"This Day"

99.

Like the Toto song. Or Maxwell Smart's girlfriend.

I like that number. I like the look of it. The last of the two digit combos. One step in front of an obvious watermark.

Emma Foote is now an official member of the 99-year club. It was her birthday yesterday and it was time to celebrate.

The Comeback Kid - After two touch 'n go months which some of you may know about since I wrote about it a few weeks ago, Emma was ready to move ahead to the next level. I've been thinking about this particular birthday for some time now, as I'm thinking about the next one, if it comes, God willing. We're all looking forward to that day. Emma used to joke about her name being mentioned by Willard Scott on The Today Show.

I hadn't seen Emma for a couple of months and certainly hadn't seen her since she went through her ordeal, so as I was driving to Springfield for the first visit, I was a bit apprehensive about the Emma I was about to see. But, before heading over to see Emma, it was time for Stuart and I to pick up ... yes ... the cake at the Noho Stop & Shop (of course, I had to snap a good photo for all of you to see. I know my brother loved this). "That's chocolate icing," I asked. Stu made a face and we both decided the day wasn't so much about the state of the icing. So, it was on to Agawam, to HeritageHall, where Emma now resides.

As we walked into Emma's room, we peeked in but didn't see her so we walked down the hallway to the nurses station. When we turned the corner ... there she was. Smiling, eyes bright, there was no doubt about it. Emma was back and fully aware of the two men standing in front of her - the two little boys whose lives she's helped to shape. We leaned in - and immediately, I felt that familiar soft skin brush up against my lips. I thanked God I was able to have this moment. This year. This day, as Emma always likes to say. "To thank God for this day." As I gave her a hug, steadying myself on the wheelchair arm, trust me, I was thanking God at that very moment. Honestly, I didn't think it was going to happen.

The Fiesta - It was great. Billie Joe, Novis, Ruth, Mamie, Bernice - Emma's family up north - and their kids and grandkids. I don't have a chance to see these folks much since I live far away now, but I love visiting with them when I do get home. People like Novis, (my favorite, by the way - she's one of the first people I can remember seeing as a child - that's her above). That would've been the early 60's when Emma would always invite her family over to our home for visits and I remember playing with Novis and Grace like it was yesterday. Since then, whenever Emma celebrates her birthday we make sure we all get together. Add to that some unbelievable Thanksgivings at Ruth's house ... (Note:I don't think I've ever had better macaroni and cheese in my life) ... Let's face it. Emma's family is my family, too. I've already asked Ruth and Novis if I can interview them for the project when I'm back East in a few months, so I'm looking forward to that.

So it was good Stuart was able to snag the large conference room down the hall so we had plenty of room for Emma's family as well as other Heritage Hall residents who wanted to join in the fun. It was good seeing Emma enjoying the afternoon in her quiet way. I loved being able to read all the cards to her, which, I've noticed, has become sort of an event fixture at these parties. Of course, then it was all about the cake which was pretty good, I have to admit - fake chocolate? mocha? tan? beige? icing and all.

Three hours was about enough for Emma - I could see her eyes tiring. Quite frankly, I was surprised she wanted to hang out with all of us for that long. But before it was time to shut things down, Stuart and I promised our sister, Marla, that we'd call her, as well as our Mom and Dad - that part of the family all living in Florida. One by one I reached them on the phone and Emma chatted away, eagerly accepting their long-distance love and birthday wishes.

And that was that. The room cleaned, hugs and kisses exchanged and there we were, back in Emma's room, helping her to get comfortable for the evening. Of course, that was about the time they brought in her dinner in through the door and Emma chuckled, shooing them away, saying she wasn't hungry after having her fill of birthday cake. Still, I noticed that didn't stop her from eating the pears. It's good to see that her appetite has come back like that. At one point, she kept fumbling around with the plastic cup, doing her best to snag the last piece of pear. I was going to help her, but I knew Emma would have frowned at that. Finally, after working on it for what seemed like ten minutes, Emma was able to pierce that last piece of pear, lifting the forkful into her mouth and laughing hard the entire time. It was actually pretty funny.

* * * * * * * * * *

As Stuart and I left, saying goodbye to a few folks on the way out, I thought again about my phone call with Emma a few weeks back. She wasn't able to talk that day and Stuart was relaying some pretty bad observations to me and Marla at the time. And there we were: Emma up in Massachusetts. Me in Missouri. Simply put - I wasn't sure I'd ever see that smiling face again.

But, I did see her. And I hope to see her again tomorrow if that's the way it works out.

And when I see her, you better believe I'll be thanking God for that very moment. For allowing me to see Emma Foote - This Day.

I Am Soooooo Happy

For anyone who's a baseball fan, you know how this picture makes me feel. For those of you who understand what happened to the Mets last year, then you really understand why this photo soothes our collective souls, like a warm salve, healing the wounds inflicted last September. Now, all he has to do is pitch well and we're half-way home.

Honestly. I look at this and still can't believe he's wearing a Mets' jersey. Okay, okay. I know $150,000,000 had something to do with it happening. Still, I'd like to think that was only a part of the equation.

'It's A Family Affair"

It's not a show I would normally choose to attend. Seriously, I'm not a huge country fan and I'm even less a fan of "American Idol." Having said that, I like Reba McIntyre from what I've seen of her and today's country music isn't the country music of Conway Twitty and George Jones. Also, even though I don't like "American Idol," I did see parts of that first season and one would have to be an idiot to not notice what incredible voice Kelly Clarkson has.

So - I went to see the Reba and Kelly perform this past Saturday night at KC's Sprint Center. And it was great.

It's A Family Affair - In a nutshell ... a childhood friend called a few weeks back and told me that Reba McIntyre was coming to KC and that another childhood friend, Jim, has been touring with her for years so ... Jim's sister, Susan, another childhood friend, was thinking of making the trip from MA to MO to surprise him. Great idea. I mean, why not? It would be fun and I could use the company of some old friends out here. So, the caper was set into motion with Susan making her travel plans and my brother, (who is a good friend of Jim's and has performed and written music with him), helping to set up the rouse. We were ready to roll. Jim thought Stuart was going to be visiting me in KC and that we'd be heading over to the show. He set aside some tickets for Saturday night and that was that.

Great plan.

Well, it was a great plan until I caught some kind of death respiratory virus a few days before the show. Still, I'm not going to go into any of that here. The fact is I'm now writing about this after the event and I'm happy to say (1) I made it to the show; (2) the surprise worked; (3) I had a terrific visit with Susie after not seeing her too many years; and (4) the two of us had a great lunch with Jim before the show. And I did all of that while sucking on crushed ice for the better part of two straight days. Who knows? Perhaps it was stupid for me to be out and about feeling the way I was feeling but the truth is, I had told Susie this was going to happen and I wanted to keep my word, no matter what.

The Smile - "Look what a great time he's having up there." Susie must have said that five times during the show as she snapped of photo after photo. And each time I glanced over and watched her, watching her older brother up on the Sprint Center's stage in front of 14,000 fans, playing guitar with Reba and Kelly - I couldn't help but be inspired by the whole scene. Susie must have taken 40 pictures or so; every time Jim's face popped up on the huge video screen, she was right on it. And as I've already written to Jim since the show - I don't have that many people in my life who are really enjoying what they do for a living. It's just so rare. So to see him that way ... that night? It just felt plain old good, chest cold or no. And I don't know if it was a coincidence, (maybe it was the ice cold Cokes and soft pretzels) but I could have sworn that on the way home that night, I felt better physically. And to think I was just going to drop Susie off and return after the show to pick her up. I'm just glad I chose to take the shot. What a frickin' treat. Once again, I figure it goes somewhat like this: when life presents chances to have these kinds of special moments, it's pretty much up to us to notice these opportunities for what they are. And then it's up to us to make a choice as to whether we grab hold of them - or not.

I'm glad I chose right the other night.

Scrambled Eggs

I talked and talked. Stopped to wipe a tear that started running down my right cheek. And then I talked a bit more. It wasn't so much that I was thinking it through, I wasn't. I allowed my mouth to move, giving voice to something that was occurring right at that moment, flowing directly from what seemed to be my stomach area. My brain seemed to have very little to do with anything as I stared at the top of my kitchen table, picking at the chipped metal edge as I talked away into my cell phone.

My brother had placed his phone next to Emma's ear as she laid in her bed at Heritage Hall up in Agawam, Massachusetts. A strange series of events had brought Emma to this point. What point that was or is, we're not even all that sure. But one thing I am sure about. Last week, I experienced a couple of minutes that broke new ground for me.

Emma Foote is ... - I've never really known what label to put on her. My nanny? That's too shallow a term, although she did serve in that role for me and my brother and sister when we were first born. A housekeeper? Sure, Emma played that role, too. But to refer to Emma as a mere housekeeper is to insult her and I just won't have that. A grandmother? Now, that's one I've always loved. I like referring to Emma that way because in every way possible, Emma has been and still is a grandmother to me, as she is to my siblings. Convention dictates some hesitation to label Emma as a true grandmother simply because she is not, in fact, my mom or dad's parent. And one look at her, it doesn't take much to notice that she's a black woman so - of course, the next phase of someone's analysis would be for them to look at me and ... well ... at least want to ask a question or two about how someone like Emma could possibly be my grandmother. I mean, how could such a thing be, right? But, I have to tell you, that's precisely what she is to me. And add to that - friend, mentor, teacher, coach ... and quite possibly the best fried chicken maker in the history of the world - and that's what Emma Foote has meant to me and my family. That's what Emma Foote has meant to just about anybody who's ever met her.

And there I was one week ago. Sitting in the same chair I'm sitting in now as I write this, talking to her as she laid in her bed up in Massachusetts, seemingly out of it, unable to respond with more than a few grunts here and there.

"I don't know," Stuart said as he sniffled. I could tell he was holding back tears.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm not sure," he added. "I think ..." He paused. "I think this may be it."

The Head Rush - When Stu said that - you know something? It's not as though I can explain what happened next. I had spoken with Emma just moments before, telling her about my planned visit to Springfield for her March 2 birthday - her 99th! I asked her what kind of cake we were going to get this time? And Stuart told me later that her eyes seemed to light up when I asked her such things. Just three minutes before, I was pretty much figuring everything was going to be okay. Even though she couldn't talk, Stuart told me Emma was definitely able to understand my words. Sure, she was recuperating from a surgery to get more circulation into a bum right leg and she was out of it, yes. But dying? Come on.

"Stu. I need to get back on the phone. Do me a favor and put the phone near her ear again," I added.

A Second Chance - And as I spoke this second time, it was like I was a different person. I had crossed over. This time, it wasn't words about preparations for an upcoming birthday. This time what drove me was the idea, the unfamiliar idea that this might very well be the last time I would be able to speak with Emma while her soul was of this Earth. As I talked, I just could not compute that thought. That sad thought. My mouth kept moving as I told her how much I loved her, what she's meant to me and our entire family all these years. I told her that if she felt it was time to go, then just know how much I loved her and that I would always be connected to her - every single day of my life until it's time for me to go.

She's always been there for us in the ways that mean the most - no matter where she or we lived physically, geographically. First in our home for many years as a part of our family. Then in her own apartment, when she would then visit our home for prolonged stays, always welcomed back to her old room. And then in her next home where she lived for many years as most of us moved to different parts of the country. Phone calls kept us in touch and we always worked out ways to get back to Western Mass. to see our Emma.

For me, one experience that always comes to mind is sitting in the chair next to her as she sat in her rocker chair and footstool, the TV on in the distance, her stories (soaps) on as we watched together. 99.9% of the time, I fell asleep in that position. I mean a good, calm, deep nap. Spending time with her all those years, talking with her, confiding in her when I went through my divorce, etc..., Emma has been like a human sedative for me. So it's always been natural to feel that heart rate decrease and doze off while watching "One Life To Live" with her.

And the phone calls that obviously never substituted for the real thing. Those calls always end with me telling Emma how much I love her.

"I love you, too. You know I do," is Emma's routine response. And when I tell her I'm heading up to see her, she always adds, "I'll be lookin' for ya."

The phone. We think we can pick it up anytime and the people we love, the people we've been speaking with for all these years - it feels like they voice is always going to be there on the other end. Whenever we need to hear that voice. The other day, I suppose it hit me - the reality of it. The fact is these people will not always be there. It is going to end.

Okay, so for all of you who have been through this, I'm sure I sound like a child right now. I know I've been blessed simply because I haven't had to go through this before. This is my debut.

* * * * * * * * * *

Update - The good news is that Emma seems to have rebounded a bit. We think she may have been over medicated (pain pills). So when they cut down the dosage, she started to come back to us - slowly. I'm heading up to see her and, hopefully, we'll be able to share a little of that big 99th Gus & Paul's birthday cake.

But, for now, I'm going to make dinner and think about her recovery. I'm going to have an omelette. And when I beat the eggs, who do you think will be on my mind?

That's right.

Add "cooking teacher" to the above referenced list.

It's Time Of The Season ...

First of all, I understand that unless you're from New York or Boston, the events of the past week probably don't mean all that much to you. Still, while working in the library today, I couldn't help but to write just a bit about the following two things:

1. Last night's game - A few observations. To say it was one of the best Super Bowls would be an understatement ("The Catch" - when it happened, you pretty much knew how the game was going to end). And as most NFL fans know, the game usually has a habit of rarely living up to its hype. And even though last evening's 4th quarter ended up being one of the most dramatic quarters of pro football I've ever watched, there was still something strange to me about the way the game unfolded. I'll preface the following comment by saying this right up front: I'm a baseball fan - to the core. And while I enjoy all sports and still like to get out there and toss around a ball, it's still baseball for me. The fact is, as the final seconds of the Super Bowl wind down each year, a quick glance at a calender always brings a smile to my face as three words pop into my head: pitchers and catchers. More on that in a minute. Back to last night.

I don't know if it's just me but, what's the story with the "one play - three commercials" ratio? I know, I know - the game is just as much about the commercials as it is about ... well ... the game. But I enjoy the game. And as a fan, I found it hard to get into the flow when, every time a play would be run, Fox would quickly cut away to a series of ads. Then they'd come back, run another play and, whoooshhhh - off to another commercial break - and then another and another. At one point I couldn't help but wonder, "If I'm having trouble getting into the flow - and I'm just sitting there watching - how the hell do the pro athletes deal with this herky jerky rhythm? Okay, so I know this is part of Super Bowl lore but, more and more I'm finding it doesn't work for me.

In the end, I was thrilled for the Giants, I really was. I was torn during the game because, being from MA and growing up around the Patriots, I was caught up in their quest for the perfect season. I would have liked to see them get it - I like the team and Belichick a lot. But on the other hand, I love Giants - ever since the Homer Jones, Tucker Fredrickson, Fran The Scram days. And how could you not be rooting for Eli Manning. Talk about an athlete weathering the storm. I can't imagine what it would be like being a legend's younger brother (and Dad, too) and having to put up with the NY sports press the way he's had to deal with it.

So - congrats to the Jints. And to the Pats? I have a hunch they're going to be right back in there next year - and with even more to prove now.

2. Ahhhh ... Those Three Words - 10 days? It's funny, as soon as December 21 rolls around, just the mere knowledge that the days are getting longer by milliseconds seems to pick me right up and out of the winter doldrums. But now - a mere 10 days before pitchers and catchers? To me, spring is already here. I swear I can smell freshly cut grass and hear bird chirping, mitt popping and bat cracking in my dreams. But this year, just this past week, there is something else to be excited about. Something really big.

Amazin' Ace - Johan is here. I won't go into it now but, after last years Mets' meltdown, this is the tonic the Mets' faithful needed. What a lift. Sure, when I see the huge amounts of money being thrown around - an average of $22,000,000 each year? For a guy who only works 1.5 days a week? - the whole thing is obscene. I know this. Still, I love the Mets. More than that, I love the game, even with all it's steroid/HGH warts and the ridiculous money flow.

10 days and then it's time to play ball. That beautiful, drawn out 162-game schedule starts to play out and through the spring, dog-days of summer and into the autumn chill. Months and months of morning box score analyses, standings changes and, hopefully, this year - a much needed World Series championship. What a perfect cherry to top off a final year at Shea.

And, worth a mention before I sign off - March Madness isn't exactly what I'd call chopped liver. The combo of college hoops and baseball ... it's the time of the season, for loving.

Just Like That!

It's February 1st. I can't believe it.

One year ago to the day I was stuffing as much as I could into two bags and setting them down in Howard's hallway as Max (Howard's cat) watched me from the top of the stairs. I checked my freshly compiled iTune's CD's before stuffing them into the last available section of my bursting bag while figuring out which CD I was going to use first. After all, within 24 hours I was going to be driving from Wichita, Kansas to Dallas, Texas - hitting the open road. Was I excited? Are you kidding?

One year.

Just like that.

February 1, 2007 - "Off We Go ..." - I remember looking out the plane window, watching Shea Stadium and the new Citi Field construction shrink and fade into the thickening clouds. I was on my way to the middle of the country; my days of merely flying over the flyover states were about to end. As I sat back and closed my eyes, I remember taking a deep, happy breath. I was letting go of something big, even though I couldn't pinpoint what that something was. Truthfully, it didn't matter. I just felt downright good. After thinking about driving cross country for, I don't know, 30 years? I was finally doing it. Chalk one up for Eldercation. A decade's worth of stored up stories about taking leaps, not regretting things, and the like - it was time to take some of that wisdom out for a test run in my Enterprise car rental.

And, as I pecked away on my laptop and started to write what would end up becoming my road-journal, certainly the last thing I figured was that I'd end up living in Kansas City, Missouri. So it just goes to show you - it simply doesn't make any sense to ... well ... figure on anything. For the most part, life unfolds on its own. I smile when I think back to that first day of the trip and how, after landing, I found myself staring at the shiny black baggage belt as it kept running by me from right to left, bag after bag. That belt kept running and running until there were no more bags. I had made it to Wichita; my bags hadn't. As Frank Rizzo like to say, "Ehhh, I see we're off to a bad start, Paul."

The thing I remember most about that particular moment? I smiled. I'm not kidding. I actually smiled. Well, okay - so I freaked out for about 10 seconds and then I smiled. But pretty soon, after filling out the lost baggage forms and meeting the young man who was to later become my luggage hero, I walked over to an airport bar and ordered a cold beer. I was celebrating that fact that my bags were somewhere else in America besides NYC and I was sipping a beer in the Wichita, Kansas airport. Breaking free of the New York's sometimes mesmerizing hold, I had finally moved forward, starting the process of fulfilling a dream. And, boy, it felt great.

February 1, 2008 - "Brick By Brick" - I've been using that phrase a lot lately. The Eldercation project is (and I know I'm obviously biased), quite a remarkable experience collection, I have to say. My focus now is to convert these interviews into a format where I can share just a small sampling of what I've been seeing and hearing as I've traveled around meeting some of the best people you'd ever want to meet. A lot of work was in the can before I left last year; hundreds of interviews were already in place. But, this trip, this adventure - it's allowed me to spread my wings. Something started to click with me and it seemed to happen almost as soon as the plane's wheels left the LaGuardia runway. Dallas to Austin to Liberty Hill to Fort Worth to San Antonio to Oklahoma City to Kingfisher to Stillwater to Tulsa to Hot Springs to Benton to Little Rock to Eureka Springs to Branson to Springfield to Columbia - back to Wichita to Lawrence to Kansas City ...

And it wasn't supposed to stop in Kansas City. The fact is, I had already made plans for the next leg - up to Nebraska and then over to Iowa. And the interesting thing is, whenever I fantasized about making this trip, for some reason it was always Nebraska that popped into my head. Which is a pretty strange thing considering I had, as you already know, never been there before. Go figure. Maybe it was memories of being at the 1969 Orange Bowl, watching the Cornhuskers beat LSU that year. From that day forward, I always felt kind of attached to Nebraska football. Which wasn't such a difficult thing to do, seeing as they seemed to be in the hunt for the national title every year up until very recently.

But, Nebraska and Iowa would have to wait. Like everything else on this trip, instinct took hold and something pushed me to stop the trip in its tracks. It was time to write, compile - write and compile some more - and then write and compile some more. The fact is all I've been doing for the past six months (besides working part/time) is writing and compiling. Tedious at times? Yes, I can't lie. There are no shortcuts. For every interview conducted, it means listening and combing through that interview several more times, culling out the one or two things that I want to pass along to readers.

Which reminds me.

It's time to write and compile.

"Oldies, But Goodies"

I’ve been watching old movies lately. I’m not sure why, but I am sure the "why" part of it doesn't really matter all that much. My guess is it's simply because I've now seen pretty much every post-1970 movie made - at least the ones stocked on the Plaza Library bookshelves. My "no-TV" rule has given way to a substitute visual fix –the DVD, both movies and television series. Still, watching television was one thing. Popping a DVD into my laptop is another. At least with a DVD, it’s a more finite process; a beginning and an ending. With TV, it was a perpetual kind of thing. It was on in my apartment in the city - all the time. My breaking point? As much as I love following politics and government affairs, I simply grew weary of the screaming and constant ranting. To me, that's not a productive approach to inducing change. It's not very, how can it put it? Enrolling. As much as I liked watching Chris Matthews and The McLaughlin Group, it was time to close down the shop.

So with my more modern day movie supply exhausted, it was time to enter a new phase: the black and white era.

One example, "Adam's Rib" - I just watched it last night; a cute flick with Tracy and Hepburn. The more I see those two together in films, the more I love them.

A few weeks ago, I watched a film called "Advise & Consent" - starring Henry Fonda, Don Murray, Peter Lawford, Burgess Meredith, Walter Pigeon, Jean Tierney and quite the performance by Charles Laughton. This was a great film.

Sticking with the Fonda theme, when I saw both the old and new versions of "12 Angry Men," on the shelf, I knew immediately which one my hand would reach for. That original cast (Can you name all those actors in this photo?) ... I think this might be one of my all-time favorite films, right along side "To Kill A Mockingbird." Well ... for me, that movie has a unique place in my heart and I'm saving it for a special day. I often see it on the shelf, but haven't acted on the urge yet.

Again, with Henry Fonda - "The Grapes of Wrath." You know, with all of the folks I've been interviewing, and all the stories they share about the Great Depression - when I watched this film again, it was like a whole new experience for me. Back in April, 2007, I interviewed a woman named Hazel McCrary, from Stillwater, Oklahoma. Hazel told me all kinds of stories about the Dust Bowl and how her family lived through that period.

"Well, we just existed, literally existed on, you know ... very little. We had some cattle, we had cows so we had milk. And we had chickens. We all worked as much as we could. My daddy sold his wheat for 5¢ a bushel, haulin’ it to Canadian, Texas (smiling), sellin’ it for 5¢ a bushel. You know, so you just didn’t make any money and then the dust blew in (motioning with arms) til’ the fence rose. It’d just cover over it, it’d be just like a little ridge. You’d just go up, you wouldn’t even know there’s a fence there because the tumbleweeds would gather on that fence and then that would start blocking the sand. And the dust just built up, built up (raising hands far above her head, showing me). It was unbelievable … "

Hazel talked with me about the dust and hardship and how the concept of scarcity has stuck with her all of her life, even to this day. We sat together in the hallway of the yoga studio and as I listened, I couldn't help but think about the John Steinbeck novel and the images he described. I mentioned the book to Hazel and she told me "It was like that. Pretty accurate, yes." So when I took out the movie a few weeks back, my brain already loaded up with these stories from people who lived the experience first-hand ... Talk about a different way to watch a movie.

TV-Lite: For now - just two words. "Perry Mason." For those of you who remember the show, close your eyes for a second. Think about the opening; those first few theme song notes. Now, I ask you, is there anything more stirring than that instrumental opening? That steady piano line; the heavy brass. Okay, so some of the episodes were funny to me and watching the court procedure was also … well … I smiled, sometimes even laughed out loud at some of the things unfolding on my screen. Being a lawyer and having seen a number of trials in my life, I have to say, I have yet to see a witness break down on the stand like they do in a Perry Mason courtroom ... on every single show!! I understand it was a formula for the times and, it clearly worked. And then, Raymond Burr – talk about one-of-a-kind. Add some Della Street (Barbara Hale) and Paul Drake (William Hopper), the white haired, playboy-like PI who always seemed to be wearing some kind of white suit, like the "Man from Glad" ... Of course, there was good ole' reliable Hamilton Burger, Mason’s prosecutor nemesis. Two things about Mr. Burger: (1) Did he ever get a conviction in his fictional life? And (2) Was his name the product of some kind of writing-session practical joke? (Ham – Burger?)

The good news: There are tons of titles, especially old TV shows, I have yet to see again, so the horizon is vast on that front. I think it may be time for some more lighthearted stuff, to soothe the soul at bedtime. Shows like "Dick Van Dyke" and "I Dream of Jeannie" will work just fine, I'm sure. I see those particular DVD boxes on the shelves and, if I listen carefully, I think I hear them calling out my name. The bad news: Well, it's not actually bad news. The fact is I simply have to curb the urge. "Everything in moderation. Everything in moderation. What applies to food, applies to DVD's. That's the ticket.

New Year - New Approach

Less, More Often - My personal mantra for the new year. I've been doing some thinking about this, the blog part of the site, and decided that it's worth a try to write a little less but to do it more often. Actually, that's more along the lines of what a blog is supposed to be. Instead of working to post what I would call “finished” pieces or essays, I’m going to simply write tidbits here and there and simply … post them.

Come to think of it, less, more often is also my dietary goal. Portion control (laughing). My goal this year is to actually take home some food from a restaurant every now and then. I envy folks who can do that on a regular basis. This will be uncharted territory for me. Last year it was the Midwest. This year, it's the doggie bag.

So, on that note …. As Mr. Gleason used to love to say, “and away we go….”

* * * * * * * * * *

Man, It’s speeding Up - Back in, I think it was July, as I walked into the KCUR-FM studio, getting ready for my Walt Bodine Show interview, I met a very nice woman, Ruthanne, at the front desk. On the way out after the show was over, I bumped into Ruthanne and she asked if I’d be interested in coming to speak to her church Sunday school class at the start of the new year. I'm finding that I love doing that kind of thing so, of course, I said "Yes" right away. And I remember thinking, “January. That’s soooo far away. I mean, I don’t even have a 2008 appointment book yet."

Well ... January 6th rushed into place faster than any January 6th I can remember. It seemed like just yesterday I was standing in the KCUR lobby, Ruthanne asking me to speak at her church; Me, thinking about my lack of a 2008 appointment book.

A Meriwed Sunday - What a wonderful group of people. The Country Club United Methodist Church has several Sunday school classes, the Meriwed Seekers being one of them. Briefly, the group was originally formed many years ago by some newly married World War II veterans and their wives and it is this same core group that keeps things going, although newcomers are always welcome. They meet every Sunday, inviting guest speakers from both inside and outside the class, covering all kinds of subjects.

As it turns out, the church is about two minutes from my home, right around the corner. I drove over, parked, and as I walked into the church’s side entrance, Ruthanne’s husband met me as soon as I entered the building, right at the 9:15 designated time. After a cookie, cup of coffee and a short introduction by Ruthanne, I was up at the podium, microphone in place and the Eldercation program had begun.

As I said before, I enjoy doing this kind of thing and look forward to doing more of it down the road. My hope is that the 30-40 people sitting in front of me (all seniors, of course) enjoyed listening to what I had to say as much as I enjoyed saying it. After talking about the project for a few minutes, explaining why I’m doing what I’m doing, I spent some time putting out to the group a few of the questions I ask during a typical Eldercation visit. And that gets the ball rolling. It’s so much fun to listen to people’s answers but it's just as much fun to listen to and watch folks interacting with one another. That’s a nice twist to the one-on-one interview, reminding me of when I organized a series of focus groups at The Murray Hill Center a few years back. The group dynamic presents a completely different picture.

Normally, I’m able to put on about a 90 minute program but, after Ruthanne told me I had about 45 minutes or so, I knew I had to make some adjustments. It was a bit of a challenge but, in the end, it wasn't all that hard to do. As things wound down, I finished up by reading a few excerpts from past interviews and, since it was a Sunday morning and I was speaking with a church class, I figured it would be a good idea to focus on some religious, more spiritual issues. I can’t tell you what I joy it was to be able to stand up there, reading an excerpt from an Emma Foote interview. The more I find myself sharing Emma's words like that, the happier I get. The idea that I can put some of that woman's words and ideas out to the world like that … well … let’s just say it warms my heart and moistens my eyes. Of course, I called Emma on the drive home, (she’s turning 99 this March) .

“You’re famous!!” I told her. And she laughed ... and then laughed some more, the way only Emma can laugh. I refer to that laugh as a Deputy Dawg laugh, the way she ends each chuckle with a soft, sighing kind of “eewww.” I’m not sure that translates here, but perhaps you know what I mean.

Home, Consolidated

A Good Sunday - A nice snowfall last night preceded by two hours of steady sleet left Kansas City with a solid base of ice, hiding ominously under the snow. Any spots where the plows didn’t reach presented morning drivers with a tricky challenge to be sure. So, after putting it off for two weeks, I figured it was time to finally stop into the Home Depot to grab a couple of sand bags for the Vibe's backside.

After lifting the two 60 lb. tube bags into the hatchback trunk, I headed downtown to the River Market, needing some fruit - lemons and limes, in particular. Okay, call me stingy but I simply refuse to pay .89 for a friggin' lemon. I don't know, maybe it's all those years working in the tomato and produce business; I suppose, I know too much. So, the River Market it was.

Seriously, I love this place. It’s not exactly Faniuel Hall/Quincy Market, where I worked for four years while a BU undergrad and then some time afterwards. But it’s a good reminder and, for now, that's enough for me. Something about marketplaces excites me, makes me feel good. People food shopping, selling their goods, produce, jams, pies, flowers, nicknack's. Just being in the bracing air gets the blood pumping and brings a wide smile to my face.

Sure enough, 5 lemons or limes for a buck, can’t beat it. Corollo’s Italian Deli sells produce so that's where I made my purchase, chatting for a bit with, Mike, one of the owners. I’d been in his store a few times before to get fresh Parmesan and pasta and it’s yet another reminder of home. The fresh bread, Italian meats displayed in the glass counter, cheeses, olives in the barrels; all kinds of olives oils and vinegars, coffees, sauces. I was pretty hungry (so, what's new?), but it was way too early for that kind of thing. (That's the almost 50 in me talking there). And besides, I’m in the midst of a campaign to clean up the diet so … much of that stuff is on hold for the moment. I do, however, see a fresh Italian hero treat in my future. And Corrolo’s is the place for that. I’ll be back. And the next time, it won't be for lemons.

Home, Consolidated - "Chinatown Food Market" - I’d seen the sign on the large brick building every time I’d been in the market area, but never went in. There always seemed to be a reason to take the other turn. This morning? Fresh snow, clean air, my morning task completed ... it was time to check it out.

As soon as I walked in, things felt familiar. But not in the frantic way I remember it. You see, having lived in NYC for so many years, I'd often made my way down to Chinatown and was always stimulated by the visit. A subway ride downtown often left me feeling as though I'd taken a trip to another country. Seriously, for any of you who have been there, doesn't it feel that way? It's as though you've left the U.S. for a while to do some shopping. Sure, the heat's oppressive in July and the mass of people, the chaotic zig zagging of cars, bicycles, trucks. The noise, horns, engines rumbling, choking the street with fumes. You name the sense, it gets pummeled when you step into NYC’s Chinatown. And my hunch is it’s that way in any urban Chinatown. I always had mixed feelings when I trekked down there, extreme feelings; the "love-hate" thing again. Loved the food, (roast pork buns, in particular) smells, array of goods - the variety of people. Hated the noise, chaos - the mass of people.

Enter, Kansas City’s Chinatown Food Market. It’s as though someone drew a square box around NYC’s version, pushed in from each of the sides and then down and up from the top and bottom, cropping and shrinking the box so it would then fit into this one little (not so little, by the way) store in the Midwest marketplace. No chaos. No blaring horns. No car fumes. Just … good stuff. And lots of it.

Fruits, vegetables, many of them strange looking to me; canned and bottled goods of all kinds, sauces, marinades, oils, vinegars, noodles … I had no idea what many of the products were, by the way and certainly wouldn't know what to do with most of them if I bought them. So many strange names and images. One thing is certain - I really want to learn how to cook Asian style. With my kitchen here - finally, I have a chance to stretch my cooking wings - (i.e., I have a place to prep veggies, unlike the West 87th Street place where I had to balance a cutting board on the couch arm to prepare a meal) – so I figure it’s time to make the move; to experiment a little and to do it in a more healthy way. To do that, however, I figure it’s time to get a book to explain not only recipes, but directions in terms of what to buy and how to prepare it. As I browsed through the market, I found myself getting excited at the prospect of cooking great stuff and then inviting friends over for dinner to show it off. After a few practice rounds, no doubt.

Yes. Yes, I Miss The Ocean – I know, this isn't the same, but … I think I stumbled on the place to buy fresh fish in this town. And ... now I’m not sure ... but I think some of the fish I saw in the back may have still been moving. That's a good sign, right? I mean, not for the poor fish, but ...

It was ten on a Sunday morning and the place was pretty busy for a store that had just opened its doors. The first cars that drove up, it was as though all those people made a beeline to the back area where the fresh fish is sold. I snapped a few shots here where you can see customers ordering, the workers in the back gutting, slicing and preparing the orders to people’s specifications. It looked great and reminded me a lot of Haymarket in Boston and, of course, the old Fulton Fish Market in the city. There is nothing, I mean nothing like that smell. You either love or hate it.

On my way out, I met a nice young man at the register named Frank. Thin, glasses, broad smile - we started talking and, after I told him it was my first time there and how much I loved the place, he asked where I was from? It turns out Frank just returned to Kansas City from the West Coast, having spent time in school in LA. I ended up telling him about the book and, as always, figured I'd take a shot at an interview pitch. I mean, you never know, right? Getting Asian Eldercation participants has been a challenge right from the get-go because of the language issue. Frank said he may know a couple of people here so ... we’ll see.

I handed him a card.
Another seed planted; another morning adventure complete.

"Part Of The Plan"

Two weeks ago, while working in the library, a song came on my iTune's 70’s radio station – “Part Of The Plan.” I leaned back in the chair, removed my hands from the laptop and looked out The Plaza Library window as the song played. For three minutes, I was back in Myles Standish Hall at Boston University - 1976 - sitting with friends - some getting high, some sipping a beer, some just sitting. Just about any time of day or night, you could walk down the Myles' hallways and hear tunes like "Part of The Plan." If people weren't listening to the likes of Fogelberg or Taylor, you'd hear some Steely Dan, Poco, Eagles, Hall And Oates, Doobie or Allman Brothers, etc ... Those days, there was so much great music to choose from, so many fantastic songwriters and performers. Still, for me, one singer/songwriter really stuck out. Who knows why that happens? We all have someone special - a band, a singer, something that just seems to hit us when it counts, right at the time we most need it.

I think "Stars" may have been the first of his songs I heard. One of my roommates had that "Home Free" record, the one with the face on the front cover that looked like an American Indian. I remember hearing "Stars" and heading directly down to the piano room, it must've been two in the morning and it was absolutely crucial that I learn that song and learn it right away. I must have plunked at those keys for an hour or two until ... well ... what can I say? Some songs just sound better on a guitar. "Stars" is one of those songs.

* * * * * * * * * *

“I have some bad news.”

I heard my brother’s voice on the phone; we'd just finished comparing notes about the Pat's game. Once Stuart assured me a family member wasn't involved, he told me that Dan Fogelberg died today. Prostate Cancer. He was 56.

I’m sitting here writing this tonight because, to tell you the truth, I feel I have to do something. Musically, Dan Fogelberg wrote songs that were not only beautiful - they actually affected me. Sure, for those of you who know me, Billy Joel is obviously still high on my list, as are the Beatles, Stones, Who, Eagles, and so on. But there was something special about Fogelberg’s music. Something that moved me, as well as so many others.

I learned and performed Judy Collins', “Since You Asked,” at my friend Larry’s wedding; it was the Fogelberg/Weisberg rendition that served as the motivator. "Stars," "To the Morning" – those songs carried me through my college re-entry after I’d taken a year off to find myself and take in a bit of the world. That was a hard and very special time for me and certain music is firmly embedded, dare I say it? In my soul. Once exposed to this man's music, I loved everything he released. "Souvenirs" is probably my favorite album – not one weak song on the entire LP. Now, how often does that happen today, if at all? “Part of the Plan,” "There’s A Place In the World for A Gambler,” “Mornin’ Sky,” “Better Change,” ... It’s silly to name every song. They're all terrific.

My Favorite - And then – there’s “Leader of The Band". I just pecked out those four words and my eyes started to well up, I swear it. I don't mean for this to sound morbid but, over the years I've often thought that when my father dies, I'm going to sing that song at his funeral service. And the fact is, I'm pretty sure I’ve already told him I’m going to do just that; this way he won't be surprised when it happens. A singer songwriter himself – I always felt as though Dan Fogelberg had somehow secretly studied my family and wrote a song about my father, as strange as that sounds. It turns out, (and I didn’t know this for sure until today) "Leader Of The Band" is about Fogelberg’s own composer father, Lawrence. And judging from the hundred’s of responses on YouTube under this song title, it’s apparent this composition has hit the “father” mark dead-on when it comes to the great parent/love songs of our time. If you've never heard this track, here’s a link to it. It’s worth a quick listen. Check out the lyrics. Sure, sure ... some of you will say it’s too soft, syrupy, schmaltzy, whatever. You know what? Call me square, but I liked the quieter and often softer times, too. Anger, franticness, tension, conflict - I find I tire of that stuff much more easily these days.

So Here's The Thing ... After I heard "Part Of The Plan" two weeks ago, I found myself browsing iTunes for Dan Fogelberg music. I think it must have been 25 years since I've felt that kind of strong desire to hear those songs again. At first, the quick 30 second clips satisfied my craving. But, after hearing a song or two again, it didn't take long to figure out that clips just weren't going to do the trick. One by one, I started to buy tracks– creating my own Dan Folgelberg’s Greatest Hits collection. And, once I got home, I made sure to burn a CD so I could listen to the songs in the car. And for the past two weeks, that's all I've been listening to.

So, when Stu told me the bad news tonight, I heard the words, paused for a moment and then couldn't help but smile. I told him about my recent Dan Fogelberg music run.

Strange, huh? I've hardly even thought about Dan Fogelberg all these years and certainly didn’t know anything about his illness. I figured with my rekindled interest in his music, it'd be easy to catch him on tour some day soon.

But that’s not going to happen.

"Papa I Don't Think I Said ... " - While visiting with my parents last week in Florida, I had a chance to chat for a bit with my dad one night at the dining room table. We had just finished speaking with my mom who was in the hospital and, after lighting the last night's Hanukkah candles, I thought it would be a good time to ask him some questions - something to add to the Eldercation interview I did with him a few years back. We ended up talking for quite a while about his songwriting and he shared some of his thoughts with me; new things I'd never heard him talk about before, at least not with me. He talked about his love for creating music for people, how he'd sometimes be on the subway in the city, and he'd hear people humming or whistling a line from something he wrote.

“When you die, it’s kind of like being a bit immortal. Your music is still here," he said. "You’ve left something real and special for others to enjoy - even when you’re gone. That’s a good feeling. To know that's what's going to happen.”

Well, thank you, Dan. You've left more than enough for us to enjoy for many years to come.

And when I head into work tomorrow, all I have to do is click on the CD player - the disc is right where it's been for the past two weeks.