Focused at Fifty

About three months ago, I started having pain and swelling in my knees. I could get down but then needed to pull myself back up. I thought the reason was that I was working out too much. Then I remembered that I wasn't working out at all that month. I was on a "holiday hiatus."   What holiday you ask? Umm, January 19 th National Popcorn Day.   Anyway, maybe the pain was due to a lack of working out?   Hmmm. An unanswered question that I promptly ignored as I shoved another handful of buttered popcorn into my mouth and washed it down with a glass of red wine. Yes, I am the epitome of class.  I then realized that those years of cross-country running and track have finally caught up with me! I started working out once again after I realized that the lumbar support I felt on my car seat was actually my back-fat bulging from my sides. Now that's a pleasant statement. But getting into shape takes time. I know my recent (ahem) weight gain, although only 10 … ...

With the twin bombings at the Boston Marathon just a day old, the sights and sounds of the explosion are raw and seared into our minds.   How could this happen again?   We now have bombings which recently have only occurred in war torn countries like Syria, Iraq, or Afghanistan. It is too close for comfort and yet, surreal. That is until you see the carnage splashed across the news and social media outlets.   Only then do you begin to see what these poor people went through: the rivers and splatters of blood across the sidewalk; discarded bags, jackets, and purses; blown off shoes and ripped clothing strewn about, bloody American flags trampled on the ground.   Injured people are seen: some missing limbs and others being dragged, wheeled, or carried away to emergency care. And then the surreal became all too real. One man lost both of his legs. An eight year old boy, Martin Richard, died. His sister lost her leg. The mother has a brain injury. Two o...

One Fall day while walking home from kindergarten, I was approached by three thugs. Now by thugs, I mean second graders from the bucolic elementary school in the calm peaceful South Jersey town of Wenonah. I didn't know them as most victims don't know their attackers.  I was in the wrong place at the wrong time… I had just fended off the advances of my then girlfriend Debbie Rosenberg and was just about to leave the school property when the thugs came up to me. "Hey man, come here." One of them asked. "No, I can't, I'm on my way home." I replied in a squeaky 5 yr old voice. "Get over here!" Rather than risk a physical confrontation, I obliged and asked, "What do you want?" "Step on that pile of leaves." I looked down at a pile of leaves and said, "No, I don't wanna." One of the thugs repeated to me, growing louder, "STEP on it!" "I have to go home…" I trailed off starting to...

I was looking through some very old photos of myself the other evening. Gosh I was sure a chunky little monkey in a couple pics. There are several of myself I think about burning, especially one class photo from 5 th grade where I was quite a slovenly mess. Hair all over the place, dirty face, missing a front tooth. I think I was 9.   Even younger at 4, there is a photo where I am barefoot with dirty feet! There are also photos which were taken with mistakes, in mid-sentence with my mouth hanging open shouting something. I laugh at them now. These fading yellowing snapshots connect us to our past. My sister loves them, reminding us of good innocent times when we kids and all we were worried about was the next time we could go outside and play. Of course I wouldn't mind if the ones from my teen years were accidently chucked. I just cringe looking at the thick glasses, braces, and zits. Those definitely do not produce laughs from me. But as painful as they are, something m...