Focused at Fifty

"2017 Trinidad, California: Marc, Sheryl, Adam & Dad" As my Dad approaches 90 in September, I have come to lovingly refer to him as seasoned. He gets a kick out of it and laughs every time I tell him that. His hearty laugh is the same as the first time versus the 8th time. I do try and make him laugh. It brings me great joy.  I enjoy our talks and as I've gotten older, I am aware of the nuances in the conversation:  when it's going good we talk for awhile, or when Dad wants to get off and mow the yard, or when he is watching the Golden State Warriors and wants to get off quick to get back to the game!  When I called him this year on Father's Day, we spoke about my recent morning at Cigars International. I had enjoyed a spicy Bloody Mary made with bacon vodka and a Blue Cohiba Robusto  cigar. I like my Bloody Mary's spicy and my cigars mild to medium. It was a good combo which I would have again.  I recounted how I used to smoke Backwoods ci...

"Bittersweet" The smoke ring: wisping, ethereal, dreamily floating upwards like my drifting, wandering thoughts.  Smoking in the golden age of Hollywood was considered classy and elegant. Masculine and or feminine. Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, James Dean, Lauren Bacall, and so many others. I still find it so. Those movies, black and white, people staring each other down. Taking a drag while composing their next thought. A pause before the biting remark, wit or wisdom ... definitely was a different time. I grew up in a 70s household of wafting smoke clouds through the breakfast room, on the front porch, or the back deck. Mom never smoked anywhere else in the house though. Mom and her cigarettes. Dad and his cigars. It was a part of my upbringing. Ironically, we three kids never took it up besides a cigar or a joint here and there. Mom would sit at her head of the kitchen table, back towards the kitchen so that she could see the breakfast room in front ...

"Dad and Me 💓" The following blog was written during my visit in August to see my 88 year old father. He just had heart surgery to fix a flap and was doing remarkably well. He was kept overnight and released the next day. I arrived the following day to Arcata, CA to begin a long weekend of serious father/son time. No activities were firmly planned. Maybe an idea here and there but nothing set. My main goal was to visit with my father and connect on a deep level. I am lucky that what I had wanted was achieved back to me ten-fold. Some of the following is written in present tense prose. I sit quietly as my father sits in the corner of his bedroom on a rush seated ladder back chair; he is deeply involved in a book he wants to discuss with me. It is one of the major books by the esteemed author, wood block artist, Lynd Ward, who also happens to be my Dad's father-in-law. A compilation of Lynd Ward's incredible works. With each movement, the wooden chair creaks e...

"Dad, bro Adam and sis Sheryl" When I was a young child, I would often, as children do, ask my Father "Why?" This would happen over and over again. With the utmost patience, he would do his best to answer my questions and in turn, pose questions back to me to inspire thought and conversation with my budding mind. He would take his time with me with these quiet meaningful conversations. He took the time to explain things to me. This continued into adulthood. Our conversations became and to this day, are more philosophical. They show the wisdom of his age and the growing wisdom of mine. But they are still along the same lines of patience, quiet civility, but now also include possibly differing opinions but with the understanding and respect that comes with age and maturity. There is a song called "Pushy" by an electronic soulful group called Lemon Jelly. The truly British colloquial conversation in the song is from the 50s and takes place between...

"PA Grand Canyon" During my childhood in Wenonah, New Jersey, I found that South Jersey was quite flat. As a family in the 70s and 80s, we would drive to the Jersey shore towards Ocean City or Strathmere. Dad and Mom preferred driving the back roads, winding our way down through corn fields and tomato fields, then through cranberry bogs. Or we would drive through miles and miles of Pine Barrens. Not a hill in sight, just miles of flat fields or, with the Pine Barrens, miles of forests. That's what I grew up with and that's what I knew. The trip to the shore only broken that up in terms of marshes and wetlands. Still flat, but just a different terrain. When I was a young child of six or seven, my father brought me to the home of his dear friend Dr. Rachel DuBois, an esteemed author and educator, for a summer visit. She was diminutive in stature but enormous in terms of wisdom. Dr. DuBois also happened to live on one of the highest hills in South Jersey. We drov...

July 2017 "Dad and me" I was watching a movie this past lazy Sunday afternoon, a romantic comedy. The central character's father dies. It's a sad scene tinged with comedic moments as happens in rom-coms. She attends the funeral and gives the eulogy. It's a touching scene. It made me melancholy thinking about how much I miss my departed Mother but also how much I love my Dad. I wiped away a tear and I decided to call him right then there and tell him I love him. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed his number in California. A pre-recorded operator answers and states "All circuits are busy, please try your call again later. Welcome to Verizon. Please try your call again later." I started laughing out loud exclaiming.... "Whaaaaat?".  It just figured. I called a couple more times to no avail. No calls were going through. Then I got worried. Was there an earthquake which knocked out power? I checked the local media, even the LA Tim...