You can't go back so keep moving forward

12/31/13 3:29 PM Home

I know it’s been some time since I posted anything substantial.  Last year, there were more posts, but there were more concerts and this blog for the most part has been a running review of my concerts.  Recently, I went through some of my old things and I found ticket stubs when I saw Bad Brains (1989) Butthole Surfers (91), Fleshtones (86) and numerous games.  One ticket stands out for me was seeing The Who at Shea  Stadium, the price for the ticket was…$16.00.  It was more than thirty years ago (82)   Come to think of it my high school reunion is next year.  Maybe I will attend and see how we aged and how we use Facebook to keep tabs on those we are curious about.  I still collect the tickets, but I have curtailed on the concerts.  Paying for Amanda to attend college is a huge expense and living like a teenager when you’re past 45…well it gets old.  Not to suggest I’m waving off the concerts.  Next year I plan on seeing Cracker in NYC at the Highline Ballroom and We Were Promised Jetpacks who are playing at Irving Plaza and in Boston.  Maybe I will see them in Boston with Amanda?  I bought three tickets, but I seriously doubt Amanda wants me to see them with her friends. That’s stepping over the abyss from cool Dad to...Ya Fatha's a....weirdo.  Anyway this post is to look back on the past year.  In November Ali celebrated one year free from cancer.  Joe performed in the high school production, The Sound of Music as well as the Junior High production (he was asked to fill in for a co-lead and had less than two weeks to memorize the lines and songs)  I am very proud of him.  He is becoming a gentleman.  His artwork is amazing and he is so close to his sisters.  But let it be known he is still 12 and can get under all of our skins… Emma won a congressional award for her photography and Bella starred in a production at the elementary school as well as talent show.  Amanda was offered an internship at Strong Women and Strong girls and she’s tutoring Simmons students taking economics.  Ali started a job for Suffolk County.  I wrote a radio play for church which was presented this past Sunday.  I think it went well and Ma thinks it was wonderful though she was not one of the two who were giving the production a standing ovation.  I’ve been working on a novel which is consuming my spare time.  I am not complaining since the story is very different from Killer Commute or Acid Tree Park and I am enjoying creating it.  That’s enough for now.  Thank you for reading this.

I found this old picture of me was back in ’88 or there about…

I wrote a radio play which will be performed during service on 12/29 at Mount Sinai UCC

12/29/13 10:00

Join us for an old fashioned radio play.  In All These Things, We Find Peace is a one act Christmas message.  The Richardson’s are a family on Long Island who have their struggles through the generations   It begins on Christmas morning 1975 when the kids are opening their presents except for their youngest brother Chuck who would like to give his presents to a little boy he met in the church’s thrift shop.   His older brother Bobby can’t understand his little brother while their sister Beth accepts and respects Chuck’s generosity.  Years later Beth continues to remind Bobby what a special man Chuck is, and how supportive they should be as they prepare for Chuck’s return on Christmas Eve.

When a train friend passes; the commute will never be the same

10/11/13 19:46 Home

Last Sunday Craig Mawdsley passed away.  He was a friend who I tried to avoid when I first saw him. Eventually I had the pleasure to share many rides over the past few years on the train.  I say avoided since I could tell what kind of character he was.  When he was on the platform he spoke out to whoever was listening or whoever was around.  He grabbed your attention like a bear hug and wouldn't let go.   I admit I tried to avoid him, buried my nose in a paperback and let him spew whatever he was saying to whomever; but when I finally looked up - he nailed me.  He had a contagious smile when he was in the mood which was not all the time. Craig reminded me of my younger brother though he was a few years older than me.   He was heavier and for year or so grew out his hair.  He said he wanted to grow it as long as possible and donate his hair to charity.  Yet he drank heavily and did not eat very well.  There were times when I was in Philadelphia at a trade show and he’d call…”I’m taking the Five Twenty Seven, want some cold one’s for the ride?”  Did I want some beers and more often I had to decline.  I have been on the wagon and off and reluctantly shared those dry rides with my friend.  Die hard Ranger, heavy metal fan who told me, “At my funeral, I want them to blast highway to hell.”  Yesterday was his funeral and I doubt that song was played at St. Anthony’s in East Northport.  It was a day like today, grey and cool…and my friend was taken and buried.  From the platform outside our building in New Hyde Park, I won’t hear, “Myyyiiiikkkeeee….Commmissshhh…” Like commissioner Gordon from Batman.  His cooling bottles of beers would be clanking in the layers of plastic bags with melting ice cubes which made a mess in the train.  So many times we shared beers in Mineola.  When we first took the train we had a few minutes to make the connection to Port Jefferson and would hustle over the bridge and get a couple of tall boys in the stationary store and maybe a Slim Jim for him.  No more.  No more trying to beat the fair…NICE he would say when we made it which meant we pulled out of Huntington.  I haven’t taken that train or the Ronkonkoma train in months.  My schedule changed you can say.  The last we had any contact with Craig was in August when Alisha who I work with saw him on the platform. He broke the news to her prostate cancer and category four.  But he said he was going to fight it.  He was keeping positive and wanted to see his daughter graduate high school.  So Alisha told me and I was shocked, but like all of us we file the bad news away.  When I heard he died on Monday it came roaring back.  I should have called to check in.  To say good bye.  But with death you contemplate the life.  His dream was to work for the LIRR.  He loved the trains and knew the schedules better than some of the conductors.  He worked for the Post Office and was not happy with his choice of careers.  He resented it.  No, he was very bitter about it and each day if the mood was right the toxins would spew it out…in his mind there was a connection between working for the Post Office and insanity.  With the proposed changes the government was making, I believe the possibility of losing his job became real and this struck a chord of fear.  Thinking of our knuckle bumps when he’d get off in Northport and us making plans to see each other some other time.   He’d ride his bike home from the station. Sometimes he’d look at me from where he stood on the platform in Northport and we’d wave, he may point out a beautiful woman he eyed and he’d smile and give me a thumb’s up.  He was like a teenager in a man’s body.  I have to say Nolan’s funeral home was packed on Wednesday night for his wake.  I had to park my car near the Junior High and walked in the darkness to the funeral home, eventually seeing some faces I knew from the Post Office in New Hyde Park.  There was a long line to pay respects. I met his wife for the second time though she did not recognize me.  I looked at the wedding pictures and the black and whites of Craig when he was a wide eyed boy in Queens.  The faded picture of when he received Holy Communion, his head lowered over his clasped hands.  The Rosary Bears draped around his hands in the casket.  I touched him.  His arm under his baggy suit was thin and stiff.  My friend; what happened to you?  The next time I take the train his absence will strike me again and perhaps each time I take that train...I will be reminded of Craig.  May God Bless your soul.  Rest in Peace brother...

  

How the cheapskate Joe DiMaggio weaseled out and Ted Williams made me a Red Sox fan!

September 25, 2013 18:23 Boston

This is not the place where I’d boast about the Red Sox clinching the division.  I would not do that.  Besides it happened a few days ago.  It’s almost history. I can silently gloat behind the veil of these sentences, instead I think back to a couple of weeks ago when I saw a game at Fenway with Ali and Amanda and Joe as well as Katie and Ben.  It started out as one of those slow weekend mornings, when you wake up and hear the pats of rain falling on the panes of glass.  You want to pull up the covers and hide and let the dreams linger back in.  It was a Sunday in Boston.  Suddenly I was gripped with the anxiety, we have tickets for the game and it may be rain out…we walked through the drizzle and took our soaked seats and watched as the Sox beat the White Sox.  And this leads me to this past Sunday.  I am not a Yankee’s fan.  But I was at Yankee stadium on Sunday.   True, I was a Yankee fan years ago.  I was shocked and ecstatic when Bucky slapped that pitch over the monster.  I watched the game when I came home from St. Phillips,  Back then at the bus stop we’d have a  contests which of us could best imitate the Yankee at bat.  There was Mickey Rivers who dragged his bat behind him as he came up to the plate.  Slump your shoudlers...easy.  Reggie who spit such a unique way - the challenge was too much for our young lips. Chris Chambliss who’d swing and hold the bat out facing the pitcher in a menacing way and then there was Munson who always fixed his batter’s gloves before each pitch.  I remember when he died and I felt the loss the leader...of the captain.  I was a Yankee fan I tell ya…What happened?  Well, let me add I was always a Met’s fan and for years I could root for both teams.  Mets and Yanks.  But about that time when I was imitating the players as the bus stop - I’d write letters to some of the former players.  I still have “Smoky” Joe Woods autograph who personalized a piece of paper for me and shared what teams he played for and when.  He was a great Red Sox pitcher who pitched in the 1912 World Series.  There was a sarcastic junior high school English teacher, Mr. Anderson a Boston native who chewed and threw the heavy peanut M&M’s at the punks in the back of the class when they were not paying attention to him.  He was a Sox fan who had amazing precision with those little rocks which he forewarned us. He shared a story, while in college he brought one of his black friends home.  He grew up in a white Irish Catholic Boston neighborhood.  He knew as they got out of the car, the curious neighbors were peering through their curtains wondering why he brought the man to their neighborhood.   He looked around and pointed to some of the houses, and proclaimed, “I can’t wait till your family moves in!”  I have to add to the Yankees, one of the players I wrote to was Bobby Richardson who was great second basemen for the Yanks.  I read his autobiography.  He was a Christian and I valued his faith.  So here is the deal.  When I was 12 I cut out a picture of Joe Dimaggio from the Yankee yearbook and sent it to him.  I wrote a letter to Ted Williams and mentioned my birthday was coming up.  DiMaggio sent the picture back – signed, but…postage due recipient.  The mailman walked down our driveway with the letter which was a rare event, what the hell what he doing?  He said he was there to collect money for the letter.  And it was more than the price for a measly stamp.  Jolting Joe didn’t want to spend money on the stamp!  Ted Williams sent me a birthday card.  The switch was made.  Thank you DiMaggio and I will always have a soft spot for that great hero, Ted Williams.  I started rooting for the Sox…and The Mets.  Who did you root for in ’86?  The Mets.   This past Sunday I went to the Yankees game.  I wanted to see Andy Pettitte since I knew he would hang it up after this season and he declared last Friday he was retiring.  He is another Christian and this is a secret, I would root for him.  He used to have a cross on the NY on his cap, but I'm not sure if he still has that.  For the past couple of seasons I wanted to see one of the greatest pitchers Mariano Rivera.  Sunday was the day.  Mo is another Christian and I gained more respect for the man off the field for his support of his native Panama as well as local underprivileged communities - specifically churches.  I paid through my nose for a nose bleeder.   It was Marino Rivera day. Metallica played Enter the Sandman, Jackie Robinson’s widow and daughter were there since Mo is the last player to wear 42.  Former players and the stoic Joe Torre came out and I cheered.  I always liked Bernie Williams and Paul O’Neil.  I can say it here.  But I wanted the Sox to beat them each and every time.  Wade Boggs?  You should not have been a Yankee.  But I digress.   The wind was brisk and I waited.  Better, I pleaded for the sun as the faint light and scattering warmth crept up the rows to finally got up to me.  The sun light was faint through the clouds.  Andy had a perfect game going to the sixth until the kid next to me, this tobacco chomping spit dripping punk says, “Is he pitching a perfect game?”  The very next batter was walked.  The end of perfection and a fan behind him tells the dipshit - you jinxed it.  It was your fault!  The first hit he gave up was a dinger.  I’m sorry the Yankees lost the game due to a rookie mistake on third base.  There was a SF Giant’s fan who was bouncing up and down.  I wanted to smack him. Hold a second, I am not a Yanks fan and I pulled back and took a deep breath.  But I saw Mo.  It was perfection. He wielded his power, bats erupted; sending splinters into the blades of grass…and I watched him stretch before the release, it was a special sight even if I had the advantage of being on the furthest deck.  I saw Mo and I came home and wanted to let you know tonight may be the end for the Yankees and I am sorry for you since I appreciate the history of the intense rivalry between our teams.  This year was different.  I wanted to feel as if the Sox were going to go into the playoffs against the Yanks as the better team.  Only then would I gloat…like I did back in 04.  But through all the years I've learned each side has immense respect for the other team, but there is a reference for the way some of these men lead their lives away from field.  I am a fan of Mariano Rivera and I am grateful he is retiring.  Thank you for reading this...

Long Island has a new airline, Pen Air flying to Boston - all aboard!

Monday September 9, 2013 19:33 10,000 feet or more above Connecticut

Flying Pen Air for the first time from Islip to Boston.  We took off from the old terminal, B 17 to be exact.  I recalled bringing Phil there when he was in the Navy and watching the red lights of his US Air prop fly away into the night.  That was when you can wait at the gate seeing the passengers off or waiting for their arrival, that was before 9/11 and the necessary security measures. I’m sitting in the last row.  The seat does not recline, yet there is a woman in front of me and she is stretched out like a beached whale and asking for more to drink.  There is a steward, an older gentleman who speaks gently.  I watched his pre-flight routine unlike the other flights I’ve taken just because he asked me to pay attention and there was only him, not a line of attendants.  Behind the steward are the pilots who are behind a locked door.  It’s a smooth flight thus far.  I was thrilled with the prospect of taking a prop and felt a rush when we pulled away from the gate, passing the dark green National Guard helicopters, a row of Cessna’s and I remember the lessons I took at Mid-Island all those years and moneys in the past.  Up to Boston to see Mo Cheeks tonight and then driving to Wooster to spend the night and to meet Todd King.  If feels as if we are descending….and we are.  19:41 the steward made an announcement we have started the decent.  It will take at least another ten minutes before wheels are down, and I can feel the wind on the narrow plane as we move into the area.  Amazing.  Time to shut her off.

September 10, 2013 17:56 10,000 feet above Connecticut

Last night Amanda met me at the baggage claim at the airport, holding a sign she made: DAD…it makes me smile thinking about it.  We took a shuttle bus to the Enterprise terminal and I was struck how subtle she was as she flirted with the young man helping us.  She was sweet, but as I looked down they were giving each other the eye perhaps since I was in my jovial good mood.  I was with my daughter.  Had meetings today with Todd up in Boston, the first was out of the way and will remain nameless.  I think it’s best to keep a distance from writing about work and my blog.  That’s all.  It’s overcast up in the clouds, which is different from what we had last night.  A clear flight up to Boston, a little rocky, but not too bad. I plan on using this airlines more often since it’s easy.  You walk on and can sit wherever you’d like.  I chose the same seat as last night.  Like a train commuter we like our seats and keep returning to them.   We’re rocking a little more and I imagine we’re getting ready to land soon.   Airport to airport 45 minutes, but if I drove…five hours at least in traffic…so the flight is much better.  I can see the Long Island Sound or perhaps that is the ocean….the sun is setting.  We were told it’s a gusty on the ground…but it looks as if the clouds are clearing up.  I will be home for dinner and will need to write more of my novel.  I can’t believe I didn’t call Katie or Ben, but this was a pure business trip, except for seeing Mo Cheeks.  I should add we bought some ice cream down the block from her school; I had pumpkin since I’m off the beer.  What route are we flying?  I’m closing up since I’m expecting to feel…and there it goes…the decent…and Long Island is below.

Watching the Ladee rocket pass over Long Island on its way to the moon and random thoughts on the tourist train

9/07/13 Train to Penn

There is a family on the train chatting away, not a care in the world; they’re making sauce from scratch.  And what else did she say?  I never said that. You have a bad memory.  It’s been weeks since I wrote down my thoughts.  Last night we had a fire in the back yard and Ali and I relaxed on the lounge set, under the stars.  

Some guy just left his bag in the aisle and went back into the bathroom.   Don't leave your bag or I will call the cops.  He’s having some issues. On his cell phone.  Gets off at the next stop.  

So, last night there was a rocket, the Ladee that blasted at 23:27 from Virginia.  At 23:25 we were outside and waited, scanning the skies and searching.  I thought we lost our chance since I waited for it to pass.  It’s scheduled to orbit the moon on October 6^th.  Since it was a clear night, most of the east coast was able to see the rocket blaze over the trees or tall buildings and fade away to become a small diminishing dot in the blackness.  After a lot of prodding my son such as it’s a rare event, it's historical, you won’t get this chance…reluctantly Joe joined me and Ali outside.  I saw it cut across the sky and pointed it out.  It was a glowing cigar slowly rising into the night.  Joe was excited as was Ali although she was not too certain it was the rocket.  

Ali and I were sitting outside earlier today and she told me more about the federal tests for the schools which is her rallying call.  She will be interviewed by a TV station in Virginia.  

Shit, I can’t think there are too many conversations on the train.  This teen is saying LIKE…LIKE…I’m Like hold on…I can’t do it.  Parallel parking is too hard.  I hear them more when the train slows down.  Why? Take a deep breath and get the word like out of your vocabulary the world will be less polluted. Easy there…The next station is Hicksville.  And as the noises rise, the voices rise and I am trying to tune out from their popping gums and LIKES.   I can’t stop, they keep sucking me in…stop…now someone is cranking their music, this is a different world from the commuters I was used to riding with.  Let me remember this crap the next time I consider taking the train into the city on a Saturday.  It’s easier but this is painful.  Divide sign which is in Hicksville.  There is a clear divide between these generations.  There are true tourists coming in and taking over...

Picking Raspberries on a Sunday in July

I know I owe you some blogs and there will be more...this is from 7/22/13

 7/22/13 20:36 home

Yesterday, before church Bella asked if we can go down to the woods and pick raspberries.  So, after service and soon after singing and clapping our hands, Go Tell it on the Mountain… over the hills…coming out of church I thought of Garrison Keillor and knew I would write about the service and of course spending the time with Bella.  Behind the white steeple Congregational Church on North Country Rd in Mount Sinai, is an old cemetery as well as a county nature preserve.  We walked in the woods as we picked wild raspberries from clusters in the bushes. They were sweet and sour and the seeds popped between our teeth.  It was hot yesterday, but not the staggering heat of the week before.  We went back to Stony Brook University in the afternoon with a colander to pick more raspberries since this is peak pick season for the wild berries.  I brought Joe with us who barely picked but listened to his music with large black ear phones.  Our twelve year-old -son is too cool to pick berries or to say,” Father dearest, who I love so much.  Then don’t eat any.”  Later, after dinner I had vanilla ice cream with the rinsed berries sprinkled over the sweet mound and sat outside letting the pleasure consummate in my mouth.  It’s dark.  The windows are open since the air conditioning has to be shut off for the night. The pan for the runoff water is over flowing in the attic.  Ron will come tomorrow on his break and fix it.  Can we spend the night without the air conditioning?  Sure.  Ali texts Ron and he calls her.  It’s a wonderful relationship they have and I can sit back and let my wife take charge of these things.  I could see the stagnant water in the orange translucent pipe in the attic.  I can do nothing. I’m getting away from the wild raspberries, and especially from when Bella said, “Jesus,” and I tried to tell her, Geez is a better term.  I explained taking the Lord’s name in vain, but the concept was too abstract for her.  She responded, "Well, what do you mean?  Will God be angry with me?"   No.  And the other day she told Ali that she has brown bags under eyes and what can she do about them?  She is ten.  Tea-bags.  What does she do when we get home?  Is cold water OK for the tea bags?  That’s fine.  I am working from home which reminds me of another comment Ben made when I was in Boston, well you wrote on the train when commuting, how are you going find time to write?  I need to make time to write.   This is my time and I am thinking of Bella in the back seat earlier today sitting between Joe and Emma since I have few minutes to get the girls to the train station.  Want to know how much I know about REM?  Well, the name stands for Rapid Eye Movement and one of them got sick and said he wanted to leave the band to become a farmer.  By George, she’s an REM fan.  I can listen to her for hours.  Tonight, she is sleeping over Joe and Diana’s house.  After dropping the girls off at the train station I brought her over there and told Diana I have to run and she said OK and heard Bella say BYE…I should have hugged her, there was no I love you. She was beaming since she was spending the night with her grandparents. She is the special one on this summer night.  Time to take out the trash; then a beer, and tea and maybe an early sleep under a full moon that shines into our open window as the crickets chirp and the fire flies cause us to think they are shooting stars slowly fading away. 

Thank you for reading this