Focused at Fifty

As I am writing this, a light rain is falling outside. Easter evening is upon us and the cats are eagerly watching the birds at the feeder. Max and Moxie are chattering their jaws in frustration at the birds flying to and fro. The window is open, and although it is a bit chilly, the air is brisk enough to be refreshing. I poured myself a glass of red wine and figured I would type out some thoughts about the season. For the first time since last fall, I drove with the windows down on Good Friday. The first day when you can do that, or open the windows to the house to air it out, truly reawakens you to the new season. I have begun making plans on what I want to do with the yard, what I want to grow, where I want to clean out, etc. This was such a crazy winter that we never thought it would end. I called it the winter of a hundred small storms. We never got a snowfall of more than 6 to 8 inches but there just seemed to be so many of them! On Friday night after bartending, I stopped

Scars: the deep or raised marks which tell tales of our bodies.   When men have scars, it is deemed rough, sexy, and mysterious. Guys show off their scars proudly recounting harrowing events such as fights or injuries usually involving blood loss at some point. Think Joaquin Phoenix or Harrison Ford.  Uh, not me. LOL Women with scars do not have the same luxury.   They are seen as detrimental to beauty and in need of being covered up. Such is the sad state of our superficial society. I was looking at my hand the other day and came across an old scar on my palm where it meets the middle finger. When I was seven, my family was visiting family friends, the Grants, on their farm in the South Jersey countryside. We kids were out in one of their small barns where the eldest teenage daughter, Debbie was showing us their dogs. I put my hand out to pet a large Doberman in a gated pen when the mean old dog chomped down on my hand puncturing it with one of its fangs.   I screamed, D

A few people have asked me if I will be doing my recycled magazine drive again this year over the 4th anniversary of my Mom's passing.  For those of you that do not know, over the past three years I have collected magazines during the month of April and then donated them to the hospital where my Mom spent her final weeks at. She always complained that there where never enough magazines in the waiting rooms to read while waiting.  It's a memory which still makes me smile even to this day because she just loved her magazines. I have decided not to do the recycled magazine drive for the simple reason that I will be focusing on  myself more. I need to. I find myself getting exhausted from work and volunteerism. I have wrote about it before but still keep going back to helping others. I know it is in my nature!  For right now though, I am going to pull back from certain things which I do and focus more on what I need to do for myself. That means less bartending, less volunteerism,

I was fortunate enough that my parents were able to pay for my college at Rutgers University. I had enough free time to visit a plethora of New Brunswick bars with names like the Corner Tavern, the Golden Rail, The Knight Club, and the Scarlet Pub (Go Scarlet Knights!).  I also had a enough time to join my fraternity, Phi Kappa Psi, which was one of the best social experiences I have ever had. My parents did make the point of stating that any "extras" at college such as the fraternity and my beer nights had to be paid for be myself. That meant money for dollar pitcher night at the Corner Tavern had to come from somewhere.  I needed work! My first job at Rutgers was in the Fall of 1988. I figured I wanted some extra cash freshman year so I took a part time job a couple shifts during the week. I didn't want anything too strenuous. Something fun where I could meet cool people. The coolest store I could think of on campus was Benneton. It was and still is a hip, diverse c

These are items that I feel you should have in your home, office, car, yacht, plane, or perhaps golf cart. This list is not gender specific, although two are kid and dog specific. I don't profess to knowing anything that women may need, but I figure kids like snacks and dogs like treats. Plus, it gave me a nice round figure of 20 items. Oh crap, there are 21. Anyway, read on: 1. boxes of tissues (As someone who has bad allergies, I can't have enough tissues. I should really buy stock in Kleenex.) 2. lip balm (My friend Jen and I bonded on this one. We each apparently have several in our homes, office, and cars.) 3. mints or gum (Always a must when you are meeting friends or going into a work meeting after a garlicky lunch at the local pasta joint.) 4. cell phone chargers (You never know when you need it or when too much time on Facebook zaps the power from that battery.) 5. flashlights … with good batteries (Good for locating whatever fell under the desk o

As I have mentioned before, I have an hour commute in which to ponder life's questions and mysteries.  I left my house this morning at 7:30 as usual. It was raining, dreary, and gray. As soon as I pulled away from the house, I spied a lowly raccoon scampering across my yard into the woods. I smiled to myself and continued out of the Lake. Then I thought, "Gee, I hope he is not rabid."   Long commutes make you think about a whole range of stuff:  the good, bad, and in-between. I was thinking back to last week, and then the week before that, and the week before that. It all seems to go by so quickly. I worry that I don't do enough in life and will have regrets down the road.   I make plans with friends so there is something to look forward to but the time in between seems sometimes so repetitive. Sure I work out (haha, try to), bartend on the side, write the blog, try and keep a house up, but going to work each day to the same job which obviously isn't m

We have all been guilty of not returning things at one time or another. Why is it that this becomes particularly bothersome as we get older? Maybe it's just about common courtesy that our society seems to be lacking more and more these days.   I am not complaining about those items maybe you forgot to get back to me after a couple weeks. We are talking months here … years even!   To celebrate my general annoyance over people not returning borrowed items, I offer the following essay. I am going to say what all of you have all been thinking. To my exgirlfriend in college whom I lent the sweatshirt to with my fraternity letters:   After we broke up, you never gave me my 'letters' back even after I repeatedly requested them. After finding you on Facebook last year, it seems that some of us peaked early. I'm just sayin'… To my club-going friend whom I lent that dance mix CD waaay back in 1998 when we both worked at the Ritz-Carlton:   Isn't it ironic tha