Category: Uncategorized (Page 18 of 96)

Seated at the small, square “Table 8,” dead center to the stage across the hardwood dance floor, my backdrop was a blur of seniors swinging across it while I chatted with the birthday boy, his friend Dickie Greene and Dick’s next generation lookalike, Doug. The boys were quizzing me on the kids, the job and the Joyce, so I obliged them by stringing out a story of a recent visit to Tiffany’s that didn’t end quite the way their interested faces expected. Somewhere in the chat session, I learned Dad doesn’t get out of the house much at all, and that the ratio of women to men at “the Villages” is 2 to 1. I did notice many groups of 2 or 3 women sitting the sidelines together, just waiting for someone from the thinning herd to ask them to dance.

As I trimmed an oriental chicken salad to the porcelain, I noticed a blond woman standing on the left side of the balcony above the stage. She immediately reminded me of Dad’s widow, Caroline, but without my glasses, she was a distant silhouette at best. Crunching lettuce and oriental noodles, I glanced just barely to my left and saw Dad’s focus move up to the balcony. Almost immediately and quickly, the blond woman moved to her right and back, out of sight.

“Dad, did you see that woman up on the balcony?”
“Yeah, but she disappeared.”
“Did she remind you of Caroline?”
“Ya.”

Dad’s eyes scanned floor and the outskirts most of the evening and he once commented about another blond, a tall one, “She’s well preserved.” After dinner and the show, which included a young kid and his band playing originals and covers by Hank Williams Sr. and Ernest Tubbs Jr., we sauntered… Well, actually, dad does sort of an old man shuffle that he mocked just a few years ago. Whatever. I’ve lost a step or two, um, too. We sat on a park bench and listened to another band playing up on the gazebo bandstand that’s the center of the town square.

“Dad, you really seem to enjoy yourself when we get out down here,” I suggested. “I could do without it,” was the terse reply. I re-tried the angle of how all the great “stories” of our lives that we tell usually involve people. “Dad, that’s why we’re here.” Leo Sr. responded that he has no desire to meet another woman. I understood, but it kills me to see him doing very little “living” in the late years of his life here. I tried once more, “Dad, as long as you’re alive… Live.” He looked at me for a few seconds and then simply said, “Ya.”

Wasn’t it Nadia Comeneche who scored the first Women’s Gymnastics perfect ten in the Olympic Games? I think it was and since I’m in a plane, I’m not looking it up. It doesn’t matter. Bo Derek starred in a movie “10,” which was about a woman who was a “10,” meaning she couldn’t be any more beautiful unless she was an 11. In bowling, if you knock down ten pins with your first ball of a frame, it’s called a strike, and strikes are good unless MLB players do it or if some other service provider you need does. Then strikes suck. A ten on a customer satisfaction survey is a great score and considers the surveyed a “net promoter,” or someone who’s going to tell everyone they know how wonderful you are.

The month of October is the tenth month of the year and my favorite. It’s a perfect, um, 10 as far as months go in New England. The air is usually crisp and clean. The sun is bright, though lower in the sky and for a dwindling duration each day. Maple trees blaze the colors of fire and local apple trees embody the term “low hanging fruit.” October provides “great sleeping weather,” and disincentive to emerge from warm covers. It’s a great month to have been born, but given my fortunate life, any month and day would have been cool, well, except Christmas. That would have sucked. My Dad celebrates his latest anniversary of October 13, 1933 this week (I’ll be there!), and almost 3 years ago, a beautiful little blond joined my family the day before my birthday. A few days later, the Sox won the World Series. Again.

Yeah, our beloved Red Sox usually play baseball well into the tenth month, but not this year. The best most New England fans can hope for is the Yankees being eliminated from the playoffs, but there’s probably only about a one in ten chance of that happening. Still, I don’t mind. In fact I kinda like watching C.C. Sabathia pitch in his gray jammies and Derek Jeter overact. Anyone see “The Tenth Inning” by documentarian Ken Burns yet? It’s on my DVR with about 9 recorded “Daily Shows.”

10/10/10 won’t be coming around again in my lifetime so I’m making sure I enjoy it and mark it. This morning as Joyce surfed to show me a place she once stayed in Tuscany, nearby I exchanged hugs and kisses with Maddy, Kyle and Megan, who were headed to enjoy ten-ten-ten at the Topsfield Fair. The warmth and love in my home blankets us and provides a sense of security Maslow would smile about. After an errand involving a ’93 Volvo Wagon, I had one more set of embraces to exchange before heading home for a workout and late season lawn care before packing for this trip. On the short trip back home, I thought about the last year and the joy that has dominated it. The feeling it rushed through me went to 11.

No, this isn’t another girlfriend post, and yesterday someone told me no one in a relationship over 50 has a “girlfriend.” I see.

Anyway, this post is about some of the critical decisions I face on mornings at the local bagel shop. “Do you want the pumpkin spice?” That was the bagel accompaniment tossed my way this morning by Mary-Ellen. “No, I think I draw the line at fruit coffee,” except that’s not really true. I’ve been known to sample the Apple Strudel and Bananas Foster, so maybe I’m just anti-berry and anti-gourd coffee as the pumpkin and blueberry concoctions are definitely out. As we got talking, I mentioned what a great job it would be to sit around thinking up these coffee flavors and names (I’m thinking Marlboro flavor would rock for people who are trying to quit and always loved a nicotine rush with their first morning caffeine jolt.). Anyway she mentioned “Burning Desire” was a local favorite, apparently a java mix including almond and black cherry. I’d down that roast. One of my go to flavors is “Sinful Delight,” described thusly, “Take a trip to the islands with the tempting flavors of Jamaican Rum, buttery morsels of Macadamia Nut, and a splash sweet fragrant coconut.” Ahhhh, yeah. Plus, it’s sinful.

So where do you stand on flavored coffee? Do you draw the line at coffee itself, or do you indulge the product extensions of Juan Valdez? Oh, and a nice shot of Bailey’s in your Joe around the holidays? That counts.

It was just a Thursday night, a school night, so to speak. An old acquaintance, George described it like an article from Wine Spectator. He had certain cylinders that met the criteria for corkage on a Thursday night, but they weren’t of a vintage fit for a Friday or Saturday night, especially with your best girl. These “Thursday night wines” are OK, just not worth celebrating.

Surprising me with an arrival before the floated time of “around 8,” she looked beautiful in black Capri’s and grey sweater over a black lace trimmed camisole. Since her definition of “around 8,” typically falls on the dark side of the snowman, I hadn’t even begun watching water boil for the tortellini in lemon-butter-garlic-pepper sauce with green beans and Prosciutto, but that’s not important right now. I poured us some Saturday night Chardonnay and we got to chatting and laughing. She deferred a workday story until Megan got home, and then dumped it on us about how you have to deal with shit some days at work, and for her, this was literally one of those days. Apparently, someone dropped a small nugget in the ladies room at her office, and after the facilities guy feigned fainting to avoid stooping and scooping, my poor girl had to perform an unpleasant “other doodies as assigned.”

The crappy story didn’t hinder the girls gastronomics as they quietly disposed of the tortellini, Caprese salad and fresh Italian Sesame Seminola bread. Yeah, it was just a Thursday night, but we only have so many of them, so when you’re taking care of those you love, you go all out, don’t you, no matter what the day or lack of occasion, right? You don’t? I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I am just a “mushhead” who “loves unicorns and rainbows,” but when I see her, even on an unexceptional Thursday night, I am moved. After joking about the early arrival, I hugged her and said, “It’s still a big deal for me to see you.”

In the last week I’ve made reservations for three work trips during October and November, all of them on Southwest Airlines… I’m not too crazy about traveling twice during my favorite tinted month of ten, but the aerial to and fro through Manchester can provide a breathtaking, burning vista. Colors aside, October also is home to Maddy’s birthday, Mickey Mantle’s birthday, and other dates of significance. Sadly, instead of being here, I’ll be being there:

Disney Caribbean Beach Resort – Sure, it will be nostalgic to revisit the site of a wonderful March, 1999 vacation with Megan and Kyle as the internet bubble completely inflated. During one mid-day break, I noticed a $5 stock I’d bought was $35. No. Of course I didn’t sell. We finished each night with a frozen drink by the pool. Strawberry Daiquiri for Megan and a “Lava Lamp” for Kyle. When my presentations and small talk are done, I’ll surprise Dad in “the Villages” for his 77th.

Mirage, Las Vegas – Just attending a conference is so chill compared to presenting at or organizing part of one. This is one of those, plus, instead of spending my birthday night on a plane, pal Pete will hang with me for hookers and blow in Sin City. (OK, do I have to say I’m only kidding about that part? I wouldn’t want to get either of us fired… or worse!)

MGM Grand, Las Vegas – I’m already sick of Vegas and I’m not even there for trip #1 yet. Maybe I need to develop a gambling habit to really enjoy myself there. Our customer conference is always fun and I’m anxious to see how our efforts positively impact customers this year. Plus, Robert Reich is our keynote speaker!

I’m saddened to be missing some important dates involving people I love, but Maddy at 3 will have fun at a party for her Sunday, October 17th. Late that morning I’m also planning to meet a friend for coffee at a local Starbucks. I want to thank her.

On Saturday afternoon as we strolled Boylston Street from the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum back toward Copley Square, Joyce bowled over in laughter a couple times (anyway), mostly in reaction to my valiant efforts to sell her Red Sox tickets. “SOX TICKETS! WHO NEED TWO?” I would bellow out at any random passersby, and for the most part, we wouldn’t even get a look. “GET YER SOX TICKETS HERE!” Nothing. I will say Joyce tried a couple little yips (they weren’t even close to bellows) and got a nibble at the hotel from some guy who offered her $50 for her $180 worth of Section 18. Hey, it’s a supply and demand market and there’s not much demand for our nine as the season slowly drains empty.

Anyway, just as we were descending toward the Hynes Convention Center, for some reason we began discussing the days when one had to only circularly dial 7 digits to reach a neighbor, friend or foe. Joyce then asked if I remembered the lettered prefixes the used to represent the first 2 numbers. I recalled the concept, but didn’t remember any the way she did. There was “KEy” (53) in Leominster and “DIamond” (34) in Fitchburg. Back then, when you gave someone your number, you’d say something like, “DIamond 5-7654.” Researching this post, I found the way cool Telephone EXchange Name Project, where you too can check out your old lettered prefixes, if you were old enough to have one.

It’s funny how we remember things like that. While I’m not old enough (I couldn’t resist…) to remember my actual lettered prefixes, I will probably never forget “245-8654.” That was Mike Gonnella’s number when we were growing up in Wakefield. I dialed it on our yellow rotary phone in our kitchen, and I was pretty fast, too. You had to be, because when it was busy (and with four brothers, it often was), it was busy. There was no call waiting, voicemail or even manual tape answering machines. You just had to keep dialing that memorized number and hope “Buckwheat” was off the freakin’ phone. Now that I think about it, I don’t even know Joyce’s number. I just press one button on my phone and it dials. Oh, wait. I remember her home phone. It’s “DIamond” something… I’ll never forget that one either.

Where did a year go? This week last year, I was headed to a Marketing offsite in Newport and 363 days later, I’m preparing for a similar trip, only without Newport and with far less anticipation than last year, when a past company reunion occurred simultaneously, 96 miles North in Boxborough, MA.

Since then, my life has changed much for the better. A long time friend of mine attended that reunion and “stood in” for me in two important ways. First, he was “arm candy” for the fabulous Gigi, and he had a long conversation with an old friend on my behalf that I almost certainly would have mangled. Thankfully, he did not.

Thanks, Mr. Kimmel.

I took some today toward running the 2011 Falmouth Road Race in, um, Falmouth. I hope to get a number too, because as I may have previously mentioned, “My girlfriend has a house down the Cape,” and Falmouth “residents” get some consideration for runner numbers. Anyway, on Saturday I worked with a cool runner chick at Marathon Sports in Melrose and invested the sweet ride ASICS Men’s GEL-Nimbus 11’s in the 2E width. Man, they are cushy and comfy. Not as sweet as my mandals, mind you, but for running, they are dripping with high fructose corn syrup. I also accessorized with some Zensah Calf Compression Sleeves in an attempt to protect my pull-prone calves. Last night as I proudly modeled the sleeves and my new pups, Joyce wasn’t exactly endorsing the look, and seemed concerned someone might see me in my geeked out gear and (the horror) then associate me with her. “Whatever” I muttered (to myself) and then galloped, gazelle-like from the living room, and swooshed like an autumn breeze through the dining room and into the kitchen.

Today I pulled up, laced up and drove about ¼ mile to the gym. After employing my newly learned calf stretches for both the Gastrocnemius and the Soleus, I stepped on a treadmill, walked for 2 minutes, then moved from jogging to running pain and pull free. As I was calculating the 30 minute, 2.25 mile workout, I saw Joyce walking in. I thought she was there to congratulate me and crown me with a golden olive wreath like they do at the Boston Marathon, but she was only there to cancel Nick’s membership. I walked up behind her, touched her back and told her of my feets feat. Then I proudly pointed to the compression sleeves cruelly mocked just hours before. She smiled, then looked at the kid behind the desk and said, “I don’t know this guy.”

Baby steps.

If I had to make a living as a writer, this is one of those times I’d be starving. Those that make their living by advising wanna-be writers suggest “just write” at times like these. It usually works, especially if your goal as a writer is to um, write. Right on.

Today may be the last New England weekend “beach day” of the summer…

[Ten hours later…]

I’m back. Ten hours were consumed by not the beach, but the mundane of making pancakes, CVS shopping, grocery shopping, putting away groceries, cooking some groceries, washing dishes, napping, surfing (the dry kind), dropping Kyle off at his mom’s on first day of school eve, and finally, searching and finding a decent cigar… So, just write.

• I miss my girlfriend and need to think about baseball, so… “Who the hell is Atchison!?” That was the exasperated text I received from her last night… Yeah, he’s a back of the bullpen guy who gave up a game-losing dinger in the 10th, but Red Sox ace Clay Buchholz lost his own game last night with an errant pickoff throw that’s still rolling in St. Pete. Still, the home team competes every night with a roster full of AAA talent and refuses to be mathematically eliminated. I hope they’re still in it on September 18th when she has 2 great tix.
• I keep hearing the newest Celtics pickup needs a nickname. How ‘bout Shaquille “I brought my ass to camp in shape for once” O’Neil? Speaking of Celtics retreads named O’Neal, they’re paying Jermaine like $26M??? To mis-quote Pete Townshend, I don’t call that a bargain.
• I don’t care if the damn eye of Hurricane Earl is centered over Falmouth this weekend, because I plan to be there starting Friday.
• My cousin Jimmy “Meat” Daley throws one hell of a cookout. He worked his ass off yesterday throwing more meat at us than Ron Jeremy in his prime.  Dogs, burgers, sausage & peppers, pork loin, beef brisket… Ma’ don! Oh, and then there was that giant glass urn of Absolut sucking the life out of fresh pineapple since Wednesday. Amazing. Thanks, cuz!
• I am so dismayed at the state of the union, I can’t even argue with my right-wing Muslim and Obama hating whack job friends on Facebook anymore. Hey, maybe they’re right. They’re not, but the American public is buying into their agenda of fear. It’s a “mosque” (ooooohhhhhhh), led by an Imam (ooooohhhhhhhh), a “radical” one at that, according to many on the fearful right, including their retread “intellectual,” Newt Gingrich. It’s the “Ground Zero” (ooooohhhhhhh) Mosque, sitting right there on the footprint of one of the fallen towers… Oh, it’s not? It’s two blocks away? How far away, exactly, does a Muslim community center need to be before it’s not disrespectful to the victims of 9/11? Wall Street, the home of thieves who are killing American people much more efficiently than 18 Muslim extremists ever could, is only 1,500 feet away… Is that cool?
• OK, that’s depressing. Let’s get back to happy, unicorn loving Leo… I hugged my boss on Thursday before leaving work. “Work Joyce” is off till after Labor Day and I will miss her. That’s not sucking up, is it?
• My cigar, my Maker’s and daylight are nearly gone. The mosquitoes have arrived. I need to end this mess with something positive.
• I had lunch with my only nephew on Thursday. I’m proud of Michael and the way he’s stayed strong after losing his brother. He’s everything I admire in a young man. He’s caring, smart and funny. He’s working full time and starts college tomorrow. Please wish him luck.

Maddy just came out on the dark deck. As I typed, she reached out and touched the cigar butt, dying in an ashtray… She’s been wanting to for a couple hours…
Me: “You just had to do that, huh?”
Maddy: “I can’t help myself.”
Me: (Picking her hp for a hug and a kiss.) “Baby, I love you.

Much to my surprise, Joyce is totally impressed by the new phone flash. One thing she loves is the cool little sounds it makes, like this one for an incoming email, and this tripped out one for an incoming text. Of course she also appreciates that her picture comes up when she calls or emails, but what she really gets a kick out of is that video of her singing “Sweet Caroline” at Fenway.

I think it’s great that she’s so supportive. Don’t you?