It made no sense to me

On several occasions before my brother and I were in school, my parents planned trips to visit relatives.  This gave them a much needed break from work, and we would get to see our cousins.  It doesn't sound too restful, but when you come from a family of eight, any reduction in the masses was a welcomed relief.

When my parents traveled in those early years, they often did so separately out of fear of an accident.  Leaving such a large family behind would have been a tragedy in and of itself, so on this particular trip, my father took my younger brother and they flew to Biloxi, MS, while my mother and I traveled by Trailways to DC first, having a planned overnight with my uncle, and then onto MS from there.  My uncle, my father's brother, lived in Washington and worked for the government.  We were unable to do much sight seeing, but I remember many of the  recognizable monuments looking so beautiful all lit up, just like in the pictures.  He lived in the Georgetown section of the city in a white brick townhouse. We ate at a Howard Johnsons like restaurant and had ice cream.  What more could a young kid ask for?

The details of the bus ride itself naturally are rather muddled at this point, but I have a very clear recollection of one of our stops in Alabama the following day.  Since the buses in those days didn't have a restroom on board, we made scheduled stops along the way.  Passengers would depart and others would board, while those of us through passengers were given the opportunity to use the facilities.  Oftentimes, the small towns had public restrooms near the bus stops, typically in the town square, like the one in Forest Gump.  At one stop, I told my mom I was going to use the restroom.  I remember finding the men’s room and started to enter when a nice gentleman said to me, “this one is for us and the one for you is over there.”  I didn’t question him and proceeded accordingly.  I also noted 2 drinking fountains with labeling indicating why, which equally seemed very strange to me, but I was 5.

Now, many years later, I reflect on that brief moment in time and how even at that age, it seemed odd.  I recently watched the movie “Hidden Figures”, and sadly, there were several scenes that struck me in the same, questioning way.  I found myself asking “why” all over again, just as I had 63 years ago.  It didn’t make sense to me then and it still doesn’t make sense.  Shouldn’t we expect to acquire wisdom through our experiences and utilize that going forward?  Our differences are nothing more than the things that make us individuals.  After all, aren’t we all created equal and there is no hidden meaning in that!

Stories that left us in stitches

Many have heard the term, "accident prone", and it congers up is an image of someone who just seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Is it carelessness?  Is it a measure of risk taking?  Or is it just bad luck lurking nearby?  Perhaps, it's nothing more than a combination of all of these things.  Well, when my brothers and I were kids, we would have been characterized as accidents waiting to happen and that's where this story begins.

Growing up in a large family, increases the odds of mishaps, and we were no exception.  We spilled things, broke things, and occasionally had other minor incidents that could be characterized as accidents.  Naturally, many were minor but some of them required the expertise of our very own team doctor, otherwise known as dad.

Before my 2 younger brothers and I were in school, we spent our days entertaining each other under the watchful eye of our mom.  Naturally, she tried to accomplish anything she could while keeping 3 very energetic preschoolers busy.  We helped her with things that potentially wouldn't create a hindrance to the goal of managing a household.  She mentored us as painters, carpenters, and even short order cooks on occasion.  Of course, the list of projects seemed endless, and the list grew faster than she could check the things off.

On this particular day, my mother was interrupted by a phone call from my aunt.  The 2 of them would discuss adult stuff while my brothers and I carried on.  When the door bell rang we quickly offered to see who was there.  Well, it was a gentleman delivering a package from the USPS.  It was as if it was Christmas day; we couldn't wait to open it up to see what treasures were inside.  Since mom was distracted with her phone call, this was the perfect opportunity to take matters into our own hands.  In those days, packing tape was rarely used and this package was tied up with twine.  Naturally, we hadn't learned how to untie those feisty knots, so I thought a sharp knife might help our cause, and since my brothers were younger, it was up to me to do the cutting.  The ideal choice was this black, bone handled carving knife that was quite accessible in the kitchen.  Before giving any further thought to this undertaking, I was swiftly cutting through the twine to unveil the contents of the package.  However, what I hadn't given much thought to was the proper technique needed to use such an instrument, and before I knew it, I had sliced through the twine and the momentum carried the blade right into my forehead, boink!  I had successfully opened both with one swift stroke.  At first I didn't think too much of it, but when the blood came dripping down my face, I knew I needed an adult's assistance.  I proceeded to interrupt my mother's phone call while still holding the knife in my hand.  What a sight that must have been, young boys crying, a sharp knife and blood spurting; this would have been a bit of an unsettling scene for my mom, and always, she handled it calmly.

In 1963, my parents were frantically preparing to take 8 kids on an extended vacation to visit family in Wyoming.  The washer was doing double time and my father was getting his patients settled in with covering MDs.  The older siblings were responsible for themselves, but the youngest of us well, we were simply not supposed to get into trouble.  However, trouble typically found us!

The preparations were progressing as planned considering the challenge, but that's when the wheels came off.  My younger brothers and I offered to carry the bags to the car for the ride into Boston's South station where we were scheduled to catch the train heading west, but we encountered a slight, unplanned detour.  While moving the bags into the car, the car's middle seat, which was folded up to allow access to the back, fell down onto my youngest brother's foot, perfectly between his big toe and second toe.  The fountain of blood followed quickly thereafter.  I reacted by frantically informing my mom that I thought the toe had been severed off; fortunately, a detail that was incorrect.  Once again, the team's physician was called in to assess the situation, and since my father's surgical skills were being tested regularly by this group, he was equal to the task.

Not surprisingly, these are just a few of the many stories from our active lives growing up.  I recall that my older brother suffered at least 3 lacerations, my next younger brother had sutures at least once, my youngest brother had them several times, including on successive days, while I counted having had them more than 20 times in those early years  There was a lot of mileage in suture material alone recounting these tales.  As for my sisters, they seemed to have been somewhat spared by comparison.  No doubt, if we all sat down today and recalled the number of times we needed the team physician and his appointed assistant, my mom, to help him, the stories would have us all in stitches!

This diet is no ‘Dud’ or is it?

There has been an ever evolving litany of diets published over the years which have touted successes from losing that stubborn midlife weight gain to curing cancer.  Mind you, some have achieved immediate traction while others quickly have failed simply because of their impractical precepts.  The human body is a remarkable, miraculously engineered marvel made up of intricately balanced parts performing regularly at a level of unparalleled perfection.  Even when disruptive forces arise, the body wants to correct the imbalances to preserve its functional capacity, a beautifully conceived creation indeed.  However, every so often we push ourselves to the limit of reasonableness, and that's where this story begins.

What would you say if I told you that you could eat all the protein that you wanted but must drastically restrict your carbohydrates?  There are diet experts who believe this is the desired method for weight loss. I suspect you've heard of the more recognizable Atkins or South Beach diets too; and for the all the non dieters out there, the "see food" diet seems to be quite popular.  Sadly, this is the one diet that seems to be a good "fit" for the largest number of individuals in our society. Even with all these options, other diets continue to surface and become popular.  The true test will come over time, but nothing will replace a good old fashioned, balanced diet, unless it's a "dud".

One of my friends has done multiple endurance athletic events, including an Ironman, several marathons and long distance trail runs to name just a few.  Her sheer willpower and determination is remarkable to say the least.  I marvel at her ability to commit to something and even in the face of setbacks, she perseveres and achieves her goals; noble qualities at any level.  However, what perhaps has me most puzzled is her ability to do much of this on a rather unconventional diet to say the least.  Most athletes today pay very strict attention to their diets and the intake of, shall we say junk food, is nearly forbidden.  Why even Tom Brady has explained his absolute adherence to such restrictions, especially during his playing days.  However, there are those who don't follow conventional wisdom.

If I told you that I was going to propose a diet strictly of peanut butter, corn chips with the occasional salsa, protein bars, and Milk Duds you probably would look me straight in the eye and say I was nuts.  I'd agree that it does appear to be rather restrictive to some, but if you follow it religiously, you will be able to compete in the Ironman and do a variety of other endurance events, if you wish to do so.  Sound suspect?  Well, what I would say is that it isn't for everyone.  In fact, it may only be for one unique individual, who would probably have most of us for lunch on race day.  Now that's a diet my friend would surely feast on!

It was just supposed to be coffee

Oftentimes, when people meet and begin developing a friendship, simple outings or gatherings serve as cornerstones from which the rest of that relationship seems to evolve.  In the movie, "You've Got Mail", Tom Hanks reveals to Meg Ryan that, if he had met her under different circumstances, he would have asked her for her phone number and from there he'd have asked her to go for coffee, for drinks, dinner or a movie.  These are nonthreatening, logical ways to spend time getting to know one another.  Nowadays, people rely on technology to meet, such as dating websites, yet these basic, historically safe encounters still remain a fundamental part of the process.  Regardless of the method used, it is all about how people meet and how they progress through those various and sometimes awkward stages of getting acquainted.  It is truly remarkable how such brief moments in time may influence the trajectory of one's life; very powerful indeed.

What follows is much like comparing it to the morning commute.  If the traffic is light, then it may not take as long to get to the next destination; however, if it is rush hour, then all bets are off and you find yourself maneuvering in and out of jams, just to move ahead.  Occasionally, you encounter major detours, but even those don't have to be monumental.  You simply have to find an alternate route.  There is roadside assistance, highway patrol, and rest areas along the way, all of which are circulating in the background to support the process.  Hopefully, we don't need to enlist their help, but it is reassuring to have those services available when we need them.  Of course, what we all want to avoid the dreaded accident.  That may present significant issues and the consequences could be emotionally devastating.

Hypothetically then, you exchange phone numbers; perhaps there are several phone conversations even before agreeing to coffee or something more.  Of course, you probably make your own arrangements for transportation for fear that, if things go dramatically off the rails, there is a means of "escaping".  This is all part of the process of this thing  I have called predating.

There is no set timeline for any of these events either; it just seems to take on a life of its own.  There are the usual planned activities and some are more spontaneous.  It's a refreshing mix and part of the intrigue.  Equally, I do believe that the personalities of the parties involved contributes greatly too.  There are any numbers of factors that garner influence, but in the end, it all takes time, continued interest, and a modicum of effort for the process to move forward.

So, where does this all lead?  The possibilities are just as varied as there are flavors of coffee today, and it all might begin with that simple cup of java.  Given the variety and absolute number of coffee shops today,  this whole experience may be "unavoidable".  Who would have thought that such a common everyday behavior could be something created by the coffee industry to propagate the masses?  Here I am thinking, it was just supposed be coffee.  C'est la vie!

Penny Candy

In an era not long ago, cities and towns across America and for that matter worldwide had neighborhood convenience stores.  The concept of the large superstore hadn't yet been brought to the masses and most of us relied on these oftentimes, family owned businesses to be there for the basic food emergencies.  My experience was just that with a little twist.  Allow me to explain.

The neighborhood store was there as a lifeline for my friends and me when it was too far to walk home to fetch a snack. The oasis in the "hood" provided the perfect blend of needs and wants for a child.   What young kid could make it through the day without a few treats to survive to dinner?  Well, all I can say is thanks to the many people who provided this critical service at a time when the neighborhood was an extension of the back yard play ground.

In my home town, I could name dozens of such establishments.  The businesses survived on the daily foot traffic from the locals and in those days, most of the patrons came on foot, as not all families even had a car or cars.  I remember such places as Ted's, MacNevin's, Cote's, Antelle's, Liberty Market, Belanger's, Rallis' , The Elm Street Cash Market, and even a place called Dowdy's.  They served as cornerstones of the local commerce.

Back in the day however, soda bottles had a 2 cent return and all of these places would gladly take in the bottles.  We'd line our pockets with the cold hard cash for only a moment ,however; this windfall afforded us purchasing power and we wasted little time spending it.  This behavior really served 2 purposes, the bottles got returned and we had "piggy banks" that looked more like trash barrels!  If you recall, there was an old Cracker Jacks commercial that demonstrated this vey point.  The young boy traded in in his jacks and a few pennies to pay for his box of CJ!  Those were the days.

On saturday afternoons in the fall, the high school would play their home football games just down the street in a WPA era built stadium.  I wasn't much for watching the games in those days but if it was a warm, sunny afternoon, my friends and I would wander down to the stadium to catch the second half of the game.  By that time, we were permitted to enter without paying.  Something we could "afford" on our budgets.  After the patrons departed, my friends and I cashed in by starting to collect the empty soda bottles, and the pennies were adding up.  The challenge was hauling our loot to the store, but we managed for the rewards were sweet!  Depending on how much we actually collected, we could get an ice cream, a bottle of tonic, and some penny candy.  We were living the dream; it was free money and we could do with it as we pleased.  After the owner of Belanger's filled our small brown bags full, we'd go out to sit on the stone wall and bask in the Sun with smiles of our faces.  Heaven on earth, or at least for awhile.

This scenario repeated itself as long as the warm weather was on our side.  We'd pick up bottles at the town park too and head to Ted's, different store, same outcome.  We were financial wizards of sorts.  I remember pointing to the candy through the glass case and muttering, "I'll have one of those and two of those, until we had spent our net worth.  As they say, another day another handful of pennies for us!

As I reflect on this little part of my youth, I now realize just how fortunate I was to have this whole experience.  Kids today likely don't get this kind of opportunity.  We were outside for hours roaming the streets, without a care in the world.  If hunger struck and we could find some returnables, the neighborhood stores were open for business.  More importantly, however, we were resourceful, had enough when we needed it, and the store owners welcomed their patrons, both young and old.  It was oh so sweet!

I Feel the Need for Speed...Golf

In the movie, Top Gun, there is a scene where Maverick and Goose were preparing for their training mission and high-fived each other while blurting out that they felt the need for speed!  The expression has become an iconic movie line. 

When I trained for the Ironman in Lake Placid, NY in 1999,  I had come across an article discussing speed golfing.  I had put my golfing interests aside to focus on the monumental task of training for an IM.  However, to keep things interesting during a family vacation, I picked up the sticks to do some of my run training while playing a few holes of golf.  There was a par 3 course at the resort, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to do some sprint training on a softer surface.

The par 3 course was quite typical,  a 1000 yards long and most of the holes were around a 100 yards.  So, I selected my 3 clubs accordingly, a putter, a 9 iron, and a wedge, plenty enough for this tract of real estate.  I simply carried my clubs in one hand, put a few balls in my pocket and off I went.  Although I had begun my IM training in earnest, I wasn't as well prepared for this iteration of run training, as I expected.  However, after successive rounds, it became easier, and the scoring improved too.  In an hours time, I managed to play 45 holes and was able to break 30 at least twice, no aces on the card, however.  All in all, a fun "day" on the links and an interesting twist to a game I had grown up playing.  

Earlier last year, I received a notification for SGUSA's US Open in friendly upstate NY.  Coincidentally, it was being held in the community where I did my residency training.  I have some dear friends still living in the area so the invitation to compete in this event provided the inertia to rekindle that enthusiasm for golf but without the lengthy commitment of time, a perfect combination.

I actually had been training for a short distance triathlon, so naturally, I thought I'd be in a good position to "just do it", not appreciating that the golfing element wasn't going to be quite so easy this time.  We played at 2 separate venues, each measuring out at over 6000 yards and the heat index approached 100 degrees.  I'll be the first to admit now that this was quite an undertaking, but one I haven't regretted at all.  In fact, the experience has generated a new found love of golf, coupled with a passion to be outdoors while "running",  a veritable trifecta of fun.

Although my first foray into this arena has been, shall we say, a long run spoiled, I have thoroughly enjoyed the adventure.  However, I can see the potential for this sport to take off, and I'm excited to be a part of the "club"!

When Running Ceases to Be

Thanksgiving is marked by many celebrations. including the famous Macy's, Thanksgiving Day parade and the seemingly endless opportunities to view football games.  Couple that with an abundance of food choices and you have the makings for a traditional Thanksgiving Day holiday menu of events. Additionally, oftentimes there is a game of touch football or the local road race featuring a pie for all finishers.  Indeed, the bounty is as diverse as it is plentiful, but long before the tryptophan hangover slows you down, you might fall victim to the effects of Father Time.  Here's my story.

Starting the Thanksgiving Day celebration off with some sort of exercise has typically been an activity that many openly embrace, as evidenced by the overwhelming number of turkey trots across this land. Why wouldn't you?  After all, the calorie consumption per person far exceeds the usual intake of most other days.  However, regardless of the  amount of caloric expenditure, there is little many of us can actually do to balance that equation, but it sure makes us feel better about it.  Of course, the added benefit is the sheer pleasure of being able to join the fun.

Well, if you spend Thanksgiving at my brother and sister in law's home, the day begins with a light snack followed by a call to mobilize for the local turkey trot.  The weather certainly influences the mood, but little can deter the high level of holiday emotion.  We've run in the cold, the rain, ice and snow but no matter the conditions, the exuberance wasn't dampened.

Although participating in these events is a bonus at my age, running actually brings on a new meaning.  During a recent race,  I was running along at my customary and comfortable pace when I began to notice that the people ahead of me were getting further away and there were a disproportionate number of individuals passing me.  What was this unfamiliar phenomenon?  I had rarely experienced such a thing.  In fact, I was proud of the fact that I oftentimes ran negative splits ie. running the second half of a race faster than the first half.  But the epiphany moment came when the majority of people passing me were the walkers and families with baby strollers.  What had become of my days as a runner?  I was  simply enough, lost in transition.  I realized I was at my physiologic limit and even that wasn't quick enough to be running.  OMG, what was once a challenging run is now just a walk in the park!

Although I finished the race, I may as well have been the "last man standing", but it wasn't as traumatic as it all appeared.  I had participated in an event where people were having fun doing what they enjoyed doing, all the while working off a few calories before indulging in a few more.  But most importantly, I was alive, breathing in fresh air, and able to process the whole ordeal.  For that alone, I can give thanks!

Lessons from Life

I am truly humbled to be inducted into the Amesbury Educational Foundation’s Hall of Honor.  I’d like to thank the members of  the entire AEFI committee for their tireless work, genuine concern for the community and their ongoing efforts in support of the students and educators who benefit so richly from their actions. I’d also like to thank those who nominated me and wrote letters of support.  I’m honored to join such a distinguished group of individuals, and through your support, AEFI will continue their vital mission.

My class of 1974 is currently planning our 50th class reunion and this whole experience has prompted me to do some reflection.  The first thing that comes to my mind is, “where have those 50 years gone?”  It seems like just yesterday that I was embarking on this journey and now I am processing the stark reality of just how quickly time passes.  My education began right here in Amesbury, something which provided an excellent foundation for my future pursuits.

As you have heard, I am Dr. S. However, when I was in grade school and later in high school, I was known simply as Steve, Stephen, or The Schizz.  The real Dr. S was my father, a friend to all and a beloved family doctor to so many in this community.  

When I joined him in practice, people had difficulty telling us apart on the phone because our voices were so similar, so my father dubbed me the young Dr S;  a title I still enjoy using on occasion.  

My gray hair is a reminder that the young part is no longer needed.

From the very beginning learning becomes part of our lives, and hopefully, embeds itself as a lifelong pursuit. Oftentimes, we follow our mentors, be it a family member or a teacher or that singular person or persons who help influence our lives and perhaps even guide us onto a career path.

Like many young kids I imagined myself playing ML Baseball, or becoming a fireman, or a carpenter, but before long I just wanted to work alongside my father, so I set my sights on becoming a physician.  The dedication and hard work were just commitments to that greater goal, something that frankly never even crossed my mind.

I confronted the usual academic obstacles and managed to circumnavigate them with an unwavering resolve.  However, those experiences provided valuable insights for a career dedicated to solving problems and helping people. 

In fact, life is made up of an infinite number of crossroads with choices.  The road we choose is not always easy or obvious, but the destination we set should remain crystal clear. That’s what makes life the journey that it is, our personal adventure.

The practice of medicine has offered me a unique opportunity to serve people, yet it carries a heavy burden of responsibility.  However, caring for and aiding people in any capacity ought to be at our very core, regardless of what we do.  

Although medicine has been my life, my passions outside of work are my family, my friends, and regular exercise.  I once made running the Boston Marathon, a goal which I first did in 1986.  Since then I have been fortunate to have participated in many other athletic events, but my own love of exercise has transformed my ability to counsel patients about many facets of life including the merits of regular exercise, nutrition, rest, hydration, even rehabilitation after illness or injury, as well as the psychosocial implications that go along with it.  

When I consider the value of this to my practice , I am frequently reminded by its contribution to me, both professionally and personally.

Sharing this with patients, encouraging them to take personal responsibility for their own health and instilling hope have been mainstays of my practice.

Patients have oftentimes asked me what I was training for, and I’d just say, “I’m training for life!”

Regretfully, even with regular exercise, none of us will escape this thing called aging.  We simply must adjust our expectations and embrace them.  

The frequent participation in such formal events as the marathon is now a rarity. However, when the Marathon bombing occurred,  I like everyone else was frightened, angered, but more than that motivated to be a part of the marathon again.  I looked at my father and said, “they are going to need more physicians next year because of this and I am going to volunteer.”  He looked at me and said, "What a great idea.”  I just volunteered for my 11th Marathon and felt a similar sense of accomplishment, just as I had by running it in 1986.  

I am reminded that kindness and service to others are their own gifts, values I learned growing up right here in Amesbury.

I’d like to conclude my remarks this evening with a quote from the late, great Maya Angelou…

“People may forget what you said…people may forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” 

My hope is that I have made people feel better by what I have done for them!

Man, I had it Easy

Dear Lorenzo...Larry...Lawrence Arturo

As you approach your seventh decade of life, I want to wish you Happy Birthday and may you enjoy many more to come. Of course, as I think of the many years we've had together, there are such a vast number of memories that flood my mind. 

 You are and always will be my older brother and for that I am fortunate. You were a Yankee in Little League and we all become Yankees. You made it easy. 

Your Boy Scouting experience taught you how to use a Coleman stove which you in turn taught all of us to use.  You were the master packer for our cross country trips, each piece of luggage had its appointed place in the trailer and you made it all fit in like a puzzle.  You made it easy.

 You followed Jean, a trail blazer to Title IX, by continuing to play both basketball and baseball. That paved the way for me. You made it easy. 

 You followed Jean and Betsy to UMASS and then took me under your wing during my first semester when I had Leo T. Baldwin for a roommate. You introduced me to your friends, we shared classes such as star gazing, basketball, and Genetics together. You made it easy. 

 We started out in Guadalajara together and once again you introduced me to your friends, before leaving for BU. You made it easy. 

 You joined Dad after residency to "hold down the fort" before my arrival a year later. You made it easy. 

 You encouraged me to attend Molly's graduation from SLU during a difficult time, and that forever changed my relationship with her. For that, I will be forever grateful. You made it easy. 

 Now, with Mary you have welcomed 4 wonderful daughters, in-laws and grandchildren into your life and we all have enjoyed their presence in ours. You made it easy. 

 So, as you embark on this next decade, your 70's, thank you for being my older brother. Man I had it easy!

 Love you, Happy Birthday and enjoy continued good health and happiness for many years to come. Stephen

'A Date Which Will Live in Infamy.'

78 years ago today, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt addressed the nation regarding the news of the attack on Pearl Harbor, thus drawing the United States into the second World War.  Germany was already engaged in war in Europe, but full scale involvement came after the attacks of December 7th.  Anyone who was alive and old enough on that horrible day, likely, remembers it with uncanny detail.

Historical events of this magnitude rarely can be fully understood, perhaps for generations; however, the impact may define the future, and this was no exception.

On the morning of December 7th, many lives were lost and millions more fell victim in the years that followed.  My father had 2 cousins go down with the ships in Pearl Harbor, so it is with sincere emotion for those who remain known, only through the memory of this day and the stories told, that I reiterate what has been said so many times beforehand, we must never forget.

To all those who perished, may you rest in peace, and to the greatest generation who served, we are forever grateful!

Remembering D-Day...75 years later

We live in an era when the news of the day is nearly real time.  Long ago are the days when the reports from the front came days or even weeks later.  Today, it is this seemingly constant siege of information that has us, at times, overwhelmed.  This is the world we live in, a global community of constant news updates.  However, as the years pass and the memory of these historic events begin to fade, it is of paramount importance that their impact and significance never be forgotten.

I have read about the D-Day invasion and have seen footage of that epic day from WWII.  It always shakes me to my core, reflecting on the horrors of this war.  The human sacrifice remains immeasurable.

This is why we must never forget.  D-Day, together with many other now famous conflicts of WWII, changed the course of world history, and it is up to us to protect, preserve, and forever honor those for the gift we inherited!

https://youtu.be/qda__aFhR6I

Why?

Memorial Day, formally known as Decoration Day, is a holiday that was created as an annual day of remembrance for the men and women who have so bravely served, defended, and perhaps died for our country; it is traditionally marked by prayer services, parades, and family gatherings; it is all of those.  However, Memorial Day's significance is far greater than many of us can possibly comprehend, so it is imperative that we all must share the burden of this stress that so many of our fellow Americans have witnessed and endured.

Having grown up with a WWII veteran, I was exposed to episodic discussions about the horrors of war.  Not surprisingly, however, many of those stories ended when the tenor of the conversation brought my father to tears.  Naturally, we didn't pursue the reasons, because we knew that "war is hell", and he had had a glimpse into that dark abyss.  He once said to me, "we had to go; it was a war that had to be fought."  Knowing my father, it was his sense of compassion for his fellow man and the love of his country that he would even have considered picking up a weapon.

Reflecting on this Memorial Day, I find myself wondering, "will there ever be a day when we all can live in harmony?"  I am reminded of the words from "This is My Song", set to the music of Jean Sebelius' Finlandia, and what a gift it would be one day to have peace reign over all lands!  Perhaps the more appropriate question then is, "When?" Thank you to all those who have made this sacrifice for blessed are the peacemakers...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDXNHPeRB0k

What you are doing?

How many times have you said something and suddenly found yourself in one of those deja vu moments where you could feel that same emotion from the past?  As I have grown older, I find that these sorts of occurrences seem to happen more frequently.  Is it simply a matter of our breadth of life experiences or is it a reflection of history just repeating itself?  Well, I was chatting with some colleagues the other day and something struck a chord setting off one of those deja vu moments.  It was one of those precious lines my daughter would use that triggered a smile; allow me to explain.

Like many parents, when there was an opportunity to include my daughter to assist with my home projects, I welcomed the chance.  This provided so many teachable moments, as well as the infinitely valuable time of just having time with your kids.  It would be difficult to say who received the greater gift!  On one of those occasions, my daughter started asking me what I was doing, but of course it was said with the tone of a child, "What you are doing?".  I began to explain what it was I was doing and then showed her.  Seemingly, with each step of the process I'd hear her angelic voice query yet again, "What you are doing?"  It was then that I realized how genuinely innocent a child can be, and just how priceless those moments are.

We did many projects together over the years, and increasingly, she earned more and more responsibility, kind of a mentor ship program I'd say.  I guess that's what parenting is all about after all, isn't it? 

There were several other little expressions that surfaced over the years, but few had the resonating echo in my head that this one has.  I'm sure if I asked her about this today, she'd have very little recollection; but if I asked her, "What's happening?", I imagine she'd say, "Good", and that's how I'd know my little girl is still inside that mature, young lady!

Walking the Plank can be a Good Thing

The high seas have provided the highway for mariners of all varieties for millennia, and the tales from the sea are rich with intrigue, mystery, and at times, tragedy.  Pirates have held their place in the rich history and lore associated with navigation on the high seas.  The curiosity and behavior linked to pirates seems to infiltrate the play of young children, even today.  Although the swashbuckling exploits of my youth are well behind me, I recently was out for a run with some friends and had a momentary flashback to my childhood.  Let me explain.

New England weather requires a modicum of flexibility in order to make the most of the seasons.  For example, you have to endure mud season to get to the summers in Maine, black fly season in NH ushers in the 4th of July, and the snow and ice of winter necessitate some "careful" decision making when the conditions are, shall we say, potentially dangerous to your health.  However, as with anything, these sorts of inconveniences clearly are offset by the rewards of living where you want.

Running outside in NE during the winter months can present some unique challenges, the least of which are the cold temperatures.  With the availability of such lightweight, yet warm technical gear, outside activities are more manageable, but there are still few remedies for dealing with the snow and ice.  On a recent trail run between snow storms,  we encountered a bit of frost on the boardwalk that makes up a portion of the trail.  The footing appeared to be even more treacherous than we had already been dealing with on the snow covered trails to boot.  Rather than risk falling, it was time to walk the plank.  As we made our way carefully across the foot bridges, our decision was affirmed that walking those slippery planks showed good judgment, something those pirates wouldn't appreciate or find among the booty in their treasure chests.  Arrgh!

Silent Night

On this the two hundredth anniversary since Silent Night first debuted as a Christmas carol, much has been written about the poem's author, Father Joseph Franz Mohr and Franz Xaver Gruber who put the words to music.  It is reportedly the most beloved Christmas song of all time and has been translated into more languages than any other.  In the movie, Joyeux Noel, which depicts the famous WWI Christmas Eve truce, the music of Silent Night echoed in the night air which, at least for a brief moment, allowed the warring countries to lay down their weapons of destruction.  In that case at least, the calming melody knew no enemy and spawned a unity in the face of hatred.

It is my hope that the true meaning of Christmas which resonates so clearly in the lyrics of Silent Night remain on our minds and in our hearts all year long.  Peace on earth and goodwill to all peoples!

If We Build It, They Will Come

There are times when a life event leaves you with such an indelible mark that it resonates long after it actually happened.  I am certain that we all have experienced this.  Equally, there are quotes that carry such historic significance that they make their way into the history books.  Unfortunately, because few of us possess the unlimited amount of disk space necessary to remember it all, we rely on a combination of means to bring the past into the present.  Well, for a group of visionaries from Delaware, Ohio, the stars aligned perfectly for the passage of a tax levy which left a community no longer asking why but instead realizing their vision of "Y not", and let me explain.

Delaware, Ohio is located at the center of the county that bears its name and is one of the fastest growing counties in the country, immediately north of Columbus.  It is the birthplace of Rutherford B. Hayes, the 19th President of the United States, home of harness racing's, Little Brown Jug and Ohio Wesleyan University, just to highlight some of its rich heritage.  When I lived there, a burning question that had been raised long before my arrival was, "why doesn't Delaware have its own indoor pool complex?"  Over the years, a variety of explanations had been voiced, but eventually, the need became more apparent.  The high school swim team called the pool at OWU its home, and the community was fortunate to have access to the facility too, but there were growing  limitations.  The time had come to mobilize on this opportunity.

There had been several citizen groups researching the prospects of developing such a space, and those proposals fell short of being realized.  In 2000, CIRCA 2000 was spawned and picked up this noble cause again, without success; but the group, CPR, Citizens to Promote Recreation, gained the traction and inertia needed to make the project happen.  First, it took gathering signatures to show the support, and that happened.  Second, CPR continued to promote its agenda and presented it to the community's elected officials.  The spokesperson delivered an eloquent summary of the proposal and concluded his statements by saying, "the tax is minimal, the need is great, and the time is now."  That compelling argument struck a chord with the board members who supported the measure, and thus this initiative was allowed on the ballot of the special election.  Third, it would be up to the voters to decide the fate of the proposed tax increase, and on August 5, 2008, that tax levy passed.  Three for three, a hall of fame batting average in my book, but more importantly, a giant step forward that would favorably change the landscape of the city and county for generations.

Now, 10 years later, the "Y" at Delaware has definitely become a reality and is one of central Ohio's busiest.  The coexistence with the National Guard has become a model for other communities around the country.  However, what makes this so special is the vision of a few has benefited the many who have passed through its doors.  The words, "if we build it, they will come" couldn't echo more loudly in the "Y" at Delaware today, and why not? It has become all that was envisioned and more.  No recount needed on this vote, the "YEAs" have it!

Waiting for a Star to Fall

The ancient mariners guided themselves around the globe using little more than a sextant and the stars above.  The Greeks named many of the stars and the constellations were named, particularly those stars that make up the signs of the Zodiac.  Many of us today can spot the Big Dipper, known to the scholars as Ursa Major, but beyond that, fewer people actually know these various celestial collections.  We simply take out our hand held electronic devices and hit the maps app and viola; we are on our way.

Unfortunately, with the ever increasing problem of light pollution, seeing the stars so vividly has become even more difficult.  The glow from large cities effects us even when we are out in the country.  With the expanding population, there are more homes, and consequently, increasing numbers of street lights.  I remember my first flight to California before starting graduate school.  My parents put me on the redeye out of Boston, and on the way across, you could imagine the cities below based on the size of the radiating footprint.  As we approached the LA basin, I have this unforgettable image of this expanding sea of lights.  It overwhelmed me.  While in California, my friends and I would head out to Joshua Tree or into the mountains to camp, and the night skies there were not tainted by those city lights.  That's where the stars had center stage and would light up the night sky.

Late July into early August marks the annual Perseid meteor shower which for star gazers is one of the years "highlights".  So, if you are blessed with a clear night and are so inclined, raise your eyes to the heavens in hopes of catching one of these remarkable displays.  You won't be disappointed, and if you don't, you may have to wait for next year's "stars to fall"!  Enjoy.

FOMO

The family vacation, Rangeley week, began on Saturday, and the anticipation has been palpable for several weeks leading up to this much beloved week of fun.  For some, the week has had a delayed start because of scheduling conflicts, although if one can arrive even for a few days, the experience is worth the effort.

I received a series of text messages shortly before and after my arrival which generally is not unusual under these circumstances, but what I didn't appreciate was the lingo used to describe not being physically on site.  FOMO or the Fear of Missing Out evidently is the abbreviated text jargon for this very emotion.  Well, I am that much more informed about the texting world than ever before, after my daughter shared this generational information.

Rangeley week has been a fixture now on the summer calendar for nearly 3 decades, and it has morphed into the equivalent of SBW, Summer's Best Week, and TAFJ, That's a Fact Jack!

Hidden in the Fog

While sitting on the front deck of a my sister in law’s family camp in Maine, I was looking out over the lake which was blanketed in a dense fog.  The morning Sun was up, but its warming effects hadn’t yet taken hold to burn it off.  Having enjoyed a glorious day of weather the day before and having been here several times over the years, I knew what the landscape ought to look like, yet I couldn’t see any of it.  I heard the soft  sounds of voices echoing from the lake, presumably those of fisherman heading to their favorite sites.  The distinct hum of car and truck engines in the distance, the chirping of birds, and the many other sounds of the day all provided for the melodious background music.  

So, what does this all mean?  In many respects it reminds me of the meaning of faith.  Faith is believing in the things that you cannot see.  When the fog is thick and obscures the view, one must rely on those other senses to offset the visual impairment.  It is having complete confidence that those unseen images really exist: however, as the fog lifts, the panoramic view confirms the presence of one’s belief that there is something wonderful out there just waiting to be “scene”!  Keep the faith my friends…

Soul Searching

No doubt all of us have roots somewhere, whether it’s in our local community or from a distant shore, so naturally, there are times when we may return to those roots.  My mother’s father came from just outside St. John New Brunswick, and when she was younger growing up in Boston, she’d often take the trip to Black River with her family to visit with family and friends.  There were times when her aunts would forgo the 2-3 day car ride down east, so  instead they’d take her on the steamer out of Boston for St. John.  Once at Uncle Willy’s though, as we later referred to it, life would slow down and the days would become seemingly carefree.  It was definitely a simpler time, but the experience left one rejuvenated in many ways.

After my mother started her own family, she shared this tradition with us.  It started with my older sisters and became a regular junket for years to come.  On one occasion, I recall my father telling me that mom had taken her mother and my oldest sister to BR for a week long respite.  Well, the weather was reported to be glorious, so they were going to stay another week.  This went on for 3 weeks and finally, my grandmother and mother decided it was time to return home to Boston.  For the trouble of staying with my great uncle and aunt, both my grandmother and mother each felt compelled to give them a little something for their stay.  They did this independently of informing the other, assuming  and there would be enough between them to get home.  Well, as my father informed me, they arrived in Boston with a few bananas and 2 dollars in their pockets!  Evidently, that was the price for making the pilgrimage to a small piece of heaven on earth.

There have been many trips back to BR over the years and each one had its own uniqueness.  My mother rescued a wooden sleigh from an abandoned farm, she reclaimed barn boards to repurpose them into a lean-to at home, we had 4 flat tires on one trip traversing the gravel roads of BR, and all of this was woven into the routine of the day, eating, gathering berries, walking the landscape, including the beach, playing in the creek, or whatever suited the moment; life in Black River was decidedly less complicated.

If you asked my youngest brother what he remembers about BR, he’d be quick to tell you about one of the scariest moments of his life.  The bucket for collecting the well water had fallen off the pole and hook while fetching water; it obviously needed to be recovered from the bottom of the well.   My dear uncle came up with a plan.  He enlisted me to help hold my brother’s ankles while we lowered him into the well hole.  I was thankful that my uncle thought that my brother was the best one for this task, as none of us would ever have said no to my uncle.  In a manner of speaking, I was off the “hook” too!  As my brother recounts this story today, we laugh, but back then, it was frightening

On  my most recent trip down to Canada, we pitched camp in the front yard, as the home is no longer habitable,  and spent a few days clearing the brush that had overgrown the property.  We reminisced about our own personal memories and laughed repeatedly over some of the antics, as we likely had done so many moons ago.

As the years have passed, the trips to Black River have become few and far between.  The oldest of the nieces and nephews were introduced quite early on, and there are some who have never even seen the old homestead.  However, for those of us who have experienced this little oasis of calm in life peppered by turbulence, the old sod has been a place where you can connect to the past,  perhaps plan for the future, but clearly  it is the present, a  treasured gift to the soul!