Focused at Fifty

I have had much to ponder about this past month, my 51st birthday month. This was a month which I was dreading all year long. It had nothing to do with the crazy Covid year. I quite simply was not looking forward to turning "51".  In retrospect, I was OK turning 30, 40, or 50. It was the year after which I had issues with. I think it's because it hit me that I was now in a new decade. I was 31, 41, or this year as the case may be, 51. It hits you and you realize, whelp ... there's no turning back now!  Another decade has sprung upon me! I was up in the new home in Maine this weekend, the Gardiner House as we call it. Built by Mr. Gardiner way back when in the late 1800s, it stands proudly with the test of time as well as a throwback to a far simpler time. it is not an overtly Victorian gingerbread but just a solid large farmhouse with an attached barn just a block from the town square. There is just a little gingerbread on the main side porch, suggesting a lace doily ...

"Peace in the Green Mountains of Vermont" Hello my good friends and readers! I have been lax in writing and just haven't been inspired as of late. In a mood and just blocked. I would get triggered by a topic and then get bored by it. I know I needed to get something out so I decided to give a few ramblings and musings of this last month. It's been kind of sucky.  Now listen, I know I am usually pretty happy go lucky. I like to think my glass is half full. I look for the positive in life and try and stay upbeat. I don't know what hit me but it sure clobbered me this month. My mood just started spiraling downwards. I think honestly, everything happening with COVID-19 just started getting to me. This sense of foreboding hopelessness.  And sometimes, we like to wallow in our self pity and moodiness. I certainly did. I just wanna recognize it though, confront it. Even the most positive of people have their down times. I am included in this. The one day I put up somethi...

Writing project essay: Her name was Kim H. She was a black haired beauty with dark eyes. Loud and brash, perpetually tanned with a toned body to match. She had the same last name as he. She and M worked together for those many years at Houlihans and they developed a close friendship and bond. They had close deep talks, often fueled by alcohol and drugs. She was definitely manic, possible manic-depressive, although M never saw that side. But she had a temper like hellhound. And that's when M knew to back off! They could've been an obvious couple, should've been, except for one glaring fact known to most which was often laughed about. No matter though, as they'd still often introduce themselves as Mr. and Mrs. H, even fooling old college friends visiting Philly! And then Kim H. died suddenly. She died of a drug overdose. It was a horrible crushingly difficult experience which foreshadowed the beginning of many death's of M's friends during his 20...

It took him years to realize that even with his tumultuous relationship with X, way back into the 90s, there were good aspects to it other than the old ratty teddy bear staring back at him on his grandmother’s rocker. For a couple years following the break-up there was a sense of bitterness and lost dreams which lingered. But now, as he brushed some dust off of the bear’s soft furry head, he smiled slightly. There were good memories there. They just needed to be given time to rise to the surface after being buried underneath the emotional scars. No, there wouldn’t be any reunion with X, but just a silent private acknowledgement that there were once good times and they deserved to be recognized. Wouldn’t life be so grand if we could get through all the pain in the blink of an eye? But unfortunately, he thought, that’s not how it works. You have to go through the pain. It toughens you, thickens your skin and hopefully drives you forward. And only after that, sometimes in the su...

My window is open this breezy Spring night. Something is ever so lightly dinging in the far off distance. It's not the bamboo chimes by the willow tree. It's not loud, not annoyingly so, but just enough to be mesmerizing, like a light gong far enough away where it doesn't bother me, but close enough to be soothing. I'm intrigued but sleepy enough to let it hauntingly lull me to sleep. It gives me peace.