"You have something in the ALS family"

Those are the worst words ever spoken to me in my life.  This was just about a year ago. The doctor was like, you don't have ALS, but you have something in the ALS family.  I knew ALS was bad, I knew it was called Lou Gehrig's disease  and I knew about the ice bucket challenge. but really, not much else. But I'm getting way ahead here...let's back up a few years ago.

It was probably almost 4 or 5 years ago that I noticed that I had a tingling in my left arm. Both my hands would get really cold and on occasion I'd wear gloves while watching tv.  My doctor took x-rays and blamed things on arthritis . About two or three years ago, I started to lose weight ..lost over 25 lbs right now. But the real indicator that something was amiss was when we moved from Branchburg, NJ to Voorhees NJ. While putting full moving boxes away I couldn't believe how heavy they were as I struggled to lift them over my head.

Then, my son Michael, who had not seen us for  quite a spell, saw me without a shirt on and was really concerned about the muscle loss and weight loss in my upper body.
Even before we moved, I knew I should see a neurologist, but figured I'd wait till the move here was complete. So I eventually  saw a neurologist locally, who turned out to be a pretty crappy doctor with the bedside manner of a mutant. But after misdiagnosing me, he did send me the pros at U of Penn in Philly, to where I'm still being cared for.
So that's when, after strange electrodes were attached to me and then to a laptop, those fateful words were uttered.
Officially, I have had whatever it is I have for 2 years. One doctor said more like five. Believe it or not, that's the good news. Proper ALS is alarmingly quick to disable it's victims and kill them in a few short years or less. My case so far is slow moving.
So what is ALS and what does it do? Here's the official word.

ALS is a disease of the parts of the nervous system that control voluntary muscle movement. In ALS, motor neurons (nerve cells that control muscle cells) are gradually lost. As these motor neurons are lost, the muscles they control become weak and then nonfunctional

But like it says, everyone's progression is different!
For me, besides the weight loss, and loss of  upper body arm strength and muscles, this disease has affected my chewing and swallowing of food. I choke very easily and have to thicken most liquids before I drink them. It's caused to me to stress out when I go out to eat with others as A, I don't want to  gag , or cough like a moron during the meal and B , I also have to make sure what
I order is easily chewed...think stuffed shells, fish, mashed potato....etc.
My energy level is low, I tire easily, have shaky hands and head at times, and I sometimes I just feel somewhat crappy and out of it . My voice is raspy and tires easily.  You all know I like to talk and eat!
The real stress for me is what will tomorrow be like?  There was no deterioration in my condition for almost a year, and then all  of a sudden about two weeks ago, I noticed I was having greater chewing/eating/swallowing difficulties. Don't think bread is in my future.  I also noticed a tad more weakness in my arms as I attempted to start our leaf-blower.
And that is the cause of the anxiety I feel .
But I didn't write this to gain your sympathy. I did have a selfish motive because I knew that just by  writing this blog, things wouldn't appear to be so bleak. And they don't.
I'll try to keep you updated. I certainly welcome your prayers!

House Concert!

A few years ago I met a singer songwriter duo by the name of Jeni & Billy at their first concert at a venue in West Virginia called The Purple Fiddle.   I fell in love with this duo  and we became very friendly. Of course, I wanted to see them perform again and when I asked them what their touring schedule looked like, Jeni asked me if I had ever heard of a house concert. I had not. She explained that the artist would perform right in your house in lieu of a formal venue. ! I got more details online from people who had done this before  and decided to have one.
I got my nephew to create a nice poster advertising the gig and started to invite people: family, friends, neighbors, co-workers, and anyone whom I thought might be remotely interested. I set admission at $10 and advised everyone that all proceeds would go to the artist...the $10 had to be a donation to avoid certain legalities.

My wife and I turned our basement into a mini concert hall and set up chairs for the expected 20+ attendees. We arranged  a nice spread of snacks, goodies, and beverages for our guests as well.
We put up a folding table in the den for Jeni and Billy to sell their merchandise during the intermission and after the concert.
Finally, the big day arrived. !
We fed Jeni & Billy before the gig  and it was about then that my head started to explode. Here at my kitchen table was a musical group whose CD I listened to in my car.

They were in my house, eating food we had prepared, and  we had their full attention!  The invited  guests started to arrive and eventually we got everyone seated in the cellar and Jeni & Billy put on an awesome concert!
It ranked with one of the greatest things I had ever been part of and I hoped we could have another one the following year. We actually had two more Jeni & Billy concerts in the years that followed and they were both just as awesome.

Sadly, Jeni & Billy have parted ways and are pursuing solo musical careers. But I never forget the magic they made in our house!

The Tree Trimming Scam

So the other day, a guy rings our doorbell, and says to my wife that he and his tree trimming company are "in the neighborhood" and they have noticed some of the 50+ trees on our property need trimming.
So lets stop there.,.first rule of this sort: whenever they say they are in the neighborhood,  you need to say no thanks.
But my wife agrees that the need is there, which it is. She comes and sees me in my home office as I was working from home that day, and instead of discouraging her, I say how much , etc, and she tells me what they say they will do for the low price of $400.00

Being the cheap guy I am, I say okay.
As the rest of this guy's crew arrive at our property, I notice they only have a couple of pickup trucks, no tree chipper or cherry picker truck. I also notice that they are piling up the branches on the curb. They tell my wife  that our township will pick them up. I agree as our town does provide this service.

About a half an hour later, there's a knock on our door and someone from our township from public works is now explaining to my wife and I that the town will not pick up tree debris a contractor has created! He inquires as to our tree trimmers company name and says they are the same outfit that has pulled this deception before. He says they know the township won't pick their debris, but by the time the homeowner realizes that, they are gone and now the homeowner must arrange for someone else to haul away the detritus for an extra fee.
So I'm elected to confront the tree guys on our property who are 99% done by now. I explain what the town has said and say that I'll pay you the $400.00, but not until you haul the piles of branches away.  I explain that your company knew the town would not pick up the piles all along.

The tree guy  nods his head in agreement, but says he must go check with his boss who is in one of the pickup trucks. I can hear them debate that the job was worth $700 and that the boss man is unhappy with my demands.
With that exchange, the guy who I spoke to gets in the truck without saying a word to me, and they all  drive off in silence.
I called another tree service that we had used before, with good results and  a couple of days later they haul away both piles for $400.00.
I have not heard a word back from the guys who did the tree trimming!

Letters From Camp

When I was about 12, my parents sent me to a Ukrainian camp in the Catskills. The camp was part of a resort called Soyuzivka, which is still operating to this day. It's really a pretty resort.

My parents were quite wise in not telling me that the camp was going to take three weeks out of my glorious summer. I had important things lined up, like following around my town's road department as they paved and repaired our streets.  Like my stint with helping collect the garbage in my town (see my blog post entitled I Was a Child Garbageman) I was obsessed with what was called the Streets and Sewers department in my hometown of Hillside. I would drive my bike to their central garage in the morning, and then depending on my mood, follow and watch one of the crews doing their thing for the whole day. Riding along with Fred , who drove the street sweeper seemed to me to be a great way to spend the whole day. 

I realized quickly that somehow I was not fitting in at camp with my fellow campers. They were all 13 or 14 years old, and here I was only 12! I was quickly shunned with a tag of being a little kid. My parents friends send their kid to the camp as well. Unlike me, he was able to convince his parents that the camp was pretty horrible, and after the first week, they picked him up and took him home.  My letters written to my parents from camp begging to be pardoned from my three week  incarceration were ignored.  Despite my verbal protests when my parents came to visit after the first week, I was informed by them that I was doomed to stay the entire three weeks.

The director of the camp was a female ,who we had to address as Mrs. Commandant. I'm translating it from the Ukrainian version we used. As her title implied, she was a cross between a female Adolph Hitler and Cruella Deville. She led us in military style marches around the resort and one day caught me badmouthing her in front of my fellow campers. Needless to say, I was not one of her favorites

Before eating any meal. we had to say in unison, "Mrs. Commandant, Smatchnoho", which very loosely translated means we trust we will find this meal to be delicious.

After the first week passed and I realized I was going to serve my three week camp sentence, things did improve slowly. I did make somewhat of a friend and really liked several of the male camp counselors who acted like nice older brothers to me. We did go on some nice scenic hikes and cooled off in the big pool.

Like Allen Sherman's classic song about his experiences at the fictional Camp Grenada, 

I had  to agree that things were getting bettah, so like Allan Sherman:  Mom and Dad, kindly disregard this lettah.

Uncle Floyd

Sometime in 1974 when I was still in college and television was a lot different, I ran across this tv show on Channel 68, called The Uncle Floyd Show. It kinda looked like a throwback to those kiddie shows I had watched when I was little kid, but it was quite apparent the cast was playing to an adult audience. All I know is I became hooked to this half hour show, which was on 5 nights a week . The times varied thru the years, but it was always on late afternoon or early evening.

Uncle Floyd, real name Floyd Vivino, was the star of the show. He used hand puppets, from his sidekick Oogie, pictured here, to several others, including really funny stick puppets like Mrs. Brillohead, Bones Boy and Sammy DeSoul, to other creatures made out of rubber like the incredibly funny Mr. Jones.
He played a plethora of characters as well using the non existent budget he had to gently satirize famous people and familiar stereotypes. Dear Blabby, Julia Stepchild, Brother Billy Bobby Booper, Flojo the TV Clown, Ricardo Romantico, Mr, Spooky, Cowboy Charlie The Dull Family, Joe Frankfutter, and more than 100 other characters were all created and played by Floyd. There were no scripts, no rehearsals, no sets, no budget, but plenty of LOL moments.
He surrounded himself with an equally demented cast who acted in the skits Floyd created, or starred in their own creations.  The show always ended with Floyd at the piano, belting out a tune that was written well before he was born.
Those of you who know me are aware that if I become a fan of something, I rarely do it halfway.
I subscribed to Uncle Floyd's gazette, which came out monthly. I started to attend personal appearances he made, from everywhere to local record shops to Macy's, the department store. The people at Macy's  miscalculated Floyd's audience and had him trying on clothes, which almost led to a near riot. The show held a convention at a Masonic Temple, which was awesome, as they had some of the now famous props used in the show. I got interviewed by a camera crew where I stated that Uncle Floyd could be compared to Ernie Kovacs. It aired on the Uncle Floyd Show.

I bought tee shirts, his 45 RPM records, his full album,bumper stickers (Don't Avoid-Watch Uncle Floyd) 8x10 glossies, the whole bit. I entered his TV contests and actually won free tickets to Wild West City, a western themed amusement park that was a sponsor of the show. Eventually Floyd started to know his very loyal fans by name, and I'm proud to say that he knew mine.

The penultimate Uncle Floyd moment though, was when he and the cast performed a series of live shows at The Bottom Line, a famous night club in New York City. I attended the show with my brother Dave who was also a big fan. It was sold out! Sitting right next to me was David Bowie, another big Uncle Floyd fan. I could have cared less about Bowie, because I was there to see The Uncle Floyd Show! To start of the show, they played the theme music of the show that preceded Floyd's on Channel 68.. a cartoon called Speed Racer. What followed was one of the greatest live events I've ever witnessed. Backed by his brother's band, Uncle
Floyd and his cast put on a show that was brilliantly funny ,familiar,  and frenetic. I've never laughed so much, nor enjoyed a performance more. It was truly the apex of his career in my mind. Some have said that it was at this point that Floyd began to understand what a fanatical and loving fan base he had. This was before the days of the internet or any social media which makes Floyd's success all the more impressive. I know I felt I was part of a special family and it was a great feeling.

The show did return to The Bottom Line for several more appearances, but they never lived up to the magic of the first show.

Eventually, Floyd's show  landed on NJ Public television. What was even cooler, was that the show was now taped in front of a live audience. Of course I was there with my wife and son for the first tapings. I even got to be the first contestant on a new segment called "Ridiculous But Real"  and successfully answered Floyd's  query and won a tee shirt!  (What's the only state in the union who's name is one syllable long? Answer: Maine!)
I had truly come full circle with an appearance on my favorite tv show.
The show did try a run at national syndication at one point around this time, but it was unsuccessful.  About 1998, the show could no longer be found on the airwaves.

I did see Uncle Floyd perform his standup comedy act, a few times, at a street fair, a nightclub, and at a record store in the years that followed, but without  Oogie and the rest of his cast, the shows were not as compelling. While there a few DVDs around with some bits from his old shows, Floyd has resisted putting out the old shows en mass.
And maybe it's better that way. You had to watch 5 nights a week, 52 weeks a year, just like a soap opera, to get all of the inside jokes and references. But man, it was worth it!

The Hit and Run

I was a big fan of the excellent tv show by the name of Breaking Bad. For those of you unfamiliar with the show's basic premise, a high school chemistry teacher starts making crystal meth to pay for his cancer treatments. Despite the increasing bad behavior of the teacher, one cannot help but to be drawn to the complex character that is Mr. White.

My tale today shows the real life consequences of those that buy and use this drug.
I left my house around 6:30 AM this day so I could arrive at my customer's location in the Philly area by 8AM. I got on Route 202 and settled into the right lane quickly. I noticed a car behind me who was evidently in a hurry and I saw that he was going to pass me on the left lane.  As he passed me, I was startled to see how close his car was to my car.

Next thing I know, this guy has sideswiped my car! I could tell the damage was not severe, but I did have some nasty creases and damage to the side of my car. I quickly pulled over to the shoulder , thinking he would do the same, once he realized he had hit me. But to my surprise, he never even slowed down, and continued on Route 202.

It took me a minute or so to realize I was dealing with a hit and run driver. I quickly pulled back out onto the highway in an attempt to follow him.

Simultaneously, I called 911 on my blue-tooth speakerphone and told the cops what had happened. I managed to get within viewing distance of the hit and run driver, but could not make out his license plate. He was driving pretty fast and at times, erratically, so I kept my distance. I proceeded to follow him for a few miles and the cops stayed on the phone with me, as I gave them the blow by blow on exactly where we were. I must say, it was kind of thrilling to be involved in a car chase.
We were coming up to an infamous Jersey traffic circle soon, and even great drivers can have difficulties navigating them. I was concerned how this guy was going to make it around the circle safely.
There was a traffic light about a quarter mile before the circle and just before it, I had lost sight of my nemesis. As I pulled up closer to the light, I saw that my guy had rammed his car into the back of a pickup truck that was stopped at the light. He wasn't going anywhere. I let the cops know what had just happened.  I pulled over to the shoulder  and watched as the driver of the hit and run vehicle calmly got out his car, while sipping a cup of coffee. As he meandered around, cop cars stated to arrive from several directions.
The cops began questioning the driver as I sat waiting in my car  for them to come to speak to me. When they did come over, they let  me know that the driver had no recollection of hitting me a few miles back. Luckily,  the paint from his car was all over the side of my car. The cops indicated to me that there was something not quite right with the driver , and after taking down my info, they let me go on my way.
I found out by reading the police report the next day, that the driver was under the influence  of crystal meth.
I am still thankful there were no injuries that day from either accident. 

The Elevator Accident

When I graduated college, I had absolutely no idea on what I wanted to do career wise. I had applied to several law schools, but did not get in any of them. So here it was, September, and I had to find a job. Turns out that Hahne and Co, an upscale department  store in  Newark, NJ, was looking for an executive management trainee in their warehouse. Management trainee was a code word for you're a college graduate who majored in something worthless, (mine was history) that can't find a job, and who was willing to work hard for a small salary.
The actual job I landed was as a warehouse supervisor, managing about 30 old ladies who checked in and price ticketed  all of the apparel that was to be sold in the 5 stores Hahne's operated in New Jersey, including the flagship location in Newark.  The warehouse was located on the top floor of the store. Trucks with the store merchandise would deliver on the street level, or "the walk" as it was known, and then the merchandise would be delivered up to the fourth floor where I worked, via 1 of the 2 giant freight elevators.
My area would check in the apparel deliveries, make price tickets, ticket the merchandise, then separate the orders that were destined for each of the five stores and then from there they would be transferred out daily in the merchandise  "cages" via a daily truck run.

The other side of the warehouse did the same with most of the non apparel merchandise that the store sold.
Working at Hahne's was like being in the cast of a soap opera, with a heavy dose of daily human drama. Working in retail is not for the faint of heart, as it's a very dynamic, stressful business, with a lot of pressure and daily, critical deadlines to meet.
 One particular day though  will always stick in my mind.
My immediate boss was a guy named Art who had limitless energy as he practically ran from one side of the warehouse to the other on a daily basis. He was really a nice guy who took me under his wing and taught me many lessons on how to handle people.
On this fateful day, Art was rushing around as usual and for some reason was going down to "the walk" and was going to use the old freight elevator, which was side by side with the "new " elevator. This old elevator was operated by hand, as you had to pull these giant thick  cables to get the elevator to start moving. What happened next was never fully explained, but just as Art was getting on the elevator,  Eddie, the guy who was riding down with Art and who was controlling the elevator, pulled the cable to get it moving just as Art was in the process of getting on it. As a result, Art lost his balance and his body fell into the small space between  the elevator car and the elevator shaft. He was literally pressed and scraped between the small space between the  cement elevator shaft and the body of the elevator.
I was doing my usual stuff on the other side of the warehouse when someone came running over and said Mr. H was injured in an elevator accident. I rushed over to the other side of the warehouse, made my way down to to walk area on the street, where an there was already a chaotic scene that included an ambulance ,fire rescue trucks, and the police. I looked in the elevator which was mangled by the rescue guys in the process of  extricating Art out of it.(The outside of the elevator and "the walk" are  shown in the photo below. The door that has the pink heart on it is THE elevator)


Next thing I knew, I was in the ambulance with my boss, flying down to the hospital that was close by. Art looked like he had been through a war, with giant bandages on the wounds he suffered on his torso and extremities.He was strapped into a gurney, talking like he was a crazy person, and obviously suffering from shock. He was in critical condition. He babbled something to me about not telling his wife Peggy right away about his condition.
I was flipping out, ready to cry , and totally devastated. We made it quickly to the hospital and the rest of that day's experience is a blur. I do remember walking back to Hahne's after they stabilized Art and completing the rest of my day in a trance.

I visited Art many times in the hospital after that day and eventually he did return to work, with a pronounced limp and some other visible damage.
Twenty or so years later, there was a human interest article about  my old boss in our local paper.  It did not mention that fateful day and Art's near fatal elevator accident.

The Sexton's Tale

Looking back at my childhood, it's apparent that we were somewhat poor as I was growing up. We never went out to eat...and I mean never. The first time we went out to eat as a family was when I was 16 or 17 years old and only because we had to as we were traveling in Canada to visit my older brother at school. I could give you some other examples, but you get the picture. One of the consequences of our economic status, was that my dad had to take on other employment besides his job at the brewery.
Since my dad was a porter at Ballantine (porter being the fancy word for janitor), he sought out similar work and ending up being the sexton at a church. (sexton being the fancy church word for janitor).

For a few years, he was actually sexton at 2 churches, the one we attended as a family as well as another one.

Cleaning the churches meant that almost all of my Saturdays for a good many years, were spent helping my dad, along with the rest of the family, getting these 2 churches clean on a weekly basis. While the other kids my age  were enjoying their Saturdays off, I was busy as one of my dad's helpers. At both churches, we were also responsible for the grounds-keeping, which meant shoveling snow and mowing the lawn, and most horrifically at one of the churches, raking leaves in the autumn. Most of the time I didn't complain about pressed into what we called around our house, The Communist Labor Farm.
I did get paid a very modest sum. Every other week or so my dad would give me a quarter. As in twenty five cents.  In today's terms, that was less than $2, for about 5 hours work every Saturday. Occasionally, actually very occasionally, he would take me out for ice cream.

 One particular Saturday when I was about 10 or so, my older brother and I accompanied my dad to one of the churches. I was in a rather foul mood, complaining about how I had to work while every other kid my age, was out playing with their friends. As we arrived at the church, I guess my dad had enough of my attitude that day and said that if I didn't want to help, that was fine. "Go home", he said. With that he and my brother walked in, leaving me standing outside the church.
The church was one town over from where we lived , about 3 and half miles away,  I contemplated my options, and decided I would take my dad up on his offer. Without telling my dad what I had decided, I started down the street, very confident of the route home as we made this trek twice a week. Right down the street there was some parking lot construction going on, and I watched that for probably a half hour. I then proceeded to walk the rest of the way home, taking my sweet time.
My mom was startled when I arrived at our house by myself. She asked where everyone else was and I told her what had happened. At this point, I was sure that I was in no trouble, as I had simply taken up my dad on his offer. Man, was I wrong.
My dad was really mad at what I had done. Corporal punishment back then was the norm. I got the norm, and then some.

Oh Deer!

Living in a town that still has some farms left and a great deal of wooded areas still intact, can lead to unexpected animal encounters. A few years ago, when our beloved dog Moses was still with us, I took him outside to do his business early one evening, when what should be walking down my street, but a huge brown and white cow! 

It was so unexpected and really caught me by surprise. The cow was moving fast, seemingly headed for some special destination. I quickly went back inside, Moses in tow, and called the cops. By the time I got back outside to see where the cow was, he was out of sight. No doubt that one of the local farms was shy one cow that day.

One creature I'm never surprised to see in our area are deer. Our town is overrun by them and you can see herds of them, groups of 10-12 deer, at any given time. 
It's a weekly job in every season but winter, to go to the back yard and pick up their deposits. One warm, sunny afternoon in the spring a few years ago, I was headed home on Route 202 and when I was almost at my exit, I noticed that everyone ahead of me was hitting their brakes. I slowed down as well, and saw that several deer were
crossing the highway. Everyone in my direction avoided hitting any of the deer.
But, it was a different story on the other side of the highway, where there was less traffic. A speeding
car in the other direction, hit one of the deer with such impact, that the deer was propelled up in the air like 30 feet and it began rotating in the air, end over end in an arc over the highway.

By pure chance a  convertible, with it's top down was heading in the deer's direction, as it made it's inevitable downward descent. The deer landed in the convertible's back seat, positioned perfectly like a stuffed animal, it's head resting against the side cushions. If you had manually placed the deer in the back seat, you could not have done a better job at situating the deer so perfectly!
The horrified couple in the convertible  quickly

pulled over to a nearby shopping center and hastily exited their car. I called the police on their behalf. As you can see, I've made some bizarre calls to the cops over the years.

The Greatest Fishing Day Ever!

As regular readers of my blog know, my dad was a very avid fisherman. Whenever he had a day off, he usually went fishing. When we had our summer vacations however, he could not join my brother and my mom during the week, as vacation slots were determined by seniority. Here was a guy with like 8 weeks of vacation, but he never had one in the summer!
This one summer, we were on vacation again in the Catskill Region of New York state, in a town called Hunter. We stayed at a house which could hold 4-5 families or so, with some shared kitchens.
The Schoharie creek ran in the backyard, and my younger brother and I spent countless hours on the creek, fishing, swimming, and catching minnows and crayfish for use as bait .

When my father came up on the weekends,it would be non stop fishing the whole weekend. His fishing partner, Andrew, from my blog story "Andrew Rode the Boat Ashore", spent his entire summer staying at this house , so he of course would join my father and I on any fishing trips.

This particular summer was a very dry one and the drought had really taken a toll on the Schoharie Reservoir

where we were headed that day. The creek of the same name flowed for miles, eventually ending up at this huge reservoir which was probably 15-20 miles from where we were staying. The minnows I caught on the creek were so fragile, that we would stop at least 2 times on the way to the reservoir, to change the water in the minnow bucket.
When we finally made it to the water, after winding our way thru the forest path, we were all astonished at how low the water level was.There were only a few "ponds" of water here and there where the remaining waters had collected.
We quickly got our poles ready and began to fish. You've heard the expression of "shooting fish in a barrel". Well, this was hooking fish in a barrel. With virtually every cast in the water, regardless of what bait was used, a fish of some type was after it! We started to pull in walleyes, pickerel, perch, bass, crappies, and sunfish. It was a feeding frenzy! At one point, I had lost my bait  and was reeling my pole in when a fish struck at my line, because there was a small flashy metal blade that went with the hook!

Within  less than an hour, the three of us hauled in over 50 fish of all sizes and shapes. We would have caught more, but got lackadaisical when reeling them in and lost more than we would have on a normal fishing day!
Our success no doubt, was because the fish population, which was normally spread out over miles of water, were now crowded into some pretty small pockets of water.

With 50 fish caught in about an hours time, we decided to call it a day. We hauled the heavy load of fish back to the car and once we got back to our vacation house, gutted and cleaned all of them and boasted to anyone who would listen, about the greatest fishing day ever!

Stranded- Part 2

As I've outlined in Part 1 of "Stranded" , my son and I were stuck  at the Newark Penn Station train station due to a blizzard.
I quickly inventoried our possible alternatives. Transportation wise, there were none. Driving was impossible at this point and I wasn't about to call my wife and have her attempt to pick us up as my home is about 45 minutes in normal traffic from Newark.
I decided to call my daughter as she lived much closer to Newark. But she was stuck in her car, on Rt 280 one exit away from her house ,as she had been for over an hour! I explained our situation to her and she said she would call me once she got home.We tried calling one of my son's friends as he lived close by, but got no answer.
My thoughts now turned to finding a place to stay over that night. I knew there was a hotel right across the street from the train station, so my son and I ventured outside for the first time since the blizzard had started. It was not until that moment that I realized how bad the snow was. There was probably almost 10" by then and it was snowing like crazy!

We went into the hotel lobby and I asked the clerk if they had any rooms available and he gave me a classic reply:
"If President Obama showed up right now and asked us for a room, I would tell him what I'm telling you..we are 100% booked."

My son and I trudged back to the train station, where minute by minute, the chaos was growing. My cell phone rang and it was daughter! She had managed to finally get home and of course had her own horror story about her commute from NYC herself. My daughter had taken the initiative to find us a hotel room and actually found one and booked it for us! Only problem was, it was back in NYC near where the Twin Towers had stood. My daughter added that  was only 20 minutes away via the  PATH train, which was still running!

My son and I quickly found where the PATH trains departed from out of the terminal and bought our tickets. We waited for the next train for probably a half hour, but it did show up! We got on and joined the other anxious passengers.
The train ride was slow and we had several stops in Jersey to endure before we would enter the final tunnel to get into NYC. At one of the last stops, the train doors opened, people got on and off, and then we went nowhere. The train doors were open, allowing the incredibly  cold air into our train car. The public address system continued to babble unintelligibly with it's pre-recorded messages that made no sense and only served to irritate everyone..  No official updates were given, and we sat there for a half an hour. At one point, I glanced over at my son, and we both burst out laughing at the incredibly absurd situation.
Without warning, the doors closed, and we were on our way again, albeit very slowly. As we neared the last stop in NJ, the public address system announcer advised us that due to the blizzard the train would NOT be going onto the World Trade Center stop, where our hotel was. He indicated that bus service would be provided to take us into the city. I was highly skeptical that the bus, if there was one, would be able to go a block before getting stuck.
I got back on my phone, trying to book us a hotel room somewhere in Hoboken, NJ, which was going to be the last stop.
Then without any announcement, it was evident that we were going to get to the WTC stop after all. The train pulled into our station, and my son and I quickly bounded up the steps of the station into the winter wonderland. We trudged to the hotel and exhausted, made it up to our room. The 20 minute train ride had taken over 2 hours!

The next morning we got up early and made our way back to Penn Station in Newark. Many people were still sleeping there , stranded passengers like ourselves.
We finally got on the train that would take us back to our car in Jersey. We didn't know it at the time, but we caught the last train back to Jersey that morning...all trains out of Newark were suspended for the day right after ours departed.

Stranded!

Three years ago, nearly two feet of snow fell in New York City, in a blizzard of historic proportions.
As fate would have it, I was right in the middle of it. Here's the story.
I am fortunate enough to be employed as a sales manager for a big company that has a skybox suite at Madison Square Garden in New York City. It's used to entertain our biggest clients. The sales pros are free to invite their customers for most of the events that are held at the Garden, from the New York Knicks to Elton John and everything in between, including professional wrestling, which my son and I are fans of.

There's much demand for tickets for most events, but wrestling isn't the most popular event on the list. As it's a requirement that a manager attend all events, I am usually the only one who actually wants to help host the wrestling events and be the required managerial presence.
 I had agreed to host the event which was to be held at 7:30 on on 12-26-2010. No other folks from my company would be attending. I think about 6 people were scheduled to attend as my company's guests.
As the fates would have it, the weatherman were predicting an all out blizzard for that day and for once, they got it right. By the time we drove to the parking lot of the train station late that  afternoon, it was already snowing, and snowing hard. Under any other circumstances, I would not have ventured out beyond my own driveway, but I had made a commitment to host the event and I had a responsibility to fufill that promise.
We did pack the car with snow shovels and extra clothing and gear, but we traveled light on the train, since we would be indoors while traveling, the whole time. The train takes you right underneath MSG. We made it to the Garden on schedule, with few issues.

The wrestling event itself was mediocre at best, as the wrestlers themselves were distracted by the thought of not knowing how they were going to get to their next destination later that evening. Only 2 customers showed up, leaving the four of us to try and eat enough food to feed a dozen people. The 2 customers left before the event was over, worried about getting home. My son and I stayed till the end, probably about 10:30. Before we left, I stuffed a few leftover cookies into the pockets of my winter coat.
We got our first glimpse of what was going on outside as we left the Garden and got on the train from NYC's
Penn Station to Newark's Penn Station. From the windows looking out of MSG, it looked insane outside. At Newark Penn station, we could take the train that would bring us back to our car. Or so we thought.

The train ride from NYC to Newark went remarkably well, and we immediately went to the information booth to find out when the next train was back to the Somerville, NJ station, where our car was parked. Pandemonium was already underfoot, and I saw  a lot of fellow train riders with worried looks on their faces. The attendant at the information gave us the bad news. The storm was already so bad that ALL trains out of Newark were cancelled. Period. We had no transportation alternatives out of Newark. It was a little before 11PM and we were stranded.

To be continued.

My Lunch With Donovan

A few years ago, I subscribed to an internet  mailing list for Donovan, so I could keep track of his album releases and concerts. Rather than assume that you know who Donovan is, here's a brief bio on this very underrated musical talent.

From 1966 through 1969, Donovan scored a string of eleven Top 40 hits in a row, including Mellow Yellow, Sunshine Superman, Epistle To Dippy, There Is A Mountain, Wear Your Love Like Heaven, Hurdy Gurdy Man, Jennifer Juniper, Lalena, Atlantis, and Riki Tiki Tavi.
Donovan was one of the few artists to collaborate on songs with the Beatles, contributing lyrics and vocals to the song Yellow Submarine. Donovan was also invited by The Beatles to join them at Abbey Road Studios for the final orchestral overdub session for the Lennon-McCartney collaboration A Day in the Life, the grand finale of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Donovan influenced Paul McCartney, John Lennon, and George Harrison in their guitar styles, and during his career played with folk music greats Pete Seeger, Joan Baez, and Bob Dylan, as well as rock musicians Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin and Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones.

Enough said, this guy is a legend!  In any event, one day I get an email that went to all members of this Donovan mailing list stating that Donovan would be having lunch before his gig in New Jersey and that everyone on the list was invited to join him!
My son Greg and I showed up at the appointed time and place and sure enough there was Donovan, having lunch with about 15-20 fans. I walked up to the table and said "I guess we're in the right place!"

Indeed, we were. As the lunch progressed, we played a musical chairs type of maneuver, where once you got to speak with Donovan for a spell, you moved down, so everyone got a chance. I of course quickly put my foot in my mouth by describing one of my favorite songs of his  to Donovan as "simple". His reply of : "Do you play?", made me realize I had insulted him , although no insult was intended. We moved on and had a delightful  conversation. My son Greg asked him about some nefarious business dealings from the past where Don (this is what us insiders call him) had gotten shafted by some recording execs.

Before you know it, lunch was over. I shared another moment with Don in the men's room as we relieved ourselves. Goodbyes were exchanged and I told him how we were looking forward to hearing him later that day in concert.

He gave a great concert that night!

The Pee Machine

 I was a hard core bed-wetter up until at least nine years old. By hard core, I mean I drenched my pajamas along with bed every single night! As a parent, I can now fully appreciate how hard it must have been on my mom  to have to wash my urine filled clothes and bedding every morning. I never did hear one word of complaint in all those years.

It was really embarrassing in many respects and I can clearly remember having to say no to any sleep over requests from my friends, lest they find out about my little secret.
So one day, without telling me why, my mom told me that it was super important that I come home right from school that day. When I got home , there was a stranger in our living room who my mom introduced as a representative of a company that rented out bed wetting alarm machines. What a sales job this guy had.
From that day forward in my house, we called this cool little device, the pee machine.

Here's the way it worked. A aluminum like pad was placed under your sheets. The pad was connected by wires to the little radio like device that was placed by your bed and the unit was plugged in to an outlet. When you let loose, the urine completed the electrical circuit and set off a piercing alarm. The sales guy actually demonstrated it by having a glass with some salt dissolved in it, which he pored on one the pads he had hooked up to the pee machine. Sure enough, when he spilled just a little of the salt water on it, the little unit let out a very shrill tone. I sat there listening to it squeal until the sales guy told me to shut off the pee machine , which I did.
Thankfully, my parents were able to buy the pee machine elsewhere, which was a lot less expensive than renting it.
Over the next several weeks, everyone in the family knew when I was wetting my bed. Sometimes, the piercing alarm would still be shrieking when my mom came in to assist, as I was still sound asleep.
My mom kept a "wetting the bed "report card by my bed, with room for comments and stars if I stayed dry. I remember one of the comments being a simple one word " flood", with others noting how I got up  quickly and actually emptied most of my bladder in the toilet instead of in my bed! Slowly, with some "accidents" in between, the dry nights became more and more frequent, as my body and brain started to understand that when I had to go, it meant that I had to wake up and then go. I'll bet it was an 8-12 week process, but in the end, I was cured!
So lift a glass and join me in saluting  the glorious pee machine!

The Dumbest Thing I Ever Did

The dumbest thing I ever did just happened yesterday. I'm still smarting from my mistake, but felt it best to blog about it now, while the wound is still fresh.
I've read some articles lately that say how when you plan an event in the future, that you are really looking forward to, that you actually benefit from the event several weeks prior to it actually occurring. I can attest that this is a true statement. Every summer, we take one week of what I call a real vacation. Not a "staycation" , where you take day trips, but a real away from it all vacation. We've been going to Cape Cod in Massachusetts on and off for over 20 years, since our kids were little. We are so familiar with The Cape, that it feels like a second home for us.

Usually in December, I start trolling http://www.homeaway.com and plug in the search criteria for the house we need and start emailing the owners who have listed their houses for rent. We bring our dog Newman with us, and searching for "pet friendly" rentals cuts down on the number of suitable places quite substantially.
I found a great place this year that matched our budget and needs and booked the house for a week before 2013 even started! Several emails and even a phone call were exchanged between myself and the owners and eventually they sent us the rental agreement and we sent them a deposit.
We were all set for the week of 7/14-7-21.

I'm not a last minute packer, so I spent about 2 weeks slowing gathering everything we need for vacation. I'm so organized that I've developed a "vacation to do/bring" list that I update every year, so we don't forget anything.  I notify our newspapers to suspend delivery, make sure the yard and garden are tended to before we're away for the week, etc. I research what live theater and music we might see during our vacation, and even search for new eateries that are highly rated on YELP. I buy our beach pass ahead of time too, so we don't waste a precious minute getting one in person. I arrange for our mail to be picked up by a neighbor, and lined up our kids (now adults), to water the garden during our absence.

Mentally, I start thinking about how great vacation is going to be, and how relaxing and wonderful the whole experience is going to be at least two weeks before we go. This year was no exception.

So Saturday night, we went to bed early, knowing we would be getting up at 4:30 AM for the over five hour drive to The Cape.
The car was already packed, the  GPS loaded with the vacation address, and our anticipation was high.  The ride up was easy and we were fortunate not to hit any traffic jams even as we took one of the two bridges which are the only means of entry onto Cape Cod. We were on The Cape before 11 AM, and knew we had several hours to spend before we could get into our rental house where check in time was three PM. We drove along beautiful Route 6A , and stopped for breakfast at our favorite place, the 6A Cafe.

As we neared the town of Eastham, where our rental was, my wife and I excitedly pointed out several destinations we would surely hit during our stay...Nickerson State Park, Villa Pizza, Cape Cod Natural History Museum, and many others. It was going to be glorious week, with even the weather cooperating. We actually showed up about 1:30 at our rental, but the owner told us he had just arrived to clean it, and that we should come back at the check in time of 3 PM, which we did.

I started to feel slightly anxious when we pulled into the parking area where there were now 2 cars parked. We really wanted to unload the car, settle our dog and go out for a late lunch. What was even odder was that there were several people sitting on OUR deck (well at least it was ours for the week), drinking ice tea and chatting. We figured they were friend of the owners, who had stopped over to chat. I grabbed a few bags from our car and my wife asked if was ok to go in the house and the owners said sure. My wife noticed there was a "welcome " goody bag on the kitchen table, with someone else's name on it. She went back outside on the deck to tell the owners, and that's right about when all us started to realize something was amiss.

The people on the deck chatting with the owners were renters just like us. They had booked the week of 7-14, just like we had, or so I thought. The owner quickly took out his iPAD and said something like, "I hope I didn't make a mistake ."  While he fumbled with his iPAD, I fired up my laptop, where
I knew I had copies of the emails we had exchanged regarding the rental. Before I could connect up, the owner showed me a copy of the rental agreement I had signed. It was for the week of 7/7 to 7/14. That was last week! While it was hot in the kitchen where I was trying to get my laptop connected, my own internal temperature spiked to the point where beads of sweat were pouring off my face.

No matter what emails I found, the owner had the proverbial smoking gun with the copy of the signed rental agreement.. Somehow, I had messed up the dates. We were a week late!  Still disbelieving I had made such a moronic error, I continued to try to get my laptop connected to the internet , still thinking that maybe the owners had screwed up the dates. When I finally was able to view my emails, I couldn't find one that supported this week as the week we had asked for. I told the owner I had committed a colossal blunder. He was as nice as could be, feeling badly for us, but what could he really do? He helped me find a realtor in town as I was thinking at this point that maybe we could rent another place for the week.

But as we pulled away from our short lived vacation house, I started to realize that finding another suitable rental at 4 PM on a Sunday afternoon, was probably not going to happen. We also hadn't budgeted any monies for such an occurrence. The wife suggested we drive a short distance to Ben and Jerry's were she would get us some ice cream, and we could decide what to do.

Before she even came back to the car with my New York Fudge Chunk ice cream,

I realized that the best alternative was to head home and cut our losses. My wife agreed and some tears were shed by yours truly as I realized that all of my planning, anticipation, and excitement had just been dashed to bits. We were not going to be spending the week at The Cape. I had killed our vacation by messing up the date. Even as I write this, I still don't get what possessed me to do so.

We had spent a grand total of about four and half hours on the Cape. Talk about a vacation that flew by!