Focused at Fifty

After deciphering Charlotte's rambling message, John and I decided to donate a bunch of Christmas ornaments for her to use on the school tree. I called her back one evening to let her know we would be bringing some over. "Hell-ooo??" Charlotte asked answering the phone in a sing songy voice. "Hey Charlotte, it's Marc from next door. How ya doin." "Why hello Marc from next door. I am fine."  There was an awkward pause .... "Uh well, I wanted to tell you that John and I are gonna bring you over some Christmas ornaments." "Well, I don't know why ... I haven't got a Christmas tree...." "Uh... you said you wanted some ornaments." "I don't think I did, because I  haven't got a tree this year, just my decorations out front. I put up the lights and the garland. I have a wreath for the side door and a wreath out front and ...." "Charlotte!" I interupted laughing. "Not f

I was in a large department store when I overheard this conversation. To my right, was a young Asian man of about 18 or 20 who was speaking into his cell phone in an Asian language I did not recognize or even try to guess.  I was busy looking at shirts when I heard the conversation begin. I quickly ducked behind the ties so I could listen in. A thirty something father with his young son looked at the young Asian man and said, "Konichiwa."  Now I don't profess to know any Asian language but I do know that this is a Japanese greeting. The young Asian man halted his phone conversation, turned to the father and responded in English, "I'm South Korean." The American man replied, "So? What's the difference?"   YES HE ACTUALLY SAID THAT. The young Asian dude politely and calmly responded to him, "Well, you said 'Konichiwa' which is Japanese. I am South Korean and am speaking Korean." "Oh ... I dunno the dif

 When I was a child, I used to hate peas. My Mom always served them for dinner and I just couldn’t stand them. I would hide them under the chicken bones, under mashed potatoes, under noodles, or even in my napkin. It was a very dramatic event, trying to get Marc to eat his peas. Mom and Dad would tell me that I couldn’t leave the dinner table until I ate them. I would hold out and once even sat there for an hour after dinner until Mom finally gave in and let me go. There the peas sat on my plate, cold and mushy. I think it had to do with the peas being canned. They may have been hot when served, but still ended up being mushy. Mom bought the canned peas because they were readily available and more importantly, cheap! Once we could afford the splurge of fresh frozen peas, with their fresh “snap” when you ate them, the tide began to turn for those peas. Now they still weren’t my favorite, but they were now palatable. There are a lot of foods I disliked as a kid but began to

One Christmas, many years ago back in the late 70’s, my grandparents from Colorado came to visit us for a week over the holiday break. I was about 9 at the time. It was Christmas morning and we had all opened our gifts, had breakfast, and were just relaxing in the living room going through our new toys and presents. My brother Adam, a year older, had gone upstairs for about 30 minutes and came down dressed as Santa Claus wearing his red bathroom stuffed with newspaper for a belly. He has fashioned a white beard out of cotton balls and was walking around to everyone saying “Merry Christmas!!!” It was really cute and he did such a good job until I started getting antsy. Feeling left out of the limelight (imagine that), I got up from my seat on the couch and much to everyone’s dismay, tore off his cotton beard while yelling dramatically, “YOU’RE NOT SANTA! YOU’RE AN IMPOSTER!” and effectively ruined his holiday show. Santa Adam, started crying and ran up to his room screaming, “You’ve

By now, most of you know of my beloved neighbor Charlotte, a feisty 70 something woman with a small side of daffiness which adds to her wonderful personality. She is extremely active in her church and volunteers at the local school. She called John and I the other week asking for holiday ornaments to decorate the tree in her school.  Below is the 'word for word' message that she left on our answering machine. We were touched by her sincerity with a bit of chuckling from the rambling nature of it. I think we have all been there though, rambling on someone's voice-mail until you are unceremoniously cut off! Try and follow it now! Charlotte leaving her message: "Marc. Hi John. No need to worry, it's Charlotte, your neighbor ... next door. We're doing a multiple Christmas celebration on Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, whatever it is for whatever we celebrate the birth of and whatever the celebration is for the holiday season. Do you have anything we can us

I had a twentysomething woman in my office the other week that could not read or write. She could sign her name but just barely. When I asked her to write down her children’s names because they were oddly spelled, she could not. Her children's father had to write down their names. It was very sad. Adult illiteracy is still prevalent in our county. According to the US Education Department, 14% of adults in the USA cannot read or write with basic proficiency. I remember back to the 1st grade when I was beginning to read. I actually remember Mrs. Broomall, my 1st grade teacher from Wenonah Elementary leading our small reading group of 6 classmates. We sat in a semicircle reading from a Dick and Jane story with Spot the dog. I remember looking at the three word sentence and sounding it out. "See Spot run."  I am proud of this memory; my first true memory of reading on my own. As we progressed with reading, I remember reading a children’s book in 1st grade on an young girl

One recent evening out at the bar, a couple I was speaking with asked me about my plans for the holidays. I started talking about celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas and living in a multi-religious household. I was raised and am Jewish, but my father is Christian, and I actively celebrate those holidays for him and other Christian members of my family. And honestly, I just love Christmas! At a table next to theirs was seated two good friends who I will call Michelle and Rihanna, whose nice evening was crashed rather abruptly by another woman who frequently drinks to the point of embarrassing inebriation. I will call her Mrs. Tequila. I actually had wanted to just say hi to my two friends Michelle and Rihanna but Mrs. Tequila wasn’t budging, so I chose to be polite and say hi to her as well. It just so happened though that I had caught Mrs. Tequila before she had begun imbibing so I figured it was safe. Little did I know... Mrs. Tequila had overheard me telling the older couple that

In the last couple weeks, two close friends have each lost one of their parents and I deeply hurt for them. When a friend loses their parent or family member, it invariably brings up memories of your own loss. I don't write about it much anymore but I wanted to share some thoughts since my Mom's passing three years ago. When my Mom died, I just wished so hard that I could hug her once more, speak with her, just have one more day with her. Something real. But there was no tangible way that this could happen.  But I was desperate with a way to connect with her. I truly thought I would go mad at one point from depression and sadness. I had dreamed of her several times and it felt so real to me as if she were truly next to me. I haven’t dreamt of her much lately. It is more and more infrequent. Although I still think of her several times during the course of each day. I see her views and beliefs in my own choices. That is how I connect with her now. I guess each of us that have

I have a general dislike for elevators. Call it my unnerving fear of being crushed into two parts from faulty doors while the elevator is moving. It could happen! It did! Google it! Poor woman in NYC a year or two back. The odds of a person dying in an elevator accident are 1 in 10,440,000 (according to the website www.BookofOdds.com ) and I do not find any comfort knowing that I have a greater chance of being attacked by an alligator (1 in 104,600) or being injured by a drinking straw requiring a trip to the emergency room (1 in 166,600). Now I don’t consider myself to be phobic, just fearful. I will still ride them ... cautiously. There are a set of elevators at my work that are continuously “on the fritz.” Because of this, I sometimes take the stairs to go up to our offices on the 3rd floor. I am in the basement level. It’s a good workout, keeps the legs in shape. But more often than not, I take my chances. The elevators are tempermental but for the most part, in workable order. I

I exercised my civic duty last night. I always have this overwhelming sense of patriotic pride whenever I vote. I feel it is an important expression of our democracy. It is obvious that not everyone feels that way: bitter people who don’t believe in our electoral process. Don’t worry, I still love ya. Anyway, I made my way down to my small township building after work last night. I parked and got out of my car and then immediately fell in front it. It was so dark and well, walking sometimes is a problem for me. LOL. I picked my clumsy self up and made my way past those political party volunteer people waiting for that LAST chance to change your mind. They always crack me up. They are just HOPING you will say hi to them and ask them something. Next time, I should just go up to each of them and say, “OK, give me your best argument!” just to mess with them. And then try and get them to brawl with each other. Mental note for 2016 election: “Make political party volunteers brawl at my p

I was driving this evening with John to the local liquor store in Schuylkill Haven to pick up my weekly order of booze for the Lake Wynonah Lodge.  I was picking up around 6 or 7 bottles of miscellaneous booze. John was picking up or ordering some new Scotch that warranted tasting. There seemed to be something new each week that he needed to try. I was coming off of a tough week. The hurricane was on my mind. We missed a day of work from it. Not too bad until you started reading the news reports of all the death and destruction. Sure my area was spared, but others ... not so lucky at all. Besides the total 8 million who lost power and billions of dollars in destruction, I was just so upset reading about the deaths from the devastating super-storm named Sandy. A mother whose two sons, 2 and 4, were ripped from her arms by the storm surge. A man, filling his generator with gasoline, killed by a falling tree. A mother and father killed driving their sons to safety. A tree fell on the

My thoughts go out to those that have been deeply affected by this hurricane, or superstorm, as they are now calling it. Sandy, as she became to be named, devastated large areas of the Jersey coast, New York City, and the two tristate areas. Raging blizzards pummeled parts of west Maryland and West Virginia. Those of us who survived this storm need to take count of our friends and family and consider ourselves lucky we made it through. Houses can be repaired, cars can be replaced. Human life cannot. 33 people so far have lost their lives in the US due to the storm. 33 families have lost love ones. Last night, as the storm hit my area, I was scared to death. The winds howled, rain pelted, branches crashed around the house, and trees fell in the woods behind. With every gust, I stiffened up waiting for the subsequent crash of something falling to the ground or being thrown against the house. I am angry at certain people that thought this storm would be nothing. Get a clue. You prep

Hey Friends and Family, Sorry for the posts with the lack of paragraphs. I write with 'em, but Blogger isn't publishing them that way. Hopefully I can get to the bottom of this! Hugs, Marc

One of the things which I have noticed while traveling across the great US of A is what I have come to see as the cultural sterilization of suburban and urban areas in America. Large swaths of our great country are developing a blandness to them which threatens the uniqueness which separates each regional area from the next. It could be considered a epidemic driven by corporate greed to spread mass consumerism to each and every corner of the United States. Walmart of course comes to mind, but this can be substituted with any large corporation which is opening up a location in the most desolate parts of the country. Replace it with McDonalds, Hair Cuttery, The Home Depot, or Autozone and you have the same scenario. Small town America is dying and mass consumerism is fueling its death. When John and I travel, we actively search out small restaurants, bars, stores, and other local businesses to patronize. I feel it is important to support these small businesses as they are part

On a long plane flight, nothing is dreaded more than the fear of being stuck to someone who you don’t like, get along with, or find disagreeable. John and I travel very well together. We know each other’s quirks and travel eccentricities. When I travel with John, he likes the window seat and I am fine with that but it invariably means that I will be the one stuck sitting next to the stranger. Luckily for this past trip to Arizona, I was pretty lucky with the two individuals who sat next to me on the way out and returning from Phoenix. The first was a very lovely young Italian beauty named Isabella who was about 10 years younger than me. She had dark long brown curly hair with large expressive eyes who was deep into the popular women’s erotic novel, “50 Shades of Grey”. When we did start conversing the last 1/3 of the plane flight, I found out she was a high school counselor heading out to Las Vegas for a bachelorette party. Hmmm. Imagine that. She was meeting friends for a long w

I also name this blogpost 'Art Bramble'. I think it sounds better than 'Art Ramble' because bramble sounds so much more fun! LOL. This blog is dedicated to my father for his upcoming birthday on September 23rd. Brief backstory friends: My father, Robert E. Haynes is one of my greatest influences ... in mind, body, soul, ideas, ethics, morals, values, and art. His picture with me is the one at the top of this blog. He taught at Glassboro State College, now Rowan University, for 3 decades. Before that, an artist and illustrator. Presently, he is retired, loving retirement in the artistically incredible Humbolt County, California, as an artist once again and an arts educator on several boards in the communities of Arcata and Eureka, California. Dad, forgive me if some details are amiss. LOL. But my friends, you get the idea. Artist, traveler of the world, educator, and back to being an artist and arts administrator with a heavy influence in the community arts! In the ar

I had just arrived home last night and was walking up my deck steps laden down with a bag of groceries, my briefcase, lunch bag, and several empty coffee mugs left in my car. As I came up to the front door, I remembered that we have a rather large spider, about two inches across, which has made an impressive nest in the back corner of the house. I decided to take a peek at it before I went inside. I dumped all of my belongings on a deck bistro table by the front door and headed to the back of the house. I was observing the garden spider when from behind me I heard a shout, “WHO’S BACK THERE?” I turned to see my 70 something neighbor Charlotte standing on her back deck peering over at me, her hand shielding the evening sun from her eyes. Charlotte was a good neighbor, always keeping an eye on who was in the neighborhood and if something didn’t seem right, she spoke up about it. “It’s just me Charlotte!” I yelled back. “I was just looking at this huge spider spinning its web on t

I am going out to eat at a nice restaurant this evening and thought about getting a little more dressed up than usual. It’s a fun thing to do. Make yourself a martini or pour a glass of scotch or wine while getting ready. Turn on some mood music depending on the occasion. It got me thinking to when I was younger, say before age 9, when my siblings and I would watch my parents get ready for a night out on the town. The smell of Mom’s perfume and Dad’s cologne still permeates these memories. We would watch them get gussied up in suit and dress. Mom would finish picking out her jewelry with Sheryl’s help. Dad would put on the little light in his closet and enlist Adam’s and my help in picking out that perfect tie. We would giggle and laugh at them while sitting with our legs crossed on their oh-so big bed, the small black and white TV on in the background. Dad and Mom looked like the king and queen of the castle. They would sometimes have a cocktail first. Mom, a glass of Gallo or Mat

One of the things you find out when you get older is that when you hurt yourself, there is no one there to kiss it and make it better. You scream and move on. Correction, you scream DRAMATICALLY and LOUDLY, fall to the pavement with hand still attached to the garage door, and move on after you have pried your hand from the door. It all started innocently enough (isn't that how it always starts?) when I realized it had begun to rain and I had left plastic tubs full of flea market items outside in the driveway. Obviously not wanting them to get rained on, I ran outside to bring the tubs into the house. Rain drops pelted my back but luckily not enough to warrant a "torrent." With much cursing under my breath, the three heavy tubs were safely inside the house. It was then I realized that that I had left a 1930's chrome Art Deco ashtray stand out by the garage. I thought for a minute that I would leave it, considering it was under the deck and may only get a little we

A couple of weeks ago, I discovered tennis again. John asked me if I wanted to play tennis up at the Lake Wynonah Lodge. Well, not particularly. My idea of a workout these days is a very regimented 30 to 45 minute cardio workout on either an elliptical machine, stepper, or treadmill IN THAT ORDER. I throw in weights too every now and then, but nothing too Arnold Schwarzenegger. And I hate treadmills, did I mention that? BORING ... even with "American Pickers" on the TV in front of me spouting their latest treasures. Marc with Ankle Injury I hadn’t played tennis in over 10 years. I think the last time was when John asked me to play as well. I played to appease him and get him off my back, didn’t particularly enjoy it. I think I really sucked. I will even go as far as to say it caused me great personal injury. OK, maybe I got hit by a stray tennis ball and blacked out momentarily. It wasn’t like way back when … picture it, 1982. I was taking tennis lessons at the Wen

Writers block. I just hate it and have had it for the last week. It sucks. You just cannot figure out what to write about. Or, as in my case this week, I just feel uninspired. It's crazy, because I have lists upon lists of topics but nothing is just jumping out at me ... but wait, my memory has traveled back to someone very dear to me. My mentor and former teacher from elementary school, Elaine Arbo, once told me that when you don't know what to write about, just start writing and see what comes out. You may find something. She is write ... LOL, I mean right. Ironically, I typed "write" when I meant the other word. I think I will keep it that way. :) Elaine was my 2nd grade teacher at Wenonah Elementary School. She was a slightly eccentric and extremely creative woman with these huge glasses and brilliant silver gray hair. She was such a wonderful influence on me. Starting in 4th grade, Elaine taught a program on creativity for "gifted" students. I hate

Embarrassment. It’s a word that hides around the corner. When the opportunity presents itself, it willingly and eagerly jumps out of hiding to throw that curve ball into your day. Spinach in your teeth at a business meeting? Embarrassment is one of those people in the crowd laughing at you. Caught with your proverbial pants down? Embarrassment is probably the one that pulled them down. With that being said, my good friend Renee knows that I have a small antique business on the side, nothing major, pretty small change … my fun money. I am frequently at yard sales, flea markets, and thrift stores, hunting for treasures to buy and sell. Renee lives on the lake and has a tiki hut lakeside with a life-size replica of the Blues Brothers holding court for all those to see when they sail by. So when Renee asked me for a mannequin as a lifeguard, I thought nothing of it. Well John’s mom, I remembered, had a vintage dress mannequin and he offered that up for Renee. As a joke one evening, we

I travel 50 minutes each day to work on PA Route 78. It’s about 48 miles. It’s not a bad commute, kind of long and straight, through valleys, farmland, and woods until you get into the industrialized part of Lehigh Valley. The route follows the last ridge of the Blue Mountains before the Atlantic coastal plain. Scenically, speaking, it’s very pretty. The traffic flows smoothly. Truckers, I find, are pretty respectful of drivers on the roadway. The usual problems come with idiots speeding to and from work in their sports cars. I usually tune out to NPR, Elvis Duran’s radio show in the morning, or pop in a favorite CD. During these last three weeks, three separate accidents have completely shut down the I-78 corridor during the morning. The first, occurred on a Friday morning by the Kutztown exit. A man in a pickup truck went down the embankment and crashed into a tractor trailer. Poor guy lost his life. The second accident happened one exit down the following Monday morning. A tra

I completed a lot of necessary yard work this past weekend. Yard work is a lot like exercise. I hate doing it, but when I start and get into it, it’s not so bad. Then, after an hour or so has passed, I feel like I can keep going and going. This weekend included mowing, trimming bushes and trees, and general yard maintenance. John and I have had bad luck with the forsythias this past year. We planted a row of five of them two years ago. The one closest to the house is growing like crazy. The other four always seems to be struggling. Branches die, we snip ‘em off, others grow in their place. The troublesome four never seem to get beyond the scraggly bush phase. A friend in the Lake mentioned that he thought it was the soil. I don't know, just give me something that grows like crazy with watering. The pussy willow, on the other hand, is just crazy all over the place. I try and keep it trimmed back so that it doesn’t look so wild. Our butterfly bushes have come back since last O

I had just arrived home from a horrible day at work. Pulling into my drive, I saw my favorite neighbor, the 70 something day-drinking divorcee Charlotte, suddenly leap up in the chair on her front porch and run into the house. I thought maybe she ran in to batten down the hatches as they say, as a major line of summer thunderstorms were quickly moving into the area. The air was thick as only a summer storm can make it feel. The late afternoon sun became hidden behind a swirling mass of black clouds and approaching thunder. I quickly got my briefcase out of the trunk and ran to the mail box hoping to grab the mail before the skies opened up and poured down on me. Running with the mail in one hand, keys and briefcase in the other, I skipped up the steps of the deck to the front door. There was the petite Charlotte, standing at my front door, juggling a small cantaloupe, 2 cheese danish, and a container of her famous chili. “Charlotte! What are you doing, it’s about to pour!” I excla

Yesterday after the gym, I was driving down the street to my driveway and spied a rabbit nibbling peacefully on some grass in my yard. I smiled and observed him for a bit. It has been awhile since I have seen one in the yard. Call me East Coast sentimental, but I believe every grassy yard should have a rabbit, a chipmunk or two, squirrels, the occasional skunk, and some robins and cardinals. It is just enough wildlife to remind you that you are not the only living thing out there! While spying on Mr. Rabbit, I remembered back to my youth when I lived on Maple Street in Wenonah, NJ. I was about 7 years old. Dad came in the house and asked if we kids wanted to see something neat. So Mom, Adam, Sheryl, and I followed Dad out into the backyard. We wandered over to the side of the house by the tether ball pole. Below that by the fence, we had a large forsythia bush. Dad told put his fingers up to his lips and shushed us quiet. Slowly he bent down and parted some lower leaves and branc

Ever have a reoccurring dream? I have had a couple of reoccurring nightmares since childhood. I have often wondered why these horrible dreams are lodged in my psyche. What part of my childhood initially triggered these torments of the night? The first involves zombies. John always wonders where my fascination with them comes from. I figure it must come from this reoccuring nightmare. I love the AMC TV series “The Walking Dead.” Can’t get enough of it! I love the gore, the fear of the people running from them, and hopelessness of a dying human race being overrun with zombies. Now everyone scream! When I was younger, I started dreaming of being chased by these undead monsters. I am in a dark wet basement, running from room to room. The air is damp, the concrete floor cold. I run into a dimly lit room and quickly close a door behind me, locking it. I am shaking with fear. They are outside of the door, beating on it endlessly, groaning at me in their zombie voices. I back up into

After work the other evening, I stopped at the local supermarket to mail a letter. The supermarket has a small post office open during business hours. Yes, some people STILL use snail mail. While I was walking into the supermarket, a visibly flustered woman ran right into me. With no apology, she looked at me, shook her head and continued on. Okaaaay, I thought, someone is having a bad day with a side of crazy. I continued inside and made a left to the little post office. My heart sank. The line was 15 people deep and all I needed was a stamp. I let out a deep sigh. I wasn’t going to wait 30 minutes for just a stamp! The letter would have to be mailed tomorrow. I turned around and headed out to my car. At least, I thought, I got a parking space close to the building. I suddently noticed a car backing up quickly while a teenager was walking behind it. I yelled “HEY!” but the driver didn’t notice. I immediately slammed my hands down on the front hood of the car screaming “STOP!”

As some of you know, I am a part time bartender at the local firehouse social club and at the private lodge in my community. I make my “fun money” this way. I really enjoy it. Being a “talker”, I am completely in my social element. Usually it means a fun, busy evening of bouncing about pouring beers, making shots, and mixing cocktails! Sometimes though, bartenders have to make difficult decisions which are not so fun. It involves cutting people off, sending them on their way, making sure they are alright to drive, or finding them a ride if they need one. I have on more than one occasion actually had to give a patron a lift home if no other ride could be found. As a bartender, you have the tough job of gauging people’s tolerance to alcohol. A sober person sometimes can quickly become a VIP (visibly intoxicated person)before you know it depending on if they are on medication, have had nothing to eat, or normally do not drink a lot. The other week I had an issue with a loud obno

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1396199760/lunchbox-envy-a-healthy-how-to-cookbook-for-kids-a?ref=users Hi Friends and Family, Please take a minute to follow the link above to a great project which my stepmom Martha Haynes is involved with and watch the video to find out more! Please check out and support their project! She is part of a group called Locally Delicious. Here is a bit about them taken off of their website, Locally Delicious is a small non-profit organization in Humboldt County, California that advocates for healthy food and localized, sustainable food systems through education and grant-giving. A few of you may remember the cookbook which Martha helped write:(taken from their website) Locally Delicious , now in its second edition, is 314 full-color pages packed with more than 200 recipes instructing readers on how to use local ingredients, where to find them and why it's important for their health and the health of the planet to do so. Their lat

My niece Angelica graduated from middle school this year and will be going onto high school. For her graduation present, my brother and his wife set up a scavenger hunt which ended with her graduation gift, an IPhone. I was excited for Angelica because she worked so hard this year and deserved it. I thought about the high school graduation gifts that I have received in my life. My high school did not include a middle school and we went straight from 7th grade through 12th. When I graduated 6th grade Wenonah Elementary and went onto Gateway Regional High School, I was given the gift of false expectations. I thought everything would be the same as in 6th grade and it would be easy and fun and wonderful and I would fit it with everyone. Gee, was I wrong. My first day in 7th grade, I was assigned a locker mate. He smelled, was the age of a 10th grader, and had week long crust formed in his eyes. Don't ask me why, I never asked him. I promptly marched down to the front office and go

At what point does volunteer work become bad for you? When does it become septic and the good you feel from giving your time cost you in terms of mental and physical health? What do you do about the guilt you feel when you need to pull back and others say, "No, we need you! No one does that position better than you!" I learned first hand this spring about the negative effects of volunteer work and helping others. For the last couple months, I loaded up on bartending shifts at the Fire House when others went on vacation, agreed to help at three major events for the Lodge (not to mention on top of my normal bartending and managing duties), collected boxes upon boxes of magazines to donate for the hospital waiting rooms, watched my neighbor's cat, watered her plants, and took care of her house while she has been away for two weeks, and tried to take care of my household. WHAT WAS I THINKING??? I can tell you I wasn't thinking NO! LOL. You want to be nice, you want t