Icing on my Cake

I'll make this short. I just lied. How about I'll try to make this short. I had this long diatribe concocted about what bullshit the media has deemed worthy of review as "news" of the past year. "News" is a very subjective term of late, much of which I find to be useless supermarket tabloid crap. With that said, why look back at all? Aren't we supposed to be looking ahead, our past is just that; past. Why dwell on it. Particularly if it wasn't all that great. And if it was all that great, we shouldn't rest on our laurels.

Some of you have been following the saga of my father's futile battle with with Alzheimer's. I don't want the last blog of the year to be a downer, and thanks to two rather odd occurrences, I'm able to ring out the old year on a positive note.

For the second consecutive year I was part of a Fantasy Football League. Fantasy Football has been around for some time, I just never got into it. I know, how does a sports psychotic like me not get involved into everything that has anything to do with sports. Well, I did make a couple of pleas to my son to become part of his league, but each time the spots were always spoken for. So when I was approached about joining a league last year, I figured why the hell not. This year it was a given I'd be part of the same league again.

My team name this year was "Alpha Omega," and a more apt moniker was never uttered. Week after week I either won big or lost big. Only two weeks were the scores close. My team finished the season 7-6, hardly distinguished myself. Last year, I painstakingly studied magazine player evaluations. I developed various draft scenarios so I knew which player to pick for eight rounds regardless of who anyone else selected. I took Fantasy Football very seriously last year. Probably because of the ultra-competitive asshole I am. Hey, losing sucks...at anything.

This year when draft day came around, the only player I had preordained was my first round pick. After that, I flew by the seat of my pants. No pressure I said, no big deal I said, don't take this so seriously I said. I approached each week of the season pretty much with the same attitude. If one of my players got hurt, I picked up another. If one of my players shit the bed on a consistent basis, I dumped him and picked up another. They all look the same with helmets on. I'd give my lineup a cursory glance, spend twenty minutes or so making the moves I had to -frequently way before the Sunday 1:00 deadline- and let the chips fall where they may. If I forgot to put in a defense, oh well. If I didn't have a kicker, fuck it. My Fantasy Football team was not high on my priority list.

Funny, it mattered little in the standings as well. I was a mediocre team in a mediocre division. My one ignominious claim to fame was I beat a team that had only one other loss all season. My least seemed to be enough to reach the playoffs, but I felt I would go no further than the first round game, then it would be on to bigger and better things. But I didn't lose.

My trip to Ohio coincided with the weekend of the second playoff game against the very same team who lost only twice. Thanks for playing, we have some lovely parting gifts. I didn't check the scores when I was in Ohio. The first I knew of the situation was when we got home and I checked my e-mail. That night, I held a lead by the slimmest of margins. My opponent still had one player left who could accumulate points that evening in the Monday Night Football game. However, in the second half his receiver achieved the status of persona non grata and I won by 1.5 points, enough to advance to the Stupid Bowl.

Just to get this far was nothing short of a miracle. It didn't matter that I lost, I still won $210.00. It's not the $400.00 that the winner got, but it was more than I ever imagined back in August when we started this nonsense. And then things got better.

You die-hard regular readers may recall my angst about entering my author friend's Micro-Fiction contest. You may even recollect the source of my angst was this year's theme; romance. If anyone were to ask me what I write, I might answer depending on my mood, "whatever the opposite of romance is." Needless to say I was not brimming with confidence. Other submissions would come from creative writing students, published authors, published writers, I am none of the above save for this blog. Well today I found out I won. When I first found out, I was quite surprised, using "quite" for lack of a better word. Other words used to describe how I felt were delighted, tickled, humbled, thrilled,you get the idea.The money from Fantasy Football now seems insignificant even though I don't have a pot to wee-wee in.

In my wildest dreams I never gave a thought that I may win. I was sure my skills as a writer paled to those of the other entrants. I guess not. Today I've been validated by people who know what they're doing when it comes to creative writing. Winning that contest reaffirms my conviction to get not one finished book published, but now two. I'll keep cranking out this stuff for as many Wednesdays as I'm able, in my mind, my writing can no longer be ignored. Today someone noticed. I'm really grateful and happy for that. Bring on 2011.

My Reason(s) for THIS Season

For those of you who read this every week, all three of you; you may have noticed I did not post a blog last week. I missed a week back in August as well, for a the pretty much the same reason; a visit to Ohio to see my Alzheimer's ridden father. But this time there was so much more.

I am well aware that the primary reason for this holiday season revolves around the majority of Americans acknowledgment of the birth of Jesus Christ, a small disputable fact as to the exact date notwithstanding. However, because of the tidings of joy we feel, obviously there are other important reasons this time of year brings certain emotions and feelings a little closer to the surface and we seem freer to pay them heed. In the last decade or so I certainly do.

I was able to make this trip with the two people I love most in this world; my son Cory and my wife Helen. That alone is enough to make the journey bearable regardless of its purpose. When you compound that with the wonderful people we were going to see, it softened the circumstance considerably.

Upon landing in Ohio, we were greeted with a minor snowstorm. I thought I had shrewdly stolen my rental car rate only to learn that the full size vehicle I had reserved was kindly upgraded to an Grand Cherokee for a mere fifteen dollars a day the Enterprise counterperson informed me. When she proposed the idea ("with the snow and all") I hardly balked, not realizing that fifteen dollars a day was almost double what I would have paid for the Toyota Camry. I was so glad I pulled the trigger so readily.

After a must pit stop at White Castle for a "Crave Case (30 burgers, half with cheese, half without)," we made our way to my Mom's; formerly my Step-Mother. When we arrived we found her shoveling the driveway so we wouldn't have to step in the five inches that had already fallen. She was delighted to see us, and we her. When the snow stopped later that afternoon, Cory finished shoveling the driveway and I did the front walk.

If I didn't make myself perfectly clear in the last Ohio trip blog, let me try now. My Mom is one of the nicest, kindest, fairest, and most giving individuals you'll ever meet. Ever. It hurt my heart to know what she has had to endure with my father and his illness these last years. If one person on this planet doesn't deserve it, it's her. After a wonderful evening with other family members, I prepared myself mentally the best I could for what awaited the next morning, which what I thought was the intention of this trip. Now I know taking Cory and Helen to see my father was only part of it.

We awoke to cloudy skies that matched my sense of melancholy, and the temperature in the teens. My father was now a resident of the Columbus Alzheimer's Center after a traditional nursing home proved inadequate to the task of housing him. My Mom was babysitting, but would meet us there, or so I thought. I was hoping maybe she'd be able to run interference for me since I didn't really know what awaited us upon our arrival. Alas, she was held up, but now as I play the scene over in my head, perhaps it was fate that had a hand in us going it alone.

I thought I had prepared, that's what I get for thinking. My father had deteriorated so dramatically in the last four months -though my Mom had tried her best over the phone to keep me abreast- I was shocked/devastated/saddened, all of the above. Nevertheless, the emotion that I felt most strongly was the love I had for my father, my son, and my wife...and then I felt it for every family member that has had to confront/deal with what has morphed my father from a vibrant man to literally a shadow of his former self.

I did my best to be a good soldier for Helen and Cory, but I'm here to tell you it's one of the hardest things I've ever done. Talking about holding on by your fingernails...Christ. Outside it started to snow and I thought of the song "The Sky is Crying;" (George Thorogood's version).

I was requested by my dear friend Tom Rowlands, to call him when we had finished our visit. I did, and promptly fell apart. Tom was compassionate and understanding, and I was grateful for that. Hell, I was grateful that he was on the other end of the phone at that precise moment. He inquired when would we be heading over to his house about thirty minutes away. I said I'd give him a holler when we were on our way. We needed time to gather ourselves but I didn't tell Tom that.

We made our way into Columbus proper. I thought maybe everyone, my wife in particular since she was born in Germany, would enjoy a trip to the German Village section of the city. Tom had taken me there back in August. I vaguely remembered how to get there, much less the restaurant we patronized; Schmidt's. But find it I did. Schmidt's, an authentic German restaurant was established in 1880. I thought Cory and Helen would get a kick out of it. Little did I know that the items Helen ordered would stir fond emotional remembrances of her Mom's cooking. After what we had just been through, everybody's emotions were close to the surface. I was grateful that I made the right choice, though it felt like I had little to do with the decision to go there. After sating ourselves, we made our way to Tom's in a much better frame of mind.

What a wonderful visit with wonderful people. Tom's wife Cindi greeted us with open arms. Talk about someone making others feel comfortable. Annie, Tom's youngest, was home from the University of Kentucky, and she was just as nice and pleasant and congenial as Tom and Cindi's other three children. How the fuck did they do that I wondered. Each kid nicer and as talented as the next. Geez! After a terrific visit, a wonderful meal. It's good to have good friends. That night on the ride back to my Mom's, the Christmas lights reflecting off the new fallen snow made me grateful it had snowed, and perhaps this was what we all needed to get us in the holiday spirit.

Saturday brought a visit to my brother Craig's house. Before we all went, we exchanged Christmas gifts with my Mom. She had found a box of my father's that contained Eastern Airlines promotion stuff. Cory and I got little planes, a Eastern bag tag, and a couple of Eastern bottle stoppers (remember those?). There were other gifts that may have cost more, but none of greater value. After some shopping with Cory, it was off to my brother's. It was so great to see him, his wife Tara, and the kids, Drew and Gabe. We had a delightful dinner that Craig had spent the entire day babysitting in the smoker. Afterward, we exchanged Christmas gifts. Friday morning seemed surreal and long ago.

That night Helen and Charlene went back to my mom's house, while Cory and I spent the night at Craig and Tara's. You see, Sunday Craig, Cory and I were going to Cincinnati to see my beloved Bengals take on the Cleveland Browns in the 75th Battle of Ohio.

It was ten degrees when I got up Sunday morning and made my way out to the garage to have a cigarette. It felt like ten below when I locked myself out of the house for about a half hour, not wanting to roust anyone from their slumber prematurely. It was seventeen degrees when we got to Cincinnati and I didn't give a shit. I was getting to see my Bengals on their home turf with my son and my brother. Fucking awesome doesn't begin to describe the way I felt. And after nearly three months without a win, the Bengals triumphed. Does anyone reading this sense a pattern here, or is it just me?

Monday we returned to Florida. I was sad, but yet felt a sense of inner euphoria that's hard to explain. My mind is already planning when we're all visiting again. We know we may have to, but that doesn't stop my feelings of how much I want to.


As most of you know I'm mighty glad to awaken each day on this side of the grass. This holiday, that awareness has been heightened due to the love of family, friends, and the gratitude that comes in knowing how precious each day we have is, and how fleeting those days truly are. My Dad will be okay, and so will my Mom. For that matter we all will be, we know the inevitable outcome. If you need me to explain my reason's for this season, read this again.

"A Writer Writes; Always"

The title to this weeks bolg comes from the mantra Billy Chrystal's character ingrained in the minds of his nontraditional creative writing students the in Throw Momma From the Train. I try to write something everyday. I futz with my book. I dabble with the screenplay I'm working on for a friend of mine. I'm constantly revising the movie's outline that's due in March. And then there are the homework assignments. Oh yeah, and every Wednesday there's this blog. And now I must do this ditty for another friend."Must" is in italics because I could blow it off, but I kinda sorta like the challenge.

This time of year is loaded with things that I longingly look forward to doing. I just received my invite from a friend of my son's to enter, for the fourth year, his Bowl Game Challenge. I love it. You assign each bowl a number of importance based on how confident you are of one team defeating the other. The values go from one through however many bowl games there are. I've never won, but the thrill is in the chase as they say.

My Fantasy Football season is coming to a close. For me, it may close a little faster than a couple of other people because I don't see my "team" going very far in the playoffs. Nonetheless it's great fun.

I will do my Christmas cards shortly. I will bake Christmas cookies over the next couple of weeks. And now for the second consecutive year I will enter my friend's Micro-Fiction contest.

Cynn is a published author of five or six books, I can't keep count, she's been rather prolific since I signed up for Facebook. Cynn is also an accomplished carpenter, but decided instead to become a professor at the University of North Carolina-Asheville. In her spare time she paints, mows the North Forty, and is also redoing her basement. Christ, I write "brush my teeth" on my things to do list so I get to cross it off to give me the sense I've accomplished something that day.

Cynn has a rather elaborate Christmas village she's named "Little Bliss." This was the setting for last year's contest as it is for this years. The rules for Cynn's Micro-Fiction contest are simple. Write 250 words in the genre she designates. She even used only 250 words to describe "Little Bliss." Last year the genre was mystery, as in it was a mystery why I ever thought I could write a mystery no matter how many words were involved. This year the genus is romance, as in if writing a mystery was a mystery, it is truly a mystery to think I can write a romance, much less in 250 words. Nevertheless, I will attempt this no matter how futile it seems.

Cynn was even kind enough to include me in a Facebook note to her "writerly friends." Though I remain unpublished, I do fancy myself a writer...just not of mystery or romance.

I have no delusions of grander about winning, it's the challenge. Do I have it in me. If last year's effort is any indication, then no, I don't have it in me. I wrote Cynn that I could be the "comedy" portion of the contest. I think she misunderstood. I'm guessing she's thinking "Oh, a romantic comedy!" What I meant was the writing itself would be comical, screw the theme.

My entry last year was feeble at best. It was formulaic, contrived, and predictable, and I spent a couple of days thinking about what I was going to write. I can't get that time back can I? After I made my submission I read my entry again. I said to myself, "Oh, my god! it's Sergio Leone (the famed director of the Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns) meets Stephen King on a really off day. After Cynn announced the first and second place winners decided upon by a panel of distinguished judges, I thought I'd read how real mystery writers, or writers that are adaptable, write. I don't know if they really are as deep as the writing seemed, or just artsy-fartsy. Well no matter, their's was good, and mine not so much. But it was fun being challenged like that.

I write creative non-fiction. The stories I tell are true with my spin on it. I can't fabricate much except for maybe a lie, and I haven't told one of those in quite some time. I've probably lost my touch. If I was to tell a lie now it would probably be as transparent as that piece I wrote for last year's Micro-Fiction contest.

The deadline for entries is December 10th. I thought we had more time last year from announcement to deadline, but maybe I just thought there was more time because I was unemployed. Time moves p-r-e-t-t-y slow when you have a lot of nothing happening career wise. This year I'm very busy. As a matter of fact, when I'm done here I'm taking a final exam. The last piece of classwork concluding my first semester as a doctoral candidate. That will give me tomorrow and Friday to come up with 250 scintillating quixotic words. I think I'd rather take another final in something I know more about than romance, like genetic micro-biology.

Time is of the essence, I must get to work. That's why I'm cutting this short. I need to think of something... but by the time I do the contest will be over.

Food for Thought

Ever since I was a little kid I've enjoyed grocery shopping. Granted, after I became a teenager the experience no longer held the fascination it once did, my parents being so dorky and all.

As a small child a trip to the grocery with my mother -this was back when it was still considered "woman's work" -was an event not be be missed in my world. My father was assigned to the specialty stores, deli, butcher, baker, candlestick maker. Only kidding about the last one. My mother did the bulk shopping. Not the Sam's Club, Costco, BJ's buy shit by the pallet full bulk, just the fill the shopping cart...or two bulk. I was captivated by my mother's choices of brand names.

Pride of the Farm Ketchup, when all my friends used Hunt's or Heinz.Miracle Whip faux mayonnaise, when all my friends used Hellman's. Mueller's spaghetti, when all my friend's used Ronzoni. Yukon Club (A&P house brand)soda instead of Coke. I had to go to my grandparents house to get Coca-Cola. Maybe this is the first manifestation of my parent's dorkiness that would one day keep me from ever escorting my mother to the super market again.

Just the term Super Market made going there special. Why maybe, something ultra-spectacular and stupendously wondiferous could be purchased there? I had to be there if my mother was going to buy it after saving for years.

My mother and both grandmothers were coupon clippers. I became a coupon clipper. My maternal grandmother made sure she hit whichever store had the best "deal" on whatever it was she needed.

My grandmother made my grandfather stop (if you recall from an earlier blog, Nana didn't drive) at A&P, Foodtown, Finest, Acme, and Grand Union. Not all of these establishments were located in the same town. My grandfather was a fucking saint; I swear.

My mother on the other hand was an A&P woman. Whatever needed to be had could be had at A&P. If A&P didn't have it, it wasn't worth having, or she'd ask for whatever it was to be ordered.

If I behaved, and contrary to what you might suspect I was very well behaved, I could work my mother for the junk food I adored. Twinkies, Snowballs, Ring Dings, and maybe a Clark bar at checkout.

Checkout was almost as time consuming as the shopping itself. My mother shopped for two weeks. There was no need to stop any day in between since she bought a back-up of everything. Milk was delivered by the Alderney Dairy, and Charles Chips came by once a week as well. The Dugen bread guy rounded out the staples of basic sustenance.

When we moved to Chester, A&P was the only game in town until a Shop-Rite opened several years later on the spot where I wiled away lazy summer afternoons at Grogan's swimming "thing." It wasn't a pool, nor was it a pond, it was something we swam in.

My mother switched loyalties to Shop-Rite based on square footage and selection. My grandmother continued to do her store to store routine well into her seventies. Except now she only bought six or seven items at each store. Which brings me to what inspired this drivel.

I have always done my "big" shopping on Sundays. When it was just Cory and I, I shopped on Sundays. Unless Cory was visiting his mother then there was no need to shop since most of my meals were liquid. When I remarried I continued the ritual of Sunday shopping. That way everything needed for school and work lunches would still be realatively fresh on Friday. But since school for me has recommenced, food shopping has taken a drastic turn.

My wife loathes going to the food store. That has always been my job since I so enjoyed it. She now has the responsibility occasionally. She avoids it as if all the food sold at Publix (not Winn-Dixie) was laced with arsenic so why bother going at all. However, we need to eat according to Maslow.

What winds up happening is she or I will stop if we have the time, if we happen to be driving by, if we happen to be dying of starvation, to "pick up a couple of things." I literally can't remember the last time I spent over one hundred dollars at the food store. This used to be a regular occurrence, but no more.

Last night I stopped by the grocery to "pick up a couple of items" and amidst the cooking oil and ethic foods, I had an epiphany. And it wasn't a good one. I gazed into my cart trying desperately to remember what we were out of completely at the homestead. I noticed there were only eleven or twelve items in the cart. I wanted to buy something else, anything else, just to make the cart look...I don't know...fuller. I couldn't think of a thing. Oh, there were a hundred items we needed as well as stock up on, but tonight wasn't the night for that. That was for Sunday. But I'm sure several more Sundays will come and go before those items find the cart.

So there I was, Bertolli to the left of me and LaChoy to the right, and I thought "OH MY GOD I"M SHOPPING LIKE AN OLD PERSON!!!!"

You know who I'm talking about. Those people who go to the food store every day to pick up only what they need for that day only to return the following day to repeat the process. Maybe they do it out of loneliness, or lack of something to do which is hard to believe because it seems every old person's calendar is full with doctor's appointments and they all go to my doctor. They use coupons just like I do except I never have them with me when I make an unscheduled stop to "pick up a couple of things."

I was devastated at this revelation. I swore to myself to only stop at the grocery if I'm picking up four items, or forty, but never stop for any amount in between. I'd rather go without. I'm never going to shop meal to meal. I can see it now, "Gotta stop tonight to get milk for my coffee in the morning. Don't forget to pick up a head of lettuce tomorrow afternoon for dinner that night. Christ, I think I'd rather cut my own throat with a rusty potato peeler. Maybe we need a new one. I'll pick one up the next time I stop at the store for "a couple of things."