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 Hurricane Who?

 Hurricane Who?

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Three twenty-two in the afternoon of August 3 and I am just crossing the Frederick C. Malkus Bridge over the Choptank River into Cambridge, Maryland.  Off in the distance in the direction of my parent’s house, I could see bolts of lightning crashing out of the dark cloud mass moving up from the south.  A couple of small issues delayed my departure and of course I had to stop at Trader Joe’s, or can I say Trader Jose’s, or wait maybe now it’s “The Supermarket Formerly Known as Trader Joe’s” to pick up some wine (that’s a whole other story).  Now a little angry that I am behind schedule, I was hoping to beat the rain and have some time to prep for the storm.

As I drove into their driveway I found my mother and my father attempting to secure their kayaks on a rack he had built outside their garage.  My dad was trying to climb a small stepladder and my mother was arguing with him to stay off the ladder.  Good timing I thought, reinforcing my decision to go out there.

 

I had been following the path of Tropical Storm What’s His Name all weekend.

What is his name?

Hurricane EE I EE I O…I think?

No that can’t be right.  There are a lot of “EE I’s” in there but don’t think there are any “O’s.”

Can I buy a consonant please, Pat?

 

Anyway, all the models had it moving directly over Dorchester County, Maryland, the area of the Eastern Shore of where my parents live.  It was still believed it would be upgraded to Hurricane before making landfall somewhere in the Carolinas.  The storm wasn’t expected to be over Dorchester County and Woolford until about 9 a.m. Tuesday so after securing the kayaks and a few other items in the yard it was time to relax, get some sleep, and wait until the morning.

 

The first tornado touched down near Vienna, Maryland at 6:01 a.m. way ahead of the 8 a.m. to 9 a.m. that we expected.  Vienna is further down Route 50 closer to Salisbury.  When I got up at 6:44 the new tornado warning included the towns of Secretary and Hurlock on the eastern side of Dorchester County.

Raining hard, the river was high but the wind not too bad.  We watched the local news station out of Salisbury to keep up with the storm’s progression and the tornado warnings as we waited it out.

We watched as the eyewall passed over our area, the wind briefly kicked up but soon according to the weather station we were watching, we would be out of trouble as Tropical Storm What’s His Name moved toward Philadelphia and New Jersey.

 

Friday, June 29, 2012, was a really hot day and part of a heatwave our Northern Virginia area was experiencing.  But by that evening we would experience a weather event most had never even heard of.  We learned a new word almost as difficult to pronounce as the name of this week’s Hurricane.

We experienced…a Derecho.

According to NOAA, Derechos are fast-moving bands of thunderstorms with destructive winds. The winds can be as strong as those found in hurricanes or even tornadoes! Unlike hurricanes and tornadoes, these winds follow straight lines.

 

On this particular day in June when the temperature hit 104 degrees, a small thunderstorm that began in Iowa would begin its journey east and as it crossed Indiana it would become a Derecho.  As it continued its route towards the east and encountered the Appalachian Mountains, instead of losing steam as often happens with storms reaching the mountains, the hot humid air mass that existed that day on the other side provided additional energy.  By the time it reached the Baltimore/Washington, DC corridor and its suburbs including mine in Northern Virginia, winds had reached as much as 60 to 80 miles an hour. Reston a town adjacent to mine logged a gust of 79 miles per hour.

When it was over it left destruction and over a million people in our area without power.  The restoration of power took an unusually long time as you might expect.  Ice was scarce, and without refrigeration and freezers, food was lost.  As the heatwave continued, without air conditioning life became really uncomfortable very quickly.  I remember Kim and I sitting in the blow-up pool we had for Cameron for hours.  After spending a sleepless Saturday night due to the heat, on Sunday I put the kids up in a nearby hotel that had backup power.  Cameron was only two years old at the time and there is nothing worse than being stuck in a hot house with hot, sweaty, cranky daughters.

No, as they say, I ain’t doing it,  I would rather sit in a blow-up pool in my back yard with temperatures over 100 degrees for a week than deal with all that.  It was well worth the investment.

I don’t remember exactly when our power finally did come back on but I think it was Tuesday which was relatively good as I remember.  It was a miserable experience and after that weekend we all knew what the word Derecho meant.

 

As Tropical Storm Whatchamacallit began its movement north the local weather people began to draw lines on their weather maps indicating the “all clear” area. If you were behind the line you were all good. So once we were safely behind that line we began to relax and listened as the weather stories focused on counties further north and in Delaware.

Then all of a sudden our winds shifted to the west.  That was an even better signal that we were now on the better side of the storm.

Though we received a lot of rain we dodged the tornadoes and the wind we had from the storm was minimal.

Or was it?

 

Gradually that wind from the west began to get stronger.

And then it got even stronger.

And the river awoke with huge white caps that crashed onto the docks and bulkheads creating spray normally only seen with an ocean wave.

And the rain came down even harder as trees bent and broke and were pulled up from their roots.

Now that we were safely behind the “all clear” line, we suddenly had a real storm to contend with.  And in a short period of time while our local weather folks in Salisbury talked about Dover and above, somehow our “Hurricane What’s His Name ” had returned.

As the waves smashed against the bulkheads and the docks up and down the river they began to break up.  The familiar duck blind in the cove up the river disappeared and ended up in a nearby yard.

My dad’s pier, like the other piers up and down the river, began to break up as well.

Trees fell up and down the street.

“Hey,” I said as I messaged the TV station via Facebook Messenger, “we have some serious weather here in Woolford!”  But still no mention.  Then I even sent a video. But no response.

What the heck was going on?

Three tractor-trailers on the Frederick C. Malkus Bridge had been blown over!

And we were “all clear.”

 

Finally, as our new storm began to calm down, we started to get a mention and an explanation of what was going on.

And on Tuesday, like that day in June of 2012 when we learned what a Derecho was, we learned what a Sting Jet was.

According to the internet and the local weather guy:

A sting jet is a relatively localized jet of rapidly descending cold air inside a deep extratropical cyclone. It affects a small region, compared to the size of the cyclone, and lasts only several hours. Destructive winds of over 150 km/h (93 miles an hour) have been attributed to sting jets.

So while Tropical Storm EE I EE I O was marching across the Delmarva and into Pennsylvania and New Jersey, in Dorchester County, Maryland we had a Sting Jet!

 

As the winds began to subside and the rain stopped, I cleared the pine tree that fallen in the front from the road.  Then I collected the boards from the neighbor’s dock that included parts of three nearby docks. I assessed the damage to my dad’s dock and would put the repairs off to another day.

I picked up the branches and the crab traps that had blown into the neighbor’s yard.

I spoke with some of the neighbors who shared stories of similar damage.

All in all though, no one was hurt and the damage could be repaired or removed.

 

And for the second time in my life, I experienced a new weather phenomenon. Well, new to me and the local weather guy on TV who admitted he had never seen this before.

 

Though I am having a little fun with the name of this storm that most of couldn’t pronounce, including a few weather persons I listened to, my prayers go out to those who suffered serious damage to house and home, physical injury, and especially the families of the at least nine people who lost their lives to the storm.

 

ISAIAS

ees-ah-EE-ahs

 

EE I…EE I… OOOOOOOOO…

The end.

 

The sun goes down ending a crazy day.

 

At least it didn’t wash away.
Moonlight Over San Diego

Moonlight Over San Diego

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Sunday, August 2, 2020.

It’s 4:51 Pacific Time.

“On to the track for the 7th race.  Post time in nine minutes”

 

Del Mar thoroughbred racetrack is located in San Diego.  I have never been to Del Mar.

I have been to San Diego once.

My brother Gary lives in San Diego.

Often when talking about my brothers I would refer to one as my “California brother” and the other as my “Cancer brother.”

In fact, the only trip I made to San Diego was to visit my “California brother” and it was with my “Cancer brother” Carl.

It is a nice memory.

Though I didn’t know it at the time he wanted to make that trip because he thought his cancer that was in remission had returned.  Thankfully that turned out not to be the case.

After that, we would kid him a little that every time he traveled or showed up somewhere unexpectedly it meant it was time for us to go buy a suit.

Like the second trip he made to San Diego with his wife Teesha, and the Mother’s Day he showed up unannounced at my mother’s after learning he had mesothelioma.

It was never really funny, but in more hopeful times it got a little laugh.

I would probably visit San Diego more often.

But you know, you have to be invited.

Then, of course, there is the virus.

 

“The horses are now approaching the starting gate.”

 

The seventh race at Del Mar was scheduled for 5 o’clock Pacific Time which makes it 8 o’clock here on the east coast.

The seventh race at Del Mar is special to me today because one of my horses is entered. You may recall from my post “We’re Going to Make It…” that I made a very small investment in four two-year-old fillies.

 

“The horses have now reached the starting gate.  It’s Post Time!  They’re at the starting gate for the seventh race at Del Mar.”

 

Moonlight D’Oro is the two-year-old daughter of Medaglia d’Oro, the dad.  Medaglia d’Oro was a very successful grade one stakes winner who raced until age five.  Moonlight’s mom Venetian Sonata was also a grade one stakes runner who had marginal racing success.

The conditions of the race are the requirements a horse must meet to be entered into a race.  In this case, the conditions are that this is a Maiden race at five furlongs for two-year-old fillies only.  The maiden term means none of the horsed entered have ever won a race though they may have started other races but just not won.   The purse is $55,000.

In the case of Moonlight d’Oro,  she has never run a race.  She is a first-time starter. She had been working out very successfully and as a result her trainer Richard Mandella felt it was time.  Of the four horses I made my very small investment in, Moonlight d’Oro is the first to be entered into a race.  She will exit the gate as the number 4 horse and will be ridden by jockey Flavien Prat, a French jockey who has been riding in the States since 2015.  So far today Flavien has already won two races.

Moonlight d’Oro was the morning line favorite to win the race with early odds at 8 to 5.  Currently, as we get close to post time, she is 2 to 5, the heavy favorite.

 

“Roll Up Mo Money moving in with Moonlight d’Oro.”

“They’re off!”

 

Thoroughbred racehorses all turn a year older on January 1st.  Therefore, any horse foaled in 2018 as far as race conditions are concerned is considered to be two years old in 2020.  Moonlight d’Oro’s actual birthday was May 2, 2018, so she is twenty-seven months old today.  Though it is not unusual for a horse to begin racing as a two-year-old it is just as common for trainers to wait until they are three when they are a little more mature.

The more well-known races such as the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont, otherwise known as the Triple Crown are limited to horses that are three years old.  Most of the time the entrants to these races are male horses though there have been some girls who have been successful running against the boys like Winning Colors in 1988 and Genuine Risk in 1980 and Regret in 1915.

 

“Moonlight d’Oro finds herself six lengths off the lead early on.”

 

One of the unusual aspects of this seventh race at Del Mar is that none of these horses have ever been entered in a race.  They are all very young and very inexperienced.  Their only practice has been working out in the mornings, running against a stablemate or two, and breaking from the practice gate.  Therefore anyone of these horses could step up today and win this race.  One of them will “break their maiden” today.

 

“Nothing yet from the favorite Moonlight d’Oro who’s at the back of the pack”

 

The workouts are timed by the “clockers.”  Therefore there is some data, though not always considered to be very reliable, on how a horse may be progressing in their training.  Moonlight d’Oro produced a “bullet workout,” in other words, one of the best of the day at Santa Anita back on June 13 and has worked well over the Del Mar surface at five furlongs in preparation for this race.

 

“And they’re into the stretch. And it’s Roll Up Mo Money who has taken the lead”

 

I should probably go visit my “California brother” more often.

I was just kidding about the invitation, he asks us to come out all the time.

I can’t visit with my “Cancer brother” anymore.

I should probably learn something from that.

But we don’t always learn.  I have written about that before.

Then of course there is the virus.

 

“Closing in between horses is Moonlight d’Oro who’s kicked it in too”

“But Roll Up Mo Money is going to do it”

 

I don’t know if investing in these horses will ever turn out to be good as an investment, but it has been certainly worth the well-needed distraction.

Moonlight d’Oro had a big kick at the end and finished second.

She ran a really nice race coming way off the pace and closing nicely.

She will be fine.

She made another nice memory.

 

Who Moved My Cheese…Again

Who Moved My Cheese…Again

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It was September 11, 1970.

As Bruce Springsteen described in his autobiography Born to Run, the Steel Mill concert at the Clearwater Swim Club located in the Atlantic Highlands section of Middletown Township New Jersey was billed as a “Free Mad Dog” concert.  Vinnie “Mad Dog” Lopez was the band’s drummer who had been arrested in Richmond shortly before and they needed money to bail him out of jail.

I met up with some friends at the beach in North Long Branch and we hitchhiked our way up the coast to Atlantic Highlands.  Hitchhiking was a fairly common mode of transportation back then.

My brother had gotten a ride with one of his friends.  We were sitting near the right side of the pool.

I had a tendency back then to like to wander through the crowds socializing.

At some point, a plainclothes police officer who was also moving through the crowd attempted to arrest someone for something and got thrown in the pool.

As a result of that and the 10 p.m. noise curfew, the uniformed Middletown Police arrived with literally a busload of police officers intent on enforcing the noise curfew.

So around 10 p.m. they shut off the power and pandemonium ensued. There was a lot of scuffling around the stage, and amplifiers were coming down.

As the chaos broke out the crowd began to flee the venue and the police.

At some point in the confusion, an arm reached out and grabbed my shirt.

It was my brother.  “Stay right next to me,” he said as we worked our way out, holding on to my shirt the whole way out.  My memory is a little fuzzy on what happened after but no doubt we all ended up back in North Long Branch in Johnny’s Luncheonette parking lot trading stories about our crazy evening.

There would be others.

 

Though we were two years apart we had a lot of the same friends, we hung out in the same places, liked the same music, and as in the story above he took good care of me.  The downside of that being that when we were younger my mother would sometimes buy us the same clothing so there are school pictures where we were dressed alike. And since Carl was bigger than me, once he grew out of his, I had to wear it another year or two.

 

I remember one Christmas I had bought him four or five forty-five records as a present, wrapped them up and hid them under my bed.  But since I liked the forty-fives so much one day before Christmas when no one was around I unwrapped them, listened to them a couple of times, re-wrapped them, and put them back under the bed.

My mother bought us our first record albums at the Superama in Shrewsbury, or maybe it was at Two Guys From Harrison, no I think it was the Superama.  If you are from Jersey you may remember those stores.  Carl got The 4 Seasons Gold Vault of Hits and I got the Beach Boys’ Surfin’ U.S.A.

 

Carl growing up was “Chris” or “Chrissie”.  We didn’t start calling him Carl until we were adults so that was fairly recently, and still, then it was just every now and then.

 

He could torment the heck out of you with his teasing and pranks.

Once when we were younger he stood at the top of the steps of the split level house my dad had built where we grew up, in Oceanport, New Jersey, holding a deck of cards and asked me if I wanted to play Fifty Two Pick Up. Since I liked to play cards and liked playing with my brother I enthusiastically said yes.

Then he threw the deck of cards down the stairs and they landed scattered all over our hallway at the bottom of the steps and said:

“Okay, then pick them up.”

Then he laughed real hard.

I should have seen that one coming.

 

Gary who was seven years younger than Carl took the brunt of his pranks though.

We all three boys shared the same bedroom.  My dad had built this elaborate headboard system with bookshelves for each one of us in between the beds.  Gary had the bed closest to the door and Chrissie was in the middle.  One day Carl was kneeling in between his bed and Gary’s pretending to be taking big whiffs of something he was holding cupped in his hands.  Every time he took a big whiff he would comment on how great it smelled.  Gary was watching and so he asked Gary if he would like to smell it too and Gary said yes.  So he snapped the ammonia inhaler he had cupped in his hands just before Gary took a big snort.  Gary freaked and ran out of the room screaming and crying.  It was hysterical.

Another time we were camping and the campground was near a farm that had an electrical fence.  Patty was a baton twirler at the time.  Chrissie was holding Patty’s baton by the rubber end and touching the fence and saying how cool it was.  He asked Gary if he wanted to touch the fence with the baton too and of course Gary yes.  So he handed Gary the baton which Gary grabbed by the metal part.  Then Gary touched the fence.  That was pretty funny too.

 

Growing up he fought most of the battles with my parents first so when I wanted to do something like grow my hair long, wear hippie-like clothes, listen to loud rock music, and have the freedom to roam, my parents had already given up on the fight.

As soon as he could get his working papers at the age of thirteen he started working.  First at Frank Callahan’s market in old Oceanport.  Then he parlayed jobs and learned printing skills that eventually got him to Lucent Technologies and a very early retirement offer.

Somewhere along the way, he was exposed to asbestos.  He also always thought the chemicals in the print shop were the cause of his colon-rectal cancer since he knew other printers who had also developed the same cancer.

 

In those early years too he flipped cars like he flipped jobs, buying selling, even trading with his friends.   He always had cool cars.  In fact, I bought my first car from him, my first motorcycle, and my first pick-up truck.

 

One time I had a date with this new girl.  She was a big Billy Joel fan and I was taking her to the Billy Joel concert at the Monmouth College (it wasn’t a University then)  on his Piano Man tour.

Carl knew this was an important date for me so he asked if I wanted to borrow his car that night.  At the time he had a 1971 white Corvette.  She was very impressed.  I remember I tried to kiss her once though and she pulled back because she said that I would mess up her lipstick.

Needless to say, that one didn’t work out (thankfully).

Never the less I still made a big impression thanks to Billy Joel and my brother.

 

I recall one day, we were probably in our early twenties, and we were driving somewhere.  As he drove I sat in the passenger seat doing my best Richard Lewis shtick, complaining about whatever it was I was hating life about at the time.

He listened quietly as I ranted and finally he stopped me and said something like:

“Listen to yourself!”

“All you have been doing since we have been driving is complaining.”

“What the hell do you have to complain about?”

“Why don’t you quit bitching and complaining and just be happy?”

I shut up and sat quietly after that thinking about how I was acting and feeling a little silly.

He was right.

 

I think since he knew my propensity back then for being miserable and complaining, not too long after he had lost his job at Lucent, I left the company I had worked at for fifteen years and had trouble finding a new job.

He sent me a book called “Who Moved My Cheese” and he said it had helped him to view his situation more positively.  He thought it might do the same for me.

If you are not familiar, “Who Moved My Cheese” is the story of four mice named Sniff and Scurry and Hem and Haw The book is about the different ways we respond to change.  In the book, Cheese is the metaphor for what we want in life.  I think Carl knew he was more Sniff and Scurry and that I was more Hem and Haw.

The book explains that no source of cheese lasts forever.  Life changes whether we like it or not because change is inevitable and we need to learn to anticipate it, adapt to it, embrace and enjoy it.  Do this and you will enjoy more success and fulfillment in every part of your life and work.

It worked for him.

He went on to work for himself and build a great business as his family grew and made many very loyal friends.  He encountered many challenges along the way but always remained positive.

 

The morning of Tuesday, June 30,  I was the only one at my sister Patty’s house when my sister in law Teesha called my cell phone and told me Carl had just died.

I freaked.

I got angry at God and Carl that he couldn’t have waited another freaking hour so that I could talk to him, and with no one in the house I was expressing that disappointment quite vocally and loudly.

Afterward, I felt a little silly once again.

Because I know if he could have, he would have said “what the hell are you angry, and complaining about? I’m not angry and complaining and I’m the one who died!   Just quit complaining and be happy!”

And he would have been right again.

 

For my family, once again our cheese got moved and in an instant, our lives changed.

And though we anticipated it, I have to say it’s been really hard to embrace it.

But Carl did.

And now he is at peace, he is not in any more pain, and he doesn’t have to worry about overcoming any more challenges.

He can just be happy.

 

He found his cheese…again.

 

This was Christmas 1962
not sure, 1958 or 1959?
2015
North Long Branch in the 1970’s, that is Johnny’s on the left.  The ocean is a half a block to the left of Johnny’s.
Superama, the record section in fact.
Identical sweater photos
Some Fourth of July
Early 2000’s
Memorial Day Weekend 2020

(North Long Branch photo courtesy of MonmouthBeachLife.com, the Superama photo courtesy of TroyMartin.com)

My Ride’s Here

My Ride’s Here

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I was staying at the Westin
I was playing to a draw
When in walked Charlton Heston
With the Tablets of the Law

He said, “It’s still the Greatest Story”
I said, “Man I’d like to stay
But I’m bound for glory
I’m on my way
My ride’s here…”

 (From “My Ride’s Here” as written by Paul Muldoon and Warren Zevon)

 

I got a nice email from Mike Vineyard back in early May.  Mike is the brother of Steve Vineyard, my pastor who passed away unexpectedly back in January of this year.

You might remember.

I won’t share it exactly but in his email he said he had read and enjoyed some my posts and had even subscribed to the website.

I don’t know Mike.

He didn’t remember meeting me and truthfully I don’t remember meeting him either.  Ever since having Donny’s funeral at the Sterling United Methodist Church, I don’t like to attend funerals there.    So I generally make myself as busy as I can be helping out in some way that keeps me distracted.

But I surely appreciated his comments and his desire to receive my future posts.

 

“My Ride’s Here” was the eleventh studio album released in May of 2002 by singer-songwriter Warren Zevon.  I read that he described the album as a meditation on death.

It was released several months before Zevon was diagnosed with a type of cancer called mesothelioma.

Warren Zevon passed away in September of 2003 at the young age of fifty-six.

 

According to the Mayo Clinic:

Malignant mesothelioma (me-zoe-thee-lee-O-muh) is a type of cancer that occurs in the thin layer of tissue that covers the majority of your internal organs (mesothelium).

Mesothelioma is an aggressive and deadly form of cancer. Mesothelioma treatments are available, but for many people with mesothelioma, a cure isn’t possible.

The primary risk factor for mesothelioma is exposure to asbestos.

 

My brother Carl had mesothelioma.

He died on Tuesday morning, about fourteen months after his diagnosis, at the young age of sixty-six.

 

According to my California brother Gary, who recently was able to spend a week with Carl, he told him that he really liked the song “My Ride’s Here” by Warren Zevon.

Zevon didn’t know he had mesothelioma at the time that he wrote that song.  Yet most interpretations believe “My Ride’s Here refers to the last ride, the one that takes us to the other side.”

Another wrote: “I hope when my time comes I can show half of the class that Warren had and that I can catch my last ride with the dignity he had. There’s no warning, no big production, just the fact that it happens to all of us.”

My brother was a class act.  A genuinely nice guy.

Back in April, I connected with a friend, Lee Scott, who was part of the group of friends we hung with back in Jersey in the early 70’s via Facebook.  I told Lee coincidentally my brother and I had been reminiscing  and talking about him a short time before that.  He asked about Carl and I explained what was going on.  In his response, he said he was sorry to hear and that Carl “was always the more sane of us.”

He was.

He was the pragmatic one.

 

We have all heard this said I’m sure “yeah I know that guy, he would give you the shirt off his back!”

In the literal sense, I don’t know if my brother Carl would have given you the shirt off his back.

He needed that shirt to hide the wounds, the scars, and the colostomy resulting from years of fighting rectal cancer, then lung cancer.

But he would have given you anything else you asked for and more often, even if you didn’t ask.

He just showed up.

Then he met a form of cancer he couldn’t beat, one where “a cure isn’t possible.”

And he faced it with dignity, continuing to give right up to end.

 

I still don’t know Mike Vineyard.

But I feel like I know him a little better today than I did last week.

I know what he felt like back in January and I expect I know what he feels like today.

 

Since Donny’s accident, I believe as the Bible says, God knows the day your ride is going to show up.  I know that it happens to all of us, and as much as we would like to think otherwise, we don’t have control.

And so Tuesday morning, without a lot of production, and to some degree for us, without warning, Carl decided, as the song said,

“Man I’d like to stay

But I’m bound for glory

I’m on my way

My ride’s here…”

 

 

Well, okay then.

 

I wish you would have waited another hour or two, but I understand.

 

You couldn’t miss your ride.

 

I love you.

 

I will see you when I see you.

 

 

 

 

The Rose Ceremony

The Rose Ceremony

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I could be handy, mending a fuse
When your lights have gone
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride
Doing the garden, digging the weeds
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four?

From When I’m Sixty Four by Lennon and McCartney

 

The song When I’m Sixty Four was released on the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album in May of 1967.  It is said that it is one of the first songs written by McCartney when he was just sixteen years old.  Quite an accomplishment at such a young age to try to project what it might be like growing old together in a relationship.

Sounded perfect.

Who could ask for more?

 

 

The Rose Ceremony.

A single rose always means “I love you.”

As the first gift of a husband and wife, they exchange the single rose each holds.

Remember, in every marriage, there are times when it is difficult to find the right words; difficult to say “I am sorry” or “I forgive you.”

If this should happen, the gift of the rose will say for you.

“I am sorry.”

“I still love you.”

And the other should accept the rose for the words which cannot be found.

 

I celebrated my 64th birthday this past weekend.

Kim celebrated her 59th birthday on Monday.

And twenty years ago today Kim and I said the words and exchanged the roses as part of our wedding vows.

It was a simple wedding.

With the exception of Kim’s sister Kathy and my brother Gary, the wedding party was made up of kids.  Some ours, some not ours.

Pastor Lee Crosby officiated on the first day of work with his first assignment right out of Divinity School at the Sterling United Methodist Church.

The reception was simple, catered by the local deli with a keg of beer and box wine and held at our townhouse.

The next day we bolted up to New Jersey for a second reception at Monmouth Park’s Clubhouse outdoor patio for the Jersey group.

We even had a race named in our honor, and a photo in the winner’s circle.

 

 

I think there was a time for both of us when we didn’t feel we would get this opportunity.

Answered prayers I always called it.

The past twenty years have gone by quickly.

We were talking the other evening while hunkered down in the compound which is our backyard where we find ourselves a lot lately, our marriage has never been stressed.

Not that we haven’t endured stress, in fact, we have had unbelievable stress.

But it’s never affected our relationship.

We had our four kids.  And they provided plenty of opportunities for us and our relationship to be challenged.

But that never happened, even in the worst of situations.

And we had some Holy Spirit heavy lifters.

 

Now I find myself sixty-four and like in the song, growing old together, and realizing the growing old part may present the biggest challenge in life that I, or we, will face.

My lyrics, however, might sound more like:

I could be handy, clean the garage

When your patience is gone

You can sit and relax by the fire pit

In the morning go for bike ride

I’ll do the garden, dig all the weeds

Clean the bathrooms too!

Will you still need me, I will still feed you

When I’m sixty four!

 

And true to our Rose Ceremony, there were more than a few times when I had to cough up a rose to bail myself out.

Wait, now that I think about it, I may have been the only one coughing up roses the last twenty years, I might need to go back and read that Rose Ceremony fine print again…

Seems I may have been the only one ending up in those situations for which words cannot be found.

 

Truth is…

I couldn’t ask for more.

Happy Anniversary Baby

 

We’re Going to Make It……

We’re Going to Make It……

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I haven’t told my wife yet.

How do I tell my wife this?

Do I just come out and say it?

Do I leave a note on the counter?

Maybe a photo?

Maybe write a blog?

 

 

This is a big weekend for me.

I am a big fan of horse racing as you may know and today is the Belmont Stakes.

Tomorrow, as you also know I am sure, is Father’s Day. And next to horse racing, yeah I think my kids are pretty special too.   So I am looking forward to spending some time this weekend  watching some horse racing and also spending some time with at least some of my kids.

Eighteen years ago the family wanted to do something for me that was special so they asked me what I wanted to do on Father’s Day and they would arrange that.

I said, “I want to go to the horse races.”

And so, they worked it out that they would take me to the races at Laurel Racecourse in Laurel, Maryland on Father’s Day.

Not having a vehicle big enough for the six of us, we took two cars.  Alexa at the time was attending the University of Maryland in College Park and recommended that on the way, we also go out for brunch at the 94th Aero Squadron Restaurant located at the College Park Airport which she had been to before. This restaurant was a theme restaurant based on World War I and II aviation and complete with replica planes surrounding the building with sections made to look like it was exposed to “air raids.” On the way out of the restaurant we asked a passerby to take what would turn out to be the last photo of all six of us together in front of one of the planes positioned outside the restaurant, before heading over to the racetrack.

That was a great Father’s Day memory from 2002.

Now it is Father’s Day weekend 2020.

And this year we happen to have a horse racing emphasis once again on this weekend. As a result, it made it a little bit more special, though still bittersweet.

The Belmont Stakes is typically run on the third Saturday after the third Saturday in May when the Preakness is run which works out to be normally the first Saturday in June.   This year, however it’s on the third Saturday in June.  And typically the Belmont Stakes is the third leg of the Triple Crown and usually follows the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness which are the three races that make up the Triple Crown, but this year the Preakness will be the third leg sometime in October.  Triple Crown races are limited to horses that are three years old.

 

Are you following all this?

 

Of course, all the confusion created this year is on account of the virus.

 

Although Father’s Day, on the third Sunday in June remains unaffected by the virus with the exception of the fact that unlike eighteen years ago, this year I couldn’t go to the races even if I wanted to because patrons are not allowed in the stands to watch the live races.  Not to mention, though we probably could go out for brunch if we really wanted to by following the limited outdoor seating rule, I would prefer to stay in my back yard.

 

So in honor of this special memory of horse racing and Father’s Day eighteen years ago I thought it important this week to do something different that was special and on my bucket list.

 

Which, I haven’t told my wife about yet.

 

But here goes:

“Honey, we own a racehorse…”

“Actually, we own four…”

“Remember the evening this week we were sitting by the fire pit and I was on my cell phone?…

“And, you said you were going to go in because I was on my cell phone and not talking to you anyway?…”

“I wasn’t talking because I was busy buying a racehorse.  Well, actually four.  Well, actually just a share of four racehorses.”

“ A very small share.”

“They are just two years old and they are all girls.  Just what we need right?”

“Isn’t that great?”

“Happy Father’s Day?”

“Right Kim?”

“I love you…”

 

Donny is gone, the 94th Aero Squadron Restaurant is gone, I don’t think I have been back to Laurel Racecourse since that day, but I still have a photo and a nice memory.

And still stuck in the door of one of our kitchen cabinets is another reminder of this same time not quite eighteen years ago.  This one came in a sympathy card at the time and reads:

“NO MATTER HOW TOUGH LIFE GETS, IF YOU CAN SEE THE SHORE OF HEAVEN, AND DRAW STRENGTH FROM CHRIST, YOU’LL MAKE IT………………..

Still a great reminder today, as it was that summer of 2002.

WE’RE GOING TO MAKE IT…………………….

 

Happy Father’s Day, aren’t they cute?
Photo of the same plane taken in 2007 after the close of the restaurant courtesy of Ben Sumner.
The Answer is Blowin’ in the Wind

The Answer is Blowin’ in the Wind

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Would You Like a Lime with That Week Thirteen – The End

 

“Hey man, c’mon, c’mon we are going downtown, there is a huge protest going on.  There is going to be thousands of people in the streets.”

“Thousands of people?  You mean to tell me I can’t sit next to you at a bar and have a cocktail, but I can stand next to you in a protest and throw a Molotov Cocktail?”

“Yeah man, c’mon lets go.”

“Wait, wait,  wait, what about all that anxiety and social distancing and the economic disaster we just created due to the virus?  What was that all about?”

“C’mon really?  Are you still talking about the virus? That’s so last month.” 

“No, people with businesses lost their whole life’s work and incomes and some are just now beginning to open up again, isn’t that important?”

“Look, we don’t have to wait for them to open, we can just go in and take whatever we want.  It’s that easy! It’s a riot!”

“I don’t get it.  We can’t assemble twenty five people to worship in church but thousands can protest in the street?  There is something not right about that.”

“Dude… church?  There is no church anymore.  You don’t have to go to church any more, you watch it from your kitchen. Your kitchen is your church.  And besides, there is no God in all of this anyway.”

“Wait, wait, yes there is…  I think there is…God has to be in all of this…where is God?…I want my God back…”

 

Bob Dylan released Blowin’ in the Wind way back in 1963.  I would have been seven years old.   By the end of the decade much would change for this country.  The 60’s had proven to be one controversy after another with protests in the streets common.  Though there were definite similarities to some of the causes, like civil rights, and it’s hard to believe we are still talking about it all these years later, the hypothetical conversation above still can only be unique to this time.

Though I read that Dylan denies that Blowin’ in the Wind was written as a protest song, it certainly fills that need perfectly, and has been described as the anthem of the civil rights movement.

“How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?…

how many years can some people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free?…

… how many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn’t see?

The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind”

 

Some think that this theme of “blowing in the wind” may have been taken from a passage in Bound for Glory, Woody Guthrie’s autobiography, where Guthrie compared his political sensibility to newspapers blowing in the winds of New York City streets and alleys.

 

To me sadly, we just experienced this generation’s 9/11 in Mr. Floyd’s death.

We just had the incident. The moment when the whole country came together in a crisis, the one where everyone agreed, and the one that presented the perfect opportunity to build on.

But, like boo boos and never letting a good crisis go to waste, this opportunity seems to have been hijacked for other purposes, at least initially.

Mr. Floyd’s death can’t be in vain, there has to be some result.  And just like the 60’s, peaceful protest will prevail and changes will be made to tighten up some of those wrongs that still plague our society.

But laws and protests aren’t going to solve this problem, we can’t force people to change.

And there are always going to be bad people out there.  We can’t erase whatever the genes are that cause some people to be abusers, murderers, racists, and whatever else is bad in people of all colors in this world.  We need to acknowledge those people exist, and exist disguised and wearing many coats, and some uniforms, and deal with them appropriately.

But the rest of us, the majority of us, those of us who came together for a brief moment on Memorial Day or in the days after, need to not waste another fifty years and just remember to trust each other and to treat each other with love.

We have to look at ourselves and decide what we can do to help make this problem go away one by one.

We need God back because we need God’s help.

God has to be in all of this.

Because God is love.

 

And God is in the wind.

 

Week Thirteen and the end of the tag line.

 

 

 

Boo Boos, Bert and Ernie, Jesus, and Me

Boo Boos, Bert and Ernie, Jesus, and Me

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Would You Like A Lime With That Week Eleven

 

“Curtis! Put that down! You will poke your eye out.”

If you are someone my age how many times growing up do you remember your mother saying that to you?

I was cutting the grass this week at work.  Working within the evergreens with many cut off branches about eye level along the west side of the property, I was thinking about heeding my mother’s advice and my need to be careful that I didn’t “poke my eye out” when all of a sudden I was jarred back to reality by a sharp pain and my head being knocked back.

I felt the blood dripping down my eyebrow and watched it hit the sleeve of my shirt.  With my head hung out ahead of me so the blood would now drop down to the ground and not on me, I walked back to my truck to find a paper towel to apply pressure to the bleeding.

With my glasses now off and holding a towel to my head, I went inside the building and  to the first aid kit that I knew was on the kitchen counter  grabbing the first band aid I could find from the box that happened to be lying open on top of the kit.  I headed to the restroom to get a look.  The gash was about an inch and a half above my right eye.

Happy I didn’t “poke my eye out,” I washed the wound out thoroughly and applied my band aid.

The band aid I had grabbed was a Bert and Ernie band aid.

Back at my desk in the spirit of never letting a good crisis go to waste or, as it may apply to my kids, never let a good boo boo go to waste without getting some sympathy, I took a selfie to send to my wife.     Knowing that seeking some sympathy from Kim “No blood, no bones, no sympathy” Christiansen was a risk, I hoped for the best and sent the photo.

Upon closer inspection of the photo there was me, with Bert and Ernie, and over my right shoulder was Jesus.

How cool is that? I thought.

 

It’s already Memorial Day Weekend and we are, based on my beer bottle counting system, eleven weeks into this new world of Covid-19.

Along with my image of Bert, Ernie, Jesus, and me, photos seemed to be the theme of the week as reminders of this week from years past kept resurfacing.

My Facebook memories popped up this photo from 2018 of Ethan.

isn’t he cute?

Here is another from that same trip to Florida of Christian and Alexa and Namaan.

At the beach, isn’t he cute?
Alexa and Namaan

From Hayley, came this photo from  thirteen years ago  of the two of us on our adventure from Des Moines, Iowa to Fort Lauderdale, Florida when we joined other truckers on the road again moving Alexa to her  new home.  It was a hoot.  By the time we got to Florida we knew all the words to every popular country song at the time. I even bought a cowboy hat somewhere in Indiana.

Next to the rental truck somewhere on the road

Savannah posted a photo that goes back further than that of her and Donny with the McLaughlin boys.  She posted it on May 19, which  would have been Jimmy’s 32nd birthday.  Both Jimmy and Donny were taken from us way too young in life, both by tragic accidents. In fact Jimmy’s accident was four years ago this week as well.

 

Donny on the far left, Jimmy on the far right.

Courtesy of Google, here is when I accompanied Cameron on a field trip this same week in 2017.  Here he is showing me his grilled cheese.  That was a fun day.

On the field trip with Cam. Isn’t he cute?

There was the video from the Preakness in 2015 that popped up on my Facebook memories.  That was the year American Pharoah won in a downpour and ultimately went on to win the Triple Crown.  I can’t post the video here but here is a photo from that same day.

Baffert discussing the race with Victor Espinoza before riders up

And another from the Preakness in 2012.

Kim and I at the 2012 Preakness

And yet another Preakness in 2010:

Kimmy in the Winners Circle at the Preakness 2010. Isn’t she cute?

 

Memories of this week from the present and from years past.

All nice, but some bittersweet.

 

Another virus induced practice for me is that I have started to do video recordings of reading children’s books for my two little guys in Florida since I can’t go to visit yet.

This week I read them “Ralph Tells A Story” by Abby Hanlon.  The book is about how Ralph, unlike his classmates, struggles to come up with ideas to write his stories and about  how he overcomes this problem to become a very productive writer.  Ralph’s writing tips were to:

  1. Get comfortable.
  2. It’s okay to ask for help.
  3. You can always write about what you had for breakfast.
  4. And to eat lots of chocolate.

In other words, you can pretty much write a story about anything and it will be okay.

 

Even one about boo boos, and Bert and Ernie, and Jesus looking over your right shoulder.

 

 

 

The Coronavirus Post Script:

 

And remember to keep in your prayers:

Healthcare workers and their families. Remember “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matthew 5:8);

All those sick or compromised from the virus and all other health issues;

Those non healthcare caregivers working to take care of a loved one while isolated at home;

Families who have lost loved ones;

Those who have lost jobs and businesses.

And keep reaching out to those who may need some attention.

 

 

 

 

Off You Go…My Friend

Off You Go…My Friend

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Would You Like A Lime With That Week Ten

Ecclesiastes 7

A good name is better than fine perfume,
and the day of death better than the day of birth.
2 It is better to go to a house of mourning
than to go to a house of feasting,
for death is the destiny of everyone;
the living should take this to heart.
3 Frustration is better than laughter,
because a sad face is good for the heart.
4 The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning,
but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure.

 

 

On Monday about an hour before my weekly zoom staff meeting, I received a call from the daughter of a friend of mine telling me that my friend had passed away.

My friend was a victim of the virus.

We always have a devotional at the beginning of our meetings. For this meeting one of my co-workers chose a reading from Ecclesiastes 7.  It seemed to fit with my morning phone call I thought as she was reading.

 

As this new normal continues we are getting more used to forgoing our traditional rituals or at least creatively modifying them.  For Mother’s Day the kids set up a table in the driveway and surprised Kim with a “to go” lunch from a local restaurant.  We social distanced. It was the first time we had seen the kids in about eight weeks. Cameron even put on a tie.  Of course we had to settle for the live feed over the cell phone for the Florida kids.  But in the end, Kim said it was one of her best Mother’s Days.

Sadly however, forgoing our rituals applies to celebrating life in death as well.

 

My friend was older than me, really just four years younger than my father.

He also shared something else in common with my dad and that was that he too had Parkinson’s Disease.

 

I always thought it a bit ironic that my friend who I very much thought of in a paternal way, would also have Parkinson’s.  I used to think, what a coincidence, both my “dads” have Parkinson’s.  And the same patience I learned to exercise with my father became more important as my friend’s disease progressed.

 

I first met Frank while I was a student at Northern Virginia Community College’s Respiratory Therapy program.  I believe he was the medical director of the program at the time, but he also was one of the two pulmonary physicians who taught our disease case study class.  I remember hearing before the first class, all the rumors, and the warnings, and advice from those who had previously taken this class was that you definitely didn’t want to get Dr. Fusco as your case study instructor.  He would tear you up.  But then meeting him for the first time in class and sizing up his personality I realized he was just another Italian guy from North Jersey.  What is wrong with that?  Having recently relocated from New Jersey, it made me feel at home.

 

After graduating, the next time I saw Frank, I was as his patient.

 

An enlarged lymph node was found on a routine chest x-ray in my mediastinum.  The unilateral enlarged node presented itself more like a cancer finding and less like something benign.  After a CT scan was ordered I was referred to a chest surgeon for the biopsy. On the day before I was to be admitted to Fairfax Hospital for the procedure, I was sitting in Frank’s waiting room when he came out from the back and sat down beside me, put his arm around me and he said,

“Let’s just hope it’s benign.”

Up to that time he hadn’t given me any real reason to be worried, but once he came out to the waiting room and did the whole arm around me “let’s hope it’s benign” thing I proceeded to panic.

The biopsy confirmed it was benign.  It turned out to be histoplasmosis, a fungal infection you get from bird poop.

But I would always remember that moment of compassion and concern for my health.  And it greatly impacted our friendship.

 

Time went on and I went to work in the ICU at Fairfax Hospital (now Inova Fairfax).  Frank was one of the more senior pulmonary physicians practicing at Fairfax and he was also the medical director of the Respiratory Therapy Department.

 

When I left the hospital to work in respiratory homecare and the company I worked for needed a medical director, I asked Frank.   Once again we were working together.

 

I remember a time waiting in line in a hotel lobby in New Orleans where we were both attending the National Association of Respiratory Care’s annual meeting when I said something to him that he thought was too much in his personal business.  Once we were both checked in he took me aside and set me straight on just how far I was crossing the line.  It was awesome.  Just like getting yelled at by my dad.

 

Having been in the Air Force, Frank loved to fly and in fact owned his own plane with another physician.  One evening we sponsored a company function at the Barns of Wolf Trap for our referral sources and he was telling me about the vintage Navy trainer he was going to rent the next morning from the airfield at Quantico and he invited me to fly with him. I think he was a member of the Civil Air Patrol at that airfield.

“Hell no,” I said continuing with something like, “you are not going to get me up in one of those little planes, let alone an old, little plane.”

But by the end of the evening and after a couple beers I had signed on as co-pilot.  The drive from my home in Reston to Quantico that next morning was one of the most prayer filled hours of my life.  We took off, flew over the Chesapeake Bay, up the Little Choptank River and at a low altitude I literally waved to my parents who were out in their yard on the river confused over the plane that was buzzing them.  But still they waved back.  On the return trip to Quantico he let me take the stick and fly the vintage plane myself.

It was an experience I will never forget.

 

After he retired and moved to Florida I didn’t see him too much.  I would send him our Christmas letters and keep in touch by email.  Sometimes I would email him blog posts.  If he was up in Northern Virginia we would meet for dinner and maybe have a couple of beers, occasionally with Kim and his wife Barbara, but most of the time just the two of us.
As his Parkinson’s progressed, dinner and beers became more lunch and ice teas.  He liked to talk about the old days at Fairfax Hospital, the crew we worked with, and our days of experimenting with high frequency jet ventilation which I think brought us all closer together.  He liked talking about his kids, his grandkids, his great grandkids, and his wife Barbara who passed away a couple of years ago.

 

He always asked about my dad and how he was doing.  I didn’t always tell him the truth since my dad was a little ahead of him on the disease curve in my opinion.

 

The last time I saw him he told me that he thought I had a gift with structuring a story and to make sure I did something with it.  His approval meant a lot to me.

 

He would often say after discussing the days long past during our lunch meetings, “we had some fun.”

 

I thought of him as my mentor, teacher, attending physician, medical director, co-worker, surrogate dad, and my friend.

 

And now my friend, the heart of the wise is in the house of mourning.  Whereas death is the destiny of everyone, you have reached yours.  And if the day of death is better than the day of birth, I’m sure you are already in paradise.  As for me, if a sad face is good for the heart, then my heart is strong.

 

Rest in peace.

 

And yeah, we did have some fun.

 

Post Script:

The photo above is actually a Navy trainer my Uncle Ted serviced during the Korean War.  The plane Frank and I flew that day was very similar.

 

And remember to keep in your prayers:

Healthcare workers and their families. Remember “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matthew 5:8);

All those sick or compromised from the virus and all other health issues;

Those non healthcare caregivers working to take care of a loved one while isolated at home;

Families who have lost loved ones;

Those who have lost jobs and businesses.

And keep reaching out to those who may need some attention.

Cameron wearing his tie as we celebrate Mother’s Day 2020 in the driveway

A Hole in the World Tonight

A Hole in the World Tonight

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Would You Like a Lime With That Week Nine

 

There’s a hole in the world tonight
There’s a Cloud of fear and sorrow
There’s a hole in the world tonight
Don’t let there be a hole in the world tomorrow
(from “Hole in the World” written by Don Henley and Glenn Frey)                                                                                                          

 

I woke up a number of times last night worrying about having written nothing for this week and worse than that, not having any inspiration or motivation to do so.

It seems this week I have been more bothered by what is going on in our world and how it is affecting my world.

It’s somewhat depressing.

I can’t see my kids.

I can’t see my grand-kids.

I can’t see my parents or my mother on Mother’s Day.

We can’t see Kim’s parents or her mother on Mother’s Day.

We can’t visit our siblings.

Why am I telling you all this, you can’t either.

Well, unless they live with you.

Okay let’s not get too crazy.

But you know what I mean.

It’s tough.

 

I read that May is Mental Health Awareness Month.  How fitting is that?

The CDC warns that stress during an infectious disease outbreak can include:

  • Fear and worry about your own health and the health of your loved ones.
  • Changes in sleep or eating patterns.
  • Difficulty sleeping or concentrating.
  • Worsening of chronic health problems.
  • Worsening of mental health conditions.
  • Increased use of alcohol, tobacco, or other drugs.

 

Can you check any of those off?

And they also suggest ways to cope with stress:

  • Take breaks from watching, reading, or listening to news stories, including social media. Hearing about the pandemic repeatedly can be upsetting.
  • Take care of your body.
    • Take deep breaths, stretch, or meditate.
    • Try to eat healthy, well-balanced meals.
    • Exercise regularly, get plenty of sleep.
    • Avoid alcohol and drugs.
  • Make time to unwind. Try to do some other activities you enjoy.
  • Connect with others. Talk with people you trust about your concerns and how you are feeling.

 

And if it isn’t the pandemic it’s murder hornets, seventeen year cicadas, snow storms in May, politics, and the warning that we shouldn’t put the words fitness and Ben Roethlisberger together.

How do you not get stressed?

 

Last Saturday, as I mentioned last week, would normally have been Kentucky Derby Day, one of my  highlights of the year.  I usually make homemade meatballs and other foods and have some friends over, and watch the races.

This year since there was no race and therefore no friends I was a little sad.  But then on Friday evening my son in law Namaan and I decided we would “go to the races” virtually on Saturday anyway. Kentucky Derby or no Derby,  instead we would follow the races from Gulfstream Park in Hallandale Beach,  Florida.  Gulfstream still has live racing however with no patrons in the stands.

We would “make time to unwind and do some activities we enjoy.”

So I made meatballs and macaroni salad.

And in the same manner we do everything lately, through the use of computers, texting and cell phone calls, Namaan and I followed the Gulfstream races all day while practicing good social distancing by about a thousand miles or so.

The thing I didn’t like about it though was that I had to buy my own beer, but on the plus side it wasn’t  PBR.

And though by the end of the day, in spite of the fact I think my wife was a little annoyed with me, and my daughter Alexa was probably annoyed with Namaan, it was fun.

It was a good distraction.

 

And it’s been fun writing again on a weekly basis.

But as I said, this week it did add a little to my stress.

Lying in bed this morning I told myself, “don’t worry about it, if you don’t want to write this week…you don’t have to.”

So that was it, problem solved.

I don’t have to.

I feel much better.

 

 

Post Script:

“Hole in the World” was written in response to the attacks of 9/11.

Oh they tell me there’s a place over yonder,
Cool water running through the burning sand
Until we learn to love one another

We will never reach the promise land

 

Something to think about.

 

Kim and I found the sign above on a corner in Herndon while out walking on Sunday.  A good reminder to say thank you to all those taking a risk to serve us.

Continue keeping healthcare workers and their families in your prayers. Remember “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matthew 5:8);

All those sick or compromised from the virus and all other health issues;

Those non healthcare caregivers working to take care of a loved one while isolated at home;

Families who have lost loved ones;

Those who have lost jobs and businesses.

And keep reaching out to those who may need some attention.