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...

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. ...

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 vo...