Worries - A Vanishing Act

The following entry was written yesterday, August 27, and is being posted today.

The location is different, half ay across the country, but the view is
similar as I sit at a computer (two screens in front of me), staying
current with the office work (as I have become a problem addresser and
hopefully, solver) and looking out of a large window at the beautiful
green leaves (this time almost motionless as there seems to be no
breeze. I am not discontent with the situation for it is quiet and
unrushed, there is an opportunity for successful resolution of issues
that, in this instance, I did not create. Of course, I am certainly
mindful of the numerous situations both minor and major that I create
through wrong decisions, inattentiveness or any of the other causes of
these situations. WE all are human, but it does not make dealing with
mistakes better - it simply is a reality of life and we have to decide
how we will approach the situations.

Recently, I read a piece about a father whose daughter was distraught
over a certain situation. The father suggested that his daughter
write down all of the "things' that were troubling her (relationships
with friends, a poor test result, other problems) and place the list
in a sealed envelope to be opened in two weeks. At the end of the two
week period, the envelope was opened and the list was read. The
result? he list fell into two categories with one being items that
had been resolved (either in the ordinary course or with the
attention of the daughter) and the other being items that remained
unresolved but were not of any significant consequence (or, put
another way, not worth making oneself sick over).

This story can serve as a good reminder (as it does as I write it)
that there are few situations in life that rise "tragic level".
Moreover, there are lessons that ring true in this regard. One of my
favorites is paraphrased as follows: Give me the wisdom and strength
to accept that which I cannot change, to take the actions to change
that which is within my control, and to know the difference between
the two. Another is the childhood admonition "Don't cry over spilled
milk" which really should continue "simply wipe it up or let the cat
enjoy the treat"

Writing this journal entry also calls to mind the time in my early
20's as I stood outside of my efficiency apartment in University City.
For a bit of biographical perspective, at the time, I had graduated
from Washington University in three years (although I don't know what
motivated me to do so since there were so many learning opportunities
I missed), and I was working part time loading trucks on the midnight
shift at Roadway Express and substitute teaching (which led to a
wonderful all too short teaching career and a meeting with Debbie, my
best friend-wife so I guess from the early graduation "mistake", I
ended up with very sweet and tasty lemonade). The efficiency was the
first time I had lived entirely "on my own". In the apartment below
me was an elder lady whose name I can't recall, but I do remember that
there were many opportunities for me to assist her and, in doing so,
both help someone else and create a good personal feeling (like so
many other situations, both can happen and be one of the multiple
sources of the action), In any event, the purpose of this story is
that I remember standing outside of my building, next to my little
blue Opel station wagon, looking up at my apartment window, thinking
about something (long lost) was bothering me at the time.

And, I remember having an epiphany (though I may not have known that word at the time) that whatever was bothering me then would be of no import at some point in the future. I remember thinking in terms of 10 or 20 years (a time period long since passed), but the concept was the same. So, there I was, with an important life lesson in hand, which like the wonders of the ancient world, that lesson is lost from time to time, only to be rediscovered (we hope) at various times throughout life until it is fully incorporated into who we are and how we want to live.

Wisconsin Memories

The following was written on August 27, but is being posted today.

I pulled into Chadbourne's drive
Biking all the way
Families moving children in
On a gorgeous Wisconsin day

And if I remember the day just right
It was six years ago
We were moving Becky in
To start the freshman show

Now the years have gone by so much has changed
Yet so much stays the same
We're back at U W
Becky's starting the grad school game.

What will the years bring to her
And to all of the rest of us
Thankfully being in contact is easier
With the electronic wired age helping much

So we wish her well and will speak often
And see her on our computers
We will make it work as we need to do
Even though she won't be our Providence commuter

You see we've got us a special daughter
A one in the kind according to me
This is a beginning not an end
Now we will see what we see

And as I pulled out of Chadbourne's drive
Thinking about that six year ago day
I guess I realized once again
We're simply moving along life's way.

The days will go and years pass by
The settings like seasons change
I'll shed a tear with a smile on my face
Knowing that our lives constantly rearrange.

So much has passed in our lives
So much more awaits us in the years to come
We just have to remember to appreciate all we have
To enjoy our life's journey at a walk not a run.

The Road of Life

The following was written on August 25, but is being posted today.

Sometime, it feels good to start writing without having any idea where the process will lead. That is the case today as I sit on a plane starting the vacation part of a two week vacation. The vacation "officially" started a week agon but it was an unsuccessful beginning as work (a few hours each day) and family (a few hours each of the last few days as part of the search team for Michael, Al's dog).

As we cruise along at 37,000 feet above the earth, looking down on wispy clouds and then billowing white cotton puffs, I realize that I have no understanding of how far up we really are nor am I sure that it matters for the goals are safe take-offs and safer landings. In this situation, the importance of where and how you start is more important than the journey. However, in most situations, I believe (and always advise my children) that the journey is the key element of any trip and this includes the trip of life. We all know where life begins (give or take a few months depending on how one answers "when does life begin") and that life will end (at least this life depending on one's thoughts about reincarnation and afterlifes) so the question is how one will take life's journey, but this has been written about more eloquently than I will be able to do (read for example, The Dash) so I will leave this topic for now after one more thought.

Life is Like a Road

The road of life was created
With techniques we will never understand
Seemingly endless it stretches out before us
As we try to look ahead and make a life travel plan.

But the plan is not always easy to make
For life is not laid out for Google or MapQuest
Or with available guides showing alternative routes
All we can do is read the signs that we see and do our best.

The Accidental Comb Over

Written on August 26, but posted today.

I am not sure as to whether I wrote about this subject before, but if
so, it is apparently one that is of interest to me.

A few weeks ago, I was looking in the mirror as I combed my hair, just
as I do every morning, and I decided to use a hand held mirror to "see
the view from the top". To say the least, I was shocked by the degree
to which my hairline had receded. When had this occurred. I checked
my hairline with my hand regularly to make sure that the hair started
just at the two bone bumps on my forehead. As noted before, I looked
at myself every morning and, although the hair was thinner, it still
was in all of the same places. How could I have missed the change.
The pictures of me also did not reveal the procession of hairs
deserting the home and nourishment that I had provided. What had I
done wrong. (This is not to say that the loss of hair is bad or a
negative, but just the surprise of realizing what is taking place
right above my eyes.)

As it turns out, my assumption of the way I looked was based on a
front view at eye level. From that viewpoint, all looked to be in
order for the straight shot gives the personal viewer the best
picture, but not the real picture. To get the real picture, one needs
to view the site (of the desertion) from a multitude of angles,
heights and directions. Once I saw some of those different views, I
began to change the personal picture of my self that I have in my
mind. It is not better or worse, for it is what it is and hairloss
is not something that I am willing to focus on other than for the
amazement that I experience in reformulating my view. It is simply
different.

I was discussing my discovery with Daniel the other day and he was
surprised that I had not realized how I looked. When I asked his
"opinion" of the look (meaning the recent loss hair), he said that he
was used to the look as it had been that way for a long time. Boy dod
my boy make me think oh boy - I was the only one that was clueless.

I now understand how men end up with combovers and how they seem to be
the only ones that don't know how bad they look. First, it is often a
gradual process, changing the part line by a hairwidth at a time.
Second, the view of the infamous combover to whcih the rest of
humanity is treated or. perhps better put, is required to tolerate in
silence, simply is not the same view as the violator of good taste. I
suppose that this is the same for the man who wears a toupee (hair
piece, partial wig, hair extension, rug or skulldugery cover, etc.).
It is all in the point of view.

Thought for the Day: If the way in which people look at themselves in
the mirror provides only a limited view, then all the more so is our
personal picture based on the way in which look at our lives - words,
actions, relationships - and we need to get beyond the sraight on,
evel perspective to gain a full understanding of who we are and how we
are viewed by others. There are many ways to do this starting with
self-examination and reflection. How do we think our lives and
choices are viewed by others and how do we view othes when hey take
similar actions? What reactions are we seeing from those with whom we
interact and what reactions would be expect from those impacted by our
actions or inaction? What do people who have written about life
actions and choices said about similar matters? What do people who
work with people on these matters (therapists, clergy, counselors,
etc) have to offer? In the end, the key is to seek out numerous
perspectives and to develop a fuller and more accuate understanding of
the person we are, and to identify the person we want to be.

I was move to serious thought when I was reading about some different
conceptions of heaven and hell. The one that interested me the most
was the concept of an eternal existence in which each moment of our
life was played back to us from all of the different perspectives -
those who witnessed the moment, those who were impacted by the moment,
and so on - an out of body perspective. With that in mind, would each
of us choose to live our lives differently. This really is the same
concept as discussed in the preceding paragraph in that it causes one
to think in terms of perspectives, viewpoints and impacts.

Finally, this concept seems to find itself (at least from my point of
view) in the various holy books that have been handed doewn and
studied for generations. Some think that the ooks contain the words
of God. Others, like me, think that God would write much more clearly
if God were interested in conveying a direct message of how o live
one's life. Therefore, I think that the works were crafted (with
love, care and thought) by mere (but special humans) who took a god's
eye view of the world and humanity. The writers did not settle for
the straight forward persepctive, but looked from above and below and
from all angles to give a more complete understanding of life,
choices, actions, words and humanity. We can do the same.

Lava Lamp of Life

The following was written on August 23, but is being posted today.

Ever morphing shapes
Colors shimmering
Descending and ascending
An evolving work of art

Actively mobile motion
Never stagnantly stationary
Journeying trajectory
Nowhere to nowhere

Splitting and reconnecting
Differences always remain
Cell-like pulls and repairs
In parts the whole maintained

Hegel's Spiral

I won't pretend to understand Hegel or any other philosopher. Perhaps if I studied their writings more with a good teacher, I would begin to scratch the surface, but perhaps not. Still, there is one aspect of Hegel's philosophy that I have always liked (although perhaps I misinterpreted it before writing about it now). So, all of this can be taken with more than a grain of salt.

As I understand Hegel, he believed that there was a "dynamic movement towards the whole so that the whole is an overcoming which preserves what it overcomes. Nothing is lost or destroyed but raised up and preserved as in a spiral" (not my words). 

My interpretation of this is that, as we go through life, we are moving not simply in a circle (although sometimes it seems that way), but instead we are on a spiral where we have the opportunity (without a choice) of seeing our center and our experiences from a different angle thereby giving us a new perspective on that which always lies within.

We overcome (although I, for one, do not like the work "overcome", and perhaps would prefer "understand", so) we understand in a new way our life experiences and do so while preserving (or incorporating) that which we understood.

So, in our lives, we have to hope that our spiral is an upward one that moves toward the whole as opposed to a spiral that heads downward to a disintegration of the whole (or perhaps what is left after a disintegration also is whole).  I guess I just love the thought of having the opportunity to circle around and around our experiences and essence, and in do so, gaining new understanding.  It is like the movie or book that can be read over and over again during our lives and each time, we understand the story at a different level, yet the story remains the same.  Very cool (for me).

The Search

How do you search for something that you had and then lost. In the case of Michael, a dog, we did both the indirect search and the direct search. The indirect search consisted of post signs around town asking for hop in finding Michael and offering a reward. The direct search consisted of driving around endlessly looking for Michael with little hope that our paths would cross. From my point of view, the indirect search was much more sensible in that the signs increased the number of people who had the chance of crossing paths with Michael. Indeed, we received several calls from people who had seen Michael and these calls gave everyone hope that Michael was surviving in the strange surroundings, and gave us a focus for our continuing direct and indirect search.

Thought for the Day: As we move through life, we often will find that we have lost something that we once had or that we are looking for something that we never had, but want. Although we can search on our own for that which we seek, we are better off enlisting the help of others. Of course, in most of our personal searches, we need to chose our helpers with a great degree of care (whereas that is not the case in looking for a missing dog). In addition, we may need to change our helpers from time to time as we move to a different level of the search. For example, in the search for Michael, we first posted the flyers all over town casting a wide net, but now that we know the areas in which he was last seen, we will post the flyers tomorrow in those areas and in the general direction beyond. In the search for whatever each of us has lost or is seeking, we to may begin by casting a wide net and then, as we eliminate areas or get new information as to the direction in which our search should move, we can leave certain areas and the helpers of those areas behind, and move into unexplored regions and do so with some new helpers and some of our original helpers.

Omaha - The Long Version

The following is an ode to Omaha and a description of parts of my life. If you read my previous Omaha post (not likely), then you know that this is the longer version of my ode and "the tune is in my head", but not yet available (although I did video myself singing it so perhaps the tune will be posted someday).


Omaha Omaha
Wherever I may roam
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be my home.

Born at St. Joseph's hospital
Home I soon was brought
To Howard Street for the early years
A 50's suburban place to start.

Grades K - 3 at Washington School
Where I learned to read and write
From Fullaway, Berry, Thompson and Hahn
Into school life I gained insight.

Then move my family did one summer
When I was out of town
Never said good-bye to my Howard house
About that I carried a 48 year frown.

To the new house on Western Avenue
Another bedroom shared with Mark
It wasn't until the the basement was finished
To my own room I could embark.

And Western Hills for grades 4 - 6
Where I learned from Winter, Pruitt and Kinsler
Safety patrol and nuclear drills
Neither brought any degree of fear.

Omaha Omaha
Wherever I may go
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be in my heart and soul.

Then off to Lewis & Clark
For my junior high school years
Growing so much in every way
Except from the floor to my ears.

Next t'was off to Central High
Diversity did abound
Debate, speech, band and the Register
I felt like I got around

Omaha Omaha
Wherever I may roam
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be my home.

For college I said good-bye
To my Omaha studies
Headed down to St. Louis town
Thought the move would set me free

Met new people and tried new things
At Washington University
Exposed to new ideas and thoughts
Studied education and sociology

There followed a St. Louis year
With independent work and play
Substitute experiences in the inner city
I remember the lessons to this day.

Omaha Omaha
Wherever I may go
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be in my heart and soul.

After St. Louis and some worldly travel
To Omaha I did return
To start life as a twenty-something educator
From student to new teacher was quite the turn.

First as a teacher substitute
At all my former student year schools
Then to Jackson School for two years of fun and growth
Where I honed my teaching tools.

Then to Monroe Junior High School
Young peoples' minds I was shaping
It was invigorating, an amazing time
I still give the time a high rating.

In fair and quaint Omaha
I set up my own home
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be my home.

But then the call of graduate school
Moved me to Cambridge town
To get a Masters of Education
The plan was to take it back to Omaha town

Learned a lot and got my degree
But the Boston area I wasn't ready to depart
Decided to teach a couple of more years
Brookline gave me my East coast teaching start

But Omaha Omaha
Wherever I may roam
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be my home.

As a fifth grade teacher at the school called Heath
I met my future best friend for life
By the time I completed two years there
I had proposed and made Debbie my wife.

Then instead of heading back to Omaha
I did law school at Boston University
There were good time and challenges
Both law school and life adversity.

Law school led to Brown Rudnick Freed and Gesmer
First to litigation and finally to real estate
Eleven years from associate to partner
The experience was one of growth but for me not quite great.

For still I had a longing
To strike out on my own
So I joined Goldstein & Kaitz
Where I found I liked the small firm practice tone.

And over the years that firm did morph
From three partners to two and then one
A new location, new lawyers and so much more
So much accomplished and more to be done

But still Omaha, Omaha
Wherever I may go
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be in my heart and soul.

And as the years of work went by
My family it did grow
First a daughter, then a son, then another
Life was exciting in ways in advance I could not know.

Living life and parenting together
Nourishing each other and the family
With experiences and love
Growing and maturity we did see

Now one is off to graduate school
To study school psychology and the brain of the child
To a beautiful but cold midwestern state
Where the summers are humid hot, not mild.

And one is venturing off to college
To learn about early childhood education,
He has a wonderful way with those of tender age
Perhaps he will make it his vocation

And one is left at home with us
To complete his high school years
He's at the age when the world awaits him
Everything is a challenge without any fears.

Now each one brings back memories
Of those times in my when there was joy and strife
When I was home in Omaha
And when I left to find my life.

But just as each of my children
Will venture out into their worlds
There will leave behind their home town
To give the larger world s twirl

And I wonder how they will feel
About their Newton hometown
Will they sing its praises forever
Or will they put it down

Whatever they may feel
Whatever they may do
I know where my home heart lies
Where my heart finds what is true.

Omaha Omaha

Wherever I may roam
Wherever I may go
You'll always be my home.
Always be in my heart and soul.

Cantaloupe Seeds - The Poem

I wrote this poem many many years ago, and I always like the image of the textured skin of the cantaloupe that protected the succulent orange cantaloupe fruit and especially the seeds that are part of the circle of life.

I was so attracted to the image and concept, that I "named" my video production company (not really a company, of course) "Cantaloupe Seeds" (and also "Nantucket Road Studios" which for me evokes a place of rest surrounded by the ever moving ocean waves even though the island of Nantucket is not the basis for the name). So, in the end, I produce videos with production names that remind me that deep inside of me is a creative element and that it gives me a restful escape from my otherwise ever moving life).

Cantaloupes
With textured skin
And succulent fruit
Found within

And inside there
Are slick seeds too
To bring more cantaloupes
To me and you.

Michael - Where Have You Gone

Now - another song - poem:

Michael, you got scared and ran away from home,
Where did you run, where do you roam
We"ve looked high and low, everywhere we could go,
But you're nowhere to be found, at least nowhere that we know.

What was the motivation that caused you to run away
Was it something we failed to do or something we failed to say.
You know how we feel about you and that our door will always be open
You must know the sadness we are feeling and how we are all mopin'

Perhaps you saw something that made you bolt and run
Perhaps you remembered something someone else had done.
Before you came to live with us was someone mean to you
Did someone take advantage, and make you sad and blue

Once you left our home to travel woody paths and streets
Did you find your own food or did someone give you treats
Did you find friends with whom to run, jump and play
Perhaps a group of friends for the night and one just for the day

Michael, wherever you may walk and wherever you may sleep
Please find your way back to us soon for our feelings run so deep
We'll leave the lights burning and will keep the door unlocked
Your food dish will be full topped with a rawhide bone and an old sock!

Phrases that Ring True; A Book Recommendation

I've written about this concept before and undoubtedly will write about it again, but it just surfaces from time to time and this journal is a way to remember. The concept - phrases that just ring true.

First is a concept that was the subject of a sermon I heard ("life is messy"), but it was presented last night in a "real life situation". While visiting at our friends' house (also our cousins) we were told tha "things are a little messy because I am just busy living life". Although the focus was on the state of their house (two adorable active intelligent students), it really applies to living life.

Tonight, when celebrating our anniversary with good (seemingly) life long friends, I toasted with the following original toast: "Although water is the essence of life, friendship is the essence of living". I like that one!

On the other side of the coin, we heard this one uttered by a college student in response to a question as to why he was working so hard (as so many of us do). His response: "doing your work is the only alternative to dispair". I don't feel that way, but some people do.

Also, a book recommended by our friends that I plan to check out: The Story of Stuff.

Worcationing

There are work days and there are vacation days, and then there are the hybrids "worcation days". The last two days fall into the hybrid categories. Although I was able to start the day slowly, getting in some good exercise (and today, picking up my new IPhone) before meandering into the office, and was able to leave "early" (which now means 5:30'ish), these really were not vacation days. At the same time, they were transition days which will allow me to truly enjoy the second week of vacation. For me, this transition is a necessary evil as I always seem to have a fair number of projects that I feel need my personal attention. So, I will work a little the next couple of days, but will try to keep the work in a limited "box of time". That won't make everyone happy, but it will allow me to do what I need to do.

Ode To Omaha -Version One

The tune is in my head, but not yet preserved. That will come later - I hope.

The following is an ode to Omaha. There also is a later, more specifically autobiographical version that is still in progress - just as this is. However, since this was first written on Saturday, August 16, and I want a post for that day, here is the draft.


Omaha Omaha
Wherever I may roam
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be my home.

Omaha in the nineteen fifties
Where the treats and temptations did abound
Was a suburban garden of eden
Filled with delicious sights and smells and sounds.

On the warm summer nights with fireflies flashing around
The pungent smells of the stockyards thickened the air
While we swayed on the swings and listened to music in the parks
Or took a car trip to Irvington where we ate ice cream without a care.

Omaha Omaha
Wherever I may go
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be in my heart and soul.

Walking along the banks of the muddy Missouri
Sitting in the high backed wooden seats at Union Station
Watching the college and minor league players at Rosenblatt
Living our lives in the midwest cornbelt nation

Checking books out of Wila Cather
Starring at wild and crazy animals at Henry Doorly Zoo
Catching the serial and a movie at the ornate State, Omaha or Astro
There were always things for a young person to do.

Omaha Omaha
Wherever I may roam
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be my home.

In the sixties our horizons were expanded
Blessed by our fast cars gotten without paying our dues
With Dodge Street a concrete river with tributaries to explore
So many places to roam and people to see on our perpetual evening cruise.

In our middle class parent cars we did romp
Eating curly Q's at Tiners and late night sub at Little Kings
Prowling around the loops at Elmwood and Memorial parks
Experiencing all the wild and crazy teenage flings.

Omaha Omaha
Wherever I may go
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be in my heart and soul.

The fruit warehouses became The Old Market
With counterculture stores and sights to explore
There was rock and roll music whispering from every exotic shop
And The Music Box for counterculture live music galore.

Lifelong friendships were made
We fell in and out of love
Spending summer evenings in bagel land
Sharing stories and heady thoughts from above.

Thinking that we understood the world
When we didn't even understand our town
Torn jeans, old clothes and long hair
We put our folks, but not their gifts, down.

There were days of fun
There were nights of play
There were experiences
We still can feel today.

Omaha Omaha
Wherever I may go
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be in my heart and soul.

Omaha Omaha
Wherever I may roam
Omaha Omaha
You'll always be my home.

Playing With Words - Again

There are some times when your totally "silly" side surfaces and sometimes when it should be kept submerged. In this case, I can't decide. In any event, while kayaking on the lake yesterday, I sang versions of the following to myself. Perhaps I was playing to the only audience that would appreciate it. But, this is my journal, so I get to write anything that pleases me even if it doesn't please anyone else. So, here is my kayaking yaking.

Having finished teaching addition and subtraction
And working with decimals and fractions.
I wondered where to go and on what winding path
I guess I was looking for something in the aftermath after math.

As I shuffled around Atlantic City with nothing much to do
I was feeling a little sad and more than a little blue
No one to play with or with whom I could have a talk
I guess I was having a little bored walk on Boardwalk.

Then I spotted some steps down to the beach
And below people were milling around beyond my reach
All were intently looking at me as I hopped down each step
I guess I was caught in a stare way on the stairway.

Soon I was invited to go out on a boat cruise
An event on the seas for singles to meet and drink booze
After imbibing a few I met a gal while taking a dip
I guess I had formed a new friendship on the friend ship.

When we left the ship we took a meandering stroll
Once again on the Boardwalk which no longer seemed droll
I now noticed girls everywhere on the wide walk that day
I guess I was walking on a broad way on a broadway.

We needed something fun and exciting to do.
Otherwise I knew that our newfound friendship would soon be through
I then spotted a sign that said "roller blades for a dollar for your date"
So I guess I was lucky to have found a cheap skate for a cheapskate.

Then next while eating a holy round pastry with my new friend
I discovered a personality trait that made me wish for a quick end
For it seemed that she loved money more than I loved her strut
So I guess I discovered that while easting a donut that she was dough nut.

So soon I was all alone in my little world again
With nothing to do and not knowing where to begin.
Then I sat down alone on the dock and everything was it should be
So I guess I should just sit and see the sea.

It was then and there that I came to realize
A profession where there is only truth and no lies.
It is a place were words and language rule and lead the way
As one who writes wordplays into word plays.

Office to Maine a Way to Stay Sane

Looking over my desk
Filled with papers and more
Starring out the large windows
To the dancing green leaves I adore.

Leaving by noon
No make that four
One more call, two more calls
Till I finally walk out the door.

Packing clothes, camera and papers,
Four bags for three days
Then with three people and two dogs,
Into the car for the getaway.

The trip takes less than three hours
Less if you close your eyes and sleep
Awake at the turn to 302
For the final 35 minute creep.

Arriving and departing the car
There's a decompression change
From Newton to Maine
From the suburbs to the forest and range.

The air so clear and clean
The smell of the lake floating through
The cool cleansing breeze
The anticipation of the morning dew.

Greetings with smiles and hugs
So much to be said
Unlike the dogs who smell each other
From their rears to their heads.

Then eating and relaxation
Phelps needs our help
He somehow wins (we thought loses)
There are cheers and there are yelps

Then from light into darkness
The entire house did plunge
So flashlights and candles were used
To avoid the trip and the lunge.

Calmness prevailed as some read by dim lanterns
Others cajoled, laughed and poked
Then the lights came back on
And all were fully stoked.

Then goodnights and to bed
One by one, two by two
The adult days did end
For the teens the day was not through.

So goodnight not farewell
For eternal is not this rest
The morning sun will soon rise
A day of fun t'will be the best.

The Once and Future Dreamer

So much is amazing about the Olympics and I think that I appreciate them more and differently over time.

When I was young, watching the Olympics was about dreams - dreams that someday I too could be an Olympian. But the fulfillment of those sorts of dreams takes a combination of many factors that may include, for example, role models, natural ability, encouragement and work and, when it came to sports, I possessed none of those factors. Neither my mother nor father were athletic and, in fact, I can remember no athletic role models in my family. I certainly was not born with any athletic gifts (although somewhere around college, I developed some athletic ability that has brought me enjoyment throughout my life). The combination of the foregoing resulted in no significant encouragement to play sports although we were given opportunities such as Iddy Biddy Basketball at the Jewish Community Center where my playing time was in the negative numbers, an attempt at baseball where I played even less, and, of course, swimming and diving lessons - but no competition, tennis lessons, etc. (so, as I write, perhaps I realize that there was exposure to sports - so maybe that wasn't the issue). While some people can overcome these factors, I lacked two essentials - love of a sport and a work ethic to develop the skills. Still, as I watched the Winter and Summer Olympics every four years, I dreamed the dream - "someday, when I grow up, I will be an Olympian".

By the time I was in my late teens and early twenties, I certainly had moved from that dream (more accurately, that fantasy) to an appreciation for the athletes who had combined a serious work ethic with their natural talents and had progressed through the ranks to the pinnacles of their chosen sports. I no longer wanted to be them and, at some point, I no longer "mourned" the fact that I would not. Still, my focus was on their achievements - the pedestals upon which they stood (or were placed in my mind).

Now, as I watch the 2008 Summer Olympics, my focus is on many more aspects of the games.

The wonder of the sacrifices that people voluntarily and sometimes, involuntarily, make. What dedication!

The wonder of all of the people who worked just as hard and perhaps even harder than the winners, but were not victorious at the games or more likely never reached the level of the Olympic games.

The wonder of the various body types in different sports and within sports - the gymnasts, the swimmers, the divers, the basketball players and the list goes on.

The wonder of the multitude of ethnic groups and nationalities who somehow transcend the fighting over borders, religion, ideas, resources, differences and all of the other factors that create a world in which there is too little peace, too little carrying, to little acceptance and instead there are battles, wars, unnecessary death and preventable famine. At the Olympics, those negatives are but aside or at least channeled into the peaceful competition of sports.

The wonder of the potential for the human race.
The wonder of the challenges that confront us.
The wonder of the funds that are expended in the name of sport.
The wonder of it all.

So now, once again I am a dreamer
But no longer of an athletic career
Once again I am dreamer
Dreaming that a better world could be near.

Words Words Words

Words Word Words.

Spoken words
Written words
Loud words
Soft words

Words of joy
Words of sadness
Words of anger
Words of love

Words that play with words:

“You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need"
Do you ever wonder how these Rolling Stone lyrics were meant to be understood. "If you try sometimes . . . you just might find you get what you need" of "If you try . . . sometimes you just might find you get what you need". Same words, different phrasing, different meaning.

“He’s a real no where man”.
What if the Beatles had moved just one letter. Instead of "He's a real no where man" the phrase would read "He's a real now here man". Same letters, different words, different meaning,

Some lyrics I love because of the play with words and the thoughts they express:

"Life is what happens when your busy making other plans."

"Its a chance of a lifetime in a lifetime of chance."

"Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose. Nothin' ain't worth nothin' but it's free"

"People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening, People writing songs that voices never share"

"To dream the impossible dream, to reach the unreachable star!"

The best phrase I ever made up:

To be there and miss it is worse than not being there at all.

Sometimes There Just Isn't Enough Time

Sometimes there just isn't enough time and so, we have to make choices. In this case, work and the Olympics became today's priorities, and writing in my journal fell by the wayside.

Still, even a short entry is an entry
even a taste may be worthwhile when there isn't time for a whole meal;
even a glimpse may be enough when there isn't time for a long look;
even a page may be enough when there isn't a time for a chapter;
even a comment may be enough when there isn't time for a conversation;
even a nap may be enough when there isn't time for a full night's sleepl
even an "I love you" may be enough when there isn't time for a long, slow walk.

On A Journey

Six years ago, as I ventured with Becky out to Madison to find housing for her freshman year, I was overcome with emotion as the song Lech Lecha was played over the car stereo. Go out to a land that I will show you, Go forth to a place you do not know, Venture forward on a journey I will send you. And you shall be a blessing. The emotion was unexpected and intense. My daughter was taking the path that young people her age often do, a path much like the one that I had taken thirty years earlier as I departed from my family's home to start my journey - first to college and later to graduate school (from which I never returned to my "homeland"). This time, however, rather than my leaving my parents behind, my daughter was preparing to leave our home to start her journey.

Since that time, Becky has been on many ventures and adventures, but most of the last five years, she was in the neighborhood, just down the road in Providence (and Providence lived up to its name for us). But life moves forward (though not always in a straight line) and today marked the start of another venture assuming ventures have specific places of beginning which is not the case. In reality, today's venture started with Great Beginnings Preschool so many years ago and this is just another leg of the journey. Still, as I (we) watched Anthony and Becky get into her car for their ride to Madison for Becky and Evanston for Anthony, there was a different feeling. I hugged Becky with great love, a longer hug than usual as I did not want to let go, and also with great confidence. The young women I was saying good-bye to (it should have been simply "till we meet again") was the same person who I had shed tears over when sending her to college, but this version of that person was a more mature, confident young women with a sense and sensibility that will carry her through any rough waters and propel her down the flowing river of life.

And I, though the same person who cried to Lech Lecha, am a new version who understands that these partings are not as final as they seem for although there is a physical distance between us, there is a strength of love and an ability to communicate that is better than ever. So, we will rely on calls and video chatting (a new technology for shrinking the physical distance), and visits as we all ride the waters, directing ourselves when we can, accepting the direction of the flow when it overpowers us, and keeping our heads above water when the current is strong.

As my mother was fond of saying, and as I said to Becky today and say to her again when she reads this, I love her (as I do all of my children) with my life.

Morning on the Cape

The room is brightened only by the hallway lamp
As the darkness of the night has not yet been broken
And the only sound is the gentle breathing
Of my best friend and partner resting beside me.

As the light begins to spread through and over the blackness
And the leaves begin to move in the breeze and send out their gentle sounds
We rise, we stretch, we slowly dress
In preparation for a walking adventure to the ocean

As we transition from the quietness of the gray shingled house
Filled with sleeping friends who remain in their beds unstirring
To the cool morning air and rising light levels overlapping the darkness
We move at a gentle gait down the dirt and gravely road toward the waiting ocean

Few souls are out on this delicious early Sunday morning
We have the road and paths to ourselves - a rare "peace" of solitude
And we pass at a comfortable pace, so that we can soak in our surrounding,
By the sandy dunes on each side, pierced by the marsh grass and accented by pieces gray wood fencing.

Our footsteps onto the paved road mark the end of the tranquility of our path
Signalling the encroachment of more modern and upscale civilization
But the pavement leads to a sandy beached, strewn with seaweed and stones
One brave soul adjusting his goggles as he slowily and causiously submerges his moderately tanned body into the morning's ocean waters.

Then into the "Private - No Trespassing" neighborhood
With humongeous homes rising from perfectly manicured yards
Ocean views from the multiple porches and expansive windows
From which the ever moving waters and ever changing boats can be tracked.

But somewhere in the Black Beach enclave that is our home for a day
The unmoving are now moving, the sleeping sleep no more
So we return from whence we came though our starting point is only temporary
And re-enter the peaceful setting for sustenance and calm before a walk to the beach.

And as we pack and prepare for the walk down the road, over the up and down dune,
Across the ever inviting beach toward the quiet canal joining the salt marsh to the ocean
We are filled with the smell of the salt water and the cool, not yet humid morning air filling with the chirping of fluttering birds
And we are content with the knowledge that a setting of natural beauty awaits us again today.

Sunlight and Shade

As I sit in the shade with me feet being tickled by the thick green blades of crab grass, I survey my surroundings.

The grass surrounds the multiple rock formations so that the soft, colorful grass
Abruptly gives way to the hard gray rocks that rise from the ground
As if they were pushing through the earth like seedlings reaching toward the sun
But the rocks have no such goal.

The shaded grass transitions along the jagged shadow line into the sunlit grass that radiates its greeness.
A lump of brown seems planted in the grass unmoving and taking in the warmth of the sun,
But upon closer observation, the lump has ears and fur, a rabbit.
There across the yard another rabbit of fewer years hops from the forest of bushes just feet from where I rest.
Its nose twitches rapidly as it explores a world filled with odors that I will never detect.

The air too is filled with life
As a variety of birds flutter, streaking in and out of feeders
And the landscaped trees and shrubs that grow without tending
Other than as may be necessary to maintain the boundary between the wild and civilization.

The dark deep green of the trees and shrubs occassionally is brightened
By the rays of sunlight as if someone had flicked an "on" switch for leaf power.

Near one edge of the forest border two horses stand silently and without any motion
To do so wood be against their grain
Their angled legs rest firmly on the grass
Ablue canoe turned upside down upon their backs waiting to be righted and carried to the water.

I relocate by adjusting the while metal chair
In which I rest and soak up the beautiful surroundings,
My feet now rest upon the rock that sends warmth through my toes and soles
And in doing so warms and comforts my soul.

Just beyond the yard lies the inviting blue water of the salt marsh
With surface ripples in seemingly perpetual motion
The sunlight sparkling like twinkling stars
The movement joined by the gentle movement of the tree branches and leaves.

So though I sit in the shade,
I have the warm view of the inviting sun and all that it illuminates
Were I to move into the sun
I would have the cool views of the inviting shade and all for which it provides gentle comfort.

Improvements and Preventive Maintenance

A person I know is in the process of tearing out the sidewalk and stairs leading to his house, and replacing same with an upscale version. As far as I could tell, the original sidewalk and stairs were still in good condition, seemed safe and were functional. However, although the work is not yet complete (these renovation projects always seem to take longer than originally anticipated), it is clear that the new sidewalk and stairs will last for a long time and will be more impressive (given the materials that are being utilized). It also is clear that the project will be a costly one, but that is a relative determination (and many workers are employed as a result of the project).

So, the questions this brings to mind (at least my mind) are whether a "way" that is functional (meaning that it accomplishes it main task) should be replaced and, if so, why.

Perhaps, in the end, a way cannot be judged purely by its current functionality for there are other considerations (at least if one has the time and funds to invest). These considerations may include the soundness of the foundation and the structure (will the way continue to be functional and safe), and the attractiveness of the way to others (will it be inviting or more inviting than it was).

I purposely chose the work "way" in recognition of the fact that it has more than one meaning. I believe the concepts above are relatively clear when one considers a structure - sidewalks, stairs, buildings, etc. We want such structures to be functional, safe and in good condition, and we want those structures to have long useful lives and to be inviting to others. In addition, we recognize that the weather conditions and other matters will impact the structures. As a result, we make improvements both as the need appears and, when we can, before the needs are evident.

This seems to be a lesson for the way we can approach our lives. We want our lifestyle to be safe and functional (functional in that, like a sidewalk and stairs, it takes us from one point to another, and like a building, it offers us protection and a place to seek refuge). We also want our lifestyle to be attractive to others, not so they can emulate us, but so they will want to relate to us. Since life is more fluid and changing than physical structures, and like those structures, our life and lifestyle is impacted by the weather conditions (in this area, weather is the outside influences as well as our internal changes as we learn and experience life). So, we do what we can to assure that our foundations remain sound and safe, and our life attractive and inviting. We do this through many methods including internal reflection and external assistance, reading, writing (as I am doing here) and exploring. This is a quest that should last throughout one's life, both when the need appears and before the needs are evident. We don't want the structure to fail, so we need to do preventive maintenance - not all of the time, but often enough to assure our goals are met.

Relationship with Debbie - Part Two

When in need for a daily post, nothing works better than continuing a story - and a good story (from my point of view) at that.

The first year at Heath was one of cross signals and cross relationships, which probably is not surprising given the mix of interesting men and women in their twenties. It seemed as if everyone was interested in someone, but the interest was not always reciprocal. Perhaps the best example was the weekly (probably really just occasional) volleyball games that eventually let to dinner and drinks at a local pub. The players were divided into two groups (a word I use purposely since to call them "teams" would be a great inaccuracy. Follow the ball and you will follow the matchings (or potential matchings).

Ron (that's me) would serve the ball to Jordan (who I had dated the prior year during graduate school and at the beginning of the school year). Jordan would hit the ball over the net to Debbie (in whom I was interested). Debbie would hit the ball back over the net to Joe (who clearly had a crush on Debbie, one that she claims was not reciprocated). Joe would hit the ball to Joy (who showed interest in me that was sometimes acknowledged). Joy would hit the ball to John (who was interested in Jordan). If I could remember more names, I would remember more conflicting pairings. And so it went . . .

Thought of the Day: In our youth, we often bounce around like a volleyball or glide, and bounce and hit like balls on a pool table. However, if we are lucky enough (and yes, I know that it is more than luck), the bounces and bumps are harmless (though they may be accompanied by pain at the time) and are learning experiences, the be bouncing ball finally comes to rest with the right person. That happened with me (and I hope that Debbie would say that it happened with her).

The First Tomato

The green slowly gave way to a light redness
Seeming to rise from the inside
Pushing itself onto the surface
Melding into the texture of the skin.

After 73 days (give or take)
The first tomato was ready to harvest
Or better put
The first tomato was ripe for the picking.

The day was well chosen as proper as could be
The last day of sloshim for Mary Fellman
Who told stories of of her life as a child
Eating tomatoes on her porch like apples, but with salt.

So just as the life of a tomato has its course
So has the life of every living things
And what will push itself to our surfaces
Melding itself with the essence of who we are

I don't know the answer
But the growth season is exciting.

The Search for Consistency

For several years, I explained to people that I gave up golf (not that I played that much) because I finally determined that my standard refrain after a good shot of "I could be a decent golfer if I were more consistent" really should have been "If I were more consistent, I wouldn't hit any good shots." So with that conclusion and the decision that I simply was not willing to take the hours away from the family, I stopped playing golf . . . until today.

Today I was convinced by clients and friends to play a round - even if I only stayed for 9 holes. I resisted at first - "I don't play anymore" and "Trust me, you don't want to play a round with me" and "No, I am just not interested", but I eventually came to an argument for which I had not answer "Why not?" Playing one round was not akin to dedicating my weekends to the sport. Playing one round was not going to harm me mentally, emotionally or physically. Playing one round was not going to put me that far behind in my work. I had no reasons not to play and the best reason to play was the from the inviting party who said "We don't care how you play, we are just there for the social aspect of the game."

So, I set my expectations low, prepared myself for the worst and ventured onto the course for the silliness of trying to get a dimpled little white ball into a cup hundreds of yards away. Now, perhaps you think that the outcome was that I played so poorly that I embarrassed myself (which, with my sense of humor, isn't an easy thing to do). Or, perhaps you think that I had re-beginner's luck and played so well that I surprised myself and everyone with my outstanding skills. The truth is that I played better than I would have believed, but not well enough to say I played well. After a rough first hole (rough being where my ball lived on that hole) in which I zigzagged back and forth across the fairway (which I did not find to be so fair to me), I ended with a 7 (or at least that is what the scorecard noted). From then on, however, I was more comfortable, In fact, on the second hole (and two others), I drove the ball straighter and farther than the other three players. That is not the same as saying that I got a better score than the others on those holes (that never happen, but I was second best on a hole). It is just that I hit good drives and sometimes some good shots. In fact, on a long par four, I actually was on the green in three - and then three or four putted. My putting was atrocious. By the last hole, I wasn't shooting well, but I was feeling like Kevin Costner in Tin Cup. Everyone else was "laying up" in front of the water but not me. I said that I could clear the water or at least would enjoy trying. So, with all of the lessons I had learned up until then (head down, stay loose, focus) I hit a beautiful 5 iron (having no faith in my ability to hit the 4 iron) and I watched my ball fly straight and long, soaring like a small bird through the air until it landed three feet short of the far bank of the pond. I didn't make it, but it was worth the try.

Thoughts of the Day:
1. Consistency truly is overrated when it prevents you from pursuing an experience.
2. Consistency may be a goal, but one should not forget the enjoyment of the journey.
3. Consistently trying to be consistent is not consistently good.

Nothing to Write About So I'll Write About Nothing

I wrote the following poem but since even I wouldn't read the whole thing, I decided to come back to the top and write this closing paragraph at the beginning. Posts for me are better off written early in the day - bedtime is to rushed and I am too tired. Personally, I won't read the following, but now that I said that, you probably will. Oh well, I warned you.

Just tried to write a post
About perspective and time
But the thoughts didn't mesh
So instead I'll resort to rhyme.

Ella rests before me
A curled, multi-colored ball
Ears moving with the keyboard
A belly that rises and falls.

Two bleary eyed are already retired
Now sleeping snuggled in bed
One is studying before eating again
Every few hours the teen has to be fed.

One stretched on the couch
Absorbed watching Weeds
The television wasteland
From which few are freed.

And I sit and consider
Just what to type
But it doesn't feel right
Just a bunch of hype.

So rather than bore
My readers (really just me)
I too will retire
And set us all free.

Everybody's Got A Hungry Heart and There Is a Meal for All

In keeping with the attempt to write a daily entry, this was written on Sunday, August 3, but posted a day late.

Although this journal is not intended to be a report of daily life, there are some exceptions - this being one.

Last night, Debbie and I attended our first Bruce Springsteen concert and all I can say is what a magnificent performance it was or, nor accurately, what a magnificent performer Srpingsteen is. I have to ask, why haven't we gone before?

I first had the opportunity to see Springsteen in 1974 when I was living and teaching in Omaha. While driving down Dodge Street, Omaha's main thoroughfare, I spotted a sign on the University of Nebraska at Omaha campus announcing a Bruce Springsteen concert. I had neither listened to nor heard of Springsteen and so, for reasons I won't understand or don't remember, I didn't give it a second thought. It was a few months later that Springsteen was on the cover of Time and Newsweek as the "Future of Rock and Roll" or something similar.

Thought of the Day: Oh well, for everything that I didn't do or haven't done or won't do, there are many that I have and that simply is the way of life. You try to fill it with as much as you can and appreciate those times.

Last night's concert was, by both Debbie's and my standards, one of the best we have seen - such energy by a true performer and musician at the age of (almost) 59, and the wonderful E Street Band with my favorite drummer, Max Weinberg, doing his "thing"; he plays drums with smoothness and a contained body movement - no unnecessary movements - that I love to watch (whether he's playing with Springsteen or on Conan O'Brien).

Thought of the Day: Perhaps I like to think that I live life in a contained way - doing all that needs to be done to produce the music of living, but not wasting too much energy on the unimportant, while also having a "smoothness" on my life's journey.

They played music we knew (but with a power that one can't get on recordings - there is something about "being there") and music that we didn't know but certainly enjoyed. The crowd certainly knew the music and everyone was on their feet for almost the entire concert (which was delayed, in part by a torrential rain, for over 90 minutes), but lasted until 12:30 a.m. (at which point we were stuck in the parking lot until close to 2:30 a.m. (but the company was good and we had a great time).

The Sringsteen audience was interesting and made me remember that aging goes on. Where were the twenty year old? What about most of the thrity year olds - there were some, but not many. Ah, I see the people in their 40's, 50;s and 60's, all with the energy of life and music pulsating through their changed bodies. Where before there had been salt flat hard abdomens, there were now Indian mound type protrusions - both on men and women. Upright shoulders were giving way to gentle ski slopes, while on the women in shorts, the once tight smooth and shapely legs of youth were now covered with moguls and on many of the men, the forested of hair was giving way (or had long ago abandoned the fight) to smooth glacial surfaces. A so goes the beat of the music and the beat of life - the beat of life continues like the beat of the music, but the looks change.

The other thought that I had watching the 40,000 - 50,000 was one of amazement (not new, but just re-emerging because of the sight) that there are so many people of different sizes, shapes, appearances, etc. and yet somehow, in a mysterious way that I can't comprehend, people find each other - for friendship, for love, for relationship. I guess it happens throughout the animal world, so perhaps it is not a high level thought process that leads to these bondings, but it still is amazing that so many, almost everyone, finds like minded people with whom they can relate. In some ways, it is like the music we were listening to - just as notes "relate" to create music, people "relate" to find each other and life.

Thought of the Day: I guess that the main advertising signs at the concert (held at Gillette Stadium) were on target (but not as the advertisers had intended) one set said "Fusion" and one set said "Fidelity".

Heinz 57 - Keeping Score

I suppose it is natural to count - we are taught to do so from an early age. However, I wonder if counting sometimes gets in the way of things. For many, myself included, counting sometimes is a way of keeping score and the score is not what always counts. [Use of "count" was intended:)] For example, I now am experimenting with Facebook. I actually signed up about six months ago, but never even signed on after that for three months and then not again until recently. In the interim, I used to tell people that I was on Facebook, but that I only had one friend. The number was "fun". Now, as I beginning to look around Facebook and talk with people about it, I find that the number of friends seems to be of great importance - sometimes a status symbol. In fact, one of the first questions people will ask you about your Facebook account is "How many friends do you have". I was pleased that during a recent conversation someone said that "so and so" had some obscenely large number of friends and therefore, he wouldn't friend her because she was "just a Facebook whore".

But counting seems to come into so many other aspects of life and in many it is necessary. I suppose that the question is how we use or misuse the numbers. (Related only because it deals with numbers: "Figures don't lie, but liars figure".) It is too easy to count friends, money, possessions, activities, accounts, employees and more, and it is too easy to keep track of your weight and count the number of years of your life. However, in the end, those numbers are not the ones that "count" - not the ones that matter. For example, it is not the number of friends, but the quality of the friendships, not the amount of money, but how you spend it, not the possessions, but what you do with them, not the number of activities, but the purposes of those activities, not the number of accounts, but the quality of service that you give to those accounts, not the number of employees, but how you work with them and treat them, not your weight in pounds, but your weight in personality and caring terms, and not your number of years, but the way you spend those years.

I never truly know what will come out when I sit down to write this journal. Hence, sometimes the title is wrong and I have to go back and edit it. Today, I was going back to my garden focus and note that, in today's count (I do it twice a day), I found that I have 35 "full-size" tomatoes growing and 22 "cherry" tomatoes. My reaction is that I now have a Heinz 57 garden in terms of the numbers (but not the varieties). However, when I started typing, I ended up thinking about numbers, counting and keeping score (so the title of this entry had to be revised).

I guess I can "count" on the fact that as the "number" of entries increases, I will surprise myself time and time again about what will come out. That is one of the wonders of "forcing" myself to write each (or almost each) day even if I don't have a topic in hand. Of course, I should remember my thoughts set forth above and try not to keep track of the number of entries, but the "quality" of the entries (once I figure out what gives entries "quality" and like beauty, the "quality" of the entry probably is in the eyes of the reader (and I am the first reader).

Would Have Been 99

Throughout most of my father's life, we celebrated his birthday on August 26. Perhaps when he first went to school and was asked for his birth date, the Jewish/Hebrew calendar date of his birth corresponded that year to August 26. We will never know.

In any event, when my father looked into his Social Security benefits, the records indicated that, in fact, he was born on August 1, 1909, As a result, for the years that Dad had left (which were far too few), we celebrated his birthday on both August 1 and August 26. Of course, in the years after his death, my mother, in her sadness, used to tell herself on August 1 that the birthday was on August 26, and then on August 26, told herself that his birthday had been on August 1. I don't know if this really worked for her, but we had the conversation about it every year (until she no longer remembered dates). Apparently the pain of remembering his birthday always was too great. For me, however, the two dates always have been an opportunity to think about my father, to remember his life and our relationship, to wish that he had been with us longer so that he could see how our lives developed (or are developing) and he could meet those grandchildren that he never met.

So this year, Dad would have been 99. I don't fool myself into thinking that he would have been a pleasant 99 year old (are there many?) or that he would have been in a mental or physical condition to appreciate and enjoy life. With his death at 73 (in March of 1983), he became "frozen in time" never aging. So, I get to remember him as an older adult, usually with a smile on his face, enjoying retirement and living his life.

Recently, in looking at all of the pictures we have of him, I have been able to add to my memory the visions of him as the young (albeit in his 40s and 50s) father to three growing children, and visions of him in his truly younger years, from grade school [Dad - what large ears you had:) ] through his years in the United States Army. Indeed, I have had the good fortune to read letters that he wrote home from Europe during the war, to see his "pass" to visit Dachau shortly after it was liberated, to appreciate more the fullness and length of his life that, while it was all too short (even more so as I approach his age), was longer than it might have been give the times in which he lived (World War II) and his medical condition (extremely high blood pressure). The more I read and the more I view the pictures, the more I appreciate his life and, as a result, my own.

So Dad, if you were here today at the age of 73 (what a pleasure that would be), I would first tell you that I love you, and I would shake your hand, give you a hug, look you in the eyes and tell you that you did well, you lived a good life, you raised a good family and that we, your children, have done well, in part because of what you gave us on so many levels, that you should be proud of how you served your family, your community and your country, that you were honorable and respected, that you had a "good name" in every sense of the word and that your have been missed, and I would l=tell you again, that you were loved. I also probably would apologize for all of the hard times I gave you - but I was just a kid!

With love on Dad's 99th Birthday!