Swish!!!...my attempt at a very very Short Story

It was so hot that the court seemed to be melting under the feet of the young men and their canvas Converse high tops. A lot of pushing, shoving, swearing and sweating. This was how the big boys played on the court behind the school on a lazy late summer afternoon.

Billy stood on the sidelines with his friends watching the older boys grunt and groan there way up and down the court. They had to wait their turn. It was the law of the courts. When the big boys wanted to play you got out of the way. 

Swish!!!!.....there is no better sound to a basketball player than the sound that the ball makes as it goes through the hoop hitting nothing but net....Swish! Once you get that feeling it goes into your bones and you're hooked. Swish!!!....the game had ended and the big boys were taking a break. It was Billy and his friends turn to get in a few shots before the next game started. Billy hit a few shots from his usual place in the corner when he heard a voice over his shoulder.

“Heh you ...you wanna play?  Billy turned to see one of the big boys rubbing his ankle sitting on the sidelines. Billy thought..." they want me?...me???

He looked back at his friends, who were staring at him with wide eyes, half excited and half scared for him. Nobody said a word. The court had gone quiet in that strange way it does when something important is about to happen.

“You deaf?” the older boy said, still rubbing his ankle. “I said, you wanna play?”

Billy swallowed. His mouth felt dry from the heat and from fear. These were the big boys. The older kids who gotta play on the court as long as they wanted. They didn’t mingle with us younger little kids. They didn’t pick little kids to play ball with them. When the came it was their court and we got out of the way and watched till they were done. They didn’t even look at little kids unless they were telling them to get off the court.

“Yeah,” Billy said, trying to make his voice sound bigger than it was. “I’ll play.”

One of the older boys laughed. “Man, he’s too small.”

“He can shoot,” the boy with the bad ankle said. “Ive seen him do it….from the corner.”

Billy stepped onto the court. The hot blacktop pressed through the thin soles of his sneakers. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears.

The game started fast.

Too fast.

The big boys moved like trucks, elbows sharp, shoulders hard, sneakers squealing against the dusty court. Billy ran back and forth, trying not to get in the way, trying not to look scared. For the first few minutes, nobody passed him the ball.

Then it happened.

Somebody drove toward the basket, got trapped, and spun around looking for help. Billy was standing alone in the corner, his corner.

“Here!” Billy shouted while raising his hand. Raising your hand was the signal on the court that you are a good shooter who was open and wanted the ball. Billy was none of those. It was a just his basketball muscle memory that came from thousands of games played with friends who never passed the ball.

The ball came flying at him.

For a second, everything slowed down—the shouting, the heat, the sound of sneakers, even the sun burning above the court. Billy caught the ball, bent his knees, and rose into his shot.

The older boy guarding him jumped too late.

The ball floated high, turning gently against the blue summer sky.

Swish.

Nothing but net.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Billy’s friends exploded from the sideline, yelling and jumping like he had just won a championship.

One of the big boys nodded, trying not to smile.

The boy with the bad ankle grinned.

“Told you,” he said. “The kid can shoot.”

The moment became a legend in Billy’s mind. In his mind only. When the next game started he was back on the sidelines with is friends…where he belonged. The rules of the court still prevailed.

Still Reaching

I stand balancing on a shaky old wooden ladder.

It’s a cloudy, 50-degree Saturday morning in May, and I’m reaching for the ceiling with an old paintbrush taped to the end of a five-foot wooden stick, straining to hit the highest point of a cathedral ceiling.

I splash paint on what I can reach while thinking, Don’t fall. Hire someone to do this. I should write about this on my blog… lol. My back hurts. I should do more writing and less reaching.

This is a normal day for me now.

I used to do more active things. Sometimes dangerous things. Things that required strength, endurance, balance, and maybe not always the best judgment. These days, my adventures look a little different. Now I challenge myself with what others might call mundane, questionable, and mildly dangerous daily chores around my Ponderosa.

Like fixing a weed trimmer that won’t start.

I enjoy figuring things out. I like knowing I can still find the problem, buy the part, and fix it myself. Sure, it took me two hours because I kept pulling the starter cord until my back hurt. Then I finally discovered the broken fuel line—right about the time gas splashed all over me and made my peanut butter sandwich taste like WD-40.

Should I limit myself to safer, quieter chores like cleaning the bathroom or baking bread?

Well, I do those too… on my day off…lol.

But I still like a challenge. I still like to push the limits, even if those limits have changed. I’ll probably never climb Mt. Washington again. I won’t ride 150 miles in the MS 150 like I once did. But I can still try to walk all the way around Bellville Pond—about two miles of flat ground, which is much friendlier than a mountain that goes straight up until you’re ready to go straight down.

I can still ride my bike up my favorite hill, use up nearly all my energy, and barely pedal—or coast—all the way home.

I may not be what I used to be, but I’m still here. Still learning. Still fixing things. Still making a mess. Still laughing at myself.

Chainsaws, ladders, snow shovels..I can’t put them down.

I live by one code:

I do the best that I can, for as long as I can.

I’m a silly, somewhat physically broken, often dangerous, but happy old man doing his daily chores—and still reaching.

My Full Moon

Some mark time by a watch on their wrist or a calendar on the wall.

Me I just look out my bedroom window once a month if the sky is clear or visit one of my favorite places in town and look up. I measure my days by a light in the evening sky…another full moon.

At 74, you don’t count time the way you used to.

When you’re young, time is measured in loud, important units: promotions, birthdays with candles that require a fire permit, anniversaries, new cars, new mistakes. Time is a thing you spend like you’ve got a limitless supply and a generous return policy.

Then one day you wake up and realize time has quietly switched from being a budget to being an inventory.

And I, being the sensible and emotionally well-adjusted man that I am, have chosen to count mine by full moons.

Yes. Full moons.

Not “years.” Too broad. Not “months.” Too ordinary. Not “doctor’s appointments,” although that would be extremely accurate and frankly depressing.

No, I’ve decided to mark the passing of my remaining life by asking the only reasonable question a 74-year-old man can ask at 2:17 a.m. when sleep has wandered off and left him with his thoughts:

It’s natures free calendar. The Moon….. and as you know, it is dependable…unlike knees…unlike memory…unlike a jump shot that left me years ago.

A full moon shows up roughly once a month, steady as a metronome, silently judging us all from above. It doesn’t care if you’re having a good year. It doesn’t care if your back hurts. It doesn’t care if you’ve shoveled 24 inches of snow.

It just does its moon thing.

And I watch it.

I watch it the way a person watches a train schedule when they know they won’t be taking many more trips.

How many Full Moons do I have left?

Let’s be tasteful but honest. At 74, I’m not exactly shopping for a “long-term unlimited plan.” Statistically speaking, I’m somewhere in the part of life where the warranty has expired and everyone is pretending not to notice.

So, say—purely for argument’s sake—I make it to 84. That’s ten years.

Ten years is about 120 full moons….I doubt that could ever see them all…I maybe asleep or it’s cloudy.

If I make it to 94? That’s about 240 full moons.

If I make it to 104, then congratulations to me, and also: who is keeping me alive and why?

But you see what happens when you start thinking in full moons? The future stops feeling infinite and starts feeling… countable.

Not in a dramatic “oh no” way.

More like: Oh. So that’s what we’re working with.

It’s not morbid. It’s… efficient.

People hear this and assume it’s gloomy. Like I’m sitting by the window wearing a cardigan made of regret, waiting for the moon to come collect me.

Not quite.

I’m not counting full moons because I’m obsessed with death. I’m counting full moons because I’m honest about time.

Time is no longer an abstract idea. It’s a sequence. A finite series of events we try to remember.

And for some reason, that makes me pay attention.

It makes me remember the things that still matter:

• a good conversation that doesn’t feel like “catching up” but like being known

• morning coffee that isn’t rushed

• music that sends me backward in time and makes me feel, briefly, invincible

• A Guinness on St Patrick’s Day. … or any day..beer is still good

• A day Last Thursday Night with friends that I love

• Watching a Notre Dame football game with my dad who can’t enjoy a 28 to 3 win because they gave up a field goal…sigh!

• the taste of something I used to eat as a kid

• the particular hush that falls over the world when the moon is full and the day has finally stopped talking

There’s also something wonderfully freeing about the moon.

It doesn’t demand goals.

It doesn’t send motivational quotes.

The moon isn’t interested in my productivity. It just appears—huge, calm, unapologetically itself—like it’s reminding me that existing is enough.

At 74, that’s a message I can use.

Because I have spent decades thinking I needed to earn my life through accomplishment and usefulness and being the guy who fixes things and solves problems and carries the groceries without being asked.

Now I’m learning to be someone who can simply sit outside and watch the sky.

What do I do with the Full Moons I’ve got left?

I don’t have a bucket list. Bucket lists are for people who want to turn their remaining time into a chore chart.

But I do have a simple intention:

• See the moon when it’s full.

• Laugh whenever possible.

• Forgive more quickly.

• Go outside more than I think I need to.

• Stop saving good things “for later”

And when the next full moon arrives—and it will, whether I’m ready or not—I’ll look up and think:

Well. …there’s one more….If I am lucky I will get another one.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Tis the season to be jolly!!

I’m heading out this afternoon to pick out our tree. You don’t want to wait till the last minute when all the good ones will be gone. It’s time to move..get going ..get shopping…get in the spirit.

It’s started in case you haven’t noticed. The signs of the seasons are everywhere from the positing on my Roko that remnds me that I don’t want to miss one of my favorite shows that is available for watching now…How the Grinch Stole Christmas to the mail I just received giving 50% off my “early bird” Shutterfly offer for Christmas cards.

I haven’t been to Home Depot in a week but I bet the ornaments , fake trees and poinsettias are out . And it’s only one day after a four day stretch of sunny near 80 degree weather that had my toes in the sand and Jo in the water at the beach. Time does fly. Time to get the shovels and snowblower ready I guess.

I was gonna start raking and mulching leaves but I guess its to late for that.

So pull out the parkas, grab the gloves, and slurp down some eggnog..its the Happiest Time of the Year!!!

The Job

I am hanging at least six stories above an ashpalt floor. A man in the window is pulling on the harness telling me to trust the equipment. I dare not look up or down as I lean back and spread out my arms hoping that the harness will do its job. “ The last guy who used this weighed 250 pounds.., so I think it will hold your skinny ass” barked the lieutenant as he shook the belt around my waist hooked to a one rung ladder that was only held in place by my weight pulling down on worn out wooden window sill.

The tower is coming down but the memories remain.

The year was 1980. I was young and strong. By this time in my life I had already had many, many jobs but nothing that I thought had a great future. Like a shadow the legacy of my father and grandfather was always with me. Both had worked for the city of Providence, my grandfather as policeman and my dad as a fireman. Throughout my youth I had resisted following in their footsteps for many reasons most of which seem silly now. When I applied for the 37th training academy that summer I remember the smile on my dad’s face, something that I will never forget.

As the training began that fall I noticed that those of us with last names similar to those who had served in the department were given extra attention. We were probably singled so as to show that there wasn’t any favoritism in the training academy. I remember being called out during our daily run. I had prepared for this by running 5 miles every day so the jog around the field was an easy exercise for me and some others. Those in charge would notice this and would call out my name as I hid in the pack trying not to make others look bad by running to fast. They would yell at me to set a faster pace hoping that it would push some who had trouble keeping up. I wish that I could have helped those who struggled on the tower but the training was there to push everyone to their limits.

I never did graduate from the academy and become a firefighter like my dad…( that’s another story for another day…it was a car accident that derailed my chances to become a firefighter ) …but I did learn many lessons about life in my short time on the Job.

Oliver…a new man in my life

JoAnn gets to see him every week while she helps Kayla and George navigate the busy lives of a young family. I get my fix every couple of weeks when he visits for a weekend sleepover.

Its hard to put into words what he means in my life. I have worn many hats in my life…a husband, dad, boss, brother, friend, business owner..etc ,but being a Grandad is different. I get to see the innocence and joy of life at the beginning before we have the ups and downs that we all go thru as we journey thru this world. Not since our daughter was born have I felt this way about another human being.

A Grandad is different from being a dad. I have the fun part of his life without the reponsibilies and worry that comes with parenthood. I am a lucky man!

Gotta go …he is on the run again!

Wood

The temperature outside says 18 degrees. Inside we are a cozy 56 degrees. What..to cold?

Both of us like to sleep in a cool bedroom so I don’t notice the real world temperature until my feet hit the floor in the morning.

Then It’s time to begin the morning routine that starts with melting the ice that has formed on the inside of the old window that is part of our front door. Most people get up and start the day with a cup coffee and a bowl of Captain Crunch. I have to get some heat in the house.
Most people turn a knob on the wall or these days have something digital that will make the house nice and toasty , brew the coffee, turn on the lights , automatically before there tender tootsies touch the bedroom floor. I’m all for new technology and for things that make easier. But i still enjoy some of the physical chores of my everyday life... (cutting the grass, shoveling snow, raking leaves)

Doing some of these things somehow reminds of what i could do when I was younger working with my hands with jobs as landscaper with a chainsaw, installing carpet and tile and the I spent getting blisters installing above ground pools with nothing but a screwdriver.

But today is about getting some heat the old fashion way. The caveman in me still enjoys making fire with muscle , sweat and sometimes blood. I cut down a tree, ( yes this is where the blood part comes in..lol), split the logs and stack the wood…and yes I do buy wood.

I enjoy a connection to a time when people where more self reliant. They made their own shelter, grew or caught their own food and made their own heat. Well i can still make small repairs to a 200 year old house. Ive done everything from put on a crooked porch to remove an opossum family that has made a home in a crawl space. I’m an expert at everything once I have finished a project and made every mistake doing it. I don’t have a garden..Daves market is just to close but I can still make heat and take care of our shelter..two out of three aint bad.

Stay warm everyone…Merry Christmas!!!

I worry

I have only had the oportunity to witness it five times in my life. And of those five possibilities I only remember one. I’m 7 years old and we are cruising along the rugged sun swept summer seacoast of Maine. I’m in the back of a white 1964 Chevrolet Biscayne with an AM radio , three speeds on the column and a metal dashboard. My two younger sisters are squinting out the window, skyward towards the rare event that can turn a sunny Saturday afternoon in the summer of 1959 to few minutes of darkness. Its a full solar eclipse.

I’m worried. Some were some how in the days before Google I had heard that you're not suppose to look directly at a solar eclipse. And here I am with my younger sisters driving down the coast of Maine with parents in the front seat oblivious to the fact that their daughters are going to go blind as they view the solar eclipse from the back seat of our Chevy and I seem to be the only one concerned about this upcoming, preventable tragedy.

Things may be different now because I can remember a photo of a former President seemingly taking a page from sisters book on how to view a solar eclipse by looking directly at it.

Well my sisters didn’t go blind but I still worry about things. I can remember sitting in first grade at St Thomas Elementary School and watching one of my fellow students suddenly get up and start dancing on the top of his desk once the nun had left the room. I remember thinking “ dosen’t he realize that if he gets caught its curtains for him” Well he did get caught and was thrown out of school the next day. A lesson for all of us.

Does worrying help anything? My sisters grew up healthy and are all wonderful adults. My dancing elementary school friend left my school for greener pastures and grew up to be an adult who forever tested authority and there was nothing that I could have changed about that thru my worrying.

I still worry. But these days I worry about whether my grandson will grow up in a world where his house is waterfront property because of global warming even though he lives in a suburb of Worcester Ma which is about 80 miles from todays ocean. I worry about the end of rock n roll because of the use of auto tuning.

But I really dont worry as much any more. I dont worry about what I can’t control. My sisters aren’t blind, my grandson and his mom and dad will probably enjoy having a beach house and Rock n Roll will never die!!!

I'm Back

Back from where you may ask? I have had and continue to have a few health issues but I have also become a grandfather neither of which should have kept me from writing or posting something here on my website. I think that it really came down to a desperate need to be creative and money.

The creative part was having tons of stuff running around in my head needing an outlet and the money part came when I received the most recent bill for maintaining this website. Use or lose both I thought.

So I updated my website…(I only changed the picture of myself with a more appropriate rendition of who I am ..which is a world weary grandfather.) … but I do have several blog posts that I’m working on, so stay tuned if your interested….if not feel free to move on to something more interesting or informative in the vast universe of the world wide web…Good Luck..lol.

I am old

I’m old …there are days when I feel like I am 25…biking , swimming, yard work…but then lately i wake up and I literally can’t get out of bed…I’m not as much in pain as it is aching and tired…but who isn’t at 72 ???….lol

I am OLD…….I know to say that is a acknowledgement of who I am and where I am in life. Believe me I am not surprised. My first realison of morality came many years ago because of a car accident that happened while I was in the prime of my life.

I was 28 ….I was in training to become a Providence Firefighter. I could run 5 miles a day without breaking a sweat . I lead the cadets in pull ups, sit ups, driving the apparatus, and because i was one of the older recruits with a name that they knew …

( My Dad)…lol….I had a reputation to live up to. No problem….I was in my prime…lets GO!!!!

Then everything changed…a car accident…almost paralyzed for life…

yad yad yad …lol

I recovered, married my sweetheart and moved on with a new direction

The love and breath of my life has been with me for over 50 years. JoAnn…my perfect companion .

Today I consider myself a am a lucky man

I have friends and family who love me.

But Im starting to fall apart.

Last year I woke up on a beautiful summer day not feeling myself. I was tired and could barely get out of bed. Well it got worse . I ended up in the hospital…almost dead from a low red blood hemoglobin count,

Wait how did this happen? Three days prior to this I had ridden 20 miles on my bike with no repercussions …that i could feel…lol

Well I rcovered…slowly… It seems everthing happens more slowly now.

Today a year later I’m still dealing with the hemoglobin thing,

Physically it doesn’t bother me …I have been thru worse and I am used to working around things but its my inability to be reliable to family and friends that gets to me. I dont know how that I am gonna feel literally from one day to the next right now…and that sucks…

Everyone has something in their life that they have to overcome or deal with and my “ problems” are small compared to others …..I will figure it out…I always do.

Grandfather

I remember peering over the seat to watch my grandfather navigate the road home. “ Boy grandpa has a lot of friends”..I thought. Everyone that we pass is honking at us and he is acknowledging them with a wave of his middle finger. I was also learning how to drive from my view in the back seat and that meant you need to straddle the white lines in the middle of the road. I made the mistake of telling this story to my mom as an innocent 8 year old and thus ending our the weekly adventures in my grandfathers ‘58 Rambler.

Well now that I am a grandfather its time for me to help guide my grandson thru lifes pitfalls while imparting my pearls of wisdom and worldly knowledge .

ehhhhh!!!…maybe something a bit easier …maybe some really important things that only a grandfather should teach..like..

…how to pee in the woods

…how to spit so that it doesn’t land on your shoes or anybody nearby.

Or maybe i could help him pick his first tattoo….. mmmm…well we will see about that one.

I could show him how a real man survives some random minor landscaping chores and gets his first stitches…wait he has already had his first operation so that one is done.

I gotta leave a few things for mom and dad…

don’t I ???

I’m sure there will be plenty of time for a little tomfoolery and more.

Or maybe some day I can just show him how to make friends while driving down the middle of the road.

An Old Coat

It’s time to throw out the Christmas tree and pick up the tree limbs on the ground from the latest early winter storm as I do battle with the firewood pile that has just been delivered …my back hurts. A cold wind is swirling down my driveway as a blustery late afternoon in January fades to night. I’m wearing a coat that has holes in the pockets, is covered with stains and has long been forbidden to be used any place off of our property…but it still fits and every year I try to throw it out but I have chores to do and it is perfect for all the dirty jobs that I love .

I have just finished moving some firewood from a big pile in the backyard to a smaller pile on the porch…a pile that is covered and easier to reach at 2 am when it is 12 degrees outside and I’m stumbling around half asleep trying to keep the temperature in my drafty 200 year old house above a comfortable 55 degrees…. but now I am putting the ladder away after spending a couple of hours pulling a mixture of wet cold, mushy leaves from my gutters. I end my outside day by checking JoAnn’s car for any new damage done by mice eating at the cars wiring. And as the sunlight begins to fade I have one last chore that gives me pause to think of others who have come and gone in my life while raising the American flag that I had lowered the other day as my part of to tribute to a recently deceased Rhode Island governor .

All of these, and there are many more, are part of my daily routine. It’s a routine that I still enjoy. I have heard from many well meaning friends and relatives suggesting that maybe I should consider moving to a condo or an apartment so I don’t have to go thru the daily drudgery of doing such tasks as climbing on the roof for storm blown debris, shoveling the sidewalk so that the neighborhood kids can get to school without having to walk in the street or emptying the occasional mouse traps ( a particularly fun activity)

Once these chores become a “job” or worse something that I can’t do I will begin thinking of a life on the porch of my condo. A “condo life “ that will consist of me sitting having not moved since doing my biggest task of the day…making morning coffee. A “condo day” that has me watching somebody cutting the grass the “wrong way” or grumbling to myself as my neighbor parks his car too close to mine and I notice a new box of his obnoxious smelling cigars peak out of the top of his shopping bag as he waves to me from the parking lot. He is on his way up to share the aroma of his cigars and some of his foul tasting homemade moonshine as I listen his daily rant about how the world was better when we were both young……. Sigh!!!!!!

The future can wait!

Meanwhile I’ll put on my coat and get some more wood for the stove while I still have can.

Shaved???

Its time for my my bi yearly appointment with the only doctor that I have who consistently finds something wrong with me. There isn’t much he or I can do to prevent the damage that he has to take care after every visit. The problems that I have to deal with now are because of the hours spent in the sun at the beaches and landscaping jobs that I had many, many years ago. I do the preventive measures now…hats, sunscreen..but the damage is done. And lately every time I go a part of me is being scraped off, cut out and tested…but its the small price I pay and it keeps me going for at least another…mmmm six months I guess...LOL

But this isn’t about going to the doctor. Several days before that I do something to prepare for my appointment. Something that now I only do for this doctor and nobody else

Scraping a cold sharp object across a face that has more stitches and holes drilled in than a Texas oil field is not my idea of fun. But I want to give the doctor a complete picture and so he doesn’t have to guess what is under the grey whiskers as utters my favorite phrase …” that doesn’t look good”…so I reluctantly ….SHAVE.

Not that anybody ever notices what I've done. I never get a “ you look younger for some reason” or at least a “ what is different about you today? “ as I wait for the week or so that it takes for my stubble to return and the results of the tests to come back…. And then all is right with the world.

Keep Shoveling

Here it comes ….another birthday. In the past they were usually a big deal. From one with my friends all driving to Boston in two cars to celebrate some birthday in my twenties only lose each other on the highway but yet somehow meet again an hour later in some random dive bar. Others were celebrated with family and friends either snowboarding with my daughter or being part of some dinner party play that I was eventually performing in.
But this one was significantly if for no ther reason other than it would be official entry into the the club. The club being that of old cranky white guys. I was already cranky and white so adding OLD to that list was simply a matter of arithmetic and time.

70 is old, not middle age…it’s officially old.

I have done a lot in my life… a family, friends, many “ adventures “ that I was lucky enough to survive and if I had told you that the painfully shy 12 year old who was playing basketball on court in mid February that he had just shoveled so we could shoot at a bent backboard that he would go on to start several business and become someone’s boss in a government agency I would never believe it.

Now my days are filled with friends, family and the daily chores of keeping a 200 year old house from falling down. Among those chores are things like shoveling a sidewalk for people that I don’t know. It’s a task that I enjoy …no payment..no pat on the back….just the simple satisfaction of doing a job that needs to be done. I also know that it is my responsibility as a homeowner to clear a path so my neighbors don’t have risk their lives by walking in the street as they pass our house

During the latest storm I had to shovel the same sidewalk three times because it would fill up again every time that a plow went by. With my back beginning to bark I was finishing what hoped would be my last battle with the sidewalk slush when I noticed several future male juvenile delinquents making there way down the street towards me having just been released from nearby middle school. I fully expected some wise cracks or maybe snowball thrown my way from the skateboard toting loudmouth who appeared to be their leader. I stood my ground as they approached…an old man and his shovel defending his turf.

” Get out of the street “ I shouted as they grew near. Sure enough the “ leader” spoke first…What are ya shoveling? “ he asked. “ I’m giving you a clean path out of the street” I barked. “ Thanks” was the unexpected reply from the skateboard. We were suddenly best friends and after a brief conversation with the old man and his shovel the boys moved on. “One more question” I shouted as they almost danced down the street with what was probably some rap music flooding the headphones of one them so loud that they all could hear it. “ Whats your favorite band?” I shouted, full expecting some obscure to me famous rap group. “Zeppelin !!! “ the yelled in unison raising fits in the air without out even turning around..

” Rock On “ I yelled barely able to contain the joy that I was feeling for the future and and a thank you to the universe for giving me a little something for doing what I thought was a thankless job.

My future as of now being officially an Old Man is simpler and so much more satisfying so I will keep having birthdays ,carry on and keep shoveling 😎

A Day the Beach

Most people can’t wait to flock to the sunshine state after the holidays before the first flakes of New Year fly.
Me….I head to woods.

I had some semi-sarcastic blog topics that I have been working on but I decided to put them aside, at least for now, and start the New Year off with something more positive.

A walk in the woods on new snow is heaven for me.
It’s quiet…it’s cold…it’s perfect.

Come on in the water is fine !

A Full Moon

It’s cold on the porch as I stand in the darkness staring at the sky , reflecting on the day. Tonight is special because there is a full moon and a clear cloudless sky. I’ve started a new daily habit of ending my day by walking out into the night and sometimes sitting in the backyard and staring at the sky. Occasionally I will see a shooting star or two but a full moon on a clear night is rare.

As many people who know me already know lately I have been listing the number of things that either because of time ( Im old..how much time is left??..lol ) or because of inability or an number of other reasons that I will never do again. For example…I hopefully will never pay for another new roof, buy another t-shirt ( i have wayyyy to many now) ….have a surprise birthday party, get a new car, climb Mount Washington , ride a century, dunk a basketball..( never happened or was gonna happen so no surprise..lol),…you understand now where I am going with this….right?

But as sat in my backyard gazing at the full moon…(wait…How many more of these do I have left….mmmm????..ok let’s do the math…at least 12 full moons a year…because they do last more than one day….some cloudy days….let’s say 6 a year that I could see …times 10 more years on this planet……lol…that comes around 60 more full moons….see this is the way that I think…lol)…..back to what I was thinking as I gazed at my one of 60 full moons left in my life, I thought about doing something that I have NEVER done in my life…( see I can be positive in my old age..lol).

The things that I could or want to do that I have never done but will try to do before ..The End.

1. continue to try to learn to play the guitar

2. surf casting from Charlestown Beach

3. hike the full length of Rhode Islands North South Trail

4. learn ballroom dancing

5. visit Ireland

6. learn another language

7. Well I guess I’m gonna need more time to do some of those things and maybe enjoy a few more full moons.

the end???

I’m gonna be dead….ok take it easy I’m probably not gonna die today…I hope…but it will happen someday.

It has been a while since I’ve written anything and another birthday has just come and gone so I figured that it was time to spend a few minutes on one of my favorite subjects….Death!!

(Ok this is when most of you will quit reading this because you dont want to read or think about what i’m gonna say or I’ve bored you to tears and you’d rather spend the next few precious minutes of your life hugging that special somebody in your life, watching another rerun of Seinfeld , or maybe even flossing before bed …anything but reading this dribble….I understand…go live your life…or what is left of it…opps sorry…really...Go be happy!!)

For the rest of my faithful readers thanks for being so curious and reading on.

I’m not obsessed with death…I like to think of it as being obsessed with life. I think about it everyday. I think about my life and where I am in it almost moment by moment. From the minute that I wake up and decide if I can put my socks on before my bladder explodes on the way to the bathroom. I love the first sip of coffee as I stare out the window watching cars race up the street to the next red light on their way to a job that Im glad that I dont have as I head back to the kitchen for a second cup.

Its early and I notice the moon is setting in the cold blue winter sky. But the sun feels good on my face even on the 20 degree February morning and I wonder how many more full moons that I will see like this because it may be cloudy next month during the full moon or I may not look up to see it because Im to busy pulling Lola as barks at the dog across the street while we get in the car on our way to our morning hike or…… I may be dead….I like to acknowledge all of the possibilities..lol

I have the luxury now to able to be in the moments of everyday life. I dont enjoy all of them of course…sitting in the dentist chair as I imagine his hand slipping and the drill ripping thru my jaw like a hot knife thru butter but instead I focus on the story that he is telling me, as I lay there gaging and mumbling thru my own spit , ……. he tells a story about a famous high school basketball player from the 60’s that we both know and who he played against that overdosed before he was 25. ( I love stories…even sad ones)

Ok where was I..??…oh yeah…being in the moment …death…blah, blah, blah

We always think that things will get better someday….if I can just win the lottery…just take a vacation…just get home and have a beer…or at least they will be better tomorrow if i could just get to sleep. And of course things WERE always better back when…I was young…I could fill my Volkswagen Beetle up with gas for $3.00…and bell bottoms were cool. But most of us dont live in the moment even though the minute that we are born is also the when the clock starts ticking. I remember as a kid someone saying “ dont waste your breath” and the phrase haunted me because I thought that we had a finite number of breaths and once we had used them all …boom ..out go the lights. I used to imagine what it would be like if we knew when our end would come with some internal count down or an expiration date that we all had. Now I realize how random a lot of life is. We all put things off that we want to do thinking that there is always more time.

But the reality is nothing is guaranteed so I tend to enjoy what I have….while occasionally reliving some of the fun days of the past but also making plans for a possible future…all the while knowing that there is an end which for me makes the here and now so much sweeter.

THE END ???…Ooh…La…La!!

Leaves

They are everywhere…a painted blanket of what used to provide shade from the hot summer sun but has now become a tourist attraction for every city dweller who wants a picture of “ nature” for their Facebook page….leaves!!!

My annual adventure with the colorful fall foliage started thirty years ago when we moved to our present home. Our new home came with several small issues that included but didn’t end with such fun projects as removing a live family of possums , babies and all who were living in a crawl space under the floor boards to the use of a large plastic bucket placed in a closet that collected water every time that it rained as well as removing the occasional stray skunk, bat or raccoon.

But today I have more important things to think about. How do I get rid of the pile of leaves several inches thick that is covering our property? When I was younger I had less time because I was working 60 hours a week but I had a stronger back so I guess there is always a trade off. Since then I have developed a certain methodical process to getting rid of the my colorful friends. It’s a something that involves everything from good old fashion raking to mulching with the mower and my favorite …the occasional late night use of the leaf blower to send some the leaves over the stonewall into my neighbors driveway where they belong. Because after all most of my leaves come from THEIR trees that border our properties. ( and yes I know some my leaves go into their yard…don’t worry it’s a game that we’ve played for years…nobody gets hurt 😎) I have to be careful to spread them evenly and not in big piles so as not to arouse suspicion. And don't worry they have plenty of their own leaves that a young crew of landscapers suck up in one long day with equipment and strength that I will never have.

So here I sit on this warm sunny mid October afternoon wondering how that I will spend the rest of my day…mmm …perhaps a bike ride…a picnic with Jo at our favoritee spot at the Beavertail Lighthouse….or maybe just sit on the porch and watch the traffic rumble by sipping on the latest IPA from the local brewery???

Orrr….rake the damm leaves????

My last basketball?

Playing basketball with Lola

I would always carry a ball in the trunk of my car. You never know when a game could start. I found a deflated ball in the garage hoping that if it still held air I could use it to school some punk down the street in one last show of bravado in how the game should be played. Well the ball was flat for are reason….. it had as many holes as my game did even on its best day. This is a game that has defined most of my life. Has is come down to me throwing a ball to the dog because I can no longer run the court or hit a jumper from the corner?

Like most kids my age I played every sport with my friends, from baseball to football…..even a game with no particular name that involved throwing a small pink ball off the side of the local elementary school while the other player either caught it or stopped the ball from going over the wall for a home run….(I know I’m getting off topic but that’s just the way my mind works…sorry) We made a game out of everything….pitching baseball cards on the front steps….whiffle ball in the middle of the street when we had to move off second base or get run over. …( rambling again…)

But this is suppose to be a story about basketball. I don’t remember the first time that I played but I do remember when when I graduated to the big time. The court that we played on was on the grounds of the local Catholic elementary school that I attended. We all knew the court well from shoveling the snow off it in the winter to adjusting our shots at one of the baskets because the backboard was crooked having been bent went a snow plow hit it after a recent snow storm.

The younger kids being about 9 or 10 years old, of which I was one, would stand on the sidelines waiting for the older guys to finish and then us younger guys would get the court and not before. Occasionally the old guys would need and extra body to fill out one of their one of their teams and they would pick one of us underlings to play. Well one day I was picked…and I made the most of it…I hit my first shot from the corner and the next as well. By the third shot they were yelling for me to shoot just to make one of their friends look bad because he was getting schooled by some kid from the sidelines...ME!!. Well I hit the third shot with the older kid landing in my lap as he attempted to block the shot. We went to the ground with me smiling and him trying to salvage what was left of his shredded on court reputation now ruined at the hand of some punk kid….ME!!!

I played thousands of games in my life . From inside courts with the same friends that I hang with now getting stiiches from random elbows hitting my face to shooting foul shots with my 15 year daughter in the dark on some local court because she wouldn’t leave until she got ten in a row from the free throw line….(she did)….but that day that I beat those older kids with the jump shot from the corner was probably the best day that I ever had on the court. Maybe because it began a life of memories or maybe because of the sound and feel of the ball going thru the hoop with a hand in your face is the best feeling in the game…SWISHHHH!!!!!