobblestone streets. Spring blooms into a bounty of colors. Fall’s crimson-colored leaves create a luxurious landscape. In either season, the island’s mood is relaxed. You’ll meet local residents and get to know the real Nantucket. Visitors are likely to include bird watchers as well as fishermen after striped bass and bluefish.
If feasible, leave your car on the mainland and take a flight or ferry here. Driving on the island is a nuisance. Shuttles, buses, and bikes do the job, and, mostly, you can walk. You can stroll through Nantucket Town where all the action is. Shops and restaurants dot the streets. Island specialities include scrimshaw (carved ivory), and gold and silver pendants called “Sailor’s Valentines” that once were made out of shells. Grass baskets and colorful sportswear are popular. During the cooler months, cable-knit sweaters and warm jackets are the norm.
Dining on the island is a particular pleasure. Among local specialties is the lobster-roll salad, famous along on the East Coast, as well as steaks and shellfish.
Whether you explore by yourself or take a tour, you’ll pass by cranberry bogs, through villages such as Siasconset (“Sconset” to the locals) clustered around the small bays, and fishermen plying the waters. There are some 800 restored homes and businesses built between 1690 and 1840 along with working lighthouses and historic museums.
The Nantucket Historical Association operates a series of museums and historic properties. Among them is the Whaling Museum, where you can learn the origin of the Nantucket Sleigh Ride.
Mature Life Features, Copyright 2003
Artists Color Taos’ Past
By Igor Lobanov and Silvia Shepard-Lobanov
Mature Life Features
TAOS, N. M. — Our earliest remembrance of this small town in northern New Mexico is of a quiet, dusty village that was a lodestone for painters, writers, and other free spirits. The year was 1940 and our family was spending the summer at a modest inn just off the main plaza. The clear air and bright sun at 7,000-feet on this high-desert plateau at the base of the Sangre de Christo Mountains produces an extraordinary quality of light.
Except when a rain squall sweeps in. One such remains in sharp memory. We had driven some 20 miles north of town on a dirt road that wound up a forested mountain slope to a five-room cabin 8,500 feet up. We were to have tea with Frieda Lawrence, widow of the controversial English novelist and poet D.H. Lawrence. The couple had lived on this peaceful forested slope for the portions of several years until shortly before his death from tuberculosis a decade earlier in France.
The ranch was the author’s respite for a troubled soul. He enjoyed cutting wood, hammering repairs to the building, baking bread, and galloping his horse through the woods. He even looked forward to milking his recalcitrant black-eyed cow, Susan, that would run away if he showed up wearing pants it did not like. Each morning, he could be found sitting under a tree, pen in hand, doing his writing.
“Lorenzo,” as Frieda called him, could be moody, joyful, loving or hateful — all in the same short period of time. Though he had traveled and lived over much of the world, his time here with the coterie of world-renowned people his presence drew — from Lillian Gish to Leopold Stokowski and Alduous Huxley to Margaret Sanger and many more — brought an ongoing artistic and intellectual richness to the community.
When we headed back to town, rain pelted the rutted track and our slipping and sliding car barely made it to the valley floor. On a return trip here in the winter of 1952, nighttime temperatures dropped below zero (Fahrenheit) making for chilly strolls through unheated galleries in the homes of some of its better known artists. To warm up there was the cozy bar in the Taos Inn where young novelist and former Korean War veteran Walter J. Sheldon played his guitar at one time to unwind from daily writing stints.
Taos has managed to weave its centuries-old Spanish and Native American cultures with a nationally recognized art colony. Painters Ernest Blumenschein and Bert Phillips arrived here from Paris in 1898 and founded the Taos Society of Artists that celebrates the community’s standing in the art world with annual festivals. This has created an expensive elements that include a sprinkling of upscale shops, well-lit galleries, fine restaurants, and ski resort said to equal Colorado’s Vail and Aspen.
One local official offered that Taos has “two industries – tourism and poverty.” The waiter who served you dinner last night may have created the art you purchased today.
South of town, you’ll find the 18th century adobe-walled San Francisco de Asis church celebrated in a series of Georgia O’Keeffe paintings. Three miles north of the central plaza is the 1,000-year-old Taos Pueblo (see photo), a World Heritage Site with small art colony of its own.
Mature Life Features, Copyright 2003
Slip-Sliding into Park City
By Cecil Scaglione
Mature Life Features
PARK CITY, Utah —- It’s simple to assess whether or not you’ve achieved Success here. It’s the title of a trail at the world-renowned Deer Valley Resort that lets you know when you’ve graduated from beginner to intermediate skier.
I arrived as a senior hoping to stand up all the way down a hill and left as an intermediate skier after enjoying Success several times. The 20-or-so-minute run also is embraced by clusters of multi-million-dollar condominiums designed to accommodate those considered to have mastered financial success.
Such moneyed manifestations should not deter you from considering this mining town-cum-ghost town-cum ski resort in the Wasatch Mountains as a focus for fun and, perhaps, a site to settle down.
That’s what a sizeable – some estimates reach as high as 500 – ex-Delta Air Lines crew members decided who have re-located here, according to ex-captain Rich Dolan. During a break in his day as a volunteer Mountain Host at Park City Mountain Resort, where you can grab a lift that begins right in the heart of town, he explained that he retired here in 1991 after visiting for a dozen years. His remuneration for volunteering a day a week to assist anyone who looks dismayed or dumbfounded is a season’s ski pass, which runs around $1,500.
During the no-snow season, he resorts to tooling around on his motorcycle. “The weather here is great,” he said. “There are no bugs — no flies — because of the altitude. You don’t need air conditioning. And it’s not as cold as Colorado or Montana or British Columbia. It’s a dry cold. You can’t make a snowball here,” he said. It’s been reported that you can clear your yard of snow with a leaf blower, all 500 inches – more than 40 feet – that falls each year.
Should skiing and snowboarding become boring, you can slip off for fly fishing in the nearby Green River to catch your lunch. Yep, they don waders and slosh into the frigid waters at any time of year to snag tasty trout for their plates and palates.
You can do a triple play here in one day: ski in the morning, golf in the afternoon, and then go fly fishing. That’s usually about March. While this kind of life and living draws folks here, the accessibility of both the bright lights of Salt Lake City and its airport just 30 minutes away are also attractions.
For the lazy or less adventurous who still hunger for fish, the Deer Valley seafood buffet is lauded long and loud by both neighbors and newcomers. Deer Valley has been described by some as a cluster of fine restaurants with ski slopes attached to them.
But you don’t have to ski to the dining lounge. You can drive up. Or you can hike or bike up in summer when the ski lodges surrounding this community are open to an array of non-snow-season activities that include rock-climbing, and horseback and scenic lift rides.
Deer Valley limits the number of its daily ski-lift tickets in winter to 6,500 – the number of seats in its restaurants – so no one will have to pass up a comfortable lunch or dinner. It and neighboring Alta do not permit snowboarding on their slopes.
For the more sedate, a stroll through the community is a hike through history. There are the mines that flourished after federal troops were sent here in the 1850s to quell any possibility of a rumored secession. As many as 350 mines were producing silver, copper, lead, zinc, and a little gold. All this activity dwindled to dust in the late 1800s and the community was little more than a ghost town when it sprang back to life in the 1950s as winter sports began growing in popularity.
A mine elevator still takes skiers to a summit and many of the mines now produce “liquid gold” – water that has filled several tunnels and is piped into Park City faucets.
Mature Life Features, Copyright 2009
Courtesy Lives in Spokane Airport
This may not sound like much, but my two wine-bottle corkscrews arrived in the mail today. The package cost $2.20 to mail.
They were mailed free through the courtesy of the Paradies TravelMart shop in the Spokane International Airport A/B concourse terminal. The incident and followup that led to this displayed a level of caring and courtesy that I figured had long ago slipped over the edge of the earth.
My luggage consisted of my camera case and a carry-on bag. Tossed in with the dirty laundry and souvenirs I was bringing back home were two wine-bottle corkscrews I had purchased from a local winery. A Transportation Security Administration (TSA) agent pulled me aside and said the imaging equipment showed the two openers. They each had a short blade (used to cut away the lead foil that covers the bottle top). That meant I could not take them on the airplane.
Now, comes the good part.
The agent said I could take them back to the terminal lobby to have them mailed to me. He pointed through the glass to the small shops in the lobby. I was weary, wiped-out and wary after having emptied my pockets, doffed my coat and fleece vest, unlaced my shoes and taken them off along with my belt and watch, and had my bag unpacked and re-packed. Then he said I’d have to take all my stuff and leave the security area to get back to the terminal shops and come back through security screening again – and empty my pockets and take off my coat and vest and belt and shoes and watch again.
I told him he could have the corkscrews. But he persisted, pointing out I had plenty of time before my flight. So I took his friendly advice and tromped back out to the terminal lobby. I went into what looked like a small magazine shop about where the TSA agent had pointed and asked the gent behind the cash register if he mailed packages for distressed travelers like me. He said he didn’t. I asked if he had any envelopes I could beg, borrow or buy. He shook his head. I asked if he knew of anyone in the terminal who did mail packages for folks like me. He said no and walked away.
Now, I walked two shops away – a distance no more than 30 feet — to a small kiosk under a TravelMart sign that sold cold drinks and snacks. It didn’t look like a mail drop. I don’t know why I didn’t check with the shop in the middle. But I asked the young woman behind the TravelMart counter if she knew anyone who mailed stuff for conflabbergasted travelers like me. And she said, “Yes, we do.”
(So much for the helpful gent 30 feet away. I guess he just opened his shop and still didn’t know his neighbors.)
The woman at TravelMart slipped a piece of paper and a pen onto the counter and said “Just write down the name and address where we should send it.” As I did so, I asked how much I owed her and she said “Nothing.” I asked, “How come?” She said, “We just do it.” I figured it would come C.O.D.
As I returned through security, I had the opportunity to thank the TSA agent who was kind enough to show me how to save my goodies.
That was last Friday (Oct. 14). The package arrived today (Thursday, Oct. 20).
This kind of assistance is rare and worth every bit of thank you I can muster. Atlanta-based The Paradies Shops has a presence in more than 60 airports throughout the United States and Canada. I don’t know if every one of them mails airplane-banned stuff home for you but I do know I’ll look for them from now on when I want a drink or snack as I trundle through terminals.
Add Color to your Trip
| CECIL SCAGLIONE |
We smelled it as soon as we swooshed through the cool glass doors from the oppressive Pennsylvania humidity into the revitalizing air-conditioned low brick building.
“Crayons,” my wife said. She always says things like that before I do.
This nasal nostalgia triggered a rainbow of reminiscences: my first Christmas crayons and coloring book, the shopping sprees for the opening day of classes all through grade school, and the comfortable, colorful clutter of books and chopped-up crayons around the house as my children were growing up.
We had entered the Crayola Hall of Fame in the Binney & Smith corporate complex nestled in a high rolling Easton meadow close by the New Jersey border.
It was a timely visit because, for the first time in history, eight traditional tones were to be retired and a similar number added to the colorful contingent. To make room for the new hot hues – dandelion, wild strawberry, vivid tangerine, fuchsia, teal blue, royal purple, jungle green and cerulean – the traditional tints of maize, raw umber, blue gray, lemon yellow, green blue, orange red, orange yellow and violet blue were ensconced in the hall of fame.
I lobbied for the enshrinement of a violet orange I developed when an old crayon melted in my water color set long ago. But I couldn’t get enough weighted votes.
The move to modernity was made after interviews with Crayola’s major consumers – kids – revealed a need for brightness among the 72 official corporate colors.
We asked our guide, a retired Crayola craftsman, if there was any move to add a scent to the product. “Are you kidding?” was the response. Studies show that crayons are among the 20 most-recognized scents in America. Coffee and peanut butter top the list. And the most popular 32-color Crayola carton is to coloring what Coke is to soda pop.
While the scent is readily recognizable, it isn’t easily discovered. Plan to add at least 30 minutes for getting lost when you book an appointment for a tour of the coloring complex. The directions and map accompanying confirmation of your tour aren’t much help. Be prepared to ask local residents how to get to the Binney & Smith plant.
Inside, it’s almost disappointing to see how such colorful pieces of my life could be the product of such a small, spotless and constantly-clattering plant. It was like discovering that Santa’s workshop is in a carport.
Workers do display an elfin quality in the care and concern they show in making sure all those Crayolas have straight labels and perfectly pointed tips. My palms itched and ached to rake over those pristine-pointed columns of color. While there are more than half a million Crayolas on the floor at any one time, there are only a dozen or so workers attending clackety-clacking molding and packing machines. They produce 1 billion Crayolas a year. Another billion are produced at plants in Kansas, Canada and England.
Color is splattered all over as paraffin is recycled in large globs, colorful paper sleeves await the cylindrical sticks of color, and the familiar orange-and-green boxes of various sizes house the hundreds of thousands of Crayolas ready for shipment to more than 60 nations.
Crayolas have rolled out of this site since the first eight-color pack was produced in 1903 and sold for a nickel. The trade name Crayola derives from the French word craie for chalk and the Latin oleum for oil. Crayolas are made of paraffin and pigment. And crayon is the generic term for a colored writing stick. Anything else you ever wanted to know about Crayola and crayons can be obtained by writing to the company or by visiting.
The one person I hunted for but never found: the inspector who checks for crayons that stay inside the lines.
Scaglione is a San Diego free-lance writer.
April 07, 1991
Havin’ Fun on California’s 101
By Tom Morrow
Mature Life Features
It’s more widely known as Pacific Coast Highway but the old U.S. 101 is as storied as it’s more renowned neighbor, Route 66.
It’s where we took Marvin the Magnificent, our 1981 Chevy motor home — some of the remaining sections are obliterated by the Los Angeles metroplex — to re-collect fond memories and gather new ones along this 1,500-mile scenic coastal route that links Canada with Mexico.
It begins in San Diego, where the first California mission was established in 1769. Over the next half century, Franciscan friars opened a string of 21 missions that formed El Camine Real (The Kind’s Highway), which outlined the original route of 101.
As we rambled north alongside the Pacific Ocean, we trundled through such towns as Dana Point and Malibu until we reached Oxnard, about 60 miles north of Hollywood, and voila, there it was: U.S. 101. Our first stop was in nearby Simi Valley, which houses the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library. My mom served him breakfast every morning when he was the play-by-play voice of the Chicago Cubs on WHO radio in Des Moines and passed on her reactions, all favorable, to me through the years.
Our next stop was at Solvang, home of Mission Santa Ynez, the 19th of the Spanish missions that form California’s backbone. The Santa Ynez Valley is California’s wine country, locals will tell you. Other areas that claim otherwise are just pretenders, they say. The Hans Christian Anderson-looking Scandinavian village neighboring the mission has many attractions but we just took time for the Museum of Gasoline Pumps, since we were on automotive odyssey.
Pismo Beach was our next stop. The first motel in the world was opened to highway travelers in 1925 at nearby San Luis Obispo. It began as the milestone Mo-Tel and is currently called the Motel Inn.
A dozen miles north of San Luis Obispo is Morro Bay, called the Gibraltar of the Pacific because of Morro Rock punching out of the ocean just off the coast. It’s one of nine extinct volcanic peaks that punctuate the coastline down to ‘Obispo.
Another couple of dozen miles north, we detoured into San Simeon with its fabled twin-towered castle (see photo) built over three decades by newspaper baron, William Randolph Hearst. He couldn’t stop amassing “stuff” and his collection of artworks that he donated to the state of California now draws more than a million visitors a year. The late Irish playwright, George Bernard Shaw, after being a guest at what Hearst called “the ranch,” said, “This is the way God probably would have done it if he had had the money.”
Up the road a piece is Monterey. There aren’t many cities that have played such an important role of California history. It was the capital of both Spanish and Mexican California and, for a time, the headquarters of territorial Gov. John C. Fremont during its transition to the United States. Besides being the site of the word-renowned Monterey Bay Aquarium and Maritime Museum, it’s also the home of John Steinbeck’s “Cannery Row,” which once was touted as the sardine capital of the world.
About 30 minutes inland is Salinas, the Pulitzer-Prize winner’s home town in “The Salad Bowl of the World.” Housed in the National Steinbeck Center there are scenes re-created from such books as “East of Eden” and “Grapes of Wrath,” clips of movie versions of his works, and his notes and references.
Next door to Monterey is Carmel, home of Mission San Carlos Borromeo del Rio Carmel, the second mission to be established in California. Buried under its altar is the body of Junipera Serra, the founder of the first missions to open up the California coast to European settlers. Carmel garnered national attention some years ago when Clint Eastwood, the Oscar-winning movie-maker and star, was elected the town’s mayor.
From here, it was time to turn back south, saving the remaining sections of this road up through Redwood forests to the forthy Oregon coast for another time.
Copyright 2002 Mature Life Features
Phoenix Embraces the Desert
- Retired wagon in desert near Phoenix
By Cecil Scaglione
Mature Life Features
PHOENIX —- Unlike its legendary-bird namesake, this sprawling metropolis ranked among the top-10 fastest-growing regions in the nation did not re-energize itself by rising out of its own ashes in the burning desert. More like that pink rabbit in the battery commercial, it just grows and grows and keeps on growing, stretching its sub-division and shopping centers over or around every cactus and crevice in the Valley of the Sun.
To get our arms around this urbanized sprawl that has positioned attractions and accommodations as much as two hours apart, we traveled by car, bicycle, horse, and balloon.
It was in Peoria, abutting Glendale at the northwest corner of this metropolitan mammoth of some 4 million people, that we launched our exploration of this megalopolis by visiting the Challenger Space Center, one of several strung across the country. Retired personnel from space-program-supplier Rockwell International Corp. take visitors seamlessly through scenarios that allow you to fly space missions complete with emergencies calling for sudden solutions.
Still in up-in-the-air mode, we headed to Deer Valley Airport on the northeastern edge of town for a mile-high 90-minute balloon ride to enhance our perspective of the local growth.
If such a diversion doesn’t sound appealing, you can take a quick drive to South Mountain Park where several viewpoints offer panoramic views of this vibrant valley. The best time to head there is the first two weeks of April when rain-fed blooms carpet the mountainside. The education center inside the park’s entrance building tells you all have to know about the various critters and cacti.
For a closer look at those, we took advantage of a mountain-bike tour – others took a more leisurely hike – of Usery Mountain Regional Park east of the city. That’s where we were told that the giant saguaro cactus, which grows only in the Sonoran Desert that stretches from Arizona into Mexico, develops “arms’ not to denote its age but to balance itself against the relentless wind.
To pick up more easy knowledge, about an hour away is a hands-on complex designed to keep anyone from 8 to 80 entertained for hours on end. While the Challenger facility transports you into learning mode without you realizing it, the Arizona Science Center in downtown Phoenix caters to the touch-and-feel gene in all of us.
Visitors are encouraged to learn first-hand how to build a house, make a giant nose sneeze, watch heart surgery or clumps of iron filings dance to “Flight of the Bumble Bee,”and test their piloting skills.
There’s much more to this town than desert, of course, and one of its first breakthroughs was the 1929 opening of the Arizona Biltmore, which is worth a visit if, for no other reason, than to gawk at the walls lined with photos of celebrities at play there over the years and its ceilings lined with gold. More than 30,000 square feet of the glitter glistens over the lobby, a special meeting room, and main dining room that look and feel old enough to be comfortable without being frayed at the edges.
Prominent among the valley’s notable resorts is the Phoenician, which is tucked into a fold of local icon Saddleback Mountain. with its eye-candy nighttime vistas of the twinkling town lights to the south.
About an hour south, in the Gila River Indian Community, is the Sheraton Wild Horse Pass Resort built by the Pima and Maricopa tribes of Native Americans. It’s on the grounds of a casino the two tribes built jointly. A miniature parasol-protected riverboat putt-putts gamblers on a man-made creek between the hotel lobby and casino every 20 minutes. You can tour the facilities via horse-drawn wagon or range farther by heading out on horseback from the riding stables. In the evening, storytellers pour out yarns from Indian lore and legend around a patio campfire.
The tribes also imported Rawhide, an Old West town complete with on-the-street simulated gunfights that had been a Scottsdale attraction for more than three decades. Real-man vittles eat up a majority of the menu at the Rawhide Steakhouse and Saloon, where you can rip into ribs or rattlesnake, which is as good a way as any to digest memories of this desert dynamo.
Ann Arbor’s Grown Up
By Igor Lobanov
Mature Life Features
ANN ARBOR, Mich. —- No disrespect meant to Thomas Wolfe, but you can go home again. I learned this when I returned here for the first time since my college graduation 57 years ago.
Locals still call this Midwestern college town a bit west of Detroit “A-Squared.” And it’s still anchored by the main campus of the highly-regarded University of Michigan, ranked 18th among the world’s universities by Quacquarelli Symonds, the London-based global rating service.
Despite significant expansion over the decades, UM’s “Diag,” the diagonal walkway through the shaded expanses of grass, along with the century-plus vintage Law Quadrangle reminiscent of Britain’s Oxford campus remain popular with many of the 38,000 students on campus. Classes on the often share building space with $900 million in high-tech research projects. The town’s 114,000 inhabitants represent more than twice the population a half century ago, yet the core commercial area remains concentrated among the four blocks just west of the campus.
The 1980s economic downturn, coupled with the arrival of a mega-shopping center on the outskirts, have driven out many traditional small businesses. Entrepreneurs and artisans have stepped into the gap. While the university long has lured the highest level of cultural events, the town now attracts a variety of popular music venues, theater groups, art galleries, fashionable boutiques, and trendy restaurants that feature cuisine from a dozen nationalities.
Ann Arbor has morphed over the past five decades from a relatively reserved college town in the traditionally conservative Midwest to an urbane community with a level of cultural panache difficult to match. Quiet residential streets, especially in older neighborhoods, roll by broad lawns fronting large homes set back for a feeling of openness.
Motoring or bicycling through the pastoral countryside brings one to small outlying communities sprinkled with homes that date back a century of more and house the gentle ambience of yesteryear. As you canoe or kayak along the tree-lined banks of the gently-flowing Huron River, you can still catch glimpses of gray herons standing tall in the rushes or a mother duck leading offspring off to shelter.
The only sound you’ll hear as you pass through the center of town is the splash of your paddle. Urban noises are muffled by the trees. It’s definitely a different way to experience Ann Arbor’s city life. Artistic, intellectual, and recreational opportunities aside, the American Association of Retired People (AARP) listed Ann Arbor in 2008 as one of the nation’s healthiest towns, adding that the town has much to offer those seeking a retirement location. One of the reasons, according to U.S. News and World Report, is that the university medical school’s three teaching hospitals are ranked among the top 20 in the nation.
Among the things to see and do is the university’s Museum of Art’s recently opened wing that houses displays ranging from a Nigerian ironwood ceremonial ax to a Cambodian Apsaru Warrior metal sculpture. In town, you can mingle with acoustic-guitar folk-music lovers at The Ark, an intimate club-like setting where the audience is close-up to a different group every weekday night. If you like jigs and reels with your Guinness Stout, pop into Conor O’Neill’s Irish Pub on a Sunday evening. Anyone who can toot a tin whistle, pick a banjo, or squeeze a box accordion can sit in with local musicians. The night we stopped by, 10 players were making the joint jump.
Among Ann Arbor’s legitimate-stage options is the highly professional thespian group at the 140-seat Performance Theatre that presents dramas, musicals and at least one world premier each year. In neighboring Chelsea 20 minutes west, the respected Purple Rose Theater founded by actor-director Jeff Daniels focuses on New America plays with a Midwestern voice.
Imaginative and avant-garde art and crafts abound in the shops around and along Main Street. For example, at 16 Hands, named after the eight members who established the cooperative, you can buy a rain chain, a copper-and-aluminum hanging contraption that transports water from your roof down to a container away from the house foundation. At the century-old Ann Arbor Center for the Arts on Liberty Street you can watch youngsters create cups and bowls by shaping clay on a rotating wheel.
In mid July, the city attracts up to 500,000 visitors to the annual four-day Ann Arbor Street Art Fair. Hundreds of booths and displays crowd downtown streets and the UM campus.
For more information, visit http://www.annarbor.org, or call (800) 888-9487.
Mature Life Features 