The Newell Post

I am not sure what Samuel Becket’s “Waiting For Godot” is all about. I am sure if I really wanted to learn the meaning of the play that there would be a myriad of sources to tell me. I don’t want that.

I think one of the joys, if not the only joy of reading art or witnessing it performed, is making your own evaluations and finding your own meaning.

So, what does this have to do with my Saturday Morning Rant? In fact, what does Godot have to do with you or me?

I guess it would be useful to know who Godot is and why the characters are waiting for him. It might indeed be useful to know this but quite unnecessary.

To me, the keyword in the tile of the play is WAITING.

Becket was living in Paris when the Nazis invaded France.  He would join the French Resistance, so maybe he was waiting for the Americans to come to France’s rescue? What I take away from the title is a question.

What am I waiting for?

It seems that I have always been waiting.

When I was in school, I was waiting for Thanksgiving and then Christmas vacation. No sooner was I back in school than I was waiting for Easter vacation and then summer vacation.

Those were simple waits but still significant enough to create a sense of longing and joyful expectation. It was a reachable goal.

As an adult? Well, I won’t bore you with all of that.

The fact is I am still waiting and longing and, despite the fact that I am nearly seventy years old, my expectations haven’t really changed at all. With the exception of the addition of one more wait. A wait that seems as far off as those Christmas vacations and summer vacations seemed over sixty years ago.

I am waiting for the end of COVID-19 and all the impact that it is having on our lives.

Sadly, there are so many who have been impacted with tragedy and loss that there is no amount of waiting and truly maybe nothing to wait for that will put this miserable experience out of our mind.

Still, we will rejoice when COVID-19 is defeated.

It is commonly believed that Godot was a representation of GOD. I am not sure as every explanation I have heard seems to offer a different opinion. But, I believe it is God.

While the act of waiting may seem arduous and excruciating depending on what it is you are expecting, it is also a manifestation of your hope in something good about to happen.

So, despite the daily recitation of positive tests and fatalities and just listening to the accounts of suffering detailed by health care workers, I have hope, and I truly believe the rest of us do too.

There will be a cure or a method of lessening the effects of the virus. There will one day be a vaccine (of course, we will have to convince the lunatic anti-vaxers to let us use it).

The world’s scientists and researchers are on the case, and they will develop a treatment. I have no doubt about that.

That is a good thing to wait for. It offers hope. Despite the fact that we do have to wait and, by waiting, endure more daily updates of the devastation continuing to wreak havoc on civilization, we will survive and one day thrive.

That is one of my waits. That is my hope.

But I have others.

I am waiting for the divisions of this country to be eradicated along with COVID-19.

I am waiting for Americans to stop fighting this civil war that has wasted so much time.

I am waiting for all of us to see all of us as worthy of respect despite our color, creed, and sexual orientation.

I am waiting for America to wake up and realize that our nation’s physical health is a National Security issue. We don’t need Russian hackers to destroy us if we are going to destroy ourselves.

I am waiting to go to the Bronx to see Sean and Jeannine and York and, of course, Rudy and Scout.

I am waiting for Bryan to come home for the summer.

I am waiting to go to Disney with our friends Karen and Connie.

I am waiting to go to our club for a Hoptical Illusion that they have on hand especially for me.

I am waiting to have a pint in an English pub and a second one in Sligo.

I am waiting to stress out when Aaron Judge strikes out, or Gary Sanchez gives up a pass ball. (It’s funny how precious even those moments can seem now.)

Ok, you have the idea.

Life has its waits, and that is a really, really good thing.

God bless.

Be well.

Stay safe.

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. It is a day that, for many, represents the holiest day of the year.

As a kid, it was a day to don a new outfit that was more important to my mother than I. In the weeks coming up to Easter, we would be implored to give up something for Lent. I was never quite good enough at that. Nevertheless, I had my own rituals.

As a college student, I would listen to Jesus Christ Superstar as part of my devotion, but I also attended Holy Thursday and Good Friday services as well as Mass on Easter Sunday.

For Holy Week in 1971, I vowed to make a special sacrifice. I fasted for the last three days. Well, I had my “Last Supper” on Thursday and did not eat any food at all on Good Friday or Holy Saturday. I went to Mass on Easter Sunday, received communion and, went home to break my fast with a well-represented breakfast.

While my mother was preparing the eggs and bacon and brewing the coffee, I had a nice piece of her famous cheesecake. This would not have been Christ’s first task on Easter Sunday but I had done my penance and cheesecake was my salvation.

I did no such fasting this year, but I did forego eating meat on Good Friday…which reminds me of another story.

My sister Maureen related this tale to me a few years ago.

It seems back in the day when meant had to be abstained on all Fridays by edict of the Pope, Maureen witnessed something that shocked me when she told me.

One Thursday evening, my mother was preparing my father’s lunch for the next day. Maureen was beside herself when she asked my mother what on earth she was doing.

“I’m fixing your father’s lunch.”

“But momma, you’re making ham sandwiches!” (One sandwich was never enough.)

“So I am.”

“But tomorrow is Friday!!!”

“Luv, your father works very hard and needs a good lunch to get him through the day. Not eating meat on Friday is a man-made rule and was never demanded by Jesus.”

So it was that my mother became the first cafeteria Catholic.

Now the nuns and priest of that day, probably late 1940s, would have deemed my mother’s actions as sinful if not heretical. But Jesus wouldn’t.

She understood that. She understood that Jesus was above petty rules and regulations.

Never once did you read Jesus, saying that it was a sin to eat meat at any time.

Never once did you read Jesus saying that you had to go to church every Sunday.

In fact, the only times I remember Jesus in a church was when he was lecturing the priests about God’s law and when he kicked the gamblers out of His Father’s House.

The point is that giving up meat and going to mass are wonderful traditions and should be encouraged as they provide a focus on living a good life. But when going to church can put you or others in danger due to an extremely contagious disease, well Jesus wants us to stay home, and all you have to do is to read the Bible to know that.

Tomorrow there will be many chances to attend mass for me. I can either listen to it on SiriusXM radio or on WFUV. Mass will be available on television as well and on YouTube.

Would it be better to attend in person? Of course.

The splendor and the beauty of the Mass are always better in person, but we have a good reason to forego that this year.

Let’s just hope that this will be the last Easter we have to pray in isolation.

Happy Easter everyone.

Look, I’ve tried to keep a positive outlick during this corona mayhem. I have taken to practice social distancing from listening to cable news, except when Governor Cuomo is on. I’ve gotten used to trying to keep myself amused by writing blogs if only for my own sanity. I have even tried to smile, although, as you may know, no one has to teach me to be nice!

Anyway, a few chinks in my armor are beginning to breakthrough.

I’m starting to have nightmares about running out of toilet paper and hand sanitizer.

I have more food in my freezer than they had on the Titanic (which I realize is not the metaphor I was looking for).

I am trying to put a Coronavirus PlayList together but have only come up with a couple of songs, Another Day In Paradise and Ave Maria.

It just seems that one day flows into the other. There is very little difference between Monday and Friday. The weekend has no meaning whatsoever.

There’s no baseball.

There was no March Madness.

It doesn’t seem likely that there will be hockey or basketball playoffs.

There isn’t even NASCAR! Although I did watch a video-game-like version of NASCAR last  Sunday and how pathetic is that?

It’s not that I am complaining, I’m merely voicing,  or in this case, writing, what so many people around the world are experiencing.

I should be planning my trip to London and Ireland, which would be happening one month from tomorrow. Instead, I will resort to watching YouTube for all the places we would be visiting in a coronoa-free world.

I am purposely ignoring the real suffering brought on by this terrible disease. My goal here is to make a few of you smile in the face of a terrible time.

God bless all of those who do so much to protect us and keep us healthy and to keep us safe.

Please stay safe.

Is it possible to have both cabin fever and agoraphobia? Can I be bouncing off the walls because I have been inside the house too long while at the same time afraid of going outside?

Then, of course, there’s germaphobia. How many times can a person wash their hands in one day? In between washings, I will look up to see if the Guinness people have any statistics.

I almost went outside today.

I had to go to the bank, and as I was backing out of my driveway when I got a good look at myself in the rearview mirror. I was wearing a makeshift mask that Eileen constructed out of a bandana.

I stared into the mirror and went back into the driveway.

I had the thought that going into a bank wearing a mask might not be the wisest thing to do, given the stress and anxiety the bankers must be feeling.

Well, do your best to keep a positive outlook.

Be well.

Stay safe.

Last night Eileen and I were listening to Garth Brooks sing while we were in bed. Well, Eileen was really listening, and I was dozing until he sang American Pie.

That song brought me back to February 3rd. That’s my daughter Jeannine’s birthday and every year, I post the same blog, “A Long Long Time Ago.”

It recounts the Day The Music Died that Don McLean wrote about in American Pie. It was the day, February 3, 1959, when Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and The Big Bopper died in a plane crash.

In my blog, I fast forward to the same day in 1984 when Jeannine was born.

I thought about her birthday this year when the Coronavirus was something that didn’t concern us when, of course, it should have.

But, getting back to Garth Brooks.

Listening to him sing so beautifully and joyfully, I thought back to a summer day in 1997 when I was working for the Mount Sinai School of Medicine. Due to the Long Island Rail Road, I was taking the west side subway up to 96th Street and walking to Mount Sinai on Fifth Avenue through Central Park.

Garth Brooks was scheduled to give a  concert in the park, and a stage was being erected right near the Fifth Avenue entrance on 96th Street. A day or two before the event, hundreds of people were starting to camp out. It was like a country version of Woodstock.

I struck up a conversation with a few of the people and asked what all the excitement was. They evidently loved Garth Brooks and traveled from all points of the midwest and west to see him in NYC. They got me excited too, and when the concert was aired on television, I enjoyed watching it as did Eileen.

I am writing about this now because, in the very area of Central Park where Garth Brooks regaled us with People In High Places back in 1997, a make-shift hospital has been erected to tend to the overflow of patients from Mt. Sinai.

Nobody in high places ever predicted that would be required.

But listening to Garth last night instead of joy, I felt intense anger and was blogging in my head about all that had not been done to protect my city ( I may live in Florida, but I remain a New Yorker) and the country.

But today is Palm Sunday, and my roots have revealed another emotion.

Peace is required, and love is demanded to get through these days.

It’s not enough to pray in silence, we are required to live our prayers.

As Peter Pan instructed the Darling children to get them to fly, we must think happy thoughts.

Without happiness and joy in our hearts, we will be stuck in the mud of despair.

Listen to Garth Brooks today (and possibly tonight in a country virtual concert) and smile.

Back when I was studying history, I was interested in the idea of technology and culture. It was stated that our relation with and reaction to technology was both ambivalent and ambiguous.

I remember reading several dystopian novels and citing movies from the early 50s that demonstrated these concepts. You only had to watch Godzilla and Rodan to know that Japanese filmmakers were making their statements against nuclear technology.

Who could blame them?

Even more recently, many of my generation decry the obsession that young people have with their smartphone and video games. Ironically we share this observation in texts and posts and tweets.

The truth is my relation to technology has evolved as recent events have enlightened me in my moment of solitude in Bradenton.

Whether it is with friends down here five or ten miles away or family hundreds or a thousand miles away, technology is helping me stay connected that would have been impossible back when I was studying history.

My appreciation of technology is no longer ambivalent or ambiguous.

Technology is keeping me sane in a crazy world.

In addition to keeping in touch with my children via phone, we text numerous times during the day. It’s kind of a long-distance pulse-taking. We also use Zoom Meeting to have a video chat where we not only can communicate but we can see each other. The smiles of my children are all that is needed by Eileen and me to assure us that they are well.

Then, yesterday evening another Zoom Meeting was held between my friends who were former co-workers at one of the colleges where I served and me. Although it is like looking at an old Hollywood Squares TV show or the opening to the Brady Bunch, Zoom provides the closeness that is hard to replicate in a phone call or text or post.

Technology is keeping me sane in a crazy world.

I never would have thought that back in the 70s.

Not only is technology keeping me sane, but it is also going to provide the cure that we so desperately need to kill this damn virus.

Technology will save our lives. And no ambivalence or ambiguity can survive that.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 52 years since my last confession.

These are my sins:

Three weeks ago, I was at Costco and did not buy toilet paper. I thought I had plenty.

I told my wife that Dr. Fauci recommended three shots of Jameson to ward off the Coronavirus.

I told my wife that Dr. Fauci also recommended that she sleep in the guest room in compliance with social distancing guidelines.

I inadvertently touched my face many times, including a scratch (NO PICK) or two of my nose.

I have a secret stash of hand sanitizer and antibacterial wipes.

I only washed my hands seventy-five times yesterday.

I am now ready to make a good Act of Contrition, but I have to confess that I need a little help with that.

Amen

Today marks the ninth anniversary of the passing of our dear friend, Vinny (AKA Father) Gorman.

Vinnie was one of our parish priests back in Blessed Sacrament in the Bronx. He, along with Father Dolan, would take us to the beach and other places to get us off the streets of the Bronx.

Later in life, we had the pleasure of taking Vinny and Maryann to the beach.

( A side note here. It was during this time that Vinny exhibited many symptoms of OCD. His obsession was getting a resident’s beach pass so that he could come and go even when we weren’t there. I don’t think it was the money as much as the thrill of the hunt. He lay in the high grass waiting for just the right teenager to take over the ticket booth, and then he would pounce. He never failed to get a pass.)

We used to kid Vinny and Maryann that they always seemed to magically appear at our doorstep when we were sitting down to Saturday breakfast, we said they could smell the bacon and made a dash.

One of the first times that we saw Vinny after so many years and long after he was at Blessed Sacrament, he and Maryann came out to see Aunt Mary, and they came over to our house. One thing you have to understand about Vinny, he was always smiling. When he wasn’t smiling he was, belly-laughing. You never could keep a straight face with him in the room.

During that first visit, I kept rehashing my Blessed Sacrament experience, which of course included, his. In the eighth grade Vinnie would come to our class once a week to teach religion. He always reminded us that there would one day be a test.

Sometime in the winter of 1964, we were given the test. Vinny called it his “Nutty Ned Test.” When I started reminding Vinny about it, he glowed and smiled like I had never seen anyone react before. I also reminded him of his challenge. He said that the student who had the highest mark would win $5. Then he added, almost in mocking sort of way, that if anyone had managed to get a 100, they would get $10.

Well, I did get the only 100 in the school, but Vinny reneged on his promise and gave me $5, and then he gave another student, let’s call her Mabel, another $5. I told him this was bull shit and wanted my additional $5 with interest.

Well, that only made him laugh more. But I was going to do something that would almost make him swoon right there in our living room.

I gave him my copy of the test.

He couldn’t believe it. I think it was a statement of the impact on our lives that he had. Why would anyone keep such a test? To me, it was a relic of a marvelous time with marvelous people. I think Vinny felt that too.

I didn’t hesitate and said he could keep the test, and I really believe that was the nicest thing I ever did for Vinny.

My kindness was repaid in so many ways. It wasn’t just the joy that he brought into our home every time he arrived. He was also a welcome sight in times of trouble.

In 2010, Eileen was diagnosed with breast cancer. She told me on the Tuesday after the 4th of July weekend. The following weekend Sean and Jeannine came out, Bryan was studying in London.

The weekend was going to be stressful as Eileen had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for that Monday, where a decision as to what to do next would be made.

I was not doing well. That morning Jeannine and Eileen went to the Farmer’s Market and I had a complete meltdown listening to Jimmy Buffet sing “Come Monday.” Jeannine and Eileen came home and could not enter the house as I had locked the door. I didn’t want anyone to see me in that condition.

A few hours later, as we were sitting around the living room, Vinny and Maryann appeared. Vinny wanted to pray with us.

Ironically, Vinny had not too long before this presided over Eileen and my renewal of vows. Now he would be praying for God’s mercy for us.

Vinny asked us to close our eyes, but Eileen didn’t. She kept her open eyes on me as I was in convulsions trying not to cry out loud.

Vinny concluded the prayer, and he and Maryann said they would be going home now. I pleaded with him to stay. I might have been crying when I did so, but anyway, he and Maryann did stay and helped us get through that weekend.

His loss was devastating to all who knew and loved him.

The comfort that we can give Maryann is to let her know how big a role they have had in our lives.

They provided joy.

I don’t know about you, but just writing these few words helped restore a little joy in my life. It’s good therapy and a lesson to us all. Neither Trump nor Corona can’t take away our hope and joy.

Remember, in our catechism, we learned about the three virtues: Faith; Hope, and Charity.

Vinny would be reminding us of that now.

God Bless Vinny.

The genius of America has been its “CAN DO” attitude. When JFK challenged us to put a man on the moon by the end of the  60s, there were some who shook their head and thought he was overreaching.

But, except for the lunatic doubters (a similar group to the anti-vaxers), most believed in Kennedy’s vision.

Today, in the middle of the pandemic, we have to remember that challenge and the other challenges in our history that made our nation what it is.

We will have a vaccine or treatment for this virus.

Sadly, it will come too late for many, but it will come.

We will return to complaining about our commute or about the high cost of gasoline, and the aisles at COSTCO will be abundant in their supply of toilet paper of many different qualities and plies.

We will continue to wash our hands regularly because, really, shouldn’t we have been doing that before all this started?

We will complain about our sports teams.

We will return to attending games and concerts and seeing movies on a really big screen while eating popcorn that couldn’t possibly be good for you.

I know this sounds a little like Of Mice And Men when Lenny was promised he would see the rabbits anytime soon now but life as we knew it will return.

Till then, we have to stay inside and enjoy each other’s company.

Stay in touch with friends utilizing the technology at our disposal. Texts, emails, Facetime.

Play games with the people you are sheltering with.

Write a damn blog for crying out loud!

Go to your music library and put a Corona Playlist together.

Stream good movies and re-read a favorite book. (Time for another read of Catch 22?)

Stop watching the news after a fifteen-minute update.

Try feeling grateful and maybe say a prayer or two.

Alright, that’s all I’ve got for the moment. But I’ll be back.

Be well. Stay safe.

I must have been nine years old. We had an electrical fire in Apartment Six of 1261 Leland Avenue. Pop put out the flames with flour. There was no substantial damage except that we lost electricity.

To a kid in the 50s, the loss of electricity meant no TV, no record player, but it was no TV that was the gamechanger. But my father had the answer.

First, he had a stockpile of what he called “plumbers” candles that provided our light. Then, he went out and bought a bunch of games and prizes that provided our family entertainment for the weekend that was no longer going to be long or boring.

We played cards (Crazy Eights primarily) and bingo and Monopoly and had snacks while we played. It was a great time, and I never missed TV for the entire weekend.

In fact, when we finally got our power back on Sunday afternoon, I wasn’t at all excited and wanted to continue playing games, which we did.

On another occasion, when my family was facing another crisis, games weren’t the vehicle that brought us together. This time it was prayer.

It was October in 1962. I was now twelve years old and in the seventh grade. The crisis that faced my family was not a loss of power but a fear of the use of power.

The Soviet Union was engaged in a game of chicken with the United States. Premier Khrushchev was calling President Kennedy’s bluff.

The Soviet Union sent nuclear missiles to Cuba, and Kennedy told Kruschev to knock it off.

On the night when things were getting tense, my mother led the family in the Rosary, on our knees.

We prayed for Divine Intervention when we were facing total annihilation, and we were granted salvation.

I am not sure which story applies more to our current situation.

Perhaps both apply equally.

At a time when many of us are forced to stay inside our homes, a little fun time with our family might be just what the doctor ordered.

Then, too, a little praying wouldn’t hurt.