8 Weeks of Memories- Part 8

‘Tis The Season

“Do not withhold him from doing good, who is able:

If thou art able, do good thyself also”

Proverbs 3:27

Habitat For Humanity, The Salvation Army, Peace Corps; these are names synonymous with giving, helping, and building. These are the foundations of humanity. We all enjoy the look in someone’s eyes when we can help them in some way, regardless of how destitute. It could be as simple as money to pay some bills, to donations of goods or services, etc. Although I’ve never been on the streets, or living in poverty, I’ve been on the receiving end of gifts and help from family and friends. I am eternally grateful for this, indeed.

When I’m able, I love giving to others. And sometimes it’s in words. Recently, I’ve been amazed at how many stories I’ve heard of military people having their bills paid at restaurants, or someone in line at a grocery store paying for the person in front of them when they didn’t have enough money.

I worked for Sysco Food Services from December ’99 to April ’04 as a truck driver, delivering to restaurants, hotels, and resorts. Some of our customers were The Salvation Army, Second Harvest Food Bank, And the YMCA. I can tell you without a doubt, the people who run these organizations, at their very core, display a genuine desire to help others in need.

After I left Sysco, that Christmas, I decided, I could do something also. My time and funds were limited, yet I felt something is better than nothing. Even in the past few years, as the economy worsened, I found that I could help some in need in my own small way.

Since then, every Christmas eve, I’ve gone to a local Burger King, and purchased a bunch of cheeseburgers, and upon speaking to the manager, was able to get him to match my purchase with free burgers. I would leave the store with up to 20 burgers, have of which were donated by the store. My local Burger King has had the same manger since I started this tradition, Jose Acevedo. He’s been very understanding in my mission. For the past few years my mission was to feed the homeless on Christmas Eve. Where I live in Sanford is a mix of all classes of people. The west side of our town has million dollar homes, and south of downtown has a considerable drug and prostitution problem. I read some time ago in the Orlando Sentinel, that there are about 10,000 homeless people in the Orlando area. As of 2009, our population was nearing 3 million people. That’s one sixth the population of the whole state. As cities go, the homeless to sheltered ratio is average for the country. Sanford is no exception.

I would get my burgers and drive around Sanford searching for the destitute and downtrodden. Every year there’s new faces, but there are a few familiar ones each year. There’s a bus stop bench at 3^rd and French that is home to a 60 something woman with a shopping cart full of her life’s possessions, and she wears a heavy winter coat all year long. I’ve always felt for her since the first time I saw her. It saddens me to the heart to see her there, quiet, alone, taking what help she can. She’s been there for years, maybe long before I started passing out burgers.

The first year I went out, she was the first one I went to, and by the way, her bus stop is on the opposite corner from Burger King. I pulled up behind her in the parking area of the business and called to her from the passenger window. I tapped the horn and she glanced over at me with tired weary eyes. I asked her if she was hungry, and she suddenly became full of life. I told her I had hot burgers for her and she stood up quickly, and held close her thick dirty jacket and hobbled over to my passenger window. With a raspy worn voice she thanked me repeatedly for the food and told me that God would bless me for my kindness. I told her to try and stay warm, as even in Florida it can get cold during the holiday nights. I could tell immediately she was overtaken with joy at the thought of a meal, and a hot one at that. I know it’s only burgers, but to someone who goes too many nights without eating, it was like putting fuel on a dwindling flame, a flame in her soul that has long since died down.

That first night I passed out 16 of the 20 burgers I had. There was a man at the bus depot at Wal-Mart, and even a prostitute at a pay phone in the parking lot of a grocery store that had closed early for the holiday. I was out on the streets, driving around for about an hour, and I have to tell you, the feeling I got was tremendous. I didn’t give a million dollars to a soup kitchen, and I didn’t provide a warm bed, and I didn’t give anyone money that I didn’t have, but I did feed a few hungry folks on a cold night.

Each year that passes, I keep heading out on Christmas Eve, and for a few moments, I help some people in need. It’s not much, but it’s something, and it feels amazing.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part 7

Have a Nice Trip

“A foolish son is the anger of the father:

And the sorrow of the mother that bore him.”

Proverbs 17:25

I am an attention whore. It’s that simple. I love being the life of the party, telling jokes, making people laugh, and generally acting like a mental patient. Combine that not so horrible quality with being a drama queen, which my wife has called me many times, and you have got a recipe for disaster. I don’t think I’m that dramatic, but when it comes out in my kids, I’m the one blamed for it. What can you do? It is what it is. I remember an incident when I was 12.

Hurricane Gloria ravaged Long Island in September 1985, and the first or second night after the storm passed, we were all still without power in the neighborhood. I remember noticing outside how dark the skies were, because there was so much less light pollution from the surrounding areas. The stars were so bright, I’d never seen anything like it. We all were outside on the front porch, enjoying the cool autumn air, since we had no power.

Dad suggested I go get the small telescope we had upstairs, so we could check out the night sky. I ran upstairs with a flashlight, and retrieved it from the closet and hurried back downstairs. As I ran out the front door, I tripped and twisted my ankle real bad on the bottom step. I flew forward violently, dropping the telescope, and landed flat on my stomach and chest.

Being the 12 year old “drama queen” that I was, I immediately started screaming and writhing on the ground like an idiot. I can tell you, that I wasn’t hurting nearly as bad as I was letting on, and as a matter of fact, my foot wasn’t hurting at all. I landed on my hands and stomach, and my palms were burning from the concrete rash, but it was my foot I was screaming to my Dad about.

Dad tried to console me, and I think Chris went inside to get what little ice we had left in the now thawing freezer. Nothing was going to help. I was “in so much pain”, I just knew it was broken. Finally, after 10 minutes of my charade, Dad and Mom agreed to take me to the hospital to have an X-ray done.

Dad and I went to the emergency room, and I think Chris or Jay tagged along. The time was about 9 pm I believe. After what seemed like hours, they finally took me in to see the X-ray tech. Keep in mind, I was in no pain at all. To this day, I still feel bad about this. The doctor came back after a while with the films, and much to my surprise, my ankle was actually broken. Apparently I had crushed one of the small bones on the right side of my foot at the top of the bridge. REALLY? Broken?

I couldn’t believe it. Here I was, practically faking it, and it really was broken. In a weird, macabre sort of way, I was glad. I guess I thought that since it was broken, the trip to the hospital wasn’t a waste of time and money. The doctors wrapped up my leg in a cast, rigged me up with adjustable crutches, and sent us on our way. When we got home, mom was so upset that I hurt myself, she almost started crying. I didn’t have the heart to tell her, that I was “faking it”. Well, I guess after all, I wasn’t.

Many years later, when I was well into my twenties, I told mom about the “faking it” the night of the fall. She and I had a good laugh about it, after she called me a “stinker”. Mom uses that word almost as much as her elephant joke.

I still feel bad about lying that night. It wasn’t right. I put my need for attention ahead of my family’s needs. I guess I got what I deserved with the six weeks of healing afterward. Six weeks of sitting out of gym class, six weeks of no bicycle, six weeks of not going out to play. I made my bed. I had to lie in it.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part 6

Divine Intervention?

“The Lord is your guardian; the Lord is your shade;

He is beside you at your right hand.”

Psalms 120:3:5

    There have been stories we’ve all heard of someone who was about to die, or suffer great harm who swears the hand of God prevented it at the last moment. The cop who’s badge stopped a bullet, the car teetering off a bridge, well you get the idea. Call it what you will, because while I believe everything happens for a reason, I also believe god helps those who help themselves. I’ve spent many years going up and down on the roller coaster of faith, but now I feel I'm more like a man on a lazy river ride. Slow and steady, relaxed, trying to enjoy the view.

    The birth of my children helped reaffirm some of my thinking, but one situation in particular had caused me to reach a little deeper.

    Some years ago, I was having trouble sleeping quite a bit. At least three to four nights a week, I was losing precious sleep due to nightmares and sleep apnea. It got so bad I was falling asleep at the wheel, micro sleep, that is, not only while in my car, but in my rig as well. It was scary, and while I tried to push through it, because I was scared of losing my livelihood, I also constantly thought about how I would cope with hurting someone, should I fall asleep in my truck.

    Some time in spring of 2003, I was heading South on US-1 in Port St. John, which is just north of the Kennedy Space Center. I was driving my truck, delivering for Sysco Foods, and the route was my regular run. I’ve driven US-1 a million times, and could do it with my eyes closed, but on this day, they really did close. I don’t recall the mile or so up to the traffic signal, but at one point, while traveling about 50 mph, I noticed the light was red, and in a microsecond, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to stop. Simultaneously I reached for the air horn, and shit myself, while I realized I was about to kill someone. Opposite me, northbound, was a car in the turn lane to turn west in front of me, and to my right, eastbound, was a car ready to turn left north bound across my lane of travel. This all took place in a fraction of a second, but I looked at the car straight ahead, and she was leaning all the way over looking on her passenger floorboard, and the car to my right had a full sized newspaper, fully opened, reading away.

   My light was red. One of those people had a green. Why were they each, at that very moment, preoccupied, so as to not notice 60000 pounds of stupidity barreling at either of them? They didn’t even flinch. If I was in my car behind either of them, I’d be on the horn screaming at them to ‘wake up’.

Did the hand of God help them that day? Or did he help me? I told Patty about what had happened, and I recall her saying something to the effect of it was God’s will that nothing happened. Look on youtube…search car/truck accident videos. Car drivers get killed even when the truck was going slower than I was.

    Divine intervention. I believe it happened that day. After I made it through the intersection, and breathed a sigh of relief, and I pulled into the parking area for the Banana River Shuttle Viewing site. I pulled the air brakes, folded my arms on the steering wheel, and put my head down for a moment and almost broke down crying. I was just saved from a disaster of epic proportions. I’ve thought about those two people, a woman and a man, who both appeared to be middle aged, and I wonder if they have kids. Are they happy? What do they do for a living? What were they doing that day? The woman was turning into a residential neighborhood. Did she go home and hug her kids, oblivious that she might have been killed a few minutes earlier?

The man on the right was reading a newspaper. Was he checking the times for a movie? Was it date night with his lovely wife? Was he going to CVS to get medicine for a sick child? Wherever they were going, they made it there safely that day, I assume. One moment in time. That’s all it takes.

I made it a point to get more rest. My schedule was hectic, and I went to work and asked to be removed from the 3 am Disney route I did on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I could get more sleep. They were very understanding at work. Even today, I try to get as much sleep as I can, and although I'm driving a smaller truck now, I still have a commercial license, and still have to adhere to the hours of service regulations.

In November 2005 I crashed my car on the way home from work. I fell asleep at the wheel of my car, and plowed into a guard rail at 65 mph, breaking my right knee cap. It was 3 years after this incident, and was the last time I dozed off at the wheel. In my eyes it was isolated to that day, a fluke. I was tired. I closed my eyes, for maybe 2 seconds. That’s all it took. It’s my only accident, ever. Thank God it was a guard rail, and not someone going home to hug a kid. To this day, I am over a half million miles accident free in a commercial vehicle. It could have been very different.

Divine Intervention? Absolutely.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part 5

Too Close For Comfort

“The robberies of the wicked shall be their downfall,

Because they would not do judgment.”

Proverbs 21:7

One warm summer night while driving my taxi, I came upon the unfortunate instance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I drove a cab for a few years without incident. It’s not like I was in NYC or Chicago and 99% of the time I worked the tourist areas. This one night I remember was particularly slow, so I hit the street calls on the dispatch computer. There’s usually enough to go around in the attractions, but that night was quiet.

I was working the Kissimmee area east of Disney, a big lower middle class region south of Orlando. As I was heading south on John Young Parkway, I took a flag down at a shopping center. He appeared normal at first glance. Jeans, blue and yellow windbreaker, and clean shaven. I was so used to families at Disney sometimes needing to use the front seat too that it didn’t occur to me to lock the front passenger door while I worked the streets. In hindsight of the situation that was about to occur, I’m glad he was up front.

He entered the cab and sat next to me. He asked me to bring him to Vine and Hoagland, which was about 4 miles away. I was about to ask him how his evening was going when he pulled a knife, pushing it against my right side, grabbing my collar and telling me to hand over my money. I tried to stay as calm as I could, and at first was reasoning with him, but he wasn’t having any of it. He yelled to me to “shut up” and had me turn right on Carroll Street a dark 3 mile long 2 lane road lined with cattle farms. In his eyes it was a perfect spot to rob me. At no time did I ever think I was going to die, but I was frightened. But I wasn’t scared enough to not try to keep him from hurting me. As we drove further down Carroll Street he told me to give him my wallet. The whole time he had his knife pressed into my side. I said “OK” and slowly retrieved my wallet. All my earnings were in my front right pocket, so I thought it was now or never. I decided to try and stop him.

His first mistake is when I went to hand him the wallet, he kept his left hand on my collar, but took the knife away from my side to grab my wallet. When he reached up, I slammed on the breaks hard and fast, throwing him into the dash board and windshield. He of course neglected to put on his seat belt when he got in, intending to rob me and make a quick getaway.

As the car slowed down we started fighting. We were grappling at each other, and all I cared about was avoiding getting stabbed. For a moment he got his right hand loose and swatted at my stomach with his knife. It wasn’t very sharp, but it did tear my shirt and scratch my stomach. I elbowed him hard in the face with my right arm, and at that moment he decided maybe he bit off more than he could chew. I mean, I was like twice his size. I give him credit for trying, but I wasn’t getting robbed that night. He opened the door while I was punching him with the back of my fist repeatedly. He quickly got out and ran fast west on Carroll into the night. For a split second I thought I could follow him while calling 911 but I decided to just stay there. I immediately called dispatch on the radio. They asked if I was hurt, I said not really, just shaken up. They sent the police and Fire rescue anyway, for a police report to be taken. It was standard procedure for the cab company, and even though this scumbag didn’t get my wallet or money, I did want to see him get caught. I had a lot of friends in the cab business, some I still keep in touch with even now, years later, and I’d hate to see this happen to them.

The cops put out a BOLO on this guy, and right before, they left the scene they told me another unit picked up a guy matching the description. I rode in the cruiser to their location to ID the guy, but it wasn’t him. They took me back to my cab and we wrapped it up. The fire department had left after they checked me out, but a cop stayed at the scene waiting for me to return from the attempted ID. Before I left, a K-9 unit showed up, caught the guys trail for about a half mile and then lost it.

I had my wallet, my cab, and my life. As I said, I never really feared for my life, but it did piss me off. I went home that night with my pride and my hard earned $80, still in my front pocket. I also had my .38 on an ankle holster, but I never had a chance to pull it. Looking back, it was a dumb place to carry while driving, and I was just too busy trying to fight him off. I can’t say for sure if I would’ve fired had I grabbed it, but considering his cowardly demeanor, I might not have needed to shoot him.

When I got home, Patty gave me a big hug and kiss and shook her head, tongue in cheek, as if to remind me what a disaster I was. I know she was glad I was OK. And so was I.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part 4

Too Close For Comfort

“The robberies of the wicked shall be their downfall,

Because they would not do judgment.”

Proverbs 21:7

One warm summer night while driving my taxi, I came upon the unfortunate instance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I drove a cab for a few years without incident. It’s not like I was in NYC or Chicago and 99% of the time I worked the tourist areas. This one night I remember was particularly slow, so I hit the street calls on the dispatch computer. There’s usually enough to go around in the attractions, but that night was quiet.

I was working the Kissimmee area east of Disney, a big lower middle class region south of Orlando. As I was heading south on John Young Parkway, I took a flag down at a shopping center. He appeared normal at first glance. Jeans, blue and yellow windbreaker, and clean shaven. I was so used to families at Disney sometimes needing to use the front seat too that it didn’t occur to me to lock the front passenger door while I worked the streets. In hindsight of the situation that was about to occur, I’m glad he was up front.

He entered the cab and sat next to me. He asked me to bring him to Vine and Hoagland, which was about 4 miles away. I was about to ask him how his evening was going when he pulled a knife, pushing it against my right side, grabbing my collar and telling me to hand over my money. I tried to stay as calm as I could, and at first was reasoning with him, but he wasn’t having any of it. He yelled to me to “shut up” and had me turn right on Carroll Street a dark 3 mile long 2 lane road lined with cattle farms. In his eyes it was a perfect spot to rob me. At no time did I ever think I was going to die, but I was frightened. But I wasn’t scared enough to not try to keep him from hurting me. As we drove further down Carroll Street he told me to give him my wallet. The whole time he had his knife pressed into my side. I said “OK” and slowly retrieved my wallet. All my earnings were in my front right pocket, so I thought it was now or never. I decided to try and stop him.

His first mistake is when I went to hand him the wallet, he kept his left hand on my collar, but took the knife away from my side to grab my wallet. When he reached up, I slammed on the breaks hard and fast, throwing him into the dash board and windshield. He of course neglected to put on his seat belt when he got in, intending to rob me and make a quick getaway.

As the car slowed down we started fighting. We were grappling at each other, and all I cared about was avoiding getting stabbed. For a moment he got his right hand loose and swatted at my stomach with his knife. It wasn’t very sharp, but it did tear my shirt and scratch my stomach. I elbowed him hard in the face with my right arm, and at that moment he decided maybe he bit off more than he could chew. I mean, I was like twice his size. I give him credit for trying, but I wasn’t getting robbed that night. He opened the door while I was punching him with the back of my fist repeatedly. He quickly got out and ran fast west on Carroll into the night. For a split second I thought I could follow him while calling 911 but I decided to just stay there. I immediately called dispatch on the radio. They asked if I was hurt, I said not really, just shaken up. They sent the police and Fire rescue anyway, for a police report to be taken. It was standard procedure for the cab company, and even though this scumbag didn’t get my wallet or money, I did want to see him get caught. I had a lot of friends in the cab business, some I still keep in touch with even now, years later, and I’d hate to see this happen to them.

The cops put out a BOLO on this guy, and right before, they left the scene they told me another unit picked up a guy matching the description. I rode in the cruiser to their location to ID the guy, but it wasn’t him. They took me back to my cab and we wrapped it up. The fire department had left after they checked me out, but a cop stayed at the scene waiting for me to return from the attempted ID. Before I left, a K-9 unit showed up, caught the guys trail for about a half mile and then lost it.

I had my wallet, my cab, and my life. As I said, I never really feared for my life, but it did piss me off. I went home that night with my pride and my hard earned $80, still in my front pocket. I also had my .38 on an ankle holster, but I never had a chance to pull it. Looking back, it was a dumb place to carry while driving, and I was just too busy trying to fight him off. I can’t say for sure if I would’ve fired had I grabbed it, but considering his cowardly demeanor, I might not have needed to shoot him.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part 3

An Unexpected Savior

“Let thy heart apply itself to instruction:

And thy ears to words of knowledge”

Proverbs 23:12

As newlyweds in November 1996, Patty and I were as equally excited about our honeymoon as we were about starting our lives together. The first and only place either of us thought about to go to was the one and only Ireland. We just celebrated our 15^th anniversary, and I can tell you I remember the trip as if it were my yesterday. Unparalleled hospitality, eye feasting landscapes, the cleanest air I’ve ever breathed, and awe inspiring views of history thousands of years old.

The Irish embrace history, and they relish in their artifacts and ruins, like an antique collector whose shop is the entire island. Even today I remember the feeling in my gut as I stood at the gates of a cemetery with headstones dating to the 900’s. Towering castles, so solid in construction, they shall outlive them people who pass them.

The grass truly is the greenest I’ve seen, and by far Ireland has the most heartwarming people I’ve ever met. So when our trip started suffering a series of small funny happenings, we laughed and joked about it. While driving near Kilkenny one day we had to stop on a narrow country road for a herd or cattle being moved by their keeper. They surrounded our car as they passed us, bumping and shaking us in our seats. One of them tore off the driver’s side mirror.

At one bed and breakfast, we caught the homeowner by surprise one evening, and while she let us in to stay the night, she was somewhat less than cordial in the morning. We woke around 7 am and came downstairs to eat, not realizing that in the off season, some B&B’s are ill prepared, or more appropriately, ill-willing to show us a kind meal and fare-thee-well. As we sat at the table sort of waiting for her to show up, we contemplated just leaving to find breakfast elsewhere. That’s when our real host, 4 year old Noel, came down and engaged us in good old fashioned Irish conversation. He showed us some toys, talked about finding the “Santy Claus” clothes (hidden Christmas gifts), and asked us our names at least three times. I have to admit, he was the cutest kid we’d ever seen. He told us mommy was sleeping, but since he was hungry too, he’d go get her. We could hear them talking, waa waa waa “Peanuts Teacher” style upstairs, and after Noel returned 10 minutes later, his mother finally came down. She appeared quite disheveled and annoyed at our presence, and yet she pushed through her angst to serve us.

She came in first and slammed down 2 coffee cups. There were no menus, but we sort of looked at each other like, “we’ll just take what we can get”, and frustrated, we dealt with it. Noel kept us quite amused as we listened to his mother bang around the pots and pans in the kitchen, surely cursing us under her breath.

She served us runny eggs, undercooked bacon, and burned toast, and we never even got the coffee. Upon slapping the plates in front of us, she retired upstairs never to be seen again. We ate what we could and left, bidding our “host” Noel a fond farewell. Patty told him to make sure mommy doesn’t know he saw the Christmas gifts, and to be a good boy. We held hands as we walked to the car and just smiled at each other, because we were happy we were there, despite our less than usual stay. To this day, it’s my favorite part of the trip. Noel should be about 18 now, and all I can say is I hope he’s doing well as a young adult in Ireland. By the way, this woman was the only person we met there who was less than cordial, but we were totally fine with it. We were newlyweds. Our greater interest was in each other. We do thank her for taking us in. Even the Irish can have bad days.

Speaking of bad days, all our little strange happenings were started on the first day actually, not long after we arrived. We left NY at 6pm, and arrived in Dublin at 6 am, locally, but to us it was midnight. The money exchange counter at the airport was closed, but we had our rental car and lodging vouchers so we headed out to find our first place to stay. I found driving on the opposite side of the road quite easy, and using our trusty map, we headed south through County Wicklow towards Glendalough. It was a windy bumpy mountain road, and although we were tired, we were quite enjoying the new landscape. As the elevations increased, the width of the road decreased, and we suddenly realized we must have hit a stone or something because we noticed a tire going flat. Luckily this happened only a few hundred feet from a well hidden mountain hotel, with beautiful architecture, and the ruins of a 1000 year old cemetery and church behind hit. We slowly parked the car in the empty lot, and got out into the chilly air to indeed find a flat tire. After searching fruitlessly for a jack , we did notice a spare in the trunk. But clearly we were in a dilemma, having no way to change the tire. We went inside the hotel, which wasn’t really open this time of year, but there were a few people there. We hadn’t exchanged any money yet, as it was barely 730 am, and nothing was open at the airport. After talking to a man inside who couldn’t help us, we went back to the car to try and find a phone number of the rental company, so maybe we could call a wrecker to change the tire. The rental agreement didn’t even have a local number on it.

We stood outside, quietly contemplating what to do, when out of nowhere, our hero arrived. A young kid, about 20 years old came out of the hotel, dressed as a waiter or bellhop, and walked up to us.

“I heard you have a flat. Maybe I can help you.” We immediately noticed his “accent”. His name was Tim, and he was an exchange student from of all places, Minneapolis. An American!! Wow!! We chatted it up a bit and found out immediately he had extensive knowledge of European autos. When we told him there was no jack he said, and I quote, “did you check the engine compartment?” Was he serious? The engine compartment? He told us some smaller cars have the jacks bolted to the firewall near the master cylinder. He wasn’t kidding. We opened the hood, and there it was. Not a single person in America experiencing a flat tire would ever look under the hood, because, well, that’s NOT where the jack is.

Half an hour later we were on our way. Our tire was changed, and we thanked our “mechanic” friend Tim from Minneapolis. We learned that day two things; older isn’t always smarter, and help comes when you least expect it. Thank you, Tim.

Uncommon Common Courtesy

You're trying to merge on a highway, and you get boxed out and have to fall back. You hold a door open for someone, and not only do you not get a thank you, but their cell phone conversation keeps them from even making eye contact, and at the very least, a smile. You're number 4 out of 5 on line to pay for something, and a new register opens. The moron behind you jumps ahead of the people who were actually waiting longer in front of you.
   The list goes on. The technology age and the world of social networking has taken away from us a most common trait: courtesy. We no longer have to interact like we used to. Smart phones make some dumb people. Everyone is so engrossed in texting(while walking, while shopping, while DRIVING) that they have no consideration for the people around them. We're raising a generation of socially detached "Rudies" who get no interaction from Mom and Dad, if they're even lucky enough to have 2 parents, because they're abbreviating on a keypad to their equally disinterested friends, and absolutely NO ONE can spell anymore. Grammar, punctuation, and discretion have taken a back seat to seclusion, distraction and ignorance.
   I can remember not many years ago when I held a door open for someone, I got a 'thank you'. How difficult is it to take .7 seconds out of your day to acknowledge a complete stranger who just made your day a little easier? People have forgotten what it's like to just be nice. To say please and thank you. To not be so out of the realm of courteous actions that some actually go out of their way to not be nice? What the hell is going on? I don't make any claims to the following- being a perfect parent; not letting someones bad day affect me; never getting frustrated at the idiocy around me. But i will claim this: I raised my kids to say please and thank you, to not be rude to others, to not judge, to not always put themselves first, and to pay attention. My kids don't have cell phones yet, but when they do, there will be boundaries and rules. I will stay involved in their lives to the extent that my parenting will dictate, I will not ignore them, and I will love them unconditionally. They will grow up to help, be nice to, and love their fellow man. It's not that hard at all. We can change this pattern of Uncommon common courtesy.......

That Foot Tastes Good

“He that keepeth his mouth keepeth his soul:

But he that hath no guard on his speech shall meet evils”

Proverbs 13:2

Anyone who knows me well will tell you how often I speak out of turn, or say something obnoxious. My brother-in-law Richard will tell you first hand what I’m talking about (by the way brother, I’m sorry for that) when I met him for the first time. Part of my vernacular has always been to be humorous, or at least try to be. I catch a lot of flack from Jay but then again, that’s Jay. He’s smart and quick, and he’ll call you out on anything.

As some of you may know, I used to drive a taxi here in Orlando back when the kids were barely crawling. I truly enjoyed meeting people from all over the world. I did it for a few years, and had some repeat customers, but mostly I drove the tourists all over central Florida. I even took a family on a full day charter tour, including shopping in chic Winter Park, to lunch at a Chinese restaurant in Daytona Beach, to buying Coffee Mugs at the world famous Ron Jon’s Surf shop in Cocoa Beach. I charged them a flat rate of $50 an hour to go wherever they wanted. 280 miles and 7 hours later, I dropped them off at their hotel in Disney, and the gentleman handed me $500. It was the best single day I ever had.because that’s what I usually made in a week.

A regular annual event at Disney is Gay Days. It usually happens in the early summer. Disney has always been very gay friendly, even extending medical benefits to gay partners. They were one of the first companies to do so.

One night during the week long festivities, I was driving around MGM Studios, running a lot of “short runs” to and from the Disney Hotels. I remember it was busy and I was doing well that evening. I took a call for a cab at the parking area for MGM, and I arrived quickly to pick up my fare. It was a female and two males, and they directed me to their hotel. As we chatted up, I asked them if it was busy in MGM and the girl said yes. Then in all my great assumption I said, and I quote, “I have to tell you, you’re all very nice people when you come to town each year”. They looked at each other, puzzled, and said “what do you mean?” I responded with, “You know, Gay Days.” One of the guys said, “Umm we’re not gay.”

Awkward to say the least, the cab was much quieter after that, and I didn’t get a tip.

Random Fact # 1: New Yorkers make up half of all domestic visitors to The Walt Disney Resort.

P.S. I drove Bruce Willis to the airport from the Peabody Hotel with his publicist. Wow.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part One

Just Call Me “Snoopy”

“A fool worketh mischief as it were for sport:

But wisdom is prudence to a man”

Proverbs 10:23

Part of growing up is admitting you’re wrong, and owning up to past misdeeds. We all have skeletons, of course, and I’m no exception. My father will be the first to tell you I was a bit of a kleptomaniac growing up. I occasionally stole from stores we would visit as a family, and I remember once after stealing a pack of gum from TSS while I was with the Faxon family, dad confronting me in my bedroom upstairs with the pack of gum Mr. Faxon told him he would find in my jacket pocket. He was pissed to say the least, and I was embarrassed and ashamed. I was caught red-handed. It was a shitty feeling, indeed, but I would steal again.

As my thirties wind down, and I watch my children grow into the beautiful young adults they’re becoming, I feel such love and honor for them, and I would shield them from any harm at all, but even now, years after I’ve stolen anything, I know I would be quite disappointed if either of them followed that most unnecessary trait I once endowed.

I must, however, share one story of thievery, with an amusing ending. Looking back on it now, considering the party involved is now aware of the theft, and laughed with me about it, I feel I can say it was no big deal.

In 1988, I traveled by train to Colorado with Mom and Jason to attend Maryann’s funeral. It was a somber journey, as Dad was already out there, and her death was a shock to us all. I loved Maryann very much and most remember about her the ear to ear smile she displayed whenever she spoke, and the calm, loving demeanor that she exuded. I was fifteen, and having gone through grandpa’s death 2 years earlier only made it more saddening.

At some point during the stay at Maryann’s house, I found myself downstairs in Rebecca’s room alone, as she left for a few minutes upstairs. I remember tie-dye decorations and a huge stack of either beer or soda cans on one shelf, and other various accoutrements. In one corner was a small jewelry chest, and me being the snoop I was, went straight for the bottom drawer. Neatly lined from left to right, as if placed as provisions after a nuclear holocaust, was nine or ten pre-rolled joints. I had never smoked weed before, but I knew exactly what they were. I don’t recall being shocked or upset, only curious and impatient. Without haste I grabbed one and put it into my cigarette pack and quickly closed the drawer. It was deliberate. I don’t know what my immediate thoughts were right after taking it, only that now I was in possession of one marijuana cigarette.

I went back upstairs before anyone came down and the rest of the stay, funeral not withstanding, was uneventful. Without a flinch, after the funeral was over and we were leaving, by plane now, I successfully smuggled that joint on board an aircraft and made it all the way home to NY, through the airport, and to the house without so much as an eyebrow raised. As a matter of fact, it was a few days before I realized I still had it, and then I devised a stupid plan to smoke it. I guess my ultimate goal was just experimentation. I was fifteen, and some of my friends had smoked before, so I guess this was my opportunity to “be like them”.

One day, in the finished basement TV room of the Ridge house, I found myself again alone watching TV. I think I was in the same chair that grandpa was sitting in in the famous photo of him leaning back, with his arms locked to the back of his head, smiling, providing a warm seat for our dog, Candy. I took out the joint, and carelessly lit it, and in true Bill Clinton like fashion, finished that joint without holding in the smoke, meaning I was smoking it like a Marlboro.

The very nature of most joints, I believe is the smaller size, compared to conventional cigarettes, and perhaps that is why it smoked down quickly. There was indeed a cloud in the basement, but nothing that would scream “pot-head-lives-here”. Now the really amusing part. Mom came down about a half hour after I “smoked” my first joint. She asked why it was so smoky down here, and I responded without hesitation, “I think it’s the oil burner”.

She believed me. I’m sure in the day or so that followed, she had Dad “check” the oil burner, of course to no dismay. I was never questioned about it again.

Recently, in NY for Greg and Debra’s wedding, I finally had the opportunity, and more appropriately, the “cojones” to finally tell Rebecca the Joint story. After telling her the condensed version of what you just read, she and I laughed. By the way: that joint was the last thing I ever stole.

Sharing is Caring...

   In the coming weeks I'll be sharing some of my short stories from a mini-book I finished writing a few months ago. The book is called "Daniel: Hebrew; God is My Judge". It is a compilation of some of my experiences over the last 30 years. It means a lot to me, as you'll see, and I hope my friends and family will take the time to read and or subscribe to this blog, because nothing would be more gratifying than to share these stories with all of you.
   The phenomenon known as "6 degrees of separation" is intriguing to me. Before I was married, when Patty and I lived in Phoenix, we met some people who knew my Uncle Tom when he was in high school. They also knew my Grandmother. I mention this because I believe in the power that sharing experiences has on other people. I've learned so much about myself by absorbing what others do, say, and how they act around others, and I would be naive to think that in some way I didn't have that same effect on some people. We are all social in some way, some more than others, and anyone who really knows me knows that I enjoy meeting people and entertaining some sort of discussion, or at the least, a basic conversation.
   It is my hope, that by sharing these stories, I can allow someone to discover something about themselves they didn't already know, or inspire someone to share or confide. Communication is powerful. Even when it's done with adversity. I hope you'll all follow me into the world of sharing. Thanks, and God Bless.

Big Time...

   I've struggled with weight all my life, and I'm currently 40 pounds less than my all time high(guess all you want, I'm not saying..lol). I know what causes my weight gain, and it isn't always food. For years, I think I've had some metabolism issues, and I'm sure I have Hashimoto's Disease, although I've never been diagnosed. My wife has the ailment, as do some of my family, and following this link can shed some light on the symptoms and treatments.
                                   http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/hashimotos-disease/DS00567
   I watched a Discovery Fit&Health show about a 1000 pound man, who was bedridden, and I wept. He lives in England, has a full time staff of state-run attendants, and is about 40 years old. He admits an addiction to food, yet is ready for medical help to drop weight surgically. While the operation could remove 500 pounds, the fact remains, he will still have the desire to eat.
   The bigger issue is getting him to the hospital. The ambulances can only carry about 700 lbs. He needed to wait to see if there was a different way to transport him. I know my limitations when it comes to my weight. It affects my relationship with my family, and I know that I could lose the weight with the proper diet and exercise. I really feel for this guy, and I couldn't help but realize my troubles are nothing compared to him. I can still walk, climb, kneel, get off a couch, use the bathroom, shower, tie my shoes, get dressed, bend over, stoop, crouch....this poor guy is bedridden. He can't do any of that at all. He has 50% chance of surviving the surgery. I have a 100% chance of moving around tomorrow. Here's hoping this man gets all the help he needs.

God Still Loves Them.....

    Every Wednesday, I take my kids to church for Faith Formation classes, from 6:30 until 7:45 pm. We've been going for years, and even as a less than loyal attendee, I can admit with some pride that even though it's for the kids, I've learned quite a bit and do enjoy our priest's sermons. His name is Fr. Richard Trout, and he's a soft spoken, yet humorous, well rounded man of the cloth.
    What irks me is the texting, ringing phones, unnecessary chatter, and swinging of the rosary beads like bordello trash. But I'm not talking about the kids- It's the parents. I'm not kidding. It's quite annoying to see such a flagrant disrespect for the house of God, and in such abundance. It happens every week, and it's the same perps each time. I'm not going to rant too much though, because quite simply, there's not much that can be said other than "grow up"- take a hint from your better-behaved kids. You could all learn a thing or two about manners, not to mention respect. It's not that hard, shut up, sit down, pay attention, have faith. Oh, and leave the phones in your soccer-mom over sized SUV, because God prefers 'knee'mail to e-mail.
   

My Wife is The Air I Breathe...

    ONCE LOVED BY SHE

Many moons and suns have come to pass, a cloak of shame that shouldn't last,

A breath of heart to quell my pain, To not relive and grasp refrain.

It visits not when I invite, but at It's will when trance is night,

To carry hard from deed to Earth, no soothsayer along with birth. 

How run beyond this darkest Beast, to see at once a Spirit's feast,

To soar on air to feel no more, what gift abound from Evil's shore.

So long has come a forgotten stone, yet never stray from hardened bone,

An eye will welt from visions near, unwelcome shivers tore from Fear.

As passed these days whence rain has dried, no flower's bloom when dreams subside,

Once loved by She no strife is done, A mending light my day's begun.

My kin from thee my anchor's heart, an angry cloud obeys it's part,

Though never free from sleep's malign, Once Loved By She this world Divine.

How come my end though near or far, no fear is true from shining star,

Never hope shall fall behind, Once Loved By She, my world Divine.

10/3/2011

Glory

   After seeing it years ago, I forgot how moving the film "GLORY" was. It was, not surprisingly, quite more spiritual than I remembered. Matthew Broderick's portrayal of Col. Robert Gould Shaw led me on a journey of emotional reflection, not only for the lives men give for their country, but also for the abhorrent tragic embarrassment that was Slavery during the Civil war era. Morgan Freeman, Denzel Washington, and Andre Braugher, who are all amazing performers in their own rights, only solidified the difficulties suffered by blacks during that time.
    What I found most profound though, was the way Broderick's Shaw stood up for his men, not only for Glory, but for recognition. As much as the color of skin affected how he led his men,(references were made in his narrations, Letters to his parents, about his misunderstanding of black culture and comraderie), the color of skin was clearly not an issue when it came to his belief in the power of equality for those who wish to fight and perhaps die for their country. To give the ultimate sacrifice on the field of battle, to lay down your life, was by all accounts a badge of honor to not be refused to any man, black or white.
    Not to be undone by an amazing score written to instill pride, the film's focus on Shaw's driven persona and his honor of duty was well explained, and moving to say the least. This film has shown me once again, but with more conviction, how important celebrating diversity is. The closing scene showing Broderick and Washington rolling lifeless down a dune into a mass grave is chilling, inspiring, and imposing. In death, they both represent what was fought for. In the end, they were both side by side, equal, and remembered. God Bless all those lost to battle, their families, and may the Lord remind us by our inspired actions to never forget the ultimate sacrifice.

Inspiration from The Heavens

   For the last 4 nights or so, my son Danny and I have been enjoying the night sky as part of a project he's doing for school. Every night at the same time we look at Jupiter with binoculars(10x50) and observe the locations of it's 4 largest moons. Io(the only known planetary body besides Earth with active volcanoes), Europa(an icy wasteland, very reflective), Ganymede(a dark barren relatively smooth moon), and Callisto(second largest Jovian moon behind Ganymede, slightly larger than our moon). It's impressive even in modest binoculars to see them align with each other and revolve around our solar system's largest planet. The visible disk of Jupiter is rather boring in appearance in 10x binocs, but nonetheless is clearly defined by its flattened appearance due to a fast rotational period. Earth is 24 hours, of course, but Jupiter turns once on it's axis in a staggering 9 and a half hours.
   As my father did with me when he first showed me a lunar eclipse at 3 am one day when I was young, I enjoy sharing these discoveries with my boy. He's a great kid and understands and excels in the astronomical arts as I once did, and still do. It's a life long pleasure of mine, that I'm only too proud to share with him. My daughter's not that into it, but maybe someday she will be. I encourage anyone who's never seen this magnificent visual treat to pick up a pair of binocs or a telescope and check it out for themselves. Here's a pic of approximately what is seen in 10x binoculars. See Ya!!




Amazing.

   Hello. My inaugural post will be nothing short of informative. I'm Dan Luna. Father, Husband, truck driver extraordinaire, stargazer, occasional poet, lover of music, & harbinger of nonsensical randomness. I look forward to sharing my thoughts and rants and debates with anyone interested in what's pouring from my brain.
   I love communication, networking, sharing, entertaining, and discovering. I welcome any and all to do the same. Thanks, and God Bless.