Family Reunions

“Welcome, welcome… how ya been?”

Thus began another iteration of the family reunion. My parents’ generation within my mom’s side of the family had a lot of organization skills. One of the by products of this character trait was an annual family reunion gathering that moved around based on what segment of the family tree was going to be hosting this year’s event.

As I was growing up, it was always assumed that Labor Day weekend would be spent in the company of a lot of folks, generations of folks, many whom I wouldn’t know nor would I really ever get to know.

The locales would change, we would be Western New York one year, in the northern tier of the state the next. Sometimes we had a family in Rhode Island that hosted the event in a rented pavilion in a park in the outskirts of Providence.

When we were very small this was a royal pain. As we approached puberty, there were a few years when my cousins, my sister and I would find the opportunity to squeak out some fun from the get together.

As we reached the later portion of the teenage years, my sister and I rebelled. I think my mom and dad attended a few more and then the whole practiced wound down to only a very few folks and they were from branches of the family that we were even less familiar with.

In retrospect, I kind of wished that I had made an effort to reach out to this event in my adulthood. I’m not sure my parents’ were truly unhappy about the practice dwindling away but, when my Aunt (my mom’s oldest sister) passed away, the event management and planning had to fall to someone else and I believe that it initial fell to my Mom’s younger brother but, it was pretty much a very different event. My aunt had been the sole of the event and she kept meticulous family tree history within her archives. I have no idea what fate those archives have taken since her passing and the passing of my last remaining uncle in that branch of the family.

I probably was guilty of foregoing a chance that will forever be denied me now to get a glimpse into my ancestry. I did this primarily in the throes of youthful hubris, thinking that there wasn’t anything I needed to learn from those folks nor was there any value in changing my plans or devoting my time to the pursuit of either engaging in a relationship with my elders or in maintaining the ones I had.

My mom was the person that was always the one who put family first. It was at her behest that we participated in as many of the reunion gatherings that we did. She was the one that insisted that we make many trips up and back to the northern tier (some 300 miles each way) to visit her siblings and the family members from my dad’s side of the family. When I was younger we did this at least a 10 times a year. We did this even though it was a rare occurrence for any of the folks we visited regular to make the sojourn down to our downstate little town where my mom and dad had made their home.

The fondest memories of those family reunion was when I was perhaps 12 – 14. The bulk of my impression with the two family reunions that took place in those years was organizing a softball game with my cousins and some of the older generation. The fact that I loved baseball and loved playing (with anyone and literally at the drop of a hat) contributed to these two years becoming fond memories.

I had played baseball in little league and had only recently “aged out.” There wasn’t a provision for kids of my age group to play ball unless you happened to be lucky (and skillful enough) to make a junior varsity or varsity team within the school district. I was not that skilled. I played with passion but, little skill. Thus my ball playing days were relegated to gym class after my teen years began.

In those two years the reunion event was hosted in Rhode Island both years. Because the venue featured a great field, this was truly a treat. There was no such field resources in any of the other areas that the reunion was hosted for the next decade.

I remember that the first year the team I wound up on was victorious by a fair margin. I seem to remember that the teams were basically my generation versus the older generation. The following year was almost better even though the team I wound up playing for was not going to win. The team make up was a mix of both generations. The game was very competitive and a lot of fun.

I think even more fun than the game that year was that after the food was ready and some folks adjourned to join the rest of the family at the dining tables, some of us continued on in what was basically a practice. I recall that practice fondly as I think I was able to perform some of the best hitting that I was ever able to pull off in my life.

Air Travel

As I sat in the airport in the autumn of 2010 waiting for the folks at that gate podium to announce the boarding of my next flight, I thought about the first flights I took as a child and how much the flying experience had changed over the years.

The first time my family flew was in 1971. My mom had been wrestling with some attacks of asthma and a perpetual bronchial problem and the doctor’s suggested that some time in the southwest (in a dryer environ) might be beneficial. We took that opportunity to visit some relatives in California and then a week or more in the Arizona desert.

The first flight was out of New York’s Kennedy airport. We were going to be making the trek from New York to California in a little over six hours (a good time in those days). My mom (who was always the worrier in the group) had been fretting over the experience for the prior month. My dad, who was always a bit more mellow, was also privately worrying about the flight but, was maintaining a stoic façade to hide his nervousness. My sister and I were 8 and 10 respectively and were just thrilled to be in the airport and were excited to fact this new experience of flying over the countryside and looking forward to a great vacation in a warmer climate.

When we had boarded, my sister and I vied for the window seat, on one side of the aisle (I won). My mom had the aisle seat so we were positioned on that first flight with myself in the window, my sister in the center seat and my mom on the aisle. My dad sat alone across the aisle. As the plane began to taxi down the runway, I was staring avidly out the window and marveling at how fast we appeared to be traveling down the runway. I did glance over at my dad who appeared to be praying with his eyes closed and his hands making an indelible impression of his hands on the arm rests of his seat. I don’t remember checking out my mom’s impression but, I do remember that dad’s nervousness was amusing to me.

The flight was all kinds of fun for the kids. We were greeted by the stewardesses and received flight pins to commemorate the trip. When we finally arrived in Los Angeles, I wanted to be the first off the plane and therefore the first within my family to touch California soil (or in this case the ground on the tarmac. There were no jet ways in those days so we wend down a staircase and walked across the tarmac to the terminal. I remember marveling at the warmth of the sunshine and the oddness of palm trees that I could see just outside of the airport.

We were met at the airport by my cousin Carol Ann and her husband. I remember the drive out of the airport on a driveway that was lined by palm trees. Having grown up on the East Coast, this was truly like arriving on another planet of sorts. The drive to the apartment complex that they lived in was filled with “ohhs and ahhs” from my sister and I as, it seemed, around every corner that there were more new and amazing sights to be seen and the promise of fun on all fronts.

That amazement lapsed rather suddenly when we arrived at my cousins’ home and we gathered that there wasn’t much to do for kids in this building. In fact, as I later found out, the complex they lived in was strictly “adults only” and my cousins had to secure special permission from the landlord operators to allow us to visit and stay with them for the five days we were going to be there.

I discovered that my cousin’s husband had been in Vietnam and since this was a topic that intrigued me, I wanted to question him on the topic but, I guess like a lot of vets, he didn’t want to talk too much about his experiences over there.

I did learn that he was a photographer / media type person who was involved in sort of a military correspondence position. He never carried a gun but I guess he still saw enough action that he was uncomfortable about talking about it. Especially to an 11 year old kid.

We did get to see the usual touristy kinds of sights during our only trip to California as a family. My cousin took us to Hollywood. We saw the Hollywood “Walk of Fame.” We took turns getting our pictures taken in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. We spent a day at Disneyland.

The second portion of that trip started at the end of that first week of vacation. We flew to Tucson, AZ where we spent the next week driving around the desert. We took a small day trip to Old Tucson. This was an amusement park (of sorts) that used to be an old movie location that was the set for a lot of Spaghetti Westerns in the sixties and still featured a Wild West show and demonstration of filming and stunt activities.

The most memorable portion of that trip was actually the drive out to Old Tucson. The road was pretty winding and went over some mountainous terrain. My mother was the nervous type. I use to joke that she was afraid of the 20th Century. She had a kitten on the drive out to the Old Tucson park, which amused me (I guess all kids are fascinated about what generates a reaction in their parents).

Well, all too soon the vacation was over and we were then going to travel back home via two flights the first from Tucson, AZ to O’Hare International Airport in Chicago, IL and then the second hop from Chicago into Kennedy Airport in New York City.

The first flight took over in the morning and because of that timing, the meal that was served (yes, they still served full meals on flights back in those days) was breakfast, which as I recall consisted of eggs, bacon, toast and beverage. I was a very finicky eater in those days and I didn’t do eggs. When the stewardess came to pick up the trays she saw that I hadn’t eaten the eggs and chided me to eat up. Not wanting to disappoint, I attempted to eat the eggs to please the stewardess.

I guess I’ll never know what exactly caused it but I became very ill. The flight was pretty bumping as we were approaching Chicago. The crew had already given their instructions to return to the seats, fasten seat belts and prepare for landing. Despite this being only my third flight, I knew that there was supposed to be a disposable bag in the seat pouch in front of me in the event that you were getting ill and about to vomit. I looked for this bag but my luck was not going to be good on this particular day and at that particular moment. There was no bag and I knew I was about to vomit. I weighed out my options and decided to bolt for the bathroom.

Upon entering the bathroom, I heard a recording that stated in a very authoritative voice to “return to your seat.” A bright red sign that was flashing over the sink that read, “Return to your seat”, also greeted me.

Somewhat defeated and in a state of increasing panic I left the bathroom and went to the aisle in front of my seat in which my mother and sister were situated totally oblivious to my plight. My mom was seated in the center seat and my sister was sitting on the aisle. I managed to croak out, “Mom, I think I’m going to be sick.” This solicited the reasonable reaction of rifling through the seat pocket to retrieve the disposable “barf bag” that was there and swung around to hand this to me. The problem was she was late.

In the few seconds that preceded my vomiting, I was left with only a few options. I could swing around in the aisle and vomit in the direction of dad or I could remain waiting for the bag that was going to be too late and I vomited on my sister. Well, not on top of her but, certainly it wound up mostly in her lap. This event was most assuredly going to be one of those instances that she will always remember with feelings of dread and mortification. After my initial vomiting in my sister’s lap, I was not done. The stewardess then attempted to hustle me back into the lavatory and proceeded to continue vomiting all over the lavatory. Being still quite young (and now quite sick), I made a pretty big mess in both locations.

I’m quite sure my sister will forever remember this event with understandable mortification. When we landed in Chicago, I was taken by the hand and led to the cockpit. I was given the royal treatment. Some member of the crew (I can’t remember which one) took me by the hand and escorted me down a staircase and out onto the tarmac. This was intended to allow me to get some fresh air but, I only remember noise. The environment on the tarmac was more noisy and louder than anything I had ever experienced.

My sister, unfortunately, was given a towel. An opportunity to towel off and washed her up as best they could. They replaced the seat cushion that she was sitting in (we weren’t changing planes so we had the same seat assignment as in the first leg of the journey). She refused the notion (quite understandably) that she would sit in her underwear with a towel and sat in her vomit soaked clothes during the whole trip to NYC and the drive from the airport to my aunt and uncle’s house where she was finally given a chance to grab a shower. I felt much better after emptying my stomach in the landing into Chicago and the second leg was not as rough.

Jazz piano player

As I was walking down the street on an Indian summer evening in Troy, NY, I heard the faint tinkling of some fine jazz piano. Drawn by these soothing tones, I entered an establishment known as the Monkey’s Paw. The entrance was a steep walk-down off Third Avenue and as I opened the door, I almost thought I was being transported back to a mid-1930’s speakeasy.

The bar itself featured a wide polished rail, a nicely finished wood grain and the almost mandatory full mirror lining the wall behind it. The establishment wasn’t real crowded but, the interior was almost completely filled with a cloud of smoke.

The piano was sequestered along the back wall of the dining area and the player appeared to be a balding, somewhat round, white man who flashed a warm smile at me as I approached.

He wore a sweater vest that seemed to hide some of his bulk. His face had wizened look and the grin he almost seemed to continually wear, was enhanced by a graying moustache and five o’clock shadow.

I couldn’t help but be reminded of my favorite uncle as I was growing up. His name was Ivan and he also played piano. His misfortunes as an adult were many. He never could seem to hang onto money. He worked in several movie theaters in northern New Jersey when I was small but, something happened in the late 1960’s (something neither he nor my parents ever confided in me about) and he was forced to move in with us when I was about eight or nine years old.

My mom’s family had seven children. Which wasn’t all that unusual in those days. The area where she grew up was very rural in setting. Two of her siblings died during childbirth or as a young baby. Mom was the middle child with two brothers younger than her and one older sister and brother. Ivan was the next to last of the surviving kids. My maternal grandmother died when my Mom was about 12 years old. Because of the situation, she, for the most part, played mom to her younger brothers. Ivan was always very loving and appreciative of his older sister’s care. In his eyes, she could do no wrong.

At first when my uncle moved in with us, I was thrilled. He was, without a doubt, the most fun relative I had. He was playful and enjoyed laughing and joking with almost anyone. He also was a great storyteller. He never had to work hard to get laughter out of either my sister or myself.

As I stated earlier, he also played piano. In my mom’s family, every kid played an instrument. The oldest sister sang and played some piano (not as much or as well as Ivan), the oldest brother was a fiddle player, my mom played the mandolin, Ivan was the piano player and the youngest brother played guitar.

My mom tried to teach me the mandolin when I was kid and was drawn to the instrument. She had a very old, antiqued mandolin that was built and purchased back in the 1920’s from the Montgomery Ward catalog. It was a beautiful instrument and in time I became a little more adept at playing it. It wasn’t until Ivan moved in and encouraged me to play with him taking keyboard parts that I truly embraced the instrument. We developed a little bit of a catalog and would play at family gatherings mostly. Ivan loved the pop music of the 1950’s and 1960’s but mostly what we played was ragtime and bluegrass with a smattering of classic country.

I remember one great story that occurred shortly after Ivan moved in. We had a fairly severe cold snap that followed a significant snowstorm. At the end of the storm, the temp shifted during the day and the result was a slight drizzle of rain in the following day followed (again) with a cold night.

What all of these sudden swings in temperature yielded were the absolute perfect conditions for creating a hard shell of ice atop a foot of deep snow. This was great for sliding. When I returned home that afternoon, I went body sliding down the hill and found the conditions to be extremely slick. It was great fun. The only problem was that I couldn’t get back up the hill.

Being the resourceful young man that I was, I walked further down the hill and dipped my rubber boots into a cold stream after breaking through some ice to get to the liquid. The combination of the water on the rubber boots made the rubber stick to the ice thus allowing for the means to walk easily around on the slick ice covered snow. Once I discovered this, I called a neighbor friend of mine over and showed him the same trick.

Now all of this led to some scheming that would not be uncommon in a typical 8 year old. Let’s lure other unsuspecting kids to the hill and not tell them about the ice water trick. We had great fun after we lured both my younger sister and another neighborhood friend of mine to the hill and laughed at the top of the hill while we watched them struggle to try and climb up the hill on the slick surface.

Well, this all came to a sudden halt when we heard my Uncle calling from the house and making his way out to the top of the hill where the two of us (my friend and I) were standing. We gulped and tried to feign ignorance as to how the two young ladies at the bottom of the hill got there.

Ivan had been sleeping as he was working nights in those days and therefore was dressed in pajamas, a robe, and slippers. Shortly, on his heels, my mother (who had returned home while I wasn’t looking) came stomping out to the hillside as well. My mom and Ivan surveyed the situation for a few seconds. My mom (being the logical creature she was) decided to look for a walking stick, something she could use to chop through the ice and provide some means to maintain a footing on the slick surface of the snow-covered ice.

The outside temperature wasn’t too severe but, the ice had hardened so much on the overnight that it was truly an ice skating caliber surface atop the snow.

Ivan, being the illogical person that he was, decided to trudge towards the girls “stuck” at the bottom of the hill. My mom called out a warning to my Uncle as he started to walk down the hill but, he ignored the warning and stated the famous last words… “ Oh, I won’t fall, I have slippers … on…” Of course he started sliding on “slippers” and was bowling over the girls at the bottom of the hill before he got out the word “on.”

My friend and I being the logical kids that we were decided that discretion being the better portion of valor… we should make ourselves scarce. I circled the group, re-dipped my rubber boots in the water and then decided I should help out. My Mom had already worked her way down the hill and had escorted the other neighbor girl up the hill and was returning for my sister. I was at that point trying to act gallant and was escorting my sister up the hill with the aid of my wet rubber boots up the slippery slope.

Once we had all gotten up onto the top of the hill, my neighbor buddy made like a hockey player and got the puck out of there. My sister’s friend had already vacated the premises after being rescued by my mother.

Which left me (the mastermind to the ill fated “prank”) to face the combined wrath of both my mom and my uncle. My sister had already sequestered herself within her room and had moved onto homework.

I reluctantly started to make my way indoors to receive my punishment. I walked into the kitchen to see both my mom and my uncle laughing hysterically while sitting at the kitchen table. They kept repeating… “Oh, I won’t fall, I have slippers….” And then the two of them would again break up into fresh peals of laughter.

I shuffled into the scene and was about to stammer out an apology when the infectious laughter hit me. I still managed to get an apology out in between the chuckling but, it almost wasn’t necessary.

I’m not sure I got away with anything on this or rather my mom just couldn’t (with a straight face) begin to admonish my actions on this day in between laughing fits at the silliness of the plight of all involved.

This story would be repeated and embellished for year’s to come particularly when my mom would have the opportunity to reminisce with any or all of her siblings.

This memory came back to me in that subtle but very powerful way that fond memories will resurface and then linger within your consciousness at some seemingly unrelated twist of circumstance.

I stayed and listened to this jazz pianist play a couple of tunes that I was unfamiliar with but, then cranked up my courage (I think bolstered by that familiar smile on his lips) and requested that he play Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer.”

He said that it had been a long time since anyone had suggested any ragtime but, he knew it was only too happy to acquiesce and gave it a whirl. Afterwards, he asked how I knew the tune. Not surprisingly, I cited the movie “The Sting” for which it was the theme song but I also talked with him about my uncle and how he taught me the song.

I told him how Ivan had always had impressed upon to learn the tune, how we always played by ear and felt the music rather than “played” the music. The response I received from the jazz piano player was that “I think he told you the right way to play music.” He also admitted that, he too, had never learned to read sheet music and played only by ear (or by feel… as Ivan would have put it).

Pain

Sometimes it seems that pain

In some cases, gut wrenching pain

Is comforting.

Especially when you aren’t sure whether you’re still alive

Or

Perhaps wondering whether what you’re seeing (and feeling) is

Real

Or

Not.

He lay against the side of the car

Relaxing his body

Having grown tired of attempting to fight gravity and trying to twist his body so that his

Perception of the world jives with where he thinks the horizon

Lies.

It hurts but at the same time, he’s glad it hurts.

Not Really All That Logical...

I love the way she stretches in the morning. The cute little scrunching up of her face as she alternately tenses and relaxes muscles that have been sleeping.

The wind just kind of blew us together. Neither of us was really looking for a relationship but, as I heard in a movie (Fools Rush In), she was everything I never knew I always wanted.

When I was kid I would often dare myself to do the most outrageous things but inevitably I’d always find some rationale to bail out at the last minute.

When I look back though, there were two decision points in my life where I took a chance, but even in those instances I knew in my heart that the paths that I was chose were (without a question) the best course of action to take given the current circumstance. I hadn’t worked out all the details yet but I knew everything was going to be all right if I just trusted my instincts and followed my heart.

I wonder where the courage comes from in those times. What emotions and criteria are involved in the spirit to drive someone either away from an emotional relationship or into one? Where do we get the courage to allow another to come into our lives and to see ourselves when we are most vulnerable?

Man is not a logical creature although some of us feel we are bound by logic and behave rationally (in most situations). I don’t think there is any man, woman, child or even animal that is immune to the need and without a capacity to love as illogical as that is.

I’ve never been much of a “social animal.” In most cases, if you put me in a room with more than a few people that I don’t know, chances are I’ll probably stay silent off to the side and take in the room for quite awhile. I would only get engaged in the situation if/when I am either pulled into a conversation or if I somehow, oddly, get comfortable with the circumstance.

I met my wife through an online acquaintance. The first time we actually met face to face was in at an airport (we had previously agreed to meet in a neutral location…a city between our two homes) and there was quite a crowd in the room as her flight disembarked. Oddly enough, despite the fact that there were many other strangers present, I didn’t feel uncomfortable at all greeting her with a warm hug and kiss.

It's warm

The recent wave of warm weather that has enveloped the area coincided with my needed to get some work done on my wife's car.

The problem began a few weeks ago when it seemed that one of the two front tires on the vehicle began to lose air. We found it low on a Tuesday morning. I re-inflated the tire only to find it totally flat a few days later.

Fortunately, none of this led to wife being stranded on the road (she doesn't USA the car much other than local grocery shopping, medical appointments, and occasional lunches.

We had the tire supposedly "repaired" last week but, the problem resurfaced two days ago stranding her at home and causing her to miss a medical appointment.

I was unable to give the problem any attention until today and as the summer sun started to bake the area, I was faced with changing actors in my driveway.

In my younger days, this would not have been viewed as a daunting task but it became one today.

The first step was to empty the contents of the trunk in order to get at both the spare tire and the jack.

The trunk had become a secondary storage facility and this step took some time and effort.

I quickly worked up a sweat and probably should have strongly considered changing into "work clothes" but didn't.

The next step was to get down on the ground to properly place the jack in the one position that the manufacturer intended you to use to jack up the car utilizing the "killer bee" scissor jack that was provided with the vehicle. The scissor jack was conveniently located under a panel in the trunk and since it was never used, you almost had to insert yourself within the trunk to gain enough leverage to remove it from it's hidden perch.

Having extracted the scissor jack and located the proper position on the undercarriage of the vehicle I was able to get the car raised and began to remove the lug nuts. This turned out to be a difficult task as I only had the manufacturer's provided lug wrench which is too short to provide very much torque. I wound up stepping on the wrench (a precarious position given my size) to break the lug nuts loose.

Having accomplished this step, I removed the flat tire and positioned the spare tire into position and had hand tightened to lug nuts onto the wheel when I needed to straighten myself up and stretch from the strain that I had put my under utilized muscles through in these tasks. I made the mistake of using the vehicle as a support when I stood up. I realized too late that I had committed a cardinal sin and I hadn't set the parking brake so the car promptly and uncerimoniously fell off the jack.

I was really lucky that I had placed the two lug nuts on the tire at opposite positions so it fell pretty much in place and the only ground I lost was I needed to jack up the car again to get the rest of the lug nuts tightened properly.

At this point I was dirty from coming into contact with the tires and drenched in sweat.

All of these efforts were completed and this then led to my sitting at a mall sweaty and bored... It was a nice day and I thought, at a minimum, we should be spending the day outside and in dome close proximity of a body of water.

I was pleased and fortunate to find a lounge in the mall and proceeded to kick back and relax while doing some people watching....

Have a Day

So, here's the thing... I think all life derived from an unfortunate bout that God had with a bad sushi bar.

Basically, you are given some pretty awesome natural resources but, because you are placed in a potentially toxic environment, you are given choices that often lead to spending a long time in rooms with porcelain fixtures. The best that you can really hope for is to learn from the bad mistakes and to find (and carry) some decent reading material for when you make bad ones.

So here I sit...

It was looking like it was going to be a long day. It never bodes well when you return to your cubicle to find someone else (someone you have never met before) sitting there.

The first thing i did was to check the name plate (still my name there) and do a quick reality check... Seems that my department had acquired an intern and since the unit was not expecting me back from the last business trip that early, they had placed this young kid there. Okay, crisis averted but, first problem/question... How do we resolve the seating issue?

The next few minutes, made the first problem even more complex. It seems that the cyber security folks had tracked down the evidence of a Trojan virus to my cubicle. As I was searching the halls for my supervisor, I ran into the security folks who promptly confiscated my laptop. I tried to explain to these wonder kids that I had not even attached my computer to their network yet that day (and that they could/should be seeking out the young intern) but, that wisdom fell on deaf ears.

So, I was asked to accompany the security folks down to their little penalty box while they embarked on a proctology exam of my laptop while I waited on the bench outside the office (visions of sitting outside the principal's office flashed through my brain) I tried again to explain why I was pretty sure that they should be seeking out the new intern but, again this was discounted by the security analyst that "was handling my case."

After about forty five minutes, they had come to the conclusion that the source of this identified virus threat was not my laptop and they released me (to go where?). I decided that since they had been such attentive investigators, I didn't bring up the intern anymore...

I proceeded to (again) seek out my supervisor to attempt to address the seating issue and eventually was told that he left for the day. I then found a conference room and decided to squat there for the balance of the afternoon.

I didn't manage to get a whole lot done but, justified that with the fact that i had been dealing with the other issues. I left that afternoon amidst hearing about this virus threat that is going around the IT department... Gee, I said, I hadn't heard anything about that...

I left for the day and proceeded onto my all too familiar commute home. After merging onto the NYS Thruway, I looked into my rear view mirror to see the flashing lights of the state trooper who was about to be making my acquaintance to the tune of a $100 dollar fine for speeding.

I got home and asked the wife what we were having for supper and she told me that she thought we could go out and try that new sushi bar...

Driving through AR

We took a leisurely drive through a rural stretch of northwestern Arkansas today. We were traveling through the Ozark hills on a divided highway (two lanes in each direction) when I noticed something peculiar. 

Every now and again I would pass a roadsign that appeared to be placed backwards from the perspective of the motorists that were passing them.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that the signs read "Wrong Way, Do Not Enter.". Apparently (based on the sheer number of these signs) this is a big problem in Arkansas.

They must be plagued by a large number of directionly challenged motorists in this state.

Weekends with Jimmy - Part III

I was going through a lot of changes in the first five years after the break up of my first marriage. Getting to spend time with my young son on weekends was cathartic (I think for both of us). It allowed us both to cling to some semblance of our past life while cultivating the on-going father-son relationship that has always been near and dear to my heart.

Our weekends began to take on a familiar pattern after only a very few months. We would meet generally on Saturday morning (sometimes as early as Friday night if that was possible given the schedules of both myself and my ex father-in-law). We would go to the mall and hang around, potentially take in some movie. We would have a grand breakfast on Sunday morning, talk about books, school, computers and computer games (a favorite topic of my son over the first 5-6 years) and then get ready for the ride back down on Sunday afternoon/evening.

As much as I relished the thrill of going to pick him up, I hated to see the end of the weekend come because it seemed that I would just get used to having my son around when I had to say goodbye for five days. The ride back on Sunday evenings was always long and lonely.

He eventually did get enrolled into a private Christian school in the year after I left. His mother and I discussed this and it was decided that we would give it a year to make a decision but she felt pretty strongly that he would do better in a smaller environment.

After about a month of attending this new school, the conversations that cropped up within the car on the way up on Saturday morning began to get interesting.

“Dad do you believe in evolution?”

“Do I believe in….” Okay where the heck is this going?

“Evolution as in all species evolving in time through the use of natural selection and the adaptation of all species to their natural surroundings….?

“ Yeah, I guess…”

“Yes… I guess I believe in evolution. Why do you ask?”

“Well, the kids are calling me Evan.”

“Evan?…” Oh, I think I get it…

“So, this has become a topic of conversation in school?

“Yes.”

“In science class?”

“Well, no but, you see they all seem to think that there is no such thing as evolution. When I try to explain it to them, they laugh at me…”

“You’re kidding….”

“No.”

“Have you brought this up to your mother lately?”

“No…”

“Okay, I give her a call later. Anything else going on in school?”

Weekends with Jimmy - Part II

“I’m not getting along too well with my teacher this year.”  Jimmy said.

“Okay, got that but, if you change schools, you’ll be leaving behind all of your friends in the public school.  Just want to make sure you understand all the implications.”

My son then went on to tell me that he was going to accompany his mother and grandfather next week to some open house at the private school. 

“Which one specifically are we talking about?”  I asked.

“The St. Christian’s Boy’s Academy”…

“A Catholic school?”  Overstating the obvious.

“Yeah, I guess so…”

We had not even taken the step to get my son baptized.  I was curious how that would play out in a Catholic school.  His mom and I discussed religion when he was born and decided that we thought it presumptuous to go through the motions of baptism and other religious sacraments before the child was able to decide for himself what faith, if any, he wanted to pursue.  We felt that our responsibility was to expose him to the choices and let him decide when he was ready.  Here was 8 years later talking about Catholic school (well, actually it was his mom that was talking about Catholic school).

He would eventually make that change in the coming year, which leads to some other interesting developments we might get to in the coming sections of this story.  For now, we’ll go along with the rest of this particular weekend.

We proceeded with the ride up to the capital district of New York and my meager little three-room apartment.  “So, what do you want to do this weekend?”

“Can we go get bagels?”

“Sure.”

My son had fallen in love with a local bagel shop in Troy.  It became a standard ritual either on Saturday or Sunday that we would wind up there and either get a bag of bagels and return to the apartment or we would eat in at the restaurant and talk.  Jimmy also enjoyed the fine array of juices this shop also offered.

As we crunched on the bagel sandwiches, I checked out the areas movie offerings.  It was also a favorite activity of ours to check out a movie on these weekends.  I read off the selection of movies and my son picked one that interested him.

We returned to the apartment to drop off his bag of clothes and his video game console (he rarely traveled anywhere without his console of choice in those days).  We then set out for the local movie theater that was featuring our afternoon’s movie.

The fire

The first I noticed that something was wrong was the sound. Popping and crackling as the insulation around the wires melted and the electrical system shorted out.

Then I looked out our bedroom window and saw flames shoot out the eves of the building across the street. The fire curled cleverly up onto the roof then licked and leaped towards the black night sky.

Then I smelled the smoke. It smelled like the smoke from burning trash in a barrel; the smell of the smoke from burning paper and plastic; a smell that you feel in the back of your throat.

Rhinehook was a small town on the bank of the Hudson river. There was only one Chinese restaurant, a dilapidated hotel, and a small cafe. Next to the cafe was an attached house - it was this house that was on fire now. The Rhinehook firehouse was just 20 yards down the road from the cafe.

I didn't call 911. I was sure that someone had called already. I walked downstairs with my wife and we went out into the square in front of the cafe. There were a lot of people standing around, watching the fire. Their faces were lit by the flames. I was reminded of campfires - quiet, flickering faces staring intently.

Minutes went by, I wondered where the firetrucks were. The house was a blaze now. Just to the right of me I heard someone sobbing and noticed for the first time a young woman wrapped in a blanket. She moaned and yelled out "He's still in there!". I don't know why I thought she was talking about her dog. We had just moved to town and didn't know anyone, certainly didn't know if she even had a dog, or if she had a cat. The next day I found out she had a boyfriend.

Weekends with Jimmy - Part I

I watched him as I pulled into the diner parking lot. He was sitting in the passenger seat of his maternal grandfather’s Lincoln Town car. I took some encouragement when I saw his face light up as he noticed my car approaching their parking space. I waited in my car while he fished his bag out of the backseat and said good-bye to his grandfather.

When he crawled into the car, he was already raring to go with stories of his daring do within his school experiences and of course his ongoing bouts within video games.

He was my eight-year-old son. His mom and I had broken up less than two months ago. I wound up following a job opportunity in a neighboring city that was about 100 miles away from the home that I left. The home that my son and my soon to be ex-wife still lived in. We had mutually arranged for meeting half-way between our two homes on a weekly basis in order to allow my weekend visits with my son.

Because my ex-wife wasn’t keen on driving, she had somehow talked her dad into doing the driving for these visits, which required the two of us to meet once on Saturday morning and once on Sunday evenings every weekend. This pattern would persist for the next 13 years.

The two-hour drives on both weekend days (1/2 of which) afforded me an unfettered captive audience with my son. These encounters would become some of the most treasured and best times within our father / son relationship. These hours of talk would become the means we took to keep each other up to date with what was going in both of our lives and they also afforded me the chance to talk through all of the adolescent problems that my young son would be going through.

I treasured these times. My career became the escape mechanism that I used to not have to deal with the dissolution of my marriage. The damage to my emotional make up coupled with the shake to my ego made the first five years after the breakup very hard to work through. My relationship with my son was the one bit of stability in my life.

My standard workweek with the organizations I was employed in over the first ten years after the breakup averaged around 60 – 70 hours a week. Despite the all-consuming aspects of my career, I devoted every weekend to my son.

“So, dad… this week mom is considering sending me to a different school next year.”

“Oh… why…? ( I was already calculating what this was going to cost me…)

“Well, she thinks that I would do better in a private school.”

“What do you think?” I asked.

Ode to the "Old Professor"

The outlook for the season isn’t brilliant for the Metropolitans on this day

The pitching staff is questionable and Carlos Beltran won’t play (until May)

And when Reyes went out because of Thyroid and Rodriguez’s eye was pink

A pall-like silence fell upon the camp, t’was heard “they’ll drive me to drink 

A straggling few got up to go in what was deep despair.  The rest are heard to say,

“it won’t be as bad as last year.  I’m sure they’ll win.  I’m sure they’ll play.”

They thought “if only Casey could but get a whack at this team.”

Perhaps the ol’ perfessor could find a way to dream.

Casey could tell the fans why there is still hope to find

He could get the team to dare.  He could get them to shine 

Heck, we’d put up even money now.  We would have no doubt.

We’d fill the Citi’s bleachers if Casey was in the dugout.

There was ease in Casey’s manner as he handled all the press.

There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile always on his face.

When the crowd would inevitably cheer he would lightly doff his hat.

No stranger to the New York fans.  Casey’s talent was a fact.

The pitchers would certainly benefit from all the wisdom he could impart.

He saw all the best come and go.  He saw the worst fall apart.

The hitters would have no doubt on when they were to swing.

The players would all know that Casey earned five consecutive rings.

The outcome for the season would surely be sealed “All I ask is that you bust your heiny on that field.”

The Mets would have new direction and purpose, playing the game with renewed vigor and lust

Contending would be certain; winning all would be “a must”

Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,

The band is playing “take me out to the ball game” and all the fans’ hearts are light,

Somewhere championship banners are hung for teams that run the gamut.

There is no joy in Queens this year, Casey Stengel isn’t on the planet.

Valentine's Day 2010

As John Lennon once said, “all you need is love.”  The world may someday come to this same determination but, I think we are more than a few years away from that enlightened state.

Valentine’s Day 2010 find us embroiled in an increased amount of violence in Afghanistan, an increase in the fears of a Iranian nuclear state leading to heightened potential for violence or hostility there.

Our president boldly stated that “We are at war” in reference to Al Qaeda which is not even a recognized nation-state but a network of violence loving terrorists with an agenda that apparently has no clear direction but, has a common denominator of anti-west sentiments.

The world is beset with many problems but, mankind has yet to really rally around a common goal of solving any particular issue but, instead has increasingly taken a stance of isolationist politics and circling the wagons against threats like drug trafficking, cyber warfare and “freedom against terrorism.”   In all cases, the all too easy reaction is a violent one.  We continue to amass military to combat what are really sociological phenomenon.  Violence will only beget violence.  War makes War…nothing else. 

Instead, we should be focused on the problems that are facing all future generations like, global warming, the rising of poverty, over-crowded cities, starvation, diseases with no universal health care in sight and a staggering world economy that has all the ear marks for disaster for future generations to attempt to resolve.

In the meantime, we all should take a cue from James Taylor’s tune and “Shower the people you love with love.”  It could be the one thing that we all can do that will make a difference in the world’s situation.

Fear and Loathing in the 21st Century

If Hunter Thompson attempted to write his ode to the search for the American Dream today, it would look very, very different.  The fable would have to chronicle an ever eroding landscape changing forever the definition of what the dream was all about.

The American Dream has become a different beast in today's world.  It's becoming more and more obvious that our hold on being the dominant society in the world community is facing or has already fallen by the wayside.  Our inability to maintain a culture focused on innovation has led to an almost inevitable shift to more of a service oriented society.  We have become the biggest consumer on the face of the planet.  We are consuming more natural resources and foreign made products than any other nation in the world.  The two phenomena have contributed to our fall in the standings within the world community.

The actions of the leaders of this country in the past decade has also positioned us as being one of the more hated cultures in the world.  Instead of accepting this notion and analyzing the causes, the administrations have adopted a "We're America, we don't care, we don't have to" attitude.  This has only resulted in more resentment and more destabilization in the world community.  It has also led to America becoming less safe as terrorism has continues to evolve and become more international.

The classic American Dream consisted of a home, a good job (subjective) a close-knit nuclear family coupled with all the other characteristics such as:


-   Feeling safe
-  Access to medical care when needed
-  Access to spiritual services
-  Opportunity to work hard, and make progress along the social stratus

All of this has become under attack or has already fallen prey to social pressures.

Our safety was a big deal and one of the primary campaign topics in both the 2000 and 2004 presidential elections.  It was perceived that the democrats were not the best party to assert our safety concerns.  within the world community.  Subsequently, we have ticked off all of our marginal allies and even some of the allies that have been closer to us historically.  in this manner, we not only suffered the worse terrorist attack on our nation but, squandered the event when all of the world's sympathies were with us.  We have failed to find and hold the parties responsible for these actions accountable.  We have instead been distracted.  We've sent billions of dollars and resources to to combat nations that were perceived to be threats based on the most ridiculous of notions (a pre-emptive strike on a perceived threat that was never substantiated).

We have always responded to calamities on foreign soil that were caused by natural causes.  We've responded to casualites of tsunamis, earthquakes, and volcanoes in recent times.  We have not been able to respond in the same fashion and with the same effectiveness to calamity when it's occurred on our own soil and affected our own citizens (Katrina's devastation in New Orleans).  We can't even seem to collaborate on universal health care for own people.

The recent recession has brought to a head the fact that a lot of the jobs that have traditionally been supported within this country have been leaving and leaving at an alarming rate.  Since the focus in this country is treating corporation as almost having the same rights as citizens (when it behooves the corporation), we have allowed them to seek out cheaper labor in other nations while our own citizens have suffered contributing to the growing schism between the classes within this country.

the call

The bell chimes,

the song of the sea rises in my ears.

I keep my eyes closed because the

sound...

creates all the colors of the dawn.

I'm chilled though the temperature isn't the cause.

It's the call of the ocean.

It's the call of the day.

It's calling me home...

Memories Are A Blessing

I wonder sometimes if humans are the only part of nature that contains the capacity for memories.

They are precious and sometimes a curse but regardless they are a common element of the human experience.

We all have them.

They are connections to the past and guidance when making decisions on the future.

Sometimes I have to smile and wonder about some of my more stupid mistakes but it seems that they've led me to where I am today.

I watch how some animals can seemingly adapt to new circumstance, radical changes with what appears to be complacent means to let go of the experience and conditions that were part of their lives only minutes before.

Do they not have memories?

As I get older, I’m both worried and marveling about how my memories seem to serve me well but, that short term stuff is not sticking as well as it used to.

I’ll hang on as well as I can.  As well as I’m allowed to and try to make sense of what is left and what is yet to come.

Crossroads - Part IV

 

 My son’s adjustment to the new living arrangements was about as good as I could have expected.  I would always be filled with “absentee parent guilt” but, I really worked hard to not let my own personal pain impact on our time together.

I truly came to live for those two days a week when I could share some time with my son. 

Once the pattern was in place… we started to work on creating our own memories.  I never wanted to displace memories that he had of his mom, him and I as a family but, I wanted him to be comfortable with the new arrangements. 

In that first year, I was working some insane hours during the week but I was able to hold fast on my assertion that the weekend days were my son’s.  During those days, he was priority #1.

We typically watched a lot of movies, both in theaters and by renting movies at the local video store.  I enjoyed letting him pick and we always discussed both the good and bad with each selection viewed.

In addition, my son was pretty enamored with computers and video games.  He would often bring one of his gaming consoles with him and we would rent games and I would watch him play those games (I’ve never had the patience to take part in these games for very long).

In the fall of that year, I took my first vacation in this new position.  Not having much money or time, we went on an extended road trip through New England and into the Canadian province of Quebec to the city of Montreal.  In all we spent a week and saw some really cool things.  We spent a couple of days lolling on the beach in Rhode Island, we spent a couple of days in Montreal walking around the city and trying to make sense of the signage in the city that was rarely in English.

At the end of that trip, I was seriously depressed when I had to drop him off.  I had been with him exclusively for nine days and was totally used to having him around to talk and share experiences with.

His schoolwork was never garnering great marks but, he was a solid B student for most of his school career up until the breakup.  The next school year, he started to receive a few more C grades but no failing marks.  I was willing to let him slide for a time but continued to harp on the importance of keeping his schoolwork up and always asked if I could help him in any school projects that he might have been assigned.

Things were going rather swimmingly with him and I.  I thought for sure that we might have turned the corner and he was rebounding well from the breakup of his family unit.

That is until we were driving south after a fun weekend around Thanksgiving…

Pain

Sometimes it seems that pain

In some cases, gut wrenching pain

Is comforting.

Especially when you aren’t sure whether you’re still alive

Or

Perhaps wondering whether what you’re seeing (and feeling) is

Real

Or

Not.

He lay against the side of the car

Relaxing his body

Having grown tired of attempting to fight gravity and trying to twist his body so that his

Perception of the world jives with where he thinks the horizon

Lies.

It hurts but at the same time, he’s glad it hurts.

The Beat Goes On...

Looking back on my relationship with my parents, I thought when I was between the age of 15 and 25 I was so much smarter, more sophisticated and more clever than they were.

That perception changed slightly in the next ten years. In that subsequent decade (now that my own child was growing into puberty) they were beginning to look at a lot smarter and more prophetic than I was willing to give them credit for.

By the time I was entering my fifth decade on the planet, they were looking smarter with every passing year.

Now that they are gone... They have become absolutely brilliant.

I can only hope that happens with my relationship with my son.

The beat goes on...

A Fresh Start

A Fresh Start

Clean slate,
Can’t wait.
Starting over
We’ll be moving on
In a totally new manner

All mistakes,
All misdeeds
Are forgiven.
Forget the past
Live in the present

Future is what we make of it.
A chance for renewal,
A chance to make it right.
Isn’t that the promise of every
New
Day?

Changes

Changes

Change is constant.
It’s one of the very few absolutes in this life.

I can’t imagine what the future holds
No one can.

Change is something that needs to become our friend
Not something to be feared
Or avoided
But, embraced.

It’s change that is the carrier for life’s lessons.

The miracles lie within.

Crossroads - Part III

After I established a place to live in this new city, I began to explore my new environ.

I was a tad spooked by the urban characteristics of this new town. I had been born and lived all my life up until that move in a rural setting. It took a while before I was able to sleep well with the new sounds that became part of the everyday soundtrack.

My office was positioned on the street side of an revamped shirt factory. The building was situated about two blocks from a firehouse which also contained an ambulance company depot. It became the norm to hear that siren go off and hear the sound of the ambulance or fire equipment making its way down the avenue towards whatever trouble and duty called.

The weeks were focused entirely on my job responsibilities and at that point in my life, I realized shortly that I relished that focus. It enabled me to let go of the sadness and the emotional blow that the dissolution of my marriage and old life.

The weekends were committed to my son. I made the two hour round trip on either Friday night or Saturday morning to pick him up and repeated the same actions (in reverse) on Sunday evening to return him to his home (my old home). I would come to do this every week for 12+ years (with only a very few exceptions).

The trips to pick up my son were always joyous. My son enjoyed regaling me with what was going on in his life, in his school. We talked about what interested him, what video game currently he was engaged in, what music or book he was currently fixated on.

The trip down on Sunday would include some of those elements but, it was always overshadowed by the fact that I was returning alone. In the first years after the move, I always mourned a little and would feel sorry for myself (to some extent) on that return ride.

The rides themselves were great because at least half of the time, I had his full attention and he had a captive audience. They allowed us two hours of guaranteed “quality time” every weekend. In between the commutes I would try to plan some activities but always allowed my son to dictate the final itinerary for the weekend. We would often end up seeing a movie, eating out, going to some sporting events.

In the first couple of years we both developed a fondness for attending the local minor league baseball teams that were situated in close proximity to my apartment and in the winter months we embraced hockey. There was a minor league franchise that played in the city center. I had never been much of a hockey fan before but, after a few games I began to follow the team and learning more about the game. We were strictly spectators. I had learned early on that my son didn’t really like to participate much in athletics.

When he was younger and became of age for T-ball, I attempted to get my son interested in participating in the local (to his home town) T-ball league. Being a life long baseball fan that was obviously something I was relishing ever since he was born.

Unfortunately (for me) he lost interest, or maybe he never had any, in the sport. He dropped out of the league. Not wanting to be one of those pushy dads that attempt to push his own dreams onto his kid, I let him.

Crossroads - Part II

“Jimmy… your mom and I have to talk to you about something.” The look in his eyes broke my heart.

“You see… um… your mom and I haven’t been getting along to good lately. This happens sometimes after grown ups have been living together for a long time.”

My son was now starting to get upset but, I could tell he was still listening very attentively.

I had to continue even though my heart was breaking and I knew my words were breaking my sons heart as well.

“We have decided to live apart for a while to see if that helps the situation. I’m going to move out and get my own apartment. I want you to come with me today to the area that I’m looking to move to and help your dad find a new place to live.

“Even though I won’t be living here, I’ll continue to see you every weekend. You’ll live with your mom during the week. You’ll come up and see me on the weekends.”

He was now crying.

My soon to be ex-wife was then attempting to console him while she was preparing a small suitcase for him for the weekend.

That first ride up to the Albany area was a rough one. For the first twenty minutes or so, he sat pretty quietly. I think was trying to stifle the tears and to possibly formulate questions. I encouraged him to ask me anything he’d like but, I said a lot of what was going to transpire in the coming months was going to be a work in progress. I wasn’t even sure how this would actually play out.

I wanted to be as honest with my son as I thought he could take.

We looked at two apartment complexes that day before returning to the corporate suite that was currently serving as my temporary base of operations. I was lucky that my current employer was gracious enough to let me stay here for a month until I could complete the move from downstate.

The following day we checked out a couple of other apartments before we had to return for my son to begin his first week without me living at home.

On that return trip, my son had screwed up his nerve to ask me how long this trial separation was supposed to last.

I answered in the most honest fashion I could.

“We don’t know. Right now, we are just setting things up. It’s likely going to take some time before we are able to make any decisions.”

Crossroads

Sometimes, it seems, you instinctively know what path to take when you find yourself at one of life’s crossroads. Sometimes you don’t even recognize that you’re at a crossroads but the anxiety of having to decide between two very appealing directions causes you to pause and reflect before moving on. Time, you figure, and fate will judge whether the path chosen was the best.

I woke up this morning and knew that I was sitting right in the bisection of two divergent pathways and that I needed to make a decision because I’ve put off moving in any direction too long already.

You see, my marriage to a wonderful girl was skidding into a divorce court whether I wanted to believe this or not. I had been working two dead end jobs and really needed to make a change to establish a career in the information technology field. I had been working towards that goal without really acknowledging that this was what I was doing. I had actually garnered a second interview with a technology company in a neighboring city about 100 miles away from my current home and family.

If I was going to make a run at a technology career, this was a golden opportunity. It also was attractive because of the pain I was attempting to contend with in staying in my hometown while attending to the end of the only love affair I’d ever had in my life. Getting out of the town and into a new situation was both appealing and frightening.

In essence, making such a move would be taking on every major stressor in the book. I would, in one fell swoop, be moving into a situation where I would surely be mourning the passing of my marriage. I would be moving away from child, away from my family and my supporting friends. I would be moving to an unfamiliar area, moving from a mostly rural environment to a city, to a new job in a different industry. Couldn’t have planned for a more complete makeover.

It was one of those rare occasions where, as frightening as it appeared, I knew in my heart this was the right move. I didn’t even have to reflect long and hard about the pros and cons. I knew that to stay would be a move that I would come to regret. Moving on would afford me a chance to heal and to begin working towards a new start on many levels.

The roughest part of this decision was going to be moving away from my 8 year old son. I wanted to make sure that he understood the reasons and that I wasn’t going to be leaving his life by a long shot. It was going to be tough, but I was committed to do whatever I had to in order to remain a constant in his life.

The day I sat down with him and his mom to attempt to explain the changes that were going to impact on our family was the roughest and most heart wrenching of experiences. We did take the tact of calling it (what the legal folks called it) a “trial separation” even though I’m pretty sure that both my wife and I knew it was going to be a permanent change.

I made sure that my son had a hand in selecting the apartment that I chose to move to. I assured him at every step that I was going to be there for him no matter what occurred and that he would always have a place wherever I lived.

Key West Vacation - Part IV

During the balance of the week’s stay we relaxed and took in a lot of activities that would not have been possible in any other environ.

We went for a nice long cruise on a glass bottom boat over the coral reef. This featured sipping a very well made set of Margaritas and discussing with several folks on the boat what the best margarita recipe would include. We took a lot of pictures and video to commemorate that afternoon.

We spent time at the roof top pool and bar of our hotel and every night we made our way down to Mallory square to watch the ode to the sunset ceremonies and all of the street musicians and performers that congregate there at that time of day.

We spent a lot of time relaxing on both sides of the island. We strolled through the residential areas and dined out every evening at a different eating establishment.

One of the best of these eating experiences took place at the Finnegan’s Wake Irish Pub. This was a great find and featured classic Irish and British dishes along with fine folk music in the evenings.

Another one that was very memorable was the Conch Republic Seafood Company. This restaurant was located on the gulf side of the island and had a fine view of an impressive marina where there were several catamarans that offered sunset cruises. The restaurant had a wonderful open setting that had some of the best seafood I think I had ever tasted. Having come from the New England region, we were very fussy about any type seafood chowder but this version was awesome.

All too quickly we had to say goodbye to our island paradise and head back to the northeast. It was a great break from our usual lives and I will always treasure this last vacation with my son. It remains one of those special father / son memories (at least for me.)

Travel

When younger, looking to leave the small town of my youth, I pursued many avenues.

My dreams and aspirations were intertwined with destinations and exotic locales.

Seems that I not only wanted to accomplish the goals of my dreams but, I also aspired to see a lot of the world that, for me, was only viewable on TV

or in books

and magazines.

In one of my favorite lyrics from a Harry Chapin tune: "Its got to be the going not the getting there that good." I was sure that my experiences would only be heightened by learning and doing more in all portions of the world.

Now... older

I find that the goals were worthwhile. I achieved some and as I grew up, the goals morphed and changed for a lot of very good reasons. I got opportunities to travel but, only in the confines of my native continent.

A lot of those exotic locales are still only visions that I can glimpse on TV, the Internet or in my books and periodicals.

We all experience some degree of disappointment and disillusionment in our lives. If that's the worst I suffer, it was (and is) a truly blessed life.

Shoreline Sounds

Listening to the water lap up on the shore.

I can hear the wind with the mixture of the sound of gulls

A bell. a single bell chimes probably from some fishing boat that is working

out of my line of sight

just over the horizon.

No other sounds come to my ear
I close my eyes and imagine what this shoreline beach felt like a thousand years ago

When there was no town.

No marina.

No tourists.

When there was no bell.

Key West Vacation - Part III

That first full day in the Keys was a magical day. We finished walking over to the public beach and spent some time relaxing in the tropical sun. Then we took another long, leisurely walk from the beach over to the Hemmingway museum.

Papa Hemmingway was always one of my literary heroes and even though I had seen this museum (which was essentially, the compound that served as his home for the period of his life that he spent in Key West), it served as an enjoyable few hours in our trip. My son, who had previously only been introduced to Hemmingway’s work by a short reading in his high school of the Old man in the Sea, was also suitably impressed.

While in that section of the island, we also visited the lighthouse that stood sentry over the island a couple of blocks from Papa’s home base. We then went over to the southernmost point in the USA to take pictures next to the statue that commemorated that point.

After returning to our hotel, we rested up some from all the walking. I think the exercise worked towards drying us out to some extent from the previous evening’s reverie. After a brief power nap, we arose looking for food.

I decided that we needed to move down towards Mallory Square so that my son could adequately experience his first Key West Sunset celebration.

We stopped off at my favorite place for conch fritters on the way and equipped with the food as fuel, we headed over to Mallory square.

The celebration was almost in full swing when we got there. There were several street performers. We listened to the “Sourthernmost Bagpiper”, saw a sword-swallowing act and listed to a really great (but ragged looking) Reggae singing performer. The Reggae performer timed his closing song, a stirring rendition of the old Harry Belafonte “Island in the Sun”) to coincide with the actual sunset. It was an awesome experience.

After the sunset, the area on Duval street kicked into full swing. We stopped off at Captain Tony’s for a few drinks. We of course took the opportunity to toast to Papa Hemmingway since this was truly his favorite drinking establishment, even though Sloppy Joe’s now owns the original name.

Our trip coincidentally fell during the annual festival commemorating Ernest Hemmingway’s birthday. There were a number of activities going on that evening that were involved in this occasion. We stopped in at Sloppy Joe’s later that evening to witness part of the Ernest Hemmingway look alike contest.

We did turn in rather early (for Key West traditions) that evening but, we were pretty tired.

Sanctuary

It's cold.

The world seems so cold.

We have developed a culture where most interaction with society and our fellow human beings is being disinter-mediated by machines, our cyber presence... Not "in person", face to face. Little physical interaction.

We are becoming hermits. Despite the advances in technology making travel faster and more prevalent, we are developing a culture where the travel to

see,

meet,

and work

with other people is getting discouraged.

It's too expensive.

It's too dangerous.

It's too hard.

Much better to send an e-mail, have a teleconference, use video conferencing technology... instant gratification and then disconnect,

back within the shelter of our home,

our cave,

our sanctuary.

I think man is inherently a social creature and I fear that this change in our natural patterns is causing much of the strife that the world is currently suffering from.

We are too disconnected with the pain and suffering of those that are less fortunate. It doesn't appear to be as horrible because we only see it on the flat screen TV.

We can be involved by sending a few dollars to the guy in the infomercial who says it'll help the starving kids depicted by pictures that are scrolling across the screen. They don't seem real and they certainly aren't anywere close to us.

Guess it's really not our problem but, here take a few bucks and then my conscience will be clear.

Click.

Back into the cave, the sanctuary.

Happy Birthday Elvis!!

Today, is the King of Rock and Roll’s birthday. By the king, I’m of course referring to Elvis Presley, forget about the others that have attempted to lay claim to that distinction… Elvis is, and always will be, The King. He would have become 75 years old, if he was still alive, today.

His all too brief career pretty much changed the entertainment industry in ways that were never before even considered possible.

His appeal reached out to all facets of the music industry. His influence on music is evidenced by almost all popular musical acts that have come after him.

His career spanned four decades. It was meteoric in the 1950s when the call for military service took him across the ocean and away from his fans and career at almost the pinnacle of his popularity.

When he returned from military service, the Colonel, Tom Parker, escalated and changed the direction of his career by getting him involved in the making of Hollywood films. He spent the better portion of this decade making a number of films (most while not garnering a lot of critical acclaim were entertaining and performed well at the box office). Most of these films included numerous opportunities for him to insert musical numbers or at a minimum some supporting music. Unfortunately, there was little music production outside of the movie production during this portion of his carreer.

Towards the tail end of the decade, Elvis retuned to making live musical appearances beginning with a wildly popular television special in 1968. This was called by many as his “comeback’ performance.

During the last decade of his career (and his life) his career took yet another turn. He concentrated almost exclusively on music and performing. He almost single handedly recharged the Las Vegas entertainment scene. He performed almost exclusive in Las Vegas during the 1970s foregoing the more common practice among musical performers of touring. His shows were phenomenally popular in this city famous for spectacle.

In his career, he performed in 33 successful films, made several historical television appearances and specials., sold over 1 billion records, was nominated for 14 Grammy nominations (3 wins) and was awarded the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award.

Because he died at such a young age (42), it’s hard to imagine how he would look today. More importantly, it will always be a curiosity and speculation of what he might have accomplished and the music he might have produced had he not been taken from us back on August 16, 1977.

Key West Vacation - Part II

We checked into the hotel and did a fairly intensive pub-crawl that first night getting back to the room at around 1:00 am.

It seems my kid can drink...he held his own and was able to walk under his own steam the final block and a half after our last stop on the crawl that evening....

He had lost his capacity for intelligible speech during our stay at the third bar we went to (the world famous Sloppy Joe's) at around 10:00 pm and I believe was on auto pilot while we listened to the band at the last stop on our crawl, a club called Fogerty's, on Duval Street.

Upon waking the next day, I expected (and was not disappointed) to have a world-class hangover to contend with. Anyway, I peeled my tongue from the roof of my mouth, showered and dressed and made my way down to Starbuck's to kill time while waiting on my son to rise.

The weather was the usual gorgeous down island. I am always impressed by the beautiful combination of water, weather and easy manner in which the native folk in this city conduct their day-to-day affairs.

After finishing up with the latte, I made my way back upstairs in the hotel to see if my son had awakened yet. It turns out he was still sawing wood in his bed. I put together a note and told him I was headed down to the marina. If he woke up, he could call my cell or wander down to the marina (about three blocks from the hotel).
At the marina, I took up a position at an outdoor bar and started in with a couple of rounds of mimosas. I asked if there was any place to get food but, the barmaid said that the only place she knew that was serving breakfast was either in one of the area hotel restaurants or a small diner about three blocks over from the marina on the Gulf side of the island.

I decided to skip the solid food and go with more juice until my son could join me.

The view from the marina on this particular morning was fantastic. It was about 80 degrees at 8:00 and I knew that by noon, it was going to get pretty sticky. At that hour, there were very few folks wandering around that were true tourists. Most of them (I imagined) were either folks that decided not to go to bed, insomniacs or locals.

I enjoyed the quiet and the sunshine. The barmaid and I shared a couple of stories. Seems she was a Midwest girl initially and moved down to the islands two years ago after a vacation stay that never ended. She was the youngest of five kids and had led a pretty sheltered life back on her dad’s farm in Omaha.

When my cell phone rang, I knew it was son. He asked if I could bring him back some food and wasn’t up to facing life outside of the hotel room right now. I told him to go back to bed and that I would retrieve some caffeine and some food and bring it back to him within the next hour.

After our “breakfast”, we decided to take a walk over to the Atlantic side of the island to the large public beach and just say hi to the ocean for a few minutes. Along the way we purchased some essentials that we had forgotten to pack for the trip. Neither of us had thought to bring sunglasses or sunblock.

Key West Vacation - Part I

My son and I were on our way to a long promised trip to Key West.

Back in the mid 1990’s, I found myself between jobs and badly in need of some degree of decompression time. I managed to secure a week off between jobs and booked a trip to Key West. It was the first (and thus far the only) time that I actually did a vacation alone as an adult. My son, who was 11 years old at the time, didn’t understand why Dad wanted to take this trip without him. I was a weekend parent due to a divorce three years earlier and would always be sensitive to the absentee parent guilt trip.

I promised my son at that time that when he was old enough (meaning 21), I would take him to Key West as it was more fun to go there as an adult. My truthful assessment at the time… so, here we are a decade later and I’m making good on that long ago promise.

The first two flights went off with nary a hitch.....

Then we got to Miami....

We had a scheduled layover of just under an hour.... We picked up a bite to eat...( The orange peel and two pretzel sticks they gave us on the previous three hour flight had worn off) and proceeded to our gate ten minutes ahead of our "boarding time" - 2:45pm

We met our fellow castaways; the professor and the Howell's were there already.....

Total manifest included five passengers that were scheduled to fly out on a 9 passenger capacity stick of gum with a wing nut and rubber band serving as propulsion....

The highly efficient "chatty Cathy's" that were manning the gate podium we're engaged in a tense debate about the relative merit's of "Rosalita's Ninos...." and apparently didn't make an association that time to board the plane had come and gone. This would explain why all five of us had visited the podium with questions about the status of the flight.

The gate attendants (Chatty Cathy’s both) finally thought it best to make an announcement over the PA system. This, of course, resulted in a debate on who should make the announcement....

The scene being made all the more superfluous because all five passengers are now staring bullet holes through their skulls standing not ten feet away from the podium where this nonsensical debate was taking place.

Anyway... the story that was relayed to the passengers was that the flight was delayed because "the crew" was "tied up" in Customs.

I knew the lucky streak was bound to end at some point.

So we sat.... I did ask why the "tying up” at customs of the crew members wasn't factored into their scheduling and after a little gnashing of teeth, they added "well the flight was late getting back from Cuba."

We were then visited by three large uniformed law enforcement officers with handguns and several stern looking suits who proceeded to confer with the "Chatty Cathy's" (in Spanish of course) about the status of flight 9130.... (A small sigh of relief because our flight was 9131).

The arrival of the cops with the flaunting of high callipered weapons did create a bit more space at the podium because the five passengers all decided to back off about ten paces.
I started investigating car rental avenues at this point.

Well about an hour and a half later, the skipper and his first mate Juan and Carlos (dubious position unrevealed) were sprung from Customs and we were finally on our way to Key West.