I wrote this a few years ago to commemorate Father’s Day. I wrote…A Father is the guy…

I have updated this today and changed it to A Dad is the guy…

It’s a clarification that needed to be made. Any man can be a father but it is the blessed ones who become Dads. So, for all of you who are Dads or were fortunate to have a Dad, Happy Dad’s Day.

 

A Dad is the guy who took you to your first Yankee game and sat you in the Bleachers because that was where Mickey Mantle played.

 

A Dad is the guy who just couldn’t wait until December 25th to give you your first set of Lionel Trains and so he gave them to you in October.

 

A Dad is the guy who that same Christmas gave you your Santa Fe diesel three days before Christmas.

A Dad is the guy who didn’t get you those Mouseketeer Ears you wanted so badly but came home with the most beautiful red two-wheeler you ever had in your life.

 

A Dad is the guy who didn’t always give you what you wanted but made damn sure you got everything you needed.

 

A Dad is the guy who never uttered a profanity in his life until that day you went missing, and he had to search the neighborhood looking for you.

 

A Dad is the guy who answered ‘steak’ to the question ‘What’s for dinner?’ that you yelled to him up at the window when he was calling you in for dinner because he didn’t want the neighbors to know we were having meatloaf.

 

A Dad is the guy who took you to Ferry Point Park on evenings after he worked all day and then had to flag every fly ball that went to the opposite field he was playing.

 

A Dad is the guy who couldn’t tune a ukulele without breaking a few strings but could sing Ain’t She Sweet like no body’s business.

 

A Dad is the guy who made a weekend without electricity the most magical weekend of a kid’s life.

 

A Dad is the guy who was called The Tasheroo Kid and never explained what that meant.

 

A Dad is the guy who didn’t know the definition of a sick day.

 

A Dad is the guy who saw you sleeping on his living room floor and went out and bought a sofa bed the next day.

 

A Dad is so much more than all the things I have listed, and I am only one of his five children, and if you have been blessed with such a Dad, then you have been truly blessed, indeed.

Memorial Day was always the teaser of holidays.

As a kid in grammar school, Memorial Day was always May 30th. We got the day off, to be sure, but it was a teaser, nonetheless.

Unless it happened to fall on a Friday, Memorial Day was always followed by a school day. This particular school day would usher in the three longest weeks of the school year. The last day of which would be the LAST DAY OF SCHOOL.

Memorial Day was the equivalent of Thanksgiving, which ushered in the longest month of the year leading up to Christmas.

Christmas and the LAST DAY OF SCHOOL were the two most significant events in a kid’s life, and no other days were as keenly anticipated as they.

Still anticipating the long weeks ahead, Memorial Day was always a great holiday.

To us boomers of the 1950s and 60s, a day to hang a flag out or wave our patriotism in some other fashion, Memorial Day was a day to appreciate America as much as we enjoyed the ever-present hot dog and baseball doubleheader.

The weather was always beautiful (at least that is how I choose to remember it).

The hot dogs were always delicious, and Mantle and Maris always had a homer or two.

I still love Memorial Day and plan to have that hot dog in a minute or two.

But I still like thinking about those Memorial Days on Leland Avenue and anticipating those last three weeks of school.

As we approach the Memorial Day Weekend, I started to think about the power of memory.

Well, the first memory I had as I began typing was that Memorial Day used to be known as Decoration Day. It started to remember the soldiers who gave their lives in the Civil War. But then it was changed to Memorial Day to honor the soldiers of all our wars.

Memorial Day was traditionally held on May 30th every year but then LBJ changed it in 1968 along with a number of federal holidays to Monday. And so Memorial Day is now celebrated on the last Monday in May.

Getting back to memories.

One of the nice thing about memories is that we tend to remember the nice ones more vividly as we push the negative happenings down into our subconscious.

I really excel at that.

I can see things form fifty and sixty years ago in vivid Technicolor in High Definition. I delight in reviewing all of them and probably torture you with them more than you need. Of course not all my memories are totally true to life. Heartbreak and failure have been eliminated as have some of my more shameful endeavours.

I don’t necessarily misstate my memories but I just don’t remember the bad stuff in Technicolor of Hi Def. It’s more like they are on a staticky 78 rpm record with sixty years of scratches and dirt obscuring these recollections from my psyche…Thank God for that.

That is not to say that all my vivid memories are accurate. 

There have been a few of my recollections in which I had such certainty only to learn that I was absolutely wrong. It wasn’t anything of real significance or life altering in the slightest but it was still unnerving to realize that I was wrong.

Realizing that I was wrong is always shocking, almost as shocking as when I admit it.

Nevertheless, the point is, regardless of their clarity sometimes we are deceived by our own memories.

Even more reason to discard the bad ones.

One of the aids upon which I most often rely to recall and review my memories is music. I used music always when I was writing A Bronx Boy’s Tale. From the Four Season in the summer and early fall of 1963 to the Beatles taking hold of us in late ’63 and from then on, music jogged my memories and it still does today.

In fact, I have been listening to Bob Dylan as he celebrated his eightieth birthday yesterday. My next blog, probably Saturday, will be my Top Ten Bob Dylan Songs.

Maybe some of them will jog your memory?

Words Of Love

Summer Music Through My Years

1968

Bookends
Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme
Album 1700
Idea (Bee Gees)

1969
Rubber Soul
Yesterday And Today
Revolver
Crosby Stills And Nash
Blind Faith
Byrds Greatest Hits
Led Zeppelin First Album

1970
Let It Be
Woodstock
Byrds (Galore)
Deja Vu. CSNY
Candles In The Rain. Melanie
Get Yer Ya-Yas Out Stones
Their Satanic Majesties Request Stones
Easy Rider Soundtrack

1971
Aqualung Jethro Tull
Four Way Street CSNY
Carly Simon (First Album)
Every Picture Tells A Story
Cat Stevens Teaser And The Firecat

Summer Of 1968

It’s challenging to think about the summer of 1968 without first thinking about the spring of that year. Of course, in April, Martin Luther King was assassinated, and then, a short two months later, Bobby Kennedy was assassinated.

It was a tough year to graduate from high school, and there was no way I was adequately prepared for entering college. My head was spinning, and I really was adrift in my psyche with no foreseeable destination or a map to guide me there. I had not yet become a reader. That would not occur until 1970. So, music was my sanctuary during these dreadful days.

The summer before 1967, commonly referred to as the Summer of Love, virtually exploded on the radio. The Jefferson Airplane, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Cream, and The Doors all created new and exciting music. But nothing compared to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by the Beatles.

However, by the summer of 1968, I wasn’t looking for anything so compelling. I entered my folk/folk-rock phase and sought out music with a message and a soothing sound.

The list of albums that I have selected for the Summer of 1968 is a rather shortlist. That is not a reflection on the state of music that summer but was more indicative of the state of the economy that summer. Well, my economy.

I needed to buy a stereo.

I had jerry-rigged my own version of stereophonic sound by converting my family’s hifi to a stereo. I needed a new cartridge for the HiFi, and our local radio and repair shop, Johnny McGrath’s, had a cartridge that would fit the tonearm of my hifi, but it was a stereo cartridge.

I reasoned that I could hook up a supplemental amplifier and add a speaker, and voila, I had a stereo. I bought a cheap amplifier and a speaker at Lafayette’s Electronics down on 14th Street in the city and put it all together.

It was ok for a while, but I needed a stereo.

I used to go to EJ Korvette’s during my lunch hour from the mailroom at Lorillard Corp, and I saw a nice system for $99.99. I vowed to buy it as soon as I had the money after putting aside enough for college.

So, it wasn’t until August that I could buy the XAM Stereo at Korvettes, which is the reason for my short summer list.

Short though the list may be, it is comprised of iconic songs from iconic groups,

If you ever saw The Graduate, you will understand how Bookends and Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme made the list. After the terrible spring, it was something we all asked ourselves, WHERE HAVE YOU GONE JOE DIMAGGIO!!!

I was actually asking, where have you gone, Mickey Mantle? Thank goodness I had Joe Namath, or else I would have no stabilizing hero for whom to pine.

Where Bookends had us ask ourselves where the hell we were going, Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme gave us poetry to help us through those troubled times even as it juxtaposed Silent Night with the mass murder of student nurses.

The next album on my list is Album 1700 by Peter, Paul, and Mary.

I had been listening to PPM for years thanks to my brother Michael, so one of the first stereo albums I bought had to be a PPM production. There were so many great songs that found a home in my psyche but perhaps none more than Bob Dylan’s Dream. Like the Byrds, Peter, Paul, and Mary sang Dylan so beautifully. But there were so many poignant numbers on this album powerfully performed, including Leaving On A Jet Plane by John Denver.

The last album of that summer was Idea by the Brothers Gibb, who was more commonly knows as the Bee Gees. Long before they or we knew of disco, the Bee Gees had several great songs, many of which were included on this album.

They were nice to listen to songs. Not so much full of meaning or poignancy, just excellent listening songs.

Well, 1968 had other terrific albums, to be sure. But these were the first few I bought for my new stereo. Other albums would come out in the fall, such as the Beatles White Album, but these summer albums would get me through the rest of that turbulent summer. The Beatles and Joe Namath would get me through the fall and winter.

Now we are off to the Summer of 1969.Summer Of 1969

In the world of music, the summer of 1969 can only bring up images of Woodstock.

Three days of peace, love, and music sprinkled with a bit of grass and brown acid that wasn’t particularly good. At least, that is what we would learn in the film and album that would come out the following summer.

But many would attend this festival in August of 1969.

I was not one of them.

At the time, the New York Jets were more important to me than attending any concert. Having beaten the Baltimore Colts on January 12, 1969, the Jets were now poised to play the New York Giants up at the Yale Bowl on a Sunday in August. It just so happened that it was the Sunday when hundreds of thousands would be listening to music up at Woodstock.

It would become one of those events that many would swear they had attended, but I was pretty content to say I had witnessed the first Jet-Giant game and one which the Jets had won.

Nevertheless, my summer had actually begun in May when I had completed my first year in college and returned to my summer job in the mailroom at P. Lorillard Corp. on 42nd Street in Manhattan.

To be honest, I would just as soon had stayed in the mailroom at the end of the summer the previous year and foregone going to college. I probably would have learned more. But I did survive that first year of college, even if I did not distinguish myself while doing so.

So, I was back in the mailroom and making money.

I had an economic plan now and could afford to spend ten bucks every payday on albums. Korvettes had a sale just about every week, allowing me to purchase three albums for around ten dollars.

I started by buying stereo versions of all my Beatle albums. The three that I listened to most were Rubber Soul, Yesterday And Today, and Revolver. I then added the Byrds Greatest Hits.

These got me through the first month or so of the summer. I would later purchase Blind Faith and Crosby, Stills, and Nash.

I then purchased the first Led Zeppelin album and became a fan of them as well.

Unlike the previous summer, my taste was growing more eclectic. I always listened to the Beatles, but I also loved the Byrds, and their Greatest Hits would prove but a dipping of my toe into their extensive library. Blind Faith, like Cream before it, was an amalgam of great talented performers with a unique style but who stayed with us for an all too short time.

Crosby, Stills, and Nash, however, brought us a great first album that would be followed up with continuous additions to the soundtrack of our lives.

Summer Of 1970

Purists may tell you that 1970 was the last year of the 60s. But, those of us who lived through 1968 and 1969 were happy to leave the 60s behind, and we greeted 1970 as the dawning of a new decade.

Unlike summers past, most of my musical delights were of more recent vintage. Having purchased the stereo versions of most of my must-have albums, I was now poised to focus on new or recently released albums.

The one exception to this was the Byrds.

Realizing that the Byrds Greatest Hits was a mere appetizer, the start of the Summer of 1970 began with the purchase of everything the Byrds had previously released.

I always thought Let It Be was one of the best Beatles albums, and I wore that album out in the Summer of 1970. It was released that spring but still remained on my hit parade for many months afterward.

One of the things that my friends and I used to do was venture into Central Park on Friday nights. First, we would go to the Sixth Avenue Liquor Store for a little Bali Hai and then peruse the sights of The Park.

On one of these Friday nights, our plans to go into the park were thwarted by a sudden cloudburst. We still went to the Sixth Avenue Liquor Store, but instead of drinking our wine in The Park, we opted to drink in a covered portion of a sidewalk cafe provided by the St. Moritz Hotel.

Realizing that the hospitality we assumed would be offered by hotel management was subject to change and revocation, we decided to vacate the cafe as we considered our options for the rest of the evening.

That summer, the film version of Woodstock had been released, so we decided to see it on this wet Friday night.

Well, it was like going to Woodstock.

We were wet in a mind-altering state. All that was missing was the mud, and we did not mind that at all.

The following week I went out to purchase the musical version consisting of three LPs, and it was an instant favorite that I would continue to listen to for quite a while.

Additionally, the Summer of 1970 provided us with Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s Deja Vu; Easy Rider, another soundtrack from the movie of the same name; Get Yer Ya-Yas out by the Rolling Stones as well as Their Satanic Majesties Request; and Melanie’s Candles In The Rain.

I should point out that, for the Summer of 1970 and the previous years, there were individual songs that have made my Summer Playlist, but I never had the albums on which they were released. The nice thing about iTunes is that you can purchase individual songs. Nevertheless, you might include many of these albums on your list, but I only included albums that I bought.
Summer Of 1971

In the Spring of 1971, I marched on Washington in protest of the war in Viet Nam. I wrote about that in an earlier post so, I won’t dwell on that. But music had been as crucial to the peace movement as other examples of the culture of the times.

But by the Summer of 1970, I was more interested in the love component of Peace and Love.

I am not sure if that change altered my taste in music. I certainly acquired a deeper appreciation of the music of that summer, especially as it culminated in the meeting of the girl who would be my wife for the last forty-five years. We met as the Summer of 1971 was nearing its end, and the music of that summer brings me back in time to that first encounter with Eileen.

Aqualung provided my introduction to Jethro Tull. Having bought this album in the Summer of 1970, I later purchased quite a few other examples of Ian Anderson and the boys of Jethro Tull. Four Way Street became an instant iconic presentation of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s music. No sooner had I purchased this album, but Every Picture Tells A. Story by Rod Stewart and Faces was released. It contained so many great songs that still are pleasing to the ear fifty years later. Then Carly Simon released her first album, and I fell in love with her music even as she elicited some concern about love and marriage in her The Way I Always Heard It Would Be.

Then there was Cat Stevens. Moonshadow, Peace Train, and Morning Has Broken on Teaser and The Firecat, which were instant favorites.

Then after I met Eileen, she introduced me to his Tea For The Tillerman album and the Moody Blues’ Question Of Balance.

Music provides the Time Travel that only a Doctor Who fan can appreciate. A song can instantly bring me back to another time and place, and this is undoubtedly true for the albums that I have selected for this essay.

Other summers have their music, but I chose these years as they were a significant change in me personally. I was not the same person in the Summer of 1968 as I became by the Summer of 1971.

By the Summer of 1971, I became a more confident person thanks to the fact that I finally listened to my mother, who always urged me to read. Well, I did finally do what she advised and never stopped. Then, my friend PJ, who, during a drinking session at Fordham University’s Ram Skeller, encouraged me to follow his diet. I did, and in a few short months, my transformation was achieved.

I was reading and looking good at the same time.

I like to think that the music of these Summers brings me back to the days of my Epiphany and helps me deal with the changes of life facing this seventy-one-year-old man.

Peace and Love, everybody.

I saw Star Wars in the summer of 1977.

I thought it was a good movie. Lots of action. Nice special effects, especially when they went to hyperdrive or warp speed, whatever they called it. And blowing up the Death Star was exciting.

I didn’t, however, think it was excellent science fiction.

It was basically a western or war movie in space. Even the starships looked like WWII destroyers or battleships rather than flying saucers.

Still, it was a great movie that begot others in its lineage.

But on this holiest of holidays in Star Wars Universe, I thought I would recommend some really excellent science fiction novels and/or movies.

2001 A Space Odyssey

The Adventures Of Superman (It’s just my favorite all-time TV show.)

The Time Machine

Fahrenheit 451

The Illustrated Man

The Andromeda Strain

Forbidden Planet

The Lathe Of Heaven

Star Trek (The Original Series)

Doctor Who

This Island Earth

The Day The Earth Stood Still

When Worlds Collide

It Came From Outer Space

World Without End

The last five on the list are typical 1950s vintage science fiction, but they each have a good storyline even if the special effects are slightly lacking.

It is the storyline for all of the above that separates them from Star Wars. Where Star Wars had no relationship or lesson for Planet Earth, the list I have selected all have Earth-born characters or actually take place on Earth.

Other Sci-Fi that, to my knowledge, have not been portrayed on film are:

Childhoods End. Arthur C. Clarke

The Foundation Series Isaac Asimov

Out of the Silent Planet (and companions to his trilogy.) C.S. Lewis

The Ender Series Orson Scott Card

Obviously, like my music lists, it is all a matter of taste.

I would be interested in hearing what your favorite science fiction stories/movies are.

On April 24, 1971, I went to Washington DC.

I went with about three hundred thousand of my closest friends.

Well, I didn’t know them all, maybe three or four of them. I brought one of my friends from the Bronx, and I knew a couple of people from St. John’s. The Peace Committee at St. John’s sponsored a bus down to DC for the March On Washington to protest the war in Viet Nam.

I had taken part in some other anti-war activities in the past, and my parents didn’t seem to mind. Now, you have to remember that not a full year had elapsed since four students at Kent State were gunned down protesting the war. So, no matter how peaceful your intentions might be, you couldn’t be too sure what might happen. But I just took it for granted that my parents would be ok about my going.

Despite our departure from St. John’s University, my friend and I were in high spirits regardless of the early hour of our departure. By the time we got to St. John’s, the bus was starting to fill up. We both boarded and I sat next to a priest who was going. He had said the memorial mass for the students at Kent State, so I knew him to be a nice guy.

So, my immediate aim of meeting a girl at the demonstration had already been hindered.

Nevertheless, the day was truly memorable.

We marched to the Capitol but did not overrun it. We didn’t even want to go inside. We were pretty happy to hear the speeches and sing along with Peter, Paul, and Mary singing Blowin In The Wind and shouting out the Fish Cheer with Country Joe McDonald as we spelled out our disdain for the war proclaiming our rejection of The Establishment.

We weren’t a militia, and the only revolution that was on our minds was one of the heart and mind.

On this day fifty years ago, it seemed entirely possible that peace and love were more powerful than bullets and napalm.

How stupid were we?

We didn’t change anything.

We ignored, as everyone in leadership positions did, the words of Dwight D. Eisenhower as he was leaving office. Ike warned us about the danger of the military-industrial complex. This was the Swamp we’ve heard so much about in recent years.

There’s just too much money to be made by politicians, arms dealers, and aerospace companies to give peace any chance at all.

I hope today’s protestors, looking to change the way we treat one another, are more successful than their 1971 counterparts.

If you are reading this in the northern latitudes, you might be wondering why I am writing anything at all with the word summer in it?

April in New York was always a confusing month for me. It could be downright frigid in the morning when I was heading to the train, but by the time I got off the subway in Brooklyn, it was already getting quite warm.

For some reason, I always felt the cold more intensely in April than in February. I reasoned that you expect to be cold in February, but by April, I knew you were close to summer with baseball starting and trees budding. But then you really weren’t, and those thirty and forty-degree days seemed to go right through me.

I have no such confusion in Florida.

It’s freakin hot already, and I can only feel that summer has arrived. So, that is why I am writing about Sumer In The City.

Of course, many of you will remember that Summer In The City is a song that the Lovin Spoonful put out in the summer of 1966. You might not remember that the summer of 1966 was one of the hottest in New York City history, at least on Leland Avenue in the Bronx. On Sunday, the temperature reached 106 degrees, and so every time I hear Summer In The City, I can feel the heat of that particular day.

But it is not the heat that I wish to write about in summer in the city but rather the joy of summer in the city.

I used to love New York in the summer. I got to walk around the city quite a lot when working as a mail clerk for Lorillard Corp. Walking on Fifth Avenue on a steamy hot summer’s day with thousands of New Yorkers walking with and against you like the surf at Jones Beach or Hot Dog Beach. I can still see the heads of my fellow travelers bobbing up and down in uniform precision like the Rockettes leg kicking at Radio City.

It was exciting just to be there walking with everyone.

I never understood how people didn’t love New York City.

These were the days of Woodstock and Goin To The Country when all the hippies wanted to live on a farm or commune far, far away from the hustle and bustle of city life.

Not me. I wanted to be in New York.

Despite working a whole week in the city, every Saturday morning would see me board another Pelham Bay local downtown. Heading to my summer haven, Central Park, I had no disdain for yet another subway ride on a hot, un-airconditioned train. After all, the subways were always empty on the weekend, so it was a pleasure, and even the fans overhead, which, on any weekday were but mere feeble attempts at comfort, actually served a refreshing breezed making your journey tolerable.

Going to Central Park on a Saturday was at once Goin To The Country and urbanization at its best. I got to enjoy a stroll through the park and stop at the baseball fields to catch a few innings of a softball game. Then I would make my way to the Bethesda Fountain, where on its plaza frisbees were zooming overhead in a never-ending display of ultimate faith in your fellow human as you were sure to get your frisbee back at the end of the day. (Perhaps this was the origin of Ultimate Frisbee?)

Having enjoyed the beauty of the frisbee toss and the splash of the fountain’s waters, I continued my walk.

I aimed to reach Literary Walk to welcome the coolness of the shade provided by the umbrella of trees lining the walkway. Maybe I would read a bit from my book? But it wouldn’t be long until I sought out the several folk groups that provided afternoon entertainment for all to enjoy.

On Saturday, I continued up the walk to the Band Shell, where Pete Seeger gave a free concert. As I said, it was like going to the country…without leaving the city.

What made these Saturday meandering even more enjoyable was the freedom that summer always represented. School was out, and even though I had actually learned to love learning, not having five or six-term papers to do was liberating. I could finally read what I wanted to read.

I always thought of these summers as times for reading and listening to music. Since then, I try to have a summer reading list and an accompanying music list.

I guess the Pandemic has put all of these memories in stark comparison to days when it was ok to find and live joy. It seems we have to be grateful for what we have and never mind what we have been unable to enjoy.

During a storm, whether a hurricane or blizzard, Lockdown is always a challenge but one that is short-lived. The Pandemic doesn’t seem to want to go away. We have vaccines, but it still seems to be spreading and mutating so that even the hope we have that normality is coming to a place near you may be only a dream.

Nevertheless, I will be going up again to be with my children in the Bronx, and I will be making a reading list and checking it twice and re-doing my summer playlist, both of which will be the subject of a forthcoming Newell Post.

It’s going to be a glorious summer. I still have faith in that.

I

All America is divided into two parts.

Julius Caesar crafted a similar sentence much more capably than I when he was describing Gaul, but I thought I would steal from him today, even it is only by allusion.

While Gaul may have been divided into three parts in Caesar’s day, he was writing in the geographical sense. Whereas America consists (with apologies to Hawaii and Alaska) of one part geographically, politically, we are split in half.

I won’t try to discern if the two parts are of equal size.

I have taken it upon myself to identify these two constituencies MSNBC and Fox News.

If any certainties have survived the last four-plus years, it is that a FOX viewer firmly believes that everything said on MSNBC is a lie.

Similarly, MSNBC viewers condemn FOX for spreading lies and disinformation.

Which one is right?

The answer hardly matters.

We used to watch the news for information; now it’s just a Neo-reality show put on each night for our entertainment.

Stories are presented in a particular bias that may or may not have vestiges of truth. So long as we are fans of the NJ (News Jockey), we will believe it.

No matter what the truth is, we have decided only to believe those we trust and never take it upon ourselves to question this allegiance.

It was bad enough when people were divided over a particular issue because they had honest differences of opinions. They had their own view on a specific problem and how w should solve it.

A runner on first in the bottom of the ninth with no out?

A reasonable baseball fan would urge his team to bunt the runner over into scoring position.

Another reasonable fan would rather have them try for a hit and run.

Another reasonable fan would say let the batter hit without any distractions.

These reasonable fans all had a difference of opinion, and each had their solution to the problem at hand.

They were fans of the same team.

They wanted their team to win.

They only had different views as to how that could be best accomplished.

They didn’t hate each other.

If the team won utilizing one of the fans’ plans, the other two fans would rejoice in the team’s victory, nevertheless.

If that could only work in politics, Susan.

Compared to the real issues that divide us, what to do in the ninth inning with a runner on first and no out is child’s play.

I know what the truth is on many of the issues that divide us, and I have solutions for each.

The trouble is that many people feel the same way and vehemently disagree with my take on the issues.

There doesn’t seem to be any wiggle room to allow any kind of compromise.

Truth trumps truth in a world where everything is true and nothing is true.

The sad thing is someone is lying but damned if I know who.

I have often complained that our technology is killing us. Well, I got even.

When I was up in The Bronx a few weeks ago, I tried to download the New York Times Crossword puzzle app. The app was free and, since I have a subscription to the Times, I could do the puzzle on my iPad for free.

Except I couldn’t.

It seems that my iPad was so old that it could not accommodate the current version of the crossword puzzle app.

While trying to download a new app, I learned that I needed several updates for other apps on my device. I immediately set out to update them all.

Except I couldn’t.

Apparently, iPads do not last forever, or perhaps I should write they don’t stay useful forever.

I know I shouldn’t complain about an iPad that I got for Christmas in 2010, but I do have several Lionel trains that were made in the 1940s that still operate. Is it too much to ask of 21st-century technology for the same level of utility?

Well, it didn’t take me long to figure out that it was too much to ask, so I went on the Apple Store App conveniently included in the assortment of apps on my iPhone and ordered a new iPad.

It was waiting for me when I came back from The Bronx.

Upon my return to Florida, I did not immediately open the iPad box waiting for me but, instead, I went on my iMac to pay some bills, organize a spreadsheet, and do a little writing.

Except I couldn’t.

When I started up my Mac, it produced the traditional chime that sounds an awful lot like a blaring TADA!

It then went into the usual process with a glowing Apple logo and then a process bar slowly scrawling left to right. The trouble is that it never completed the opening act. Instead, I was offered several options to restart the computer with various sources of backups. I tried several times to click on an option hoping for something that looked familiar. Maybe my desktop, for instance?

Finally, I did what no man likes to do. I asked for directions.

I called the Apple Care people and was immediately greeted by what I assumed was a young woman who was eager to solve my technology issue.

I did as she advised and provided her with the serial number and model number, and she said she was ready to help me.

Except she couldn’t.

I was told that my computer (little more than an abacus) was “obsolete.” I bought it in 2010.

How obsolete, you might ask?

“We don’t even carry the parts for this computer.”

So, I returned to the Apple Store app on my phone and ordered a new computer.

You see, I really needed it.

I had no choice but to get a new computer.

Why?

I’ll tell you why.

You see, our four-year-old dishwasher was leaking, and after I paid $148 to be told that it would take another $458 to repair it, I opted to buy a new one.

I shopped online and read reviews, and then I did what any other sane man would do.

I ordered the machine that my wife told me to order.

The good news is that my wife will probably be needing a new iPhone.

“Don’t worry”, I told her, “I know where to buy them.”

 I guess the first masked man that most of us Boomers came upon was the Lone Ranger accompanied by his Native American (we called Indian) sidekick, Tonto. And his white stallion, Silver.

That was back in the ’50s.

Today, you can’t go too far without seeing many masked men and women.

Eileen and I traveled up to New York by plane, and despite both of us having been duly vaccinated and negatively tested, we wore N95 masks and face shields as we ventured in the friendly skies.

It wasn’t fun.

God Bless healthcare workers who wore these masks for twelve-hour shifts day after day as they tended to the sick. I can’t imagine any group of people who want to return to normal than these people.

I found the wearing of these N95 masks to be painful and an ordeal for the few hours of flying and waiting in the airport, and I only had to do it once going and then again coming home.

I will, however, do it again as the alternative is less appealing.

Wearing the typical surgical masks is nothing compared to wearing the N95 in terms of discomfort, and it is no big deal to wear one as I do my daily chores or go to our restaurant here in our development. 

We can, of course, remove our masks when our drinks come as well as our meals. Our wait staff continues to wear their masks, and we are happy they do.

Warren G Harding promised a Return To Normalcy in the 1920 election. It had nothing to do with the Spanish Flu that was ravaging America at that time. It was more a reflection of kicking Woodrow Wilson’s ass (and his wife’s) out of the White House.

There was no such word as “normalcy” at the time as the correct term was normality, but that didn’t stop old Warren, but neither did the Teapot Dome scandal or hiding floozies in the White House closets. Normalcy ended for Harding when he died of an apparent heart attack two years into his presidency.

Notwithstanding Harding’s poor choice of words and untimely death, the desire to return to a usual way of living is something we all can hope to achieve in the coming months.

COVID fatigue is real.

Politics aside, no one wants to stay shut up in their locked-down abode anymore. There are baseball games and barbecues to attend and family gatherings by the score that needs to be held, and grandfathers and grandmothers who need their families at their side.

It’s all coming soon, but, like Christmas, we can’t rush it, and we still have to wear the mask.

Stay well. Be safe.