Catching up.

So, where to start this post? It has been so long since I last blogged that I wondered whether or not I had simply lost the urge to blog, or to write, for that matter. I have come to discover that I need not be concerned. Sometimes, stepping back from a task, even something that I might love, creates new opportunities not yet realized. I can say that it has been a difficult month and a half, starting with Nelson's death, and continuing through to the start of the holiday season here, and trying to pull out some sense of joy amongst all the senseless things I see around me.

Nelson's funeral was as expected, an extremely difficult and sorrowful event. To die at 45 is never an easy thing to deal with for those left behind. It's worse when looking at the legacy he left behind (his family, friends, colleagues and students) makes all realize what a loss this world has suffered. He was an only child, which made it even worse for his mother. It was however, not without its lighter moments, of which Nelson would have approved.

During the wake the night before, a priest that knew Nelson well commented during his eulogy that Nelson had a habit of being late - for everything - something that was not lost upon my brother, his best friend of 38 years. My brother then commented to me as to how they used to tell Nelson to be somewhere half an hour before he actually needed to be there because of his preponderance to to be late.

The next day at the funeral, which was actually in a chapel on the grounds of a Greek Orthodox seminary (Nelson converted to Greek Orthodox from Roman Catholicism some years ago), we were standing and waiting for the coffin to be brought in, and I took note that the time was 10:10 am. About a minute later, his coffin was brought in and I chuckled to myself. The funeral was due to start at 10 am. Leaning over to my brother, and his friend Marc (the third member of the trio of childhood best friends), I said, "You do realize he's late to his own funeral, don't you?" I suspect that it took all of my brother and Marc's strength not to burst out in hysterics, but we all knew Nelson would be laughing right along with us.

After the funeral, we went to Nelson's aunt's home in the Throggs Neck section of the Bronx, and gathered with his family and shared memories. The wound of his loss is still very fresh for my brother, but he is doing better these days.

Now, the rest of the month and into this month was relatively uneventful, save for one event from last week.

I FINALLY BROKE INTO A NATIONAL PUBLICATION AS A FREELANCE WRITER!

Yep, it finally happened. I pitched a story to this magazine:

http://udsakron.org/services/kaleidoscope/

about this theatre company here in Rochester:

http://www.rocartistsunlimited.com/

I knew about the theatre group through my own connections in the theatre community here, albeit with not a lot of details. One of its officers however also sits on the board of directors with me at my theatre, so I began to ask him some questions about Artist's Unlimited and found that there was a great story in the making. I have time to write it, as the magazine only publishes in January and July, but will be starting on the preliminary interviews after the first of the year.

I am hoping that this is the break I have been waiting for, and that it will lead to other national publications, if not just more work in general. I would like to be full-time freelancing by this time next year, as I already missed this years' goal due to, well, due to me not putting in the effort I should have.

I have also gotten myself on to Skype, and have been talking with the ever so lovely Zoe over at MBIAT. We've had some great conversations, and I have resolved to visit Belgium to meet her and Peter over at Antwerp Calling as well within the next year or two.

So I now resolve to get back into the swing of things and try to blog a minimm of 2-3 times per week. Here's hoping.

This just in...

Okay, some updates, and a request. First, the shoulder is completely healed. Lots of ice and Ibuprofen did the trick, plus being careful when using it. What made this a little more annoying is that it was my left shoulder, and I am (very) left-handed. The biggest pain in the ass was sleeping, but I found a way to lay down to get to the point where I could get into a deep enough sleep.

Second: I got into the improv group! I won't be performing for at least a month, as they have a policy of seeing how newcomers mesh with the established troupe. Sounded reasonable to me. I am truly looking forward to this experience, and already feel good about the first two rehearsals I have under my belt.

Third, and most importantly: A very good friend, Brandie, has established a new blog. She did this as a way to help her deal with the illness of her father, who just underwent a stem-cell transplant as a treatment for an autoimmune condition that has been plaguing him for several years. I think she would love to have people visit, and also if anyone else out there has undergone, or knows of someone that has undergone stem cell therapy, it would be good for her to talk with people that have been through the experience. Her blog addy is:

http://wherethehellsmysunshine.blogspot.com/

I'll be in NYC in 2 weeks for a much anticipated reunion of my other family, namely the paramedics and EMT's I worked with for so long in Brooklyn. They closed St. Mary's, the hospital I worked at for 11 years over three years ago, and this will be a great time to catch up with a bunch of old friends. I actually have not seen some of them since I moved to Rochester 10 years ago this month. Others I have been fortunate enough to contact on Facebook. We'll be going to down for 5 days, a mini-vacation of sorts, and also will be getting together with some cousins I have not seen in a while.

Lots to do in the coming weeks.

Taking it all on faith.

This is one of those years where the juxtaposition of two major faiths come together in the celebrations of Easter and Passover. Tradition tells us that the Last Supper was actually the Passover seder, and it is interesting that this year, the second seder fell on Thursday night, which would fall in line with the Christian telling of the final week of Jesus' life.

As I was raised Jewish, we would traditionally have seder's most often at my aunt's house in Brooklyn. Well, they weren't always full seder's, mind you. We were adherents to the ideal that every Jewish holiday was based on one underlying precept: "They tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat." I mean, you really can't argue with that, can you? It's pretty precise when you stop to think about it.

Let's look at Passover. If there was ever a template for this idea, this is it. I mean it has everything: A hero (Moses), a villain (Pharaoh), a quest (free the people), and assorted other characters that complete the hero myth very nicely. In the end, the villain, try as he may to wipe out his workforce, wound up getting screwed over. Pharaoh was not exactly the brightest torch in Egypt, and he wound up being a bronze age version of Gordon Gekko.

Moses: Why are you trying to wreck our lives?

Pharaoh: Because they're wreckable!

Then, there's God. Ok, so you basically have Ben Kenobi and Yoda wrapped up in one Supreme Being with a generally unpleasant temperament, who likes to appear incognito (i.e. the burning bush), prefers staffs of wood to lightsabers, and then writes down instructions in stone. C'mon, you just defeated the ruler of Egypt, you couldn't have borrowed some papyrus? Whatever happened to the idea that "to the victor, belongs the spoils?"

The only thing about Passover that makes life difficult is the "no leavening" requirement. For the gentile readers, this means bread with no yeast, or for that matter any baked goods you want to eat. This has translated into matzoh, which translates into cardboard that you can consume. While today there are actually many different types of matzoh that are quite good (onion, egg, other varieties), you had better have some salad or other type of food that can provide roughage, as your intestines will rebel if you don't.

I can certainly appreciate the ideals presented in the Passover story (perseverance, community, overcoming oppression, ), I have moved away from celebrating them in a yearly ritual. Everyday life in the modern age can be a struggle into itself, so I don't need to be reminded yet again of what it is to survive adversity, and come through it with a new beginning, a fresh start. I also think that these stories are, more than anything else, metaphors that were written at a time to provide a framework for a society to find a common heritage and belief. Did Moses exist? I suspect not. Did Jesus exist? We just don't know with absolute certainty. It requires something that I don't have: faith.

"I don't need to have faith, I have experience." wrote Joseph Campbell. He spoke of the idea that all the gods, all the demons, all the heaven and hells of the world were projections of psychological states of being. This was not new, as people like Jung and others had suggested the very same thing. I think that my own life experiences have born this out time and time again to me.

So, at this time of the year, I choose to look at my own trials, my own crosses that I bear, my own efforts to free myself from any psychological slavery that might be encumbering me, and try to break free from them, and resurrect myself.

Phew, that was a lot. Let's go eat.

Bittersweet.

Under normal circumstances, the title of this post would refer to chocolate, today being Valentine's Day. For the pessimistic amongst us, they view this holiday as a contrivance, something made up so that certain corporations, the greeting card industry amongst them, can increase their profit margin. For the romantics of the world, this is their day to celebrate. For me, it is a day that results in an emotional rollercoaster. On this day, in 1988, my dad died.

In 1984, I was in my junior year at college. I was living off campus at the time, right outside downtown Buffalo. It was a great apartment, though far removed from campus life. It was a Saturday morning in April, and I got an early morning phone call from my mom. Dad had a heart attack. I still remember very vividly slumping to the floor, overcome with emotion. I was working as a paramedic part time while away at school. They say too much knowledge can be a bad thing. In my case, it turned my life at that moment into a horror show.

My first reaction was to hop in my car and run down home, but my dad was not having any of it. He told me, through my mom, that he didn't want me coming. He said he was okay, and didn't want me to lose any time in school. I was extremely conflicted, but acquiesced to his wishes. However about four days later , though he was stable, it was determined that he would need double-bypass cardiac surgery. This time, I was the one not having any of it, and I told my mom I was coming down. "Don't tell him I'm coming if it is going to upset him." I said.

Driving down, as it turns out wasn't an option, so I quickly arranged to fly out of Buffalo into Newark. My brother picked me up, and we went to the hospital the day of the surgery. It went well, and he came out of it with flying colors. During the surgery however, he did need to have a unit of blood transfused. Not unusual for this surgery. Unfortunately, this was 1984, and in 1984, having a blood transfusion was anything but normal.

The signs of it should have been obvious to me. Denial is a powerful tool, and I probably was using it far more unconsciously that I would have cared to admit. It wasn't until a short time before he died that reality came crashing down.

Dad had AIDS. He contracted it in the transfusion. It was six months before the screen had come out. It was now 1988, and he was laying in a hospital bed, on a ventilator after going into cardiac arrest while undergoing a bronchoscopy. They revived his body, but his mind was gone. On February 13th, I kissed him good-bye for the last time. I went home, (I had graduated and was working in Brooklyn at this point.) crawled into bed, and was awakened by my brother the following morning. Dad died around 6 am, Valentine's Day, 1988.

It would forever alter what should be, under normal circumstances, a pretty happy day.

Last year was the worst it had been in a very long time. Twenty years was a bit of a milestone. This year was was better. Mrs. Nighttime and I went to dinner at a great Italian place near our home last night, and tonight we went to an improv comedy show that had a couple of friends performing in it. It was a good way to keep my mind off of it, not that I was forgetting about dad, but trying to counteract the sadness that in the past has overtaken me. Dad loved a good laugh, gave me some of my best jokes, so I think it was a rather appropriate thing to do.

So, the bittersweet feeling may not be from the chocolate that is consumed today, but it does have the same effect. In the end, you accept it for what it is, and try to enjoy the good parts, the parts that satisfy.

Death needs to take a holiday.

Well, it was an adventurous trip downstate, to be sure.

Thursday morning, I had to go lecture at an undergraduate director's class at the RIT (Rochester Institute of Technology) School of Film and Animation, which was something that had been planned about 2 weeks prior. It went very well, and I have been asked back for next semester.

I went home, and finished packing for the trip down, but realized that I had to stop at work first to drop off some paperwork related to my health care coverage for next year. While getting all this together, I was listening to the weather report, and to my concern, kept hearing the words "ice storm" in the forecast. Great. Just what I need.

I logged on to the Weather Channel, and it looked as though this ice storm was barreling right up through Pennsylvania, and was going to cut through the southern tier of NY, right where I was going to be traveling. Sizing up my options, I decided that my usual route down I-390 might be worse than heading across the Thruway, and then going south down I-81 past Syracuse. As it turned out, you couldn't get there from here no matter what road you took. The ride to Syracuse went just fine, and then about 10-15 minutes past it, all hell broke loose.

A snowy blast that started as a trickle came down on me as I traveled further south. While I was able to keep driving the speed limit for a fair distance, I had to eventually slow it down, as more of the road went the way of the dodo. The snow became thicker, and it became obvious that there was ice building up. How did I know? Well, the number of vehicles I began seeing in the ditch on the left, or into the right guard rail began increasing exponentially.

I was going about 25 mph, with idiots still passing me doing 50, when I started fishtailing. The old emergency vehicle operation responses kicked in, but the car was having none of it. I started to pull out of it, but then the rear of the car got away from me, and I started doing a 180. Somehow, I didn't hit anyone or anything, and just pulled myself out of the spin in time to have the rear wheel of the car perched about a foot from the ditch at the left shoulder.

I took a deep breath, made sure that no one was barreling down on me, and pulled away, just happening to notice that there was another person that had glanced the guard rail on the right shoulder. He seemed to be okay, we waved at each other, and I continued on my way.

Things finally started letting up, the snow changed to rain, and I pulled into the gas station in Binghamton that I had been using as a stopping point since I started going to college in Buffalo in 1981. I called up my friend Sherri who lives in the Catskills. I was going to have to follow Route 17 through it to get home. The word was not good. Ice. Lots of it. I decided that staying put was a better option, but getting a room was going to be interesting. After the $142 rate at the Fairfield Inn made me wince, I found a recently renovated Super 8. It was clean, didn't appear to have any denizens lurking about, so I plopped down $50 (on plastic), and settled in for the night.

I made some phone calls home, and mom was especially relieved that I decided to abort the trip for now. Of course, it meant getting up at oh-dark-thirty to hit the road in order to make the funeral at 10:45. The bed was fairly comfortable, the room warm, so at least one thing on the trip worked out okay.

I hit the road at a very dark 6 am, and made it down to my friend's home in White Plains at 9:30. Slugging down a cup of coffee, we carpooled with another friend down to the Castle Hill Funeral Home in the Bronx. My friend was there, putting on a very brave face, very happy to see me. She had flown in from Arizona the day before, and must have been mentally and physically exhausted.

My friend's dad was a very well respected and liked man, as was evident by the turnout at his funeral. The service lasted about 30 minutes, and we followed the procession out to the cemetery in New Jersey. This was the hardest part of all, for my friend, her mom, and the rest of their family. This was an Orthodox Jewish burial, and as such, the family was expected to begin the burying of the coffin just to the top of it. I did put in a few shovel fulls, but it only made me more determined to make sure I am cremated. This is not what I want for myself, with people gathered around, already in shock, having to bury my body. my feeling? Burn me, spread my ashes (in a place to be determined) and have a party.

Personally, I think the Irish go about it the right way. Celebrate the person's life, and get drunk in the process.

I went to the shiva call Sat. night, (you can't sit shiva on Shabbos) after spending the day with my neice, who is gorwing up so fast, and while the circumstances were not he best, it was a reunion of sorts with some old friends that I have known for 30 years. Hopefully, we will all meet again under far better circumstances. I started for home Sunday morning, with just over a dozen bagels in tow, and heading back west on Route 17, came across beauty on the side of the road:
Branches encased in melting glass, the sun casting prism broken light onto the road. I pulled over, and just wanted to get the moment. Fortunately, it stayed off the pavement, and made the trip home easy.

Exhausted, I had little time to unpack, and then I had to work.

While scanning my e-mails, I went to reactivate my e-mails for the liver disease support group that I hang on, and while doing so, almost fell out of my chair. One of the members of this group for 10 years was found dead the day before. I helped start this group, and Joe had come on board not long after it was started. He battled Hep C, got transplanted, survived the Hep C combo therapy that rid his body of the virus, only to be brought down by what appears to be lung cancer. Joe and I were not close, and at times, were down right adversarial. Over the past few years however, we communicated privately more, and had developed a respect for one another.

This has been a true hell week for me. I think I need a holiday. Death can stay home and bother someone else for a change.

...and the week just keeps getting better.

As if enduring the interview-that-never-should-have-been wasn't bad enough, I got the phone call yesterday that I knew was going to come. My friend who I wrote about that just put her dad into hospice called; dad died yesterday. I am hurriedly getting things together, throwing stuff into the car and will be running down to NYC later today. I'll be staying with my brother and his family, and while it will be nice to see them, I wish it was for a far happier occasion.

I'll have my laptop, and I'm pretty sure my brother has a wireless modem, so I'll see about posting when I'm there. In the meantime, think of my friend's dad; he endured a lot, and is no longer suffering.

Life in freefall...then back up again.

Sorry I have not posted in a couple of weeks, but life has been a bloody rollercoaster since just before Thanksgiving.

Turkey day itself went quite well, with the both my SIL's visiting from Buffalo with their families, as well as Mrs. Nighttime's aunt. A good time was had by all, but it was the events of just before and just after that made life interesting.

The Sunday prior, Mrs. N. got a phone call from an old high school friend and informed her that his mom died. She was sort of a second mom to Mrs. N, so as you can imagine, this hit her pretty hard. Her friend asked Mrs. N if she wouldn't mind singing at the funeral, which she gladly accepted. She went to Buffalo Tues. for the wake, stayed overnight with her aunt, and then went to the funeral Wed. morning. I was originally going to go to the wake, and then drive back to Rochester to go to work, but my place decided to call a staff meeting that I could not get out of. I probably should have just blown it off, but it was for all the work-from-home people like me, and it had to do with some big changes coming down the pike. In the end, I really didn't have a choice.

So, Turkey Day comes and goes, and then on Friday, I get a phone call from an old friend of about 35 years, who informs me that she just put her dad into hospice. He has been battling prostate cancer for about 5-6 years, but it appears as this time, it is going to win. I expect that at some point in the coming weeks, I will be making a trip down to NYC for a funeral. I guess that I am now at that age when I should be expecting more phone calls like this. Thank goodness my mom is healthy.

Now, on the plus side, the fundraiser for our new theatre with our alumnus, Donna Lynne Champlin went extremely well. She was wonderful to work with, and it was old home week for her as well. She has even told us that if she needs to come back for a second round of shows, she would be happy to do it.

Back on Halloween, I met an acquaintance that had left town for some time, and has now been back for the past few months. She used used to do PR for the local art house cinema that is near our theatre. Lovely British woman that I used to bring back boxes of PG Tips for on my visits to Canada. She is now in the media relations/PR dpet. of a large not-for-profit agency here in Rochester. I told her about my situation, the writing business, and how I am looking around for another job while building my business.

We were planning to get together for coffee, when she asked me if I would be interested in possibly doing some freelance PR work at her agency, that there may be a need for such things in the coming month. I told her I sure was, and e-mailed her some clips from my portfolio. (Articles I have written, PR releases, etc.) Out of the blue this past Wed. I get a phone call from her co-worker, who asks me if I might be interested in a full-time position there as a PR/media relations specialist. Apparently, my friend passed along my clips to her, and I have an interview this coming Tuesday.

Now, this is to fill the position for a woman on maternity leave until March, and who may (or may not) come back. Either way, it is a foot in the door and an opportunity I have been looking for a very long time. I have always known the value of networking, and hopefully, it will pay off in a big way now.

So, I am grabbing on to the bars, and just riding the rollercoaster to wherever it leads. Wish me luck on Tues.

The Road Well Travelled - Pt. 1 - The View From Here.

It always takes a bit of mental preparation to make this trip. There is this transition that needs to be made that the road affords the time to make. Flying is more brash. One minute I'm in my familiar element, then an hour later, BOOM! I'm slammed down into a maelstrom of humanity, all hell bent on getting to where they need to be faster than me. Driving allows me to adjust, to cope, and to be put into the right frame of mind.

Who thought that the simple act of going home would ever be so complex?

I hit the road on I-390 south towards Corning at 9:30 in the AM, stopping first by Tim Horton's to pick up a bite to eat and a large coffee. (Tim Horton's is a Canadian doughnut/sandwich outlet, like Dunkin', only better, imho.) Large coffee is needed for this first part of the journey. I always marvel at the beauty of this part of the state. No large mountains, like in the Adirondacks, but the rolling hills and farmland are quite stunning.

Suddenly, off to my left about 1/4 to 1/2 of the way to Corning, this comes over the horizon, and I am struck by how it stands out from the tranquility that surrounds it:
A wind farm! I heard about this on the news, but didn't realize how close to the highway it was. I am not sure what to think about this. it is great that there is an alternate energy source being built there, but, there is also something disturbing about having these man-made monstrosities defiling what I view as a very beautiful landscape. Is this trade-off worth it? I suppose when they come on-line, which they are not currently, we'll find out.

Transitioning onto I-86 (NY 17), I breezed through Corning, home of the Corning Museum of Glass, a requisite trip for anyone within a hundred miles of it. Binghamton is my goal, where I can gas up, get some more coffee and continue on. I make it there about noon, and call my friend Sherri, who I grew up with. She lives in Pine Bush, about 90 min. further east in the Catskills. We're going to meet for lunch, and she is a prospective topic for an article, as she is a three-time thyroid cancer survivor. We meet at a nearby diner, with her 11 year-old daughter in tow. She is okay about talking in front of her about her experience, and we also catch up on things, and the doings of some mutual friends. She is quite the fighter. She is also damned lucky, as the type of thyroid cancer she had was the treatable variety.

With my car fueled up and now my body, I start the final leg home. I'm tuning the radio to the two all news, AM stations for NYC and the region. Old habit. Traffic is an all consuming passion with New Yorkers, and with good reason, as it sucks most days. So far, so good, as there are no reports of anything that is in my path. Of course, that could all change in a NY minute.

I make it down to my mother's at about 5 PM, and then starts the great parking spot hunt. Remember the one "Seinfeld" episode dedicated to discussion of parking? Well, that is about as accurate as it gets. Parking in NYC is an art form, a game, and a battle to the death all at once. after about 15 minutes of circling the block in a game of musical cars, I get lucky, and dive into a spot that another person was eying. You snooze, you lose buddy. Better luck next time. It is a little bit of a walk to the building, but it is mine all mine. I drag my suitcase and laptop into the elevator to the 24th floor, and knock on my mom's apartment door. I am greeted with a loving smile, and a typical NYC salutation:

"Did you get a good spot?"

Thanks ma, I love you too.

To be continued...