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coach factory official website the act of kindness of one stranger toward another. Being unable to express my gratitude personally, I hope this public "thank you" will come to the attention of my anonymous angel.Bain de Soleil repostIt's officially been summer for a few days now, and if the calendar doesn't know it, the thermometer certainly does as it hits 101 today. I got to thinking about summers in the past and my memory kept going back to one in particular. I'll share mine. Will you share yours in the comments?For most of my childhood my father was in a wheelchair due to a very complex disease that landed him in the Mayo Clinic as a case study. However, he was a fiercely independent man who found ways to indulge the hobbies that he could manage from his chair. First and foremost was fishing. He had a deep seated passion for it that he and my mother tried desperately to pass on to their 4 daughters. While the other three bit hard, I never even nibbled the bait. It didn't interest me in the least. Majority rules, so nearly every vacation I remember from my childhood revolved around fishing. Early risin', bait digging, bobber popping, hours wasting fishing.The summer I was 16, in the year 19 mumble mumble, yet another fishing trip / summer vacation was planned. This time to Lake Shasta in northern California. Dad was bringing his fishing boat a 21 foot Chris Craft named Miss Linda and tried to entice me by telling us the lake had 365 miles of shoreline. "And I'm sure we're going to fish every one of them," I thought to myself, never daring to utter it aloud to my full blooded, hot tempered, heavy handed, 100% Italian