The summer has been a disappointment. We feel like curling on the ground with the brown leaves and letting the wind blow us into the next season.

We are a sentimental, old fool; it's true. We had hoped for so much from the soft, slow summer months - new thoughts...old friends...and the family gathered 'round for eight weeks. Imagine the work that we could get done - we would repaint all the shutters painted, we would lay up a new stone wall, maybe we could even build a gypsy wagon, which we have been planning for years. Instead, the family couldn't sit still long enough to gather around, let alone get anything done. The children are all growing up - with agenda of their own. Practically every day there was a new train to catch. In the comings and goings, we couldn't keep track of who had come and who had gone. We had to go around the place after midnight and check to see which rooms were occupied.

We had no new thoughts. And so our old ones - left too long on the table - turned a bit sour.

And now, here we are back in Annapolis. It was here that it all began. It was here that we were born in what seems like a very long time ago.

And in our 18th year, we set out into the big world, off to college. Then, we saw ourselves in a Norman Rockwell painting. It is a portrait of a young man and his father. They might be midwestern farmers. The older man is sitting on the running board of his pickup truck, if we recall correctly. His hands are hard. His face is sunburned and creased from years of fieldwork. He has a look on his face of pride, with a touch of sadness. His son is going off to college.

Back then, we were the son. Bright eyed...we stood up taller than we were, with an expectant smile. We did not know what would happen when we got out in the world, but we were sure it would be something good. And whatever it was, we were ready for it.

But now the world has made its tour of the sun nearly 40 times. And now we have taken a new place in the portrait. Now, we are the father.

It is at times like this that we see the merit in modern art. You can look at globs of paint or bands of color and see nothing. It is as meaningless and empty as a presidential speech. It has no more effect on us than herb tea.

Norman Rockwell spent his career painting pictures that helped people understand their own feelings...pictures that enriched their own experiences and celebrated their own lives. But the art establishment branded him an "illustrator," a sentimental one at that. Real artists, they said, were doing art for art's sake, not for the sake of the bourgeois public. Real artists were putting swiggles, smears or daubs of paint on the canvas. They were doing "innovative" and "creative" work. If they were hideous and grotesque; well, that's what life really is!

You can laugh at modern art. You can't take it seriously. Rockwell, on the other hand, is almost too serious. We turn back to the painting and can barely stand to look. We see every line, every worry and every regret on the old man's face - in our own mirror. For now, we have come to Annapolis to take our own boy to school. Today, he registers at St. Johns College.

You may wonder, dear reader, what this has to do with making money. We don't know. Maybe nothing. We know it has something to do with spending money; have you seen a recent college tuition bill?

Maybe it has something to do with making money too. But we will have to stretch to find a connection, and we don't have time for that this morning.

*** An interesting tidbit from our friend Jonathan Kolber...

"Do you remember the recent SARS virus scare? Worldwide health organizations scrambled to bury news of this impending epidemic as best they could. They had to, otherwise a global panic might have occurred. But the news leaked out, and the world was terrified for a few weeks.

"As it turned out, the SARS virus was contained. We dodged a monster bullet on that one. But SARS is still out there, waiting to rear its ugly head again at any time.

"Fortunately, a tiny Chinese company came to the rescue. This microcap medical biotechnology company, using an ultra-sophisticated drug development process, quickly developed a vaccine that, in preliminary tests, has crushed the SARS virus. So if SARS returns, we'll be ready.

"But there is some bad news...and some good news.

"Scientists have recently discovered a new, ultra-contagious 'super-flu' that is impervious to any known treatment. No human being has a proven immunity to this disease. This nasty virus has wiped out 72% of the known human cases infected with it. Medical specialists consider this the greatest threat facing the world today. This is one bad bug!

"But this minuscule company is coming to the rescue again. It's in a unique partnership with the Chinese CDC and is solving the problem. Potential gains? In an epidemic situation, think 6 billion people at $10 a dose."

*** We arrived yesterday from Paris. The first thing you notice is the difference in foliage. Europe is dry; trees are few. Here, trees are everywhere, big trees, densely packed together. It is a greener, richer country - at least this part of it.

We took a very long taxi ride from Dulles Airport to Annapolis. Everywhere we looked, we could see shopping malls, houses, apartments, and office buildings. If anyone is manufacturing anything in America, they aren't doing it around here.

Annapolis used to be a working town. It was not a particularly up market place. There were oyster boats down at the harbor. Farmers came to town to buy supplies. There were a few restaurants, of course, and a few 5 and dime stores. There was a sleepy southern civility to the place. One of the most exciting events in town was the annual croquet match between the Naval Academy and St. Johns. Yesterday, walking around St. Johns campus at dusk, we saw some students practicing croquet, trying to steal a march on their Navy rivals; there is no football team at St. Johns.

We sat down at Harry Browne's restaurant on State Circle and had its famous crab cake dinner. It's been a long time since we ate crab cakes. Prices have gone up. A modest meal for two, with just two glasses of wine and no appetizers or dessert cost $90. We ate our first meal on State Circle more than half century ago. Our mother used to prefer the restaurant there because it was the only one that still used cloth napkins, she said. We don't remember what we paid for dinner in the 1950s...but it was probably less than $2.

To put that in perspective, an ounce of gold back then would probably have been good for a dozen meals. Today, at $440, gold will still buy you about a dozen meals on the State Circle, if you're careful. Two dollars, on the other hand, won't buy much of anything.

Apart from that, everything in the area seemed more or less as we remembered it. The movie theatres have closed. There are many more shops that seem to cater to tourists. But otherwise, all was normal...including the loud noise of crickets coming from the State Capital lawn.

Down at the harbor, on the other hand, groups of tourists wander around. They wear baggy shorts and flip flops, as though they were at the beach. Many restaurants and gee-gaw shops await them. It is a good area to avoid.

"These people have no sense of style," said Jules.

We recalled our introduction to politics. Joe Alton was a master local politician. He could cry whenever he wanted. Faced with the right crowd, he would summon up tears. The next thing you know, whatever he had done had been forgiven and he was in office for another 4 years.

Before going to college, we spent a summer going around the county putting up 'Elect Joe Alton' signs. We don't remember exactly what he was running for. Nor do we recall why we had any interest in his success. The man would give us wads of cash from time to time, 'walking around money,' he called it. But it was not enough to make the work pay. We don't remember which political party Joe represented, or what his program was. All we remember is the tears...the best tears we ever saw on a politician. Ol' Weepy Joe, they called him.

Now we wonder, maybe the tears were real.

Bill Bonner is the President of Agora Publishing.  For more on Bill Bonner, visit The Daily Reckoning.