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Groundhog Day

Groundhog Day

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In a post on my website called A Sentimental Racetrack Journey on May 1, 2019, I retold the story of a racehorse named Sir Sidney who I had originally written about in 2014, and how this horse kept popping up in my life’s journey.

In Sir Sidney, My 2020 Horse of the Year, written last August I told the story of how a nice lady named Tiffany found my sentimental racetrack journey story which helped her decide to buy Sid and give him a good home in retirement.

For reasons unknown to me but I am sure understandable, Tiffany had to give Sidney up so I lost track of him once again.

On Monday morning, I got an email. The message line said “Update on Sir Sidney.”

Sid? I thought.

I quickly opened the email and began to read:

Good morning! I recently purchased a lovely OTTB by the name of Sir Sidney. He is absolutely the love of my life and I was doing some research on him hoping to find pics of him in different homes etc. I came across your blog. I have no idea who that Tiffany M lady was, but that’s not who I bought him from so he must have bounced around to a couple more homes before he came to me. I’m emailing you to let you know he will NEVER go anywhere after me. He is the most gentle soul, just looking for someone to love him unconditionally. I’ve started eventing on him and have competed in a couple of small shows already. I’ve hauled him off property to go on trail rides and lessons etc. I dote over that horse,.he now prances around a 10 acre pasture sporting hot pink fly boots, accompanied by an obese Shetland pony (smiley face). I’ll include a few pics of the sweet guy. I hate that he has had such a long journey, but so thankful it led me to him. It feels like he was made for me. This horse is one in a million.

Marilyne

 

Just like last August with Tiffany, I didn’t know Marilyne.

But I sure knew Sid!

 

It was a Déjà vu experience.

It was my Groundhog Day!

 

I had to go back and read Sir Sidney, My 2020 Horse of the Year again!

Then I went back and I read A Sentimental Racetrack Journey again.

 

Then I emailed Marilyne back.

I thanked her for sending me the email and told her that yesterday was my birthday and hearing about Sid was a great birthday present.

 

She emailed me back and said she was glad and that Sid brings joy everywhere he goes. She told me how she renamed him Jonas because of her love of the Jonas Brothers and to just know he is super loved and finally has been given a chance to live out his life because he sure had earned it.

Yes, he has.

He’s worked hard all his life and touched many people.

And as Marilyne so nicely put it he brings joy everywhere he goes.

 

It’s been a nice week, filled with family and memories.

And Sid’s kind of like family now.

 

So now I have another memory.

And like me, he is semi-retired and doing something fun in his old age with lessons and trail rides.

He can prance around his pasture, and I can prance around my backyard!

(But I’m sorry Sid I am not sporting any hot pink fly boots even if it is only in my yard.  No sir!)

And though Marilyne can call him whatever she wants, even Jonas, he will always be Sir Sidney to me.

 

It was a nice birthday present.

It brought me some joy.

My sentimental racetrack journey continues.

Sid is truly is one in a million.

In fact, he is one of millions.

Yet he keeps coming back into my life.

 

And so once again…

I found my Sir Sidney.

 

Sid and Marilyne. Thank you!

 

Nope, I ain’t doing it
It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, No It’s a Gift From God

It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, No It’s a Gift From God

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Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary.

Kim and I will be married 21 years tomorrow.

 

I remember a time in my life when I prayed for someone to come into my life.

I prayed that in some detail I might add.

 

Kim was that answered prayer.

 

Yesterday was Kim’s birthday.

I found this birthday card that said “You’re a Special Gift from an incredible God.”

I liked that.

Because it was true.

 

Sunday was my birthday. I turned sixty-five. A big milestone I guess.

 

We had split up for the weekend again, Kim with her mom, and me with my parents.

I had some time to go through a lot of old photos they had packed away in many photo albums.

 

Lots of memories in those photos, I made as many copies as I could.

 

Some nice photos of all the kids, Donny, Savannah, Hayley, and Alexa together and some with extended family we didn’t get to be with too often

 

More gifts from God…my kids.

 

Though one we had to give back.

 

 

Last year on Father’s Day I wrote about a special one from 19 years ago, the last one with all the kids together.

 

This year was another special one in that I was able to spend it with my dad. Not everyone turning sixty-five is lucky enough to be able to say that.

 

Another gift, our parents.

 

Though we had to give one of them back in October.

 

 

But I think for me, especially in the last year or so, I have been able to be good son.

I have been blessed with that opportunity.

 

Though I don’t have any regrets, as a result, however I can’t always say I have been a good father, or a good grandfather.

 

Grandchildren as you may know, are another gift from God.

 

Time, priorities, social distancing, travel restrictions, whatever, all made it difficult to focus on more than our parents it seemed.

 

Of course, we were able to have some grandparent time with Cameron.

 

And some family time with Savannah and Hayley (and Leon and Malcolm of course),

including celebrating Hayley’s birthday on June 7.

 

 

But I still hadn’t seen the Florida kids, Ethan, Christian, Alexa, and Namaan since December of 2019 and that was really starting to get me down.

 

Then a few days before Christian’s sixth birthday on June 13th, some stars aligned and though Kim was scheduled to be with her mom, she encouraged me to book some flights surprise the kids.

 

With vaccines and the world returning to some form of normal, it’s been really nice to hug and kiss my local kids and grandchild.

 

But I must admit it was especially nice to hug and kiss the daughter and grandkids I hadn’t seen in twenty or so months.

 

And I got to attend the birthday party as well.

 

As you can tell, June and July have always been eventful months in our lives.

 

In fact, Monday June 28th was Cameron’s birthday, and we all went out to dinner to celebrate his eleventh birthday.

 

And in July sadly we remember giving Donny back on the 19th.

 

But we celebrate Savannah’s birthday on the 20th and Ethan’s birthday on July 25th.

 

But today sadly, I also remember another gift from God.

My brother Carl.

Because a year ago today we had to give him back.

 

I am grateful for the gifts God has given me.

 

And though I don’t always understand, I accept that there will be those times I don’t understand.

 

It is nice to have memories when you need them.

 

And it is nice to be able to make new ones for when you need those.

 

 

I will share some, some new ones and some old ones:

 

The photo at the top is one of my brother Carl flying through the air in his backyard.  He always had the coolest stuff in his yard. Donny had a soccer tournament in Trenton and we were all able to get over to celebrate my nephew Jason’s graduation from college.

 

These are from another milestone birthday, my 30th.  Hayley was my birthday present that year.

Hayley was about 3 weeks old
That’s my nephew Johnathon on the right and neighbor Laura Marson on the left helping me out
I had to show this one of my niece Chelsea, my dad, and Alexa. Look at Alexa’s face, have you ever seen anything like that?

 

This was my 46th birthday in 2002. My last with Donny.  Savannah is in the refrigerator.

 

Hayley’s 35th birthday this month.

 

Here is me on my birthday this week.

Kim and Cam at his birthday celebration and making a wish.

 

Ethan and Christian packing up after Christian’s party and hugging my kid for the first time in 20 months.

Here are a couple of photos of family in New Jersey. Donny, Savannah, and Hayley in the first one.  And  a rare one of the whole family with all my kids in it.

 

My dad this Father’s Day

 

And here is one more of Carl holding Chelsea and Alexa

 

Memories.

Gifts from God.

Got to have them, got to love them.

 

“Whatever is good and perfect is a gift coming down to us from God our Father…” (James 1:17)

Passing On Your Left

Passing On Your Left

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It’s Belmont Stakes Day.

Kim and I got up early and walked five miles along the Sugarland Run Trail.

After lunch, we decided to keep moving and ride our bikes, so I loaded up the bikes and drove to downtown Herndon to jump on the W&OD bike trail.

Today, not feeling the cycling cool, I opted not to wear my bike shirt, just a sleeveless tee-shirt and I put my bike pants on under my shorts.

Besides being more practical since I could carry my wallet and phone, though not my goal, the bike pants under my shorts made my butt look bigger.

When you are me, that’s a plus.

 

I have never been to the Belmont. I have been to the Kentucky Derby, I have been to the Preakness, but never the Belmont.  Growing up in New Jersey, not that far from Nassau County on Long Island, I had plenty of opportunities.

I remember a bunch of us watching the Belmont race one year at my friend Ricky’s house back in the 70’s.  As we watched the winner being brought into the winner’s circle for the photos and the interviews, there on our TV screen was another good friend and classmate from Oceanport,  Chris Nagel smiling and wildly waving his tickets, winners I guessed, while pressed up against the winner’s circle fence and on national TV.

Since I am not normally that lucky when it comes to betting on these races, the 2008 Belmont Stakes is another memory.  A long shot named D’Tara won the race at odds of 38 to 1.  A horse named Dennis of Cork ran second.  Anak Nakal and Ready’s Echo ended up in a dead heat for third.  I had all four of those horses boxed in a trifecta (the first three horses) and the exacta (the first two horses).  As a result, I landed two trifectas, one with each third-place horse, and the exacta.

Kim got some new patio doors and a front door out of that one.

 

The problem with biking along the W&OD bike trail is there are beer stops.  Heading towards Reston the first stop was The Bike Lane, a bike shop that also brews their own beer.  They had a great Kolsch and we sat outside at a picnic table.  I asked the guy pouring my beer if Tommy, an awesome young man who attends my church still worked there.  “Tom Brown?” he asked, “yeah we call him ‘T Bone,’ he is off today for his sister’s graduation party, I’ll tell him someone was asking about him.”

Another four miles and one very large hill later we stopped at The Caboose, a brewery in Vienna, Virginia adjacent to the bike trail. There we had a Czech and a Citrus Pilsner.

Then it was eight miles and that one big hill back to Herndon, ending at the Green Lizard, our local bike shop, for one more draft beer.

Then home to watch the Belmont Stakes.

It was a good race, though I didn’t get as lucky as I did in 2008. The horse Rombauer who won the Preakness beat my pick, Known Agenda, for third place knocking my trifecta out.  But I did have the exacta.  Not bad since I just played my birthday numbers and threw in Hot Rod Charlie because he had a good story.

No Triple Crown winner this year, some unneeded drama, now we look forward to next year.

 

At one point on the way home on the bike trail, Kim and I had gotten separated a bit.

I was riding slow, now tired from the long day.

A bike rider came up behind me and gave the courtesy warning before passing me, “passing on your left.”

Only this guy said, “passing on your left, ma’am.”

I had to laugh.

 

It was a nice relaxing day.

Lots of exercise.

Lots of sun.

A few beers.

Lots of racing.

And the question,

Was it my hair?

Or my new butt maybe?

That earned me a…

“Passing on your left, ma’am?”

Guess I will never know.

 

Postscript:

Our feature image is a selfie taken at The Caboose Brewing Company and Tavern in Vienna, Virginia.

Memorial Day Unmasked

Memorial Day Unmasked

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In my hometown of Oceanport, New Jersey, there is a parade held on Memorial Day each year.  Over the years  I marched in that parade as a Cub Scout, as part of the Maple Place School band, as a Boy Scout, and as an Oceanport Hook & Ladder volunteer fireman.

In my younger years, my neighbor Warren Del Vecchio always played Taps on his trumpet from the hill overlooking the town memorial located on a small island of grass with a monument and a flagpole at the confluence of three streets in the area of town known as Wolf Hill. His trumpet would sound from the hill behind us immediately after the honor guard from Fort Monmouth finished shooting their rifles in the air in salute.  It always brought on chills.  To me as a young person, Warren’s playing of Taps earned him celebrity status and I always felt like I was important because I knew him personally, kind of like “yeah, I know that guy, he is my neighbor.”

Like most events during the pandemic, last year’s Memorial Day parade in Oceanport, as it was in hometowns all over our country, was canceled.

This year, however, due to vaccines and our beginning to return to some state of normalcy, the parade goes on, though sadly in my opinion, since I have moved away, the route no longer terminates at Wolf Hill, with the monument and the flag pole.

The President told us earlier in the year, if we were all good, we could spend the Fourth of July with our families without distancing and even without wearing masks.

We must have been really good because its only Memorial Day and the masks are coming off all over the place and groups are gathering once again.

I am still not sure how to handle the change in mask usage and it’s obvious when you enter a store where masks are not required and everyone is still wearing one, the rest of the world is too.  After a year of socially hiding, I have grown comfortable with being unsocial and putting on my hat, my sunglasses, and my mask and going to the grocery store hoping no one will recognize me.

And then there are the situations like the time I was at the self-checkout and the loaf of rye bread I just waited fifteen minutes to have sliced didn’t show up under the bakery search as a price option and I finally had to get the attendant to assist me, all the while the blood was receding from lips and face as they took on a nice grayish color and tightened up tautly.  Thankfully, all this was happening under the cover of my mask.  As far as the grocery attendant knew, I was smiling even though at that point I was only able to point and grunt at the rye bread and the touch screen.

And I can’t ignore the fact that I can’t remember the last time I had a cold or have been sick.

 

Then just when you think it’s safe to go out of the house, THEY’RE BACK!

Like an old 1950’s science fiction movie, they come crawling out of holes in the ground every seventeen years.  They fly across the sky clumsily like Flash Gordon’s spaceship from the 1930’s serials. And the rhythmic whirring sounds in the air all around might as well be signaling a flying saucer invading Earth from outer space.

They get in your hair, they cancel out your cell phone audio, they just plain creep you out.  Like some prehistoric creature whose ability to naturally evolve has been robbed, they seem out of place in our new world.

Hey Cicadas…it’s the 21st century, we have Africanized Honey Bees and` Murder Hornets now. We drive electric F-150’s, and watch shows like Pooch Perfect and The View  on TV’s that have flat screens!  We have evolved!

You guys need to get to the gym.

 

It is nice to see Memorial Day weekend signaling the unofficial beginning of summer and returning to its traditions.

Oceanport will have its parade.

My brother  Carl’s annual Memorial Day party will go on, as he would have wanted.  He will be there in spirit I am sure.

I am able to kiss my mother and father this weekend without guilt, and most importantly, without a mask.

And I will admit it is nice to have at least the option to be social again.

 

And of course, we can’t forget the real reason for the day that gives us the three day weekend and the  excuse to parade, eat hot dogs, drink beer, and go to the beach:

Those brave men and women who gave their lives defending our freedom.

May God bless each and every one of them and may their families feel proud and appreciated for their sacrifice, in grief and in memory.

Thank you.

 

My brother Carl, Memorial Day 2020. May he be resting in peace, because he deserves to be.

Postscript:

The feature photo is from the Oceanport Memorial Day Parade in May of 1969 when I was in the seventh grade and is courtesy of my friend Kathy MacDonald.  That tall fellow at the end of the saxophone line is me.  That is Kathy’s brother Bob next to me.  Also in that line is Veronica Bradley and David Halpstein (not sure that is correct last name, if you are reading this from Oceanport help me out).

Finding Grace

Finding Grace

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Would You Like A Lime With That Week Fifty Nine!

“The fear of death is gone…because what Christ did for me on the cross.   I’m saved by the grace of God…the person that faces Christ straight out and totally rejects Him will pay a fearful price…it’s separation from God and that in itself will be Hell…the person who rejects God in a sense is already in Hell in this world.”  (Billy Graham)

 

Already in Hell.

In this world.

 

Kim and I listened to an old Johnny Carson interview with Billy Graham from the early 70’s over the weekend.

Mr. Graham went on to say that at the time, 99% of Americans said that they believed in God.

That was 1973.

That’s changed quite a bit.

More recent surveys put that number for younger adults at less than 50% and for those 18 to 29 as low as 43%.

That’s a lot of people.

 

“Already in Hell in this world.”

 

I overheard my almost son-in-law Leon make a comment one day after hearing someone in his neighborhood click their car remote to lock their car doors.  In this case, he heard the car horn beep multiple times and said something like “Geez, do you have to do it eight times? Once is enough!”

 

Ah, Grasshopper, I thought to myself, you don’t understand.

Someday you will.

There is a reason that some of us need to hit that button more than once.

First of all, we can’t hear the beep.  Old folks push the button, then when we don’t hear anything, we push it again, and again all the time walking closer to the parked vehicle outside in the street until the comforting sound of the horn is confirmed.

 

Then, there is the fact that sometimes, we just don’t remember.

It’s kind of like taking a shower and not remembering if I washed that body part or not…

“Okay I’m done…wait, did I wash my feet yet?  I don’t remember! Ah, shoot I better wash them again just in case.”

It’s the same with locking my truck

I push the button and then moments later I think…

“Did I lock my truck doors?”

“I don’t remember…ah I will just push it again…and maybe I better walk towards it until I hear the horn just to be sure…”

 

Then there is also that inclination to believe that more is always better.

It comes from growing up and not having everything we think we should have had and the need to overcompensate  for that as adults.  We are determined to quell any doubt that what we set out to do, is accomplished. We have to get that last beep in.

“Ha!  I will make sure those darn doors are locked! I am going to push the button again! And maybe a couple more times to be sure! And maybe I should walk towards it until I hear the horn to be extra sure.”

 

 

This is kind of a weird week for me.

In one respect, a rite of passage in some sense, a graduation of sorts, into a new generation, an older generation.

Confirmed by the fact that I got my first Social Security check this week.

And my Medicare card is in the cabinet (though it’s not good until June).

 

But by contrast, I was also reminded that this week seven years ago I ran my first and only half marathon through the streets of my hometown of Oceanport, New Jersey, and neighboring Long Branch in the Long Branch Half Marathon on Team Move For Hunger.

What a difference seven years can make.

In 2014 I was fifty-seven about to turn fifty-eight.  This year I am sixty-four about to turn sixty-five.

And I have a Medicare card in the cabinet.

Half marathons I am afraid might now be just a thing of my past, serving only to make for nice Facebook memories.

I remember running over the Pleasure Bay Bridge, leaving Oceanport and entering Long Branch and catching up to this young lady who was running even slower than I was.  I remember thinking wow good for her to be out there doing this event, she didn’t have your typical runner’s body, in fact you could say she was a bit overweight and not someone you might expect to be out running a 5K, let alone a half marathon.

So we struck up a little conversation as we began the incline that was the Oceanport side of the bridge and I explained to her that this was my first half marathon and I expected her response to be the same.

But it wasn’t.

No, she said, “I try to run one of these a week. Yeah, last week I was in (someplace I don’t remember where she said) and the week before that I was in (someplace else).”

“Wow”, I said “Good for you!” and with that, I took advantage of the downhill Long Branch side of the bridge and increased my pace.

As I left her behind, I felt silly for my assumption and a little humbled as well.

I judged her.

And that was unfair and I was totally incorrect in my assumption.

 

 

Believe it or not, Kim and I still have our Christmas tree set up in the living room.

No, we didn’t forget to take it down.

I am not that far gone yet.

Apparently, I purchased such a cool-looking artificial tree that this year,  once we took the ornaments off, it kind of blended in with the rest of the forestry in my living room and became kind of fun to have.

And this week is also special to me because Saturday is the running of the Kentucky Derby, therefore this week is “Derby Week.”

So since I had the tree already up I decided to decorate it for the occasion.

I even made my meatballs already.

 

And finally, this week, after eleven years of non-production, The Little Chickens Winery fired up what will be the next vintage of Little Chickens Cabernet Sauvignon 2021.  Hopefully no snowstorms on bottling day this time.

 

 

So, for the most part, I am enjoying this week.

I am not running any half marathons but I am moving around as much as my aches and pains allow me to.  I will at least want to wait until my Medicare becomes active should I ever attempt to run another half marathon, I might need the hospitalization.

And as for you Grasshopper, my new soon-to-be son-in-law, patience.  You too will learn that with age comes wisdom…but also the need to hit the lock button multiple times.

And it is also true that with age and wisdom, more people come to God in their older years.  Maybe it is the desire to not fear death, maybe it is the desire to just accept the Grace of God and enjoy the happiness of inner peace…finally.

I hope that is true.

Because like my humbling experience of unfairly judging someone for the way that she looked, whether you are already in Hell in this world or not, nowadays, we still seem to do a lot of that.

Judging that is.

 

And so, I hope you watch the race on Saturday.

I hope you enjoy this nice weather.

I hope you relax with your beverage of choice and maybe eat a meatball.

I hope you get your vaccine and take your mask off while dining outside at a restaurant.

I hope you remember that you already washed your feet and lock your car only once.

 

But most of all, I hope you find grace.

 

 

Postscript:

The photo above is from April 27, 2014 before the start of the New Jersey Marathon and the Long Branch Half Marathon and includes the Move For Hunger Team including Coach Emily Cebulski in the center.

It’s hard to believe it has been 59 weeks since the pandemic officially kicked off.  Get your vaccine!

 

 

Parkinson’s Awareness

Parkinson’s Awareness

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I fell in the creek.

I had just finished running my best run on the trail near my neighborhood that crosses the Sugarland Run and I hit the stepping stones a little too fast and a little too confident maybe.

I felt myself moving in a bad direction and rather than fight it and risk an awkward fall and a possible injury, I went with it and stepped into the creek and waded across the stream to the other side.

I was close to home so finishing out in my wet running shoes was not an issue.  However, feeling a little silly was and thankfully no one was around to see my misstep.

In the twenty years I have lived by this creek and this trail I had fallen in only one other time before.

And there may have been a beer or two involved in that incident.

And Kim will tell you I have been known to fall off my bike a time or two.

But there may have been Margaritas involved in those incidents, as well as a little loose beach sand.

All of those situations involved a lot of laughter too.

 

Today is World Parkinson’s Awareness Day which kicks off Parkinson’s Awareness Week (April 11 to April 17) which is part of Parkinson’s Awareness Month (April).

Parkinson’s is Parkinson’s Disease.

It was estimated that by 2020 there would be a million people living in the U.S with Parkinson’s and more than ten million worldwide.

In my life, at least two people who I have been close to were diagnosed with Parkinson’s.

My friend Frank, who I wrote about last spring after he contracted Covid and passed away as a result of the virus, had Parkinson’s.  He once told me he realized something was wrong with him when he started having problems landing his airplane.

The other person, whose disease progression I have experienced a little more closely, is my dad.

My dad has Parkinson’s Disease too.

Like my friend Frank, my dad realized something was changing with him when he started having problems doing things that were relatively routine to him.  In my dad’s case, it was riding his bike.  He started falling frequently.

In his case though, there were no Margaritas to blame.

 

According to the Mayo Clinic:

Parkinson’s disease is a progressive nervous system disorder that affects movement.

The Parkinson’s Foundation says not all people are affected the same but these symptoms are common:

  • Tremor
  • Bradykinesia (Slow movement)
  • Limb rigidity
  • Gait and balance problems

 

Though the cause is unknown, and there isn’t a cure, there are some medications that may help.

 

However, in addition to the “motor” impairment, some Parkinson’s symptoms may be unrelated to movement (“non-motor”). People with PD are often more impacted by their non-motor symptoms which can be more troublesome and disabling than motor symptoms. Examples of non-motor symptoms include: apathy, depression, sleep behavior disorders, loss of sense of smell, cognitive impairment, and hallucinations and delusions.

 

 

Many people have become familiar with Parkinson’s Disease because of the actor Michael J. Fox who was diagnosed with young-onset Parkinson’s in 1991 at the age of 29 and became an advocate for Parkinson’s research.

My father’s disease includes less of the tremors commonly associated with Parkinson’s and more of the limb rigidity, gait and balance problems, and slowness in movement.

As a result, he falls a lot.

It’s hard for my dad, who was used to wind sailing, skiing, snowboarding, climbing ladders, was comfortable working and standing on the edge of a roof, and unlike me could skip across stepping stones in a stream.

I didn’t get those genes.

I learned early on that balancing on a surfboard, a skateboard, or a pair of skis were not to be part of my life’s enjoyment.

And now as my dad’s disease progresses, he experiences more of the non-motor symptoms including cognitive impairment and hallucinations.

Though I am not concerned about my recent inability to navigate the rocks across the stream,  I have lost my sense of smell, and that is one of the early non-motor symptoms of PD.

Therefore I am hoping I didn’t get those genes either.

The organization EndingPD.org  has a Facebook page titled Ending Parkinson’s Disease and is currently running a campaign called #Give a Dime, a take-off of the 1930’s March of Dimes program that helped to fund polio research.  In conjunction, they are organizing a “Red Card” campaign that will flood the White House with cards telling the President why you give a dime.

I thought flooding the White House with cards sounded like fun so I sent away for my cards to then send to the President.

 

And I sent another card this week.

It was to my dad.

You see today is not only World Parkinson’s Awareness Day, but coincidentally it’s my dad’s birthday too.

Today my dad turned ninety-two.

So Happy Birthday Pop!

Thanks for helping to make the world a better place all these years and for helping to make the world more aware of Parkinson’s Disease.

 

 

Postscript:

 

If you want more info about Parkinson’s Disease the Parkinson’s Foundation is a great place to start.

I learned about EndingPD.org and the #Give a Dime and the Red Card campaign when a co-worker of mine sent me a video of a young lady named Charlotte who was supporting the cause because her grandfather suffered from the disease.

And should you happen to make a donation or send the President a card, I thank you.

Flash Fiction in Five Hundred Words or Less

Flash Fiction in Five Hundred Words or Less

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Wake Up

 

“Wake up, wake up…we’ve got to move, patrols will be out soon, we’ve got to get back on the Trail.”

It’s Sunday.

This morning we attended church with a small group of Patriots. Services are different now, they are held quietly and secretly in basements by candlelight since all church buildings were destroyed by the early anarchists bent on eliminating Christian-Judaic traditions.

But that was before the Socialists gained power, ushered in by the failure of leaders to control their left after years of isolation, a pandemic, and the collapse of the economy.

Chaos ensued, opportunity knocked, and the North Korean missiles rained down.  Smoke and ash still linger in the air of the cities.  But in the mountains, the trail once known as the Appalachia Trail, now serves Patriots who want to travel north and south, staying away from the cities controlled by the Communists and their socialist natives in servitude.

The once majestic skyline of our Capital lies broken, its white stones darkened by fire and ash. Yet, the  statue of Saunders, the hero of the Socialist uprising, ironically still stands intact on the Mall covered in graffiti in a language once foreign to our country, a reminder of what can happen when a country loses its values.

But in the mountains and the rural areas, there is safety.  The new Government chooses not to worry about those who are too hard to control.  Besides, there are plenty of “comrades” falling in line in the cities, no need to care about folks like us.

We are traveling to Western Pennsylvania.  We have people there and it’s far from the metropolitan areas controlled by the invaders.  There we will have food and shelter.  We will follow the trail north through West Virginia and Maryland and into Pennsylvania, then travel at night on the rural highways west to the Laurel Highlands and safety, and some home cooking since the once-bustling free enterprises of “Eat More…” and “Have it Your…” have been converted into distribution kitchens serving those who serve our captors.  The food, mostly rice brought in from the homeland and provided by the Government since the fields within fifty miles no longer support crops or pasturing of livestock.

It’s a different world now. Once worried about the burning of fossil fuels, instead now we choke in the carbon monoxide tainted air left by missiles, fires, and barren tracks of land that one day were green, taking in the carbon dioxide and providing us oxygen.

I am sad. Sad for myself, sad for my family, sad for those who didn’t see it coming.

For now, though, I must concentrate on putting one foot after the other as I walk the ridges of protruding rocks. We have many more miles to travel.

 

“Wake up honey, wake up, you are going to be late for class!”

“I’m up, I’m up…wow Mom…I was dreaming, I mean I had this really weird dream.

“It was scary.”

“But it’s okay…

I am awake now.”

 

 

According to Masterclass.com:

Flash fiction is a favored genre … for its ability to convey deep truths and universal human emotions in just a few short paragraphs.

Flash fiction is a genre of fiction, defined as a very short story. While there is no set word count that separates flash fiction from more traditional short stories, flash fiction stories can be as short as a few words (while short stories typically run for several pages).

 

I don’t like to write fiction, but it was fun to try for a contest.

But I don’t expect I have conveyed deep truths and human emotions as described above.

 

I would prefer to do that with non-fiction.

 

 

 

It’s Palm Sunday.

The day Jesus entered Jerusalem.

I heard an awesome prayer this morning that moved me.

“You come among us in unexpected ways, whoever heard of a king on a donkey, a savior on a cross.  How do we know it is you?  How should we recognize your presence? Will we see you when you stand among us? Will we hear your voice and understand your message?

 Will we wave palms of enthusiasm today, but drop our arms in confusion tomorrow?”

 

The crowd mentality ensued that day.

Hosanna…” save us” they cried.

But that was quickly forgotten and replaced.

“Crucify Him.”

The prayer I heard this morning went on to question our ability to stand on our own beliefs and not to succumb to what may be the popular opinion.

The opinion of the crowd.

 

I guess it’s not so popular to believe in this story anymore.

This story of Jesus riding on the back of a donkey.

It’s certainly not so popular to yell “Hosanna.”

And it’s not so popular to believe Jesus died to save us.

 

But I believe.

And it’s okay.

I am awake now.

 

 

Post Script:

The photo above popped up on my Google memories or Facebook this week.  It’s from a year when we were still able to welcome the community and particularly the children to our church at Easter. We pray that will change again soon.

That’s me under the bunny head.  I get to play many roles in my job.  Even representing the fictional aspects of this season.

Happy Easter!

 

Silly Hair and Silly Socks

Silly Hair and Silly Socks

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Today, in case you didn’t know it or couldn’t guess, was “Silly Hair Day” at my grandson Christian’s school in Hollywood, Florida.

Wednesday was “Silly Sock Day” at my grandson Cameron’s school in Leesburg, Virginia.

Like Cameron and I making fart noises into our walkie-talkies while sitting on my deck a few years ago, and me wishing I hadn’t missed so much with my kids, I wanted to participate too.

Cameron’s silly socks had tacos on them.  Mine had mugs of beer running (Beer Runs) and gorillas playing golf.

Alexa thought my silly hair looked a little like Cindy-Lou Who.

I guess that was appropriate since we recently recognized the birthday of Dr. Seuss on March 2nd and some of his books were in the news for other reasons.

 

These first couple weeks of March seemed to generate a lot of memories.

Of course, it was March 13, 2020, when our lives shut down with the fear of Covid-19, and the first “Would You Like a Lime With That?” was posted.  It’s funny to read that now since, at the time, the scientists felt that masks weren’t necessary.

That’s changed of course.

On March 3rd in 2018, we celebrated the life of my good friend Joe in New Jersey.  That was the last time I saw many of my good friends from home on the Jersey shore.

 

We have grown used to not seeing the people we love.

Used to it maybe,  but we haven’t grown to like it, it has become an unavoidable way of life.

 

On March 2nd I got one of those memories that pop up on Facebook.  It was a photo of my buddy Jim (Jochems) and me running the Reston Ten Miler in 2014.  That year, after putting on a few pounds during the holidays leading up to the New Year, I vowed to change my lifestyle, elevate my activities and wrote about it in a weekly Happier, Healthier Me blog. 

Jim was kind enough to motivate me to run that race when I didn’t feel I was ready and kept me distracted with ten miles of old Marine stories.

At the time when the photo was posted another friend from New Jersey, Donny Brocklebank thought it funny to compare the image of us in our running tights by posting a link to Youtube Robin Hood: Men in Tights dancing video.

It was funny.

It’s even funnier looking now Donny B, seven years later, because I hate to tell you buddy, I started running again and this almost 65 year old body in tights looks way more gruesome.

Yup, after this Covid winter and having the same kind of experience that led to my 2014 need to increase my activities, I started to run again this week.  I actually had a guy on a bike pass me on the W & OD bike trail on Tuesday who said, “Hey I see you got the Covid hair thing going.”

I don’t know who this guy was or whether he knew me or not but I just laughed and said “yeah, it’s my Covid haircut.”

But it was my Covid belly that was really motivating me.

That, and a documentary I watched called The Courage to Run.

It told the story of Chip Gaines, from the cable show Fixer Upper and his quest to run a marathon.

But that wasn’t the real story.  The real story was about his coach, a young lady named Gabriele Grunewald, a professional runner continued to compete over a ten year period while battling and beating a variety of cancers.

But in the end, the rare cancer that she was diagnosed with in 2009, won the race.  She couldn’t beat that one, and on June 11, 2019, she succumbed to her disease. Through it all, she was very brave.

That hit home to me.

I knew someone too who was very brave and lost his race.

And so, I couldn’t wait to start running again.

 

This week I have run 18 miles and I am feeling really good about it.

My wife even told me I seem less depressed and she is happy to hear my sarcasm has returned.

That’s a big deal because Kim doesn’t like my New Jersey sarcasm normally.

And, I even lost a couple of pounds already.

 

And just like making fart noised into walkie-talkies, it’s okay when you are 5 and 64 and 10 and 64 to share silly hair and silly socks.

Because we don’t care.

 

And now if I could just get my vaccine so I can begin the process of growing unused to seeing those I love.

Then I wouldn’t have to share silly hair and silly socks over video calls.

We could just be silly together.

 

 

Postscript:

If you need some TV time, check out The Courage to Run on the Discovery Plus channel. It’s an amazing story.  And also the Brave Like Gabe Foundation website.

Jim and me, March 2, 2014, the Reston Ten Miler
the finish line and my very slow time
HUMP DAY

HUMP DAY

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THE  WEEKEND.

 

We’ve all had them right?

 

“Hey man, how was your weekend?”

 

“Oh man, it was THE WEEKEND!”

 

“Really? What did you do?”

 

“Man, I don’t even remember, but it was THE WEEKEND!   I tell you what, I can’t take too many more weekends like that!”

 

Ain’t that the truth.

 

After last year’s half time show caused some of us to squirm in the presence of our wives and moms, including me, and had us reaching for the bag of Doritos (“Pass the Doritos Please”), this year’s just created great opportunities to head for the sink and clean up the air fryer after the chicken wings.

Last year, one young writer accused those that felt uncomfortable with the dancing of Shakira and Jennifer Lopez, of being racists.  We were racists for feeling that way.  It had absolutely nothing to do with being a sixteen-year-old boy watching the show with your mom or an old guy like me watching with my wife.

Of course not.

 

This year, however, I will probably be accused of being xenophobic.

 

For this year’s Super Bowl LV halftime show we had The Weeknd (not to be confused with those infamous week-ends discussed earlier.)

And I think it was fitting that the NFL chose “The Weeknd.”

Because in the NFL we have had “The Fridge.”

And in the NFL we have had “The Bus.”

So why not “The Weeknd?”

 

I have to admit I had never heard of the guy.

And hey, I apologize “ ’Nd” because after looking you up, you’ve done alright with big hits and even a being a Grammy Award winner.

But I don’t watch the Grammys and unless you made a cameo appearance on “Maine Cabin Masters” I probably wouldn’t know who you are.

 

But that’s irrelevant because the NFL knew who he was.

Though he is Canadian, he was definitely politically in the right lane, having canceled an appearance on Jimmy Kimmel Live in May of 2016 because a certain guy was present, and he is a large donor to the Black Lives Matter movement as well as Colin Kaepernick’s organization.  And maybe it was a good bone to throw to Justin Trudeau for killing the pipeline.

 

So really, I think he was the best non-American the NFL could find to represent Americans in the now “Reunited States of America.”

He, and Bruce Springsteen in his Jeep of course, representing “The Middle.”

America’s Middle.

No more red, no more blue, only purple in the middle.

(And Bruce, put the top up man, you’re going to catch cold!)

 

Ah, but it’s just a game, with expensive commercials, with a big production in the middle.

It was all in fun and we needed that.

We laughed, we cheered, we ate, we drank maybe, and we cleaned the air fryers.

And when the clock finally ran out, age, wisdom, and experience prevailed and we had “The Winner.”

 

And now thank goodness, it’s Hump Day!

The Middle of the Work Week.

And I don’t know about you but I can’t wait for The Weeknd…I mean the Week-End.

Weekend.

Well, you know what I mean.

 

Have a good weekend.

Blizzard Blend

Blizzard Blend

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Today’s little snowstorm brought back some memories of snow events from the past and particularly one from eleven years ago.

 

My 2008 Christmas letter started off with this opening:

 A little while back Hayley told us about a conversation she had with another new, young teacher at her work.  This young lady was telling Hayley about her roommates:

 “You know the kind of roommates I am talking about? Do you have those too?”

 (Hayley) “You mean the kind that are older and married?  Yes, I have those kind of roommates too.”

This year Kim and I got roommates…two of them to be exact. You know the kind that I am talking about as well…..the ones that when they are not working, sleep most of the time, watch TV, leave the lights on all night, make sure their dirty dishes stop at the sink instead of going all the way to the dishwasher; the kind that expect dinner on the table and then don’t come home; want their laundry done…that is if ever makes its way off their bedroom floor.

 Sounds strangely a lot like our kids doesn’t it?  Maybe I should ask for some ID.

 Yeah just kidding…Savannah and Hayley have moved in.  But they are now working adults…well… they are working anyway.

 

 

That year, in another of life’s twists and turns, Kim and I, after a shorter than expected time of being empty nesters, got roommates again.

 

I used to joke back then, that I could no longer make my coffee in the nude, an image that even I find vile and revolting today.

 

President Barack Obama dubbed the blizzard of February 5th and 6th 2010 “Snowmaggedon.”  The official snow total for Dulles Airport was the greatest ever recorded, 32.4 inches.

 

As luck would have it, Kim and I still had our roommates that snowy weekend.

 

We had been given a winemaking kit sometime before that and it just so happened that the batch of wine we had made in our little plastic container was ready for bottling on that weekend.  And since we were all nicely trapped together in the house, it was fun to have something we could all do together.

 

In the end, we blended our homemade merlot with a little cabernet sauvignon we had in the house, officially christened our new family winery the “Little Chickens Winery” even though we were short one little chicken, and called our new wine the “Blizzard Blend” in honor of the “Snowmaggedon.”

 

I don’t think we would have won any awards with our “Blizzard Blend” but it was drinkable.

There are still a couple of bottles in circulation, (like the one pictured above) but I think I would rather just look at it than drink it after eleven years.

 

Since we haven’t had much snow around here the last couple of years, any call for snow gets the “Snowmaggedon” treatment by the media. It’s been a nice little snow event, with not much stress, and required just a little shoveling.  Kim and I went for a 4.5-mile walk down along the trails and it was really pretty to walk through.

 

And for just a brief moment this morning as I reflected on the snow and the memory of bottling our wine that snowy February weekend in 2010, I even missed having our roommates just a little.

 

For just a very brief moment.

And just a little.