Category: Uncategorized (Page 11 of 96)

Hey, who turned the lights out? Man, I used to be able to find my way around here in all the dark that was written. Not anymore. I didn’t note fifteenkey’s anniversary this year, but I did celebrate Megan’s 24th. These days I leave most of my thoughts on the (work)blog and Facebook. Still, there are some things too personal for work, and too long for Facebook, so here I am.

This week someone posed the question, “What is it that you love about Joyce?” My emotional knees buckled at the nasty curveball, when I was looking fastball all the way. In that situation, often the best a hitter can do is just reflexively foul off the pitch, and through the experience, be better prepared for the next. This is the next.

This week I visited my mom for lunch and a catch up on life. During one subject segment, Mom said, “They don’t sound like Christian’s to me.” I replied very plainly, “Mom, it’s got nothing to do with being Christian. It has to do with their humanity… being decent human beings.” I added, “Don’t get me going on how the name of God has been used to justify so much wrong in this world. Many people of faith ‘walk the talk.’ Some do not. They justify their wrongs by holding up their hands innocently and proclaiming, ‘we’re all sinners.’” Yes, we are.

As I write this, Joyce is methodically executing a well-worn path (she’d call it a plan) to celebrate Palm Sunday with her extended family, and me. It is an incredible amount of work to rock a gig like she will on Sunday. There is organizing, housecleaning, rearranging, ironing tablecloths, $hopping, baking, cutting fruit, making about a dozen quiche’s with her beloved cousin, Claudia, and her favorite part, calling everyone in her family to extend the invitation. That’s why she does it. For everyone else, and mostly for her mom. Palm Sunday at Joyce’s house is the social event of the year for Mrs. G.

Palm Sunday is just one week of doing for others for my girl. Of course, there’s the 52 she works as a “Human Resources” professional, emphasis on the human. In many ways, that makes her the in-house sister, mom, friend, shrink, and she’s amazing at it. Oh, then there’s the charity work. On Thursday night we attended the United Way’s Community Celebration where she was nominated for Employee Campaign Manager of the Year. Yeah, but that’s just one charitable thing she does. Last week was a bake sale to raise money, on April 1 will be a (Fun)raiser for Red Sox opening day. It goes on all year.

Then there are Joyce’s friends. There are many, and most of them I believe are true “friends,” not mere acquaintances. She constantly stays in touch, and is a supportive friend. They know she cares. It’s not unusual for us to be strolling shops in Falmouth in July, when she says, “oh, wouldn’t this be perfect for Suzanne?” Or Stella, Lou, Christine, Bob, Rosie, Tom, Eddie, Brenda… our dear friend and neighbor, Nancy. She is always thinking of and supporting her friends. It also helps her satisfy her shopping addiction. Hey, she’s stimulating the economy. I didn’t say she was perfect…

My baby is an Italian girl from an Italian family. She’s the sister I always wished was in the Gonnella family, and she is a wonderful sister and daughter to her bro and mom. She knows what they need and what they don’t, and meets those needs with love. Speaking of mom’s, she is one, and young Mr. Leger is lucky to have her. Now again, I didn’t say she was perfect, and having a mom of my own whom I love dearly, but can make me crazy, I’ll use dialogue from the film Manhattan:

Isaac – “Yeah, I have a kid. He’s being raised by two women.”
Mary – “Two mothers are absolutely fine.”
Isaac – “I always feel very few people survive one mother.”

With all the people she loves and supports and helps, there’s no one more important to her than her son, and that’s all I’ll say about that.

Baby, I’m amazed at how much you do, and how much of it is for people. Last night after a long day of party prep and exhausting yoga, she shopped some more, came home, showered, then baked about ten dozen cookies while entertaining me. Well, she poured me a glass of wine, and gave me 2 unfrosted cookies, but I was really into my book. All I needed was to be there with her.

So, “What is it that you love about Joyce?” I’m still not sure words can adequately answer the question. What else? She can be really goofy, and her in a swim cap, or any hat for that matter, is a sight. She’s one of those “Sweet Caroline” singers at Fenway. I love the way her right hand sweeps across her neck as she sleeps on her side. I love the way she rides her bike. She reminds me of… Oh, wait. I won’t go there. There are so many other things I love about her, but many are intangibles, and some are none of your business. I can wrap it all up and say I love her humanity. I love who she is as a human being. I love her work ethic and her human ethic. And her face. I love that face.

So, yeah. There it is. I hope I got a little more wood on that curveball this swing.

“Leave it to Beaver” ran from October 4, 1957 to June 20, 1963, “the Cleavers exemplifying the idealized suburban family of the mid-20th century,” according to Wikipedia, but the New York Times called the show, “too broad and artificial to be persuasive,” which reminds me of the current Republican candidate for president. I’m sure the show was ideal to its white bread audience back then. The onlinepedia goes on, “Characters are nearly uniformly white and middle-class. Only one African-American had a speaking role during the run of the series; in 1963, Kim Hamilton played a maid…”

Yeah, racial segregation still existed in our country in the “fabulous fifties.” The late 50’s and early 60’s were a time of social repression and conformity, especially for minorities and women. “The pill” had not been invented yet, and abortions were illegal. Roe v. Wade would not decriminalize abortion until 1973. Few women worked outside of the home, and fewer went to college. If you want a sense of how women, mostly secretaries, were treated in corporate America, watch “Mad Men.” Equal pay? Laughable.

Our president was a famous military general, but as a man who actually experienced the hell of war, he was reluctant to involve his country in more of them, even warning against the perils of the “military-industrial complex.” “McCarthyism” raged, accusing fellow Americans, mostly government employees, entertainers, educators and union activists (i.e. liberals) of being “Un-American.”Oh, and they searched closets for homosexuals, too. The accused weren’t “one of us.” Sound familiar? Turn on FoxNews if you need a refresher.

Corporations began to rise, as did the pursuit of the MBA and creative finance, which would devolve into Bain pioneered “downsizing” and “oursourcing.” Television and advertising sold to us and our consumer binge began. Americans conformed to corporate norms, and jumped on the ladder in pursuit of the almighty dollar. As the affluence of whites rose in the suburbs, inner cities and their mostly minority inhabitants were easily ignored as they decayed. Writer Norman Mailer called the 50’s “one of the worst decades in the history of man.”

It wasn’t the worst for everyone. If you were white and educated, the 50’s were a time of incredible prosperity, a great deal of it fueled, ironically, by government spending like expanded Social Security, the G.I. Bill, and the Interstate Highway System. It’s no surprise the primary constituency of today’s Republican Party are white men. They long for the “good old days” of the “fabulous fifties,” so if you want to go back there, vote for Ward Cleaver… and Tagg Romney as the Beaver.

In recent days, President and CEO, Larry Luccino has spoken about the 2012 soap opera that is the 58-62 Boston Red Sox. When Mr. Luccino talks about the Red Sox, he uses the term “brand” quite a bit. The Sox used to be a baseball team, but now they are an asset in the portfolio of John Henry, and job 1 is maximizing financial return on that asset. That’s fine, but the management has seriously lost their way to achieving that goal. Let’s get back to the brand thing. A definition I like is, “a brand is the essence or promise of what will be delivered or experienced.” For a major league baseball team, that promise is good baseball. What’s wrong with the Red Sox is that good baseball has fallen off their list of brand attributes. Here’s what the Red Sox brand is actually delivering today:

– Fenway Park – a 100 year old theatre of nostalgia
– Commemorative bricks – Yours for $100…
– Miller Lite for $7.75
– A phony sellout streak
– A Neil Diamond song in the 8th inning whether you like it or not

The baseball? Well, it’s always about pitching, and this year, top starters Josh Beckett and Jon Lester have been largely ineffective. Their new closer, Andrew Bailey, was injured in Spring Training, and didn’t throw a pitch until August. Clay Bucholtz has pitched well for the last month, but in general, the Sox pitching has been perfectly imbalanced. On the rare occasion when the starters have not dug an early game hole, the bullpen has buried the team late. The offense has also been inconsistent, and has lacked the big hit needed to win close games. Injuries have played a part. Bailey, Carl Crawford, Dustin Pedroia, and most recently David Ortiz have seen pine while mending, but the Yankees lost Mariano Rivera for the season, plus CC Sabathia, Andy Pettite, and Alex Rodriguez have seen DL time. The Yankees are 71-48, 13-1/2 games ahead of brand Red Sox.

The most disappointing thing about this team is the attitude of many of its players. Beckett and Lester never seemed to recover from the fried chicken and beer meltdown of 2011. Beckett wears a smug FU face on and off the field, and Lester has spent the season whining about balls and strikes, usually right before he gives up a bomb. He’s not focused. They’re not focused. During the season, Pedroia told the manager, “that’s not how we do things around here,” Ortiz complained about his contract. Beckett focused on golf while on the DL. Underachieving Adrian Gonzalez texted the owner to complain about the manager. The owner said he really didn’t want to sign Carl Crawford. Kevin Youklis got old and got traded. Maybe that satisfied Beckett, who seemed focused on finding a “snitch” in the Sox clubhouse. Bobby Valentine? He’s no more the problem than Terry Francona was last September when the team went 7-20.

Long time fans of the Boston Red Sox hung in with their team through Bucky Dent, Bill Buckner, and Grady Little leaving Pedro in too long. The immense goodwill earned by the team in 2004 erased 86 years of futility and fan frustration. The Fenway circus of the last 150 games dating back to September have burned all of that goodwill into hardened discontent. The owners of the “brand” have another long climb to restore what really matters: their baseball team.

Until then, anyone want to buy a brick? They’re marked down to $75.

Walking down 58th

Earbuds Misunderstood – They opened with that!
Construction curtains star
Seven strides East to city glare
Along steel canyon base
“I think I might just crawl back in bed” sings the moment
I Turn my head
A homeless man lay
sleeping.
Or dead.
Could I get him a job?
Not another thought,
past the Subway without decent food
do these grates ever confiscate
People?
Starbucks wait unemployment line deep
That’s fine
IPad and Times are mine
“venti” still ad word
Leave it LOWER CASE
Sips of rejuvenation
Sunny steps up
Past
girls in their summer dresses
Only one in mind
Strike
that
heart

cigarette light flashes
back under construction cloak
Front lighting the toll
Looking older than she should
Walking down 58th

This week I’ve been with my Dad in Florida. His heart is failing. No, not the one that pumps blood through his physical form, the one that makes the gift of this life exhilarating. After each day of appointments, meds, finances, puking, legalities, and expressions of surrender as Dad approaches a slow, sad end, I’ve escaped to the streets. By any objective measure I’m obese, but cognitive dissonance spares me from seeing John Candy in the mirror. This week I was reminded of how much work I have to do. Prior to a run, I was so excited to don my genuine Roma AC futbol shirt purchased at the recent tilt versus Liverpool FC at Fenway, but tugging it on revealed something resembling a ground pork product crammed into a transparent casing. Yeah, gross. Still, I got out there, just not as a Jimmy Dean ad.

Music helps push one foot in front of the leaden other, and it’s amazing how heel strikes in sync with the music. With nothing but faint breathing competing with crashing sonic vibration, I get lost in the music, although the bouncing soft cauliflower in my head is always working. Always taking me places. Good and bad. I haven’t yet figured out how to unplug that particular computer. Woven between thoughts like crochet are drums, bass, keyboard, guitar piercings, and the words. With blood elevating the senses, and circumstances magnifying emotion, the poets words comfort. Today one song stopped me in my tracks. Fuck that it did, I just needed that cliché for effect. I kept plodding, and the words were so fucking great. One by one, they calmed and filled me with hope. With every step, more of my life left behind me, but I’m damned well going to try to make the most of them. My heart is wide open.

One by One
words by Woody Guthrie

One by one the teardrops fall as I write you
One by one my words come falling on the page
One by one my dreams are fading in the twilight
One by one my schemes are fading fast away

One by one the flowers fading in my garden
One by one the leaves are falling from the trees
One by one my hopes are vanished in the clouds clear
One by one like snowflakes melting in the breeze

One by one my hair is turning gray
One by one my dreams are fading fast away
One by one I read your letters over
One by one I lay them all away

One by one the days are slipping up behind you
One by one the sweetest days of life go by
One by one the moments stealing out behind you
One by one she’ll come and find not you or I

One by one I hear the soft words that you whispered
One by one I feel your kisses soft and sweet
One by one I hope you’ll say the words to marry
One by one to one by one forever be

I’m not sure why the term “Event Horizon” popped into my head. I looked it up and found, “It’s the term scientists use to refer to the edge of the black hole that will suck anything and everything that gets too close to it, into a vortex, making it seemingly disappear forever.” OK. I’m stepping back from the vortex. What I had in mind was not quite that.

Specifically I was thinking about the scene in “Apollo 13” when the astronauts were floating along with little control of their damaged vehicle. Understanding the physics of space flight, the men must have been terrified at their chances. They were literally flying without a net and had to maneuver themselves into an atmospheric “entry window” of only 2 1/2 degrees in a crippled ship neither designed nor tested to pull it off. The paper thin reentry window would be unforgiving. Coming in too steep would incinerate the ship from the friction of the thickening atmosphere. A too shallow entry would skip the crew like a rounded rock off a pond of tranquility, unrecoverably into the blackness of space.

The arc of our lives ocassionally presents these entry windows. Career is a good example. We might think we’re on the right course, a safe course, but really we’ve skipped off into the vacuum without even knowing it. Eventually support systems shut down and we fade away. Do you have the courage to course correct? The correction must be delicately handled, else we burn in the flames of risk realized, but to stay adrift is gutless. You’ve got one shot. Maybe two if you’re lucky. Do you take it and risk for exhilarating reward, or drift off into space with nothing but time to think about what might have been?