Drew got his degree yesterday. He had some bumps along the road, but he dug in, worked like hell (the way he always does) and brought me to the edge of tears watching him walk up in the procession to the stage. Every day I think about it and every day I cannot fathom how incredible my children are. How far they have come, how they have managed to not just survive but overcome some really low points at critical times of their formative years. I regret every nano second where I was so wrapped up in my own emotional depths that I was physically present, and always "provided" but was so distant that I have to thank them for propping me up and getting me through those times. Maybe that's why it's so emotional now, and maybe why I'm so damn proud that I feel like bursting. Add on to all of this a soon to be "third" child, Vicki, Drew's fiance who has been so good for him that I can't thank her enough either.
Andrew, congratulations on your degree!!, Kate, Andrew and Vicki, thanks for making me so proud and for reminding me what it is to be loved.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Full Circle
I found, when growing up (which, of course, would imply that I've grown up when really I'm still in the process), that my relationship with my father was complicated, bordering on the mysterious. As a toddler and pre-teen, he was everything, we'd play catch, we'd swim, he would, as much as his hideous shift work bus driving schedule would allow, spend as much time with me as possible. When I discovered golf at the age of 13, he took it up about a year later. We spent a lot of time together in cars, in the pre-dawn hours, driving to various golf courses where we'd joke, play (badly most of the time) and again, just spend time. I still remember vividly his shot at the 14th hole at Clearview in Queens. It was a par 3, he had a favorite club, a five iron he bought from Korvettes sporting goods department, not knowing when he bought it, it was from a woman's set of clubs that had been broken apart to sell, he loved using that club. He hit the tee shot as well as hit anything, it majestically sailed into the air and we heard it plunk down against the bottom of the flag. As luck would have it, it plunked "out" not in, and even when he removed the flag, the ball stayed out of the cup, cheating him out of what would have been his only hole in one ever. We all laughed, (gave him a 2 on the scorecard), and continued on.
He is also responsible for my love of baseball. I remember watching him play in a bus company softball league as a very young boy, with a glove the likes of which you can only see at Cooperstown now, (and boy do I wish I had held onto it over the years). I also remember the night he came home from work,came to the park where I was playing (I believe I was 8 years old at the time) and showed me the two tickets he had for a Yankee game. I was glowing. We only had black and white tv so when I got to the stadium and we finally saw the field in full color, my eyes flew open and I don't think, ever closed. (to this day, when I listen to a game on the radio, THAT is the field that is in my mind's eye). He allowed me one souvenir, I chose a Yogi Berra pin with a ribbon and a "bronze" bat and ball hanging from it. (THAT I still have!!) and we watched every inning of a 5-0 Yankee loss where Luis Aparicio, the shortstop of the from then on hated Orioles stole bases at will from my beloved Yogi, and seemed to single handedly take the game from the Yankees. After the game we walked out on the field (well, I was floating over it), past the monuments and out the Yankee bullpen. (you were allowed to do that back in "the day"), and took the D-train home.
High School and College followed and put fissures in the relationship. So very much time was wasted with disagreements. Far too stupid and far too many to list here. My children then came along, and with them, a renewed closeness. He was the grandfather that everyone would love to have. He helped me buy then paint my first house, sleeping on the floor for a few days so he could do the work while I was at work. He was diagnosed with lung cancer in early 1993, the victim of very bad HMO medical coverage that had missed it much earlier we found out much too late. We had the opportunity to spend time that spring, though by then his oxygen tank was his constant companion. I will never forget our last walk together, about an hour or so around the local streets in Trumbull, joking, reminiscing, settling all business that seemed to have gone unsaid for a ages.
I will also not forget saying goodbye to him as he was in a coma in Calvary Hospice in the Bronx, he seemed to be hanging on and after a while I just said to him, "it's ok to go if you want". We got the call about 8 hours later that he had passed.
Now as my own children age and make me more proud each day, I see what all the hub-bub is about. I never got the chance to tell him I understood and I appreciated all that he put aside for me because I don't think I ever really understood it myself until it was too late. "I was young and I didn't know what to do when I saw your best steps stolen away from you", funny enough the Bruce song that came on the radio ("Walk Like a Man" is the title) as I was driving to the funeral home to make his final arrangements. It still gets me 17 years later.
Dad, thank you, I love you, and I'll always miss you.
He is also responsible for my love of baseball. I remember watching him play in a bus company softball league as a very young boy, with a glove the likes of which you can only see at Cooperstown now, (and boy do I wish I had held onto it over the years). I also remember the night he came home from work,came to the park where I was playing (I believe I was 8 years old at the time) and showed me the two tickets he had for a Yankee game. I was glowing. We only had black and white tv so when I got to the stadium and we finally saw the field in full color, my eyes flew open and I don't think, ever closed. (to this day, when I listen to a game on the radio, THAT is the field that is in my mind's eye). He allowed me one souvenir, I chose a Yogi Berra pin with a ribbon and a "bronze" bat and ball hanging from it. (THAT I still have!!) and we watched every inning of a 5-0 Yankee loss where Luis Aparicio, the shortstop of the from then on hated Orioles stole bases at will from my beloved Yogi, and seemed to single handedly take the game from the Yankees. After the game we walked out on the field (well, I was floating over it), past the monuments and out the Yankee bullpen. (you were allowed to do that back in "the day"), and took the D-train home.
High School and College followed and put fissures in the relationship. So very much time was wasted with disagreements. Far too stupid and far too many to list here. My children then came along, and with them, a renewed closeness. He was the grandfather that everyone would love to have. He helped me buy then paint my first house, sleeping on the floor for a few days so he could do the work while I was at work. He was diagnosed with lung cancer in early 1993, the victim of very bad HMO medical coverage that had missed it much earlier we found out much too late. We had the opportunity to spend time that spring, though by then his oxygen tank was his constant companion. I will never forget our last walk together, about an hour or so around the local streets in Trumbull, joking, reminiscing, settling all business that seemed to have gone unsaid for a ages.
I will also not forget saying goodbye to him as he was in a coma in Calvary Hospice in the Bronx, he seemed to be hanging on and after a while I just said to him, "it's ok to go if you want". We got the call about 8 hours later that he had passed.
Now as my own children age and make me more proud each day, I see what all the hub-bub is about. I never got the chance to tell him I understood and I appreciated all that he put aside for me because I don't think I ever really understood it myself until it was too late. "I was young and I didn't know what to do when I saw your best steps stolen away from you", funny enough the Bruce song that came on the radio ("Walk Like a Man" is the title) as I was driving to the funeral home to make his final arrangements. It still gets me 17 years later.
Dad, thank you, I love you, and I'll always miss you.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Jonathan Swift once wrote...
"Man is never so contemplative as when he is at stool". Frankly I beg to differ. Vacation, late night and a quiet, serene, comfortable home certainly wins when it comes to contemplation. Why do we do what we do? Why do we enjoy what we enjoy? What makes me happy? What makes me sad, anxious, worried, scared? Looking back at the last 40 or so years, have the choices I've made been worthwhile, have I made a difference? Would I do it all over again if I could? Would I make the same choices? Have I given my children a foundation to make choices in their lives, or did I just give them controlled chaos and leave their fates to the winds of fortune or luck? Is this ride, as short as it is, a great ride or just an endless loop of ups and downs? What about when the ride ends, does it really end or does it just change shape? I have no idea on any of these things, but I sure am chewing on them in the quiet of the night.
I miss the night. There was a time where I rarely went to bed before midnight. I used to work, or read or listen to music, or just fret. Now the first real conscious effects of "getting old" have to do with sleep. If I don't get enough, if I stay up late and have to work the next day, I'm a mess. I'm tired, yawning, crabby, curt, and generally not pleasant. The world seems to spin so very much more quickly without these extra hours at night. I somehow felt more alive with longer days, now I feel the "grind". Get up, work, go to second job, come home, go to bed, do it all over again the next day. This is why I cherish this vacation thing, just the luxury of being able to stay up well past my new "bedtime". This alone makes me feel young again, no matter that it's just temporary (only 4 more days this week actually, but who's counting?).
Once upon a time the day still had a long way to go when, on the radio, (WNEW-FM 102.7) would come the ethereal voice....“The flutter of wings, the shadow across the moon, the sounds of the night, as the Nightbird spreads her wings and soars, above the earth, into another level of comprehension, where we exist only to feel. Come, fly with me, Alison Steele, the Nightbird, at WNEW-FM, until dawn.”
The music would play in the background, sometimes on the radio next to my bed, sometimes I would listen through the night while reading or working.
Alison Steele died of stomach cancer in 1995, aged 58. I'll be 58 in August of this year. Sorry Mr. Swift, man is never so contemplative as when he is alone, late at night, in his home.
I miss the night. There was a time where I rarely went to bed before midnight. I used to work, or read or listen to music, or just fret. Now the first real conscious effects of "getting old" have to do with sleep. If I don't get enough, if I stay up late and have to work the next day, I'm a mess. I'm tired, yawning, crabby, curt, and generally not pleasant. The world seems to spin so very much more quickly without these extra hours at night. I somehow felt more alive with longer days, now I feel the "grind". Get up, work, go to second job, come home, go to bed, do it all over again the next day. This is why I cherish this vacation thing, just the luxury of being able to stay up well past my new "bedtime". This alone makes me feel young again, no matter that it's just temporary (only 4 more days this week actually, but who's counting?).
Once upon a time the day still had a long way to go when, on the radio, (WNEW-FM 102.7) would come the ethereal voice....“The flutter of wings, the shadow across the moon, the sounds of the night, as the Nightbird spreads her wings and soars, above the earth, into another level of comprehension, where we exist only to feel. Come, fly with me, Alison Steele, the Nightbird, at WNEW-FM, until dawn.”
The music would play in the background, sometimes on the radio next to my bed, sometimes I would listen through the night while reading or working.
Alison Steele died of stomach cancer in 1995, aged 58. I'll be 58 in August of this year. Sorry Mr. Swift, man is never so contemplative as when he is alone, late at night, in his home.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Every once in a while the right guy wins.
I love sports. It is the ultimate in reality television. Unlike episodic or comedy or "reality tv" where in either 26 or 56 minutes all the angst or all the fun is fully and carefully resolved, sports provides an arena where sometimes the "hated" opponent (see Boston V. NY 2004) prevails. Sometimes even in individual sports the "not so nice" (see Ilie Nastase) rises up to win.
Sometimes "sports" is overtaken by the "sportscasters" or just news stories, (see Tiger Woods 2009-current) where someone so talented does something so reprehensible that they become the story not the event and not the competition. I was a huge Mickey Mantle fan, and yet, Mickey was the Tiger Woods of his day in terms of personal life, maybe even worse, he just preceded the Twitter/TMZ/E-media days. To his credit, just before his passing, he held a press conference where he did say, clearly from his heart, "don't be like me". But it did take illness and age for him to get there.
Today, Phil Mickelson won the Masters. He won in dramatic fashion, hitting shots that are reminiscent of those Kevin Costner's character was unable to pull off in the movie, but he was able to do it. He completely erased the stigma of his collapse at the US Open in Winged Foot. He blasted out of the pine straw, under the trees, over the creek to land on the compelling 13th hole when he could have put the ball in the water and just been another lovable loser. This past year, Phil's young wife Amy and his Mom both battled breast cancer. Through it all, Phil was pleasant and accommodating to the galleries and the media. He took time off to be with his family, but when he played it was not days and days of legendary coverage. He just played. Amy's treatments have gone well but have not been easy, yet he played and did interviews, and didn't complain.
Today, he bested Tiger Woods, he put his head down, and played as well as he can play, all the while bumping fists and taking the chances that gave him the occasional (not too flattering nickname) Phil the Thrill. And at the end, he hugged his faithful caddy companion Jim, and with tears in his eyes, first Amy and then his three daughters none of whom will likely every have to read a discouraging word about their dad.
Sometimes the right guy just wins, and when it happens you can't help but feel that positive things do happen to good people.
Sometimes "sports" is overtaken by the "sportscasters" or just news stories, (see Tiger Woods 2009-current) where someone so talented does something so reprehensible that they become the story not the event and not the competition. I was a huge Mickey Mantle fan, and yet, Mickey was the Tiger Woods of his day in terms of personal life, maybe even worse, he just preceded the Twitter/TMZ/E-media days. To his credit, just before his passing, he held a press conference where he did say, clearly from his heart, "don't be like me". But it did take illness and age for him to get there.
Today, Phil Mickelson won the Masters. He won in dramatic fashion, hitting shots that are reminiscent of those Kevin Costner's character was unable to pull off in the movie, but he was able to do it. He completely erased the stigma of his collapse at the US Open in Winged Foot. He blasted out of the pine straw, under the trees, over the creek to land on the compelling 13th hole when he could have put the ball in the water and just been another lovable loser. This past year, Phil's young wife Amy and his Mom both battled breast cancer. Through it all, Phil was pleasant and accommodating to the galleries and the media. He took time off to be with his family, but when he played it was not days and days of legendary coverage. He just played. Amy's treatments have gone well but have not been easy, yet he played and did interviews, and didn't complain.
Today, he bested Tiger Woods, he put his head down, and played as well as he can play, all the while bumping fists and taking the chances that gave him the occasional (not too flattering nickname) Phil the Thrill. And at the end, he hugged his faithful caddy companion Jim, and with tears in his eyes, first Amy and then his three daughters none of whom will likely every have to read a discouraging word about their dad.
Sometimes the right guy just wins, and when it happens you can't help but feel that positive things do happen to good people.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Rotational Relevance
Some days the world seems to spin in slow motion, then there are days where it seems like the world is spinning so fast it is trying to shove you off its edge as if you have fulfilled whatever usefulness you might once have had. These last few days seem like the latter. My head is filled with thoughts of things to do, how to actually get them done, what I want to do, what I don't want to do and finally what I need to do. Notice nowhere in here is there any mention of fun or joy or breathless anticipation, just seemingly unstated apprehension. How did this happen?
I'm getting ever closer to having my second hip replaced. A surgery that I now don't fear, but instead, am anticipating, if not breathlessly, at least with the knowledge that it will not only relieve me of this annoying pain and immobility. I'm pretty healthy, I just met with a retirement counselor who laid out the next couple of years and it looks for all the world that whistle will actually blow on the "5 O'Clock World" for me in the next few years and really then no one will own a piece of my time at any time during the day. Yet, melancholy, and apprehension are my constant companions. I feel as if I am running parallel to the life I want to live, that I can reach out and touch parallel "me" but the real me is not having a lot of fun.
Susan is going to have an Estro-Fest tomorrow and I am running away to MGM-Grand with the lovely Kate, my soon to be 30 year old daughter (no, I'm not that old, that's parallel "me" who's that old, I'm still just barely old enough to get into the casino!!). Nice dinner at Craftsteak, with any luck at all, enough winnings to cover the trip. Regardless, maybe the world will spin in sync with the fun side of the weekend.
It is, after all, just all relative.
I'm getting ever closer to having my second hip replaced. A surgery that I now don't fear, but instead, am anticipating, if not breathlessly, at least with the knowledge that it will not only relieve me of this annoying pain and immobility. I'm pretty healthy, I just met with a retirement counselor who laid out the next couple of years and it looks for all the world that whistle will actually blow on the "5 O'Clock World" for me in the next few years and really then no one will own a piece of my time at any time during the day. Yet, melancholy, and apprehension are my constant companions. I feel as if I am running parallel to the life I want to live, that I can reach out and touch parallel "me" but the real me is not having a lot of fun.
Susan is going to have an Estro-Fest tomorrow and I am running away to MGM-Grand with the lovely Kate, my soon to be 30 year old daughter (no, I'm not that old, that's parallel "me" who's that old, I'm still just barely old enough to get into the casino!!). Nice dinner at Craftsteak, with any luck at all, enough winnings to cover the trip. Regardless, maybe the world will spin in sync with the fun side of the weekend.
It is, after all, just all relative.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Displaced
So we got home Saturday night after a harrowing drive back from a fun St. Pat's day dinner at St. Clement's Castle in Portland, CT courtesy of the senior Sloans to find a police car blocking both ends of our road and to find out we had no power. Had the advantage of my mini electric battery pack for my sleep machine that night, but woke up to still no power Sunday morning. We had no idea how extensive the damage was to that point. Sunday morning, while going for coffee and bagels I got a chance to see how surreal it was and got a chance to see, up close and personal, the massive tree that had fallen and taken out the power lines on the road. At Sue's urging I made a reservation at a hotel early on Sunday, and was lucky to get it as by noon on Sunday all the hotels were sold out as far north as Fairfield.
We spent the next three nights in the hotel and that gave me pause to think how displaced and out of sorts I felt, even though the hotel room was very comfortable, had internet access, a hi def large, flat screen TV, microwave, fridge, heat, AC, comfortable bed and nice shower. It made me feel fortunate to be experiencing this inconvenience (and that's all it turned out to be) where in a few days all was back up to speed, we were all healthy, no damage had been done to the house, save one large fence gate pulled out of the ground, and the cats were able to stay at home as the coldest the house ever got was 56 degrees, chilly, I'll admit, but by no means dangerous.
My heart really goes out to the folks in New Orleans who years later are still living in FEMA trailers, some of whom, (maybe many of whom) will never see their homes or possessions again. Next time you complain about something, put it in the perspective of the larger picture and, if you are like we were, feel lucky that a small blip on the radar is exactly that, a small blip on the radar. (and yes, I am looking into a generator as soon as things settle down a bit :)
Onwards and Upwards!!
We spent the next three nights in the hotel and that gave me pause to think how displaced and out of sorts I felt, even though the hotel room was very comfortable, had internet access, a hi def large, flat screen TV, microwave, fridge, heat, AC, comfortable bed and nice shower. It made me feel fortunate to be experiencing this inconvenience (and that's all it turned out to be) where in a few days all was back up to speed, we were all healthy, no damage had been done to the house, save one large fence gate pulled out of the ground, and the cats were able to stay at home as the coldest the house ever got was 56 degrees, chilly, I'll admit, but by no means dangerous.
My heart really goes out to the folks in New Orleans who years later are still living in FEMA trailers, some of whom, (maybe many of whom) will never see their homes or possessions again. Next time you complain about something, put it in the perspective of the larger picture and, if you are like we were, feel lucky that a small blip on the radar is exactly that, a small blip on the radar. (and yes, I am looking into a generator as soon as things settle down a bit :)
Onwards and Upwards!!
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Parenting...
You don't need a license to be a parent. There certainly are no pre requisites, The time is never right, there are always other things to do. Over the years you may shake your head and wonder what you were thinking. You may wonder how you can have learned so little from your own growing up or how you thought you knew so much and find out how little and how under prepared you really are/were for all that comes with this most important of things.
Then there are those moments that stand out as magic. Sometimes they are small, like a little card, or a flower when least expected, or a trip to see you in a hospital when you know they've had incredibly long days themselves and you know you are not at your best and certainly not a glib conversationalist. Or a comment attached to a posted picture that says something like "I'm sure we took this yesterday" when, in fact, it was near three decades earlier. Or maybe just a call on the run to check in, when you, yourself (the parent) have not done that to them in what seems like forever. Or the pride they have in themselves for surprising themselves on a recent effort, or a promotion, or finishing 13.1 miles after only a very short time training. Maybe it's just a smile, maybe it's just knowing they're there.
Being a parent is an unbalanced scale, but I would not have given up any of the difficulties if with that I would have had to give up even one of those other moments. It's been a great few days!!
Then there are those moments that stand out as magic. Sometimes they are small, like a little card, or a flower when least expected, or a trip to see you in a hospital when you know they've had incredibly long days themselves and you know you are not at your best and certainly not a glib conversationalist. Or a comment attached to a posted picture that says something like "I'm sure we took this yesterday" when, in fact, it was near three decades earlier. Or maybe just a call on the run to check in, when you, yourself (the parent) have not done that to them in what seems like forever. Or the pride they have in themselves for surprising themselves on a recent effort, or a promotion, or finishing 13.1 miles after only a very short time training. Maybe it's just a smile, maybe it's just knowing they're there.
Being a parent is an unbalanced scale, but I would not have given up any of the difficulties if with that I would have had to give up even one of those other moments. It's been a great few days!!
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