The First Forty

 We honor our parents by carrying their best forward

And laying the rest down. 

By fighting and taming the demons that laid them low

And now reside in us. 

-Bruce Springsteen

It was on this very day, forty years ago, WPK, Sr. died.  

Dad - Christmas 1980

Here is to hoping that the first forty years proves to be the hardest. 

And all we know about manhood 

is what we have seen

and what we have learned from our fathers, 

and my father was my hero. 

And my greatest foe.

Not long after he died, I had this dream,

I'm on stage, I'm in front of thousands of people,

and my dad's back from the dead 

and he's sitting in the audience and suddenly 

I'm kneeling next to him in the aisle,

and for a moment we both watched the man

on fire on the stage.  

And then my dad who for years, 

he sat at the kitchen table, unreachable,

but I was too young, I was too stupid 

to understand was his depression.

Well, I kneel next to him in the aisle,

and I brush his forearm, and I say,

"Look dad.  That guy on stage - 

that's how I see you."

"My Father's House (Broadway)

-Bruce Springsteen

-AK 

A Tradition Like No Other

Forgive me the programming tweak for what appears here today annually appears in this space on Memorial Day.  This year, however, I needed to make an exception.  Nevertheless, both pieces of writing highlighted here represent a height to which I aspire daily and one that I have yet to attain. 

Enjoy.

-AK 

Monday, May 25, 2020

Eternal Grace...

Conclusion of letter from President Abraham Lincoln

to Mrs. Lydia Bixby, a Boston widow, upon learning

five of her sons were Union soldiers killed in action.

November 21, 1864

Grace is timeless.  It is also, I believe, innate.  You are born with it or you are not.  You may attain it. You may not obtain it.  

Today, we pause to honor those men and women, full of grace, who have laid their lives as a sacrifice on the altar of freedom for this nation and for all of us.  A sacrifice to which Abraham Lincoln paid a beautiful tribute more than a century and one-half ago.  A sacrifice to which my son, Rob, paid a beautiful tribute a dozen years ago, which I have reproduced in its entirety below. 

There is nothing I could write - or hope to write - to improve upon either man's message.  Therefore, I shall not.

Just A Thought

I started thinking in this time of war what this day means. It is for those who didn't come back. They didn't come back to their mothers, their wives or their kids. They stormed beaches, fought and died in foreign countries. All that returned was a box and a folded flag.

I recently attended a Springsteen concert in North Carolina. I traveled by plane through this American land because I could, because I am free - and because of the generosity of some good friends. As Springsteen played a song called "Last to Die" I got emotional. The song asks, "Who'll be the last to die...." presumably in the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan. It does not matter what you think of the American involvement in these wars. What does matter is that we remember these brave American servicemen and servicewomen.

Meanwhile I am enjoying a Springsteen concert, enjoying a beer and enjoying starting a career with the best government in the world; enjoying freedom. How can I do this? These are my brothers, my peers, guys my age fighting and dying. They volunteered so I didn't have to. They're not coming back to their favorite band, their favorite beer, their families or the state they grew up in.

Their children will not know their fathers. They will know only their sacrifice and some stories their mothers will tell. They sacrificed for someone they will never meet - you and me.

Remember them today.

-RJM

U.S.S. Arizona Memorial

Photo Credit: Robert J. MacMaster 

(c) 2014

-AK

See You in 2022

As was the case in 2020, here in 2021 there shall be no Spring Lake Five Mile Run this morning to serve as the unofficial start to summer here at the Shore.  All signs point towards 12,000 of us or so toeing the line on Ocean Avenue on Saturday, May 28, 2022.  Fingers crossed. 

Since I cannot run in the Spring Lake Five this morning, I shall instead run in the Bolder Boulder - or as it is being called this year, the "Bolder on the Run 10K".    I have run "live" in the Bolder Boulder just once.  Eleven years ago, Rob and I did it together on Memorial Day 2010.  A bygone era to be sure.  My beard had not yet gone white.  His had not yet made an appearance.  

Bolder Boulder 10K 

Folsom Field 2010

Having not run 6.2 miles since, well since I cannot remember when, although my best guess is the 2017 New York City Marathon, I might finish this undertaking just in time to find my spot in the start area for the 2022 Spring Lake Five.  

Enjoy your Saturday. 

-AK 

'Cause Summer's Here...

This morning I did something I have not done since I faceplanted a week ago Wednesday.  I began my day with a pre-sunrise run.  I awakened this morning at our little Paradise by the Sea, celebrating the first official "Work From Beach" Friday of 2021.   

However, wherever, and with whomever you spend this holiday weekend, savor every moment.  

-AK 

In the Beginning...

This is the third iteration of like-minded silliness I have used Al Gore's invention to disseminate since way back when in 2008.  Having shut down and, thereafter, deleted its two predecessors, their pearls of wisdom are no longer available for public consumption.  Your bravery in not weeping openly over something you have not missed, do not miss, and shall never miss is duly noted.  

The starting point for this exercise/exorcism was here.   How far, if at all, we have progressed from that point is, I suppose, a subject for discussion.  

Actually, it is not.  At least, not for or with me.  

-AK 

Wednesday's Wisdom

Regardless of where you fall on the ideologial and political spectrum, if you resemble this remark then perhaps you should take it to heart.

-AK 

The Perfect Match of Man and Medal

Col. Ralph Puckett, Jr., United States Army

Seven decades after the extraordinary action on the battlefield in the Korean War that earned him the Medal of Honor, he stood with President Biden at a White House ceremony to receive it.  Colonel Puckett is ninety-four years old.  Apparently, he sometimes has the need to use a walker.  On this day, he did not. 

-AK 

The Fungus Among Us

2021 is the year of the Brood X Cicada.  You are forgiven if you do not have a specific, vivid recollection of the last time these annoying, ugly insects were among us.  It was 2004.  The world would not even begin trying to keep up with the Kardashians for another three years.  

The re-emergence of the Brood X Cicada, coming as it has with we the people of these United States still dealing with the COVID-19 pandemic, has proven to be a boon to editorial cartoonists.  This is one of my favorites:

(c) Cincinnati Enquirer 2021

As it turns out, it is not COVID-19 against which these bug-eyed noisemakers needed to be vaccinated.  Their Achille's heel has proven to be Massospora cicadina - a fungus that "first causes their rear ends o fall off - including their genitals - and make them appear to have an eraser end for a butt."  It then, "produces compounds of cathinone - an amphetamine - infects a small number of the cicadas and makes them lose control."   

How so?  

It makes them go wild, pushing their sex drive into overdrive, with the cicadas furiously attempting to mate, despite no longer having the required appendanges.

I am no Biblical scholar so I do not pretend to know whether over-sexed, assless cicadas are a sign of the Apocalypse, and if they are, which one.  It does seem to me, however, they are indeed a sign of our times.  

-AK 

One Week Out

 To paraphrase the Poet Laureate of the Jersey Shore, summer is almost here...

-AK 

The One in Which I Played the Role of Tumbling Dice

Wednesday morning I decided to break up the monotony of my sunrise run by faceplanting on the pavement while on my homeward leg slightly more than a half-mile from home.   Statistically speaking I do not often fall when I run.  Off the top of my jumbo-sized head (which somehow managed to avoid making contact with the pavement!), I can think of three other occasions during the past dozen years when I have fallen - and one of those happened because Sam I am broke right instead of left and inadvertently knocked me "ass over tea kettle" as the late, great Joanie K. loved to say.  

This latest tumble?  Solely my fault.  

A day that began with blood on my hands, literally and figuratively, ended with a smile on my face.  Margaret shared with me that Maggie had brought with her to school that day for "Show-and-Tell" two short stories I wrote for her and Cal in which they are the stars.  As I understand it, when she shared them with the class she told them, "My Pop Pop wrote these for my brother and me."  I smiled when Margaret told me.  

Full disclosure, I still am.   

Further proof of the wisdom of Vince Lombardi...

...which, on Wednesday morning, I followed.  

Hell, I had to get up.  I was lying in the road after all. 

-AK 

The Best Show in the World

As the unofficial start of Summer 2021 is now one week away, and with it some of the best people-watching weather of the year - at least here in the State of Concrete Gardens - Charles Bukowski's words ring particularly true...

...before you pack up the car, please remember that here in Jersey nobody rides for free and practically nobody gets on the beach for free.  

You may not pay for the ticket but you will have to pay for the beach badge. 

-AK 

Next Stop, Easttown

I tend to stay out of the recommendation business.  If close to thirty years of marriage has taught me one thing it is that I am not nearly as persuasive as I once believed myself to be.  Trust me.  I know of which I speak.  

Not only do I not believe fervently in the “market moving” effect of my words, I try very hard not to cross streams when it comes to opinion and fact.  I do it.  Hell we all do it at least every now and again.  We declare something to be the best (Uncle Vinnie’s) or the worst (green beans) as if it is a statement of fact when it is really merely an expression of opinion.   On second thought the two examples I have provided are exceptions that prove the rule.  Uncle Vinnie’s truly is the best and green beans are the most vile vegetable ever brought to market. 

But I digress.  

Margaret and I have very much enjoyed watching “Mare of Easttown” starring Kate Winslet, which airs on HBO on Sunday nights and then streams on HBO MAX.  I think Kate Winslet is excellent, as to me she always seems to be.  The rest of the cast, featuring Jean Smart as her mother, has also been a lot of fun to watch.  At its heart it is a detective story with Winslet’s Mare investigating the murder of two young girls and the disappearance of another in the small Pennsylvania town where she was born, raise, and regrettably where where she was a star athlete who led the high school to its one shining moment of athletic success.  

It is a limited series, which means that only seven episodes of it were made.  Episode Six airs on Sunday night.  While I make no prediction whether you shall enjoy it if you check it out, I know that Margaret and I have both enjoyed it immensely.  

AK

Remember the Lesson

A nickel’s worth of wisdom for a Wednesday as somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind’s eye, little Anthony runs through the streets of south Boston to be home in time for his dinner of Prince spaghetti...

Always remember the lesson.  For it is in no small part the ability to remember the lesson that makes experience an incomparable teacher.  

-AK

Live Like There Ain’t A Sequel

...because there isn’t.  

-AK

Life in MicroChasm

As far as I am concerned, roughly two weeks ago we entered the "sweet spot" of the year.  I am well aware of the fact that summer's unofficial beginning beckons.  Whether I realized it at that moment or not, I have been looking forward to "Summer 2021" since I first slipped a mask over my nose and mouth way back when in March 2020.  

A couple of weeks ago, just before April's end in fact, sunrise broke through the six a.m. barrier.  I love the early morning and ever since sunrise became a "5-something" proposition, I have gotten back into the routine of running before I head off to work.  This morning, sunrise here in my little town was/is (depending upon when you read this) 5:39 a.m., which means (for you non-early risers) there is "usable" daylight by 5:20 a.m. or so.  Translation:  I can get out and run by 5:20 a.m. without searching for a miner's helmet and other gear designed to illuminate and to amaze.  

Once upon what now feels like forever ago, I was capable of running long distances.  I have run in nine marathons.  I have, on at least one occasion, run close to forty miles in a single day.  That, however, was then.  

This is now.  

Now, my pre-work morning run resides in the neighborhood of two miles, give or take.  I am happy that I have fallen back into the habit of doing it - and have for roughly the past month or so reestablished the routine of running five days out of seven - but I am a bit gobsmacked over just how far I have fallen in a relatively short amount of time.  2017, when I ran in the Marine Corps Marathon on October's penultimate Sunday and then, two weeks later, ran in the New York City Marathon on November's first Sunday feels as if it is a million miles away.  

A couple of Sundays ago, when I stretched the distance I covered out to a whopping 2.5 miles, I found myself reminiscing about the New York City Marathon and contemplating trying to get into the 2021 Marathon, which will now serve as the 50th Anniversary Edition of the race.  A day or two later, on a morning when the pollen count was set at "chewable" and I struggled home after only a couple of miles, I realized what a foolish notion it was I had entertained two days earlier.  

Whether I am capable of running the New York City Marathon now, or am more likely to end up a whimpering mass curled up in a ball on the shoulder of one the Queensboro Bridge's travel lanes, suspended forever between egress from Queens and ingress to Manhattan, I know not.  I do know that at this moment in time, right now, I cannot wrap my head around doing all that must be done between this day and Marathon Sunday to ensure that I am in condition to run 26.2 miles through New York City's five boroughs.  

Life is indeed a forward-moving exercise.  For me, however, it appears as if it shall never again move forward from the Verrazano Bridge in Staten Island to the finish line in Central Park.  This particular chasm between what I would like to do and what I am actually possess the ability to do, appears to be one whose distance I shall never close.

-AK 

Inside Laughter

Food for thought:  You are here today because you are thus far undefeated in triumphing over days on which you have had exactly this feeling.   

Win today, baby.  Win today.  You've got this.  

-AK 

Remember and Honor

For those who have served and for those who serve from a middle-aged man who never has, thank you for all that do and all that you have done...

-AK

Friday’s Crumbs for Thought

While celebrating Friday’s arrival, remember to be careful out there...

-AK

A Thought For Thursday

 

Not always an easy thing to do but always a thing that is worth doing - and worth doing well.  

-AK

Further Proof That Dogs Are Better Than Humans

My love for the New York Post is well-documented.   Yesterday, my favorite tabloid included a story that made my blood boil.   It turns out that in large numbers, human beings all around these United States are turning into shelters the now-adult dogs (and to a lesser extent cats) they adopted and/or purchased as puppies at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic when the world shut down, when "working from home" became the norm, and when people starved for some sort of connection found it in a four-legged friend.   

With the United States slowly but surely on a "return to normal" trajectory and people getting ready to resume "working from work" AND OF COURSE people getting ready for summer vacations and quality leisure time, the pooches welcomed into countless homes this time last year are no longer welcome.  If you are such a person, then allow me to be direct.  You are an asshole.  You were never worthy of the dog whose life you co-opted in a pathetic attempt to add some meaning and some substance to your own.  

And sadly, if you are one of the feckless cowards abandoning your canine companion because he or she no longer fits your lifestyle, then you too are exactly what you seem.  Unfortunately for the dog who believed in your bullshit, you always have been.  

-AK 

Who He Was, Who He Is, & Who He Shall Forever Be

Edgar Harrell died on Saturday, May 8, 2021.  He was ninety-six years old.  He was the last surviving United States Marine who was on the USS Indianapolis when it was torpedoed and sunk on July 30, 1945, after it had completed its mission to the island of Tinian, delivering the atomic bomb that would be dropped on Hiroshima.   

He not only survived the sinking but, for good measure, floating and swimming in shark-infested waters for five days thereafter.  Nine hundred men went into the water.  By the time help arrived, only three hundred and sixteen had survived. 

In 2020, Edgar Harrell and the seven other surviving members of the Indianapolis crew received the Congressional Medal of Honor.  Since that group of eight extraordinary gentlemen was so honored, three of them have died, including James Smith, who served on the ship longer than anyone else, who died just a few days prior to Edgar Harrell.  

-AK 

A Double Dose of Bear Necessities...

Two helpings of practical advice courtesy of the late, great Paul "Bear" Bryant:

and

-AK 

Happy Mother's Day

Perhaps the best gift any of us can give our Mom this year for Mother's Day is the gift of appreciation...

And if your mom has died, then when you utter those six words aloud, simply do what I do when I talk to Mom.  

Lift your eyes skyward.   

-AK 

There Ain't No Storybook Story

 It's a fairytale so tragic

There's no prince to break the spell.

I don't believe in magic

But for you I will, for you I will. 

-Countin' on a Miracle

Bruce Springsteen

There is no reason to weep for Albert Pujols.  There is no reason to feel sorry for him.  Based upon everything I have read about him, he would not want you to do so.  

Nevertheless, given not only the career he has had for the past two decades, but the way in which he has carried himself on and off the field and all of the good works he has done, it is impossible for me, as a baseball fan, to not feel more than a little badly for Albert Pujols if the events of this week represent the end of his first-ballot Hall-of-Fame career.   His is a story of incredible success tempered by a cautionary tale.  

Life is a contact sport.  And the story of everyone's life, regardless of who we are, is found in the non-fiction section of the celestial bookstore.  

We've got no fairytale ending

In God's hands our fate is complete

Your heaven's here in my heart

Our love's this dust beneath my feet.

-Countin' on a Miracle

Bruce Springsteen

-AK 

A Nickel's Worth of Wisdom for May's First Friday

Be brave...

...and be careful out there. 

-AK 

She Had Me at Hello...

...and she always shall.  

Today, Maggie is four years old.  Four years.  

Her whole life.  

The best four years of mine.  

-AK 

Just Another Word for Nothing Left to Lose

 An idea worthy of expression on Cinco de Mayo...

-AK 

Speaking Words of Wisdom

 Whether you find yourself in times of trouble or not...

-AK

Sanity's Band-Aid

Today, for me, serves as a reminder of the wisdom of Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy...

Forty-seven months and counting.  

-AK 

The Force Was With Me

If the remainder of May goes as well as for me as May 1st went, then I shall have nary a complaint

Not a one.

Sunrise at the beach.  It never disappoints.  

Yesterday, it inspired. 

-AK 

Still the Smartest Money I Have Ever Spent

May 1 shall always be a date on the calendar that holds a special spot in my heart.  It was on May 1 in 2015 that the Missus and I closed on our little piece of Paradise by the Sea in Lake Como.  As we prepare for our seventh summer at the beach, its purchase remains the smartest money I have ever spent in almost five-and-one-half decades of engaging in such behavior.  

Our house was a diamond-in-the-rough.  Had it not been, we likely would not have been able to afford it.  The closing took place on a Friday afternoon.  The next morning, we woke up before sunrise and drove from Middlesex to Lake Como to commence the process of polishing our little diamond.  Ten minutes into our first designated task, which was pulling up the wall-to-wall carpet from the living room, Margaret mistook her finger for the carpet and gashed herself severely with her knife.  Not anticipating that we would create a medical emergency on our first day of beach house home ownership, we had no first aid kit or medical supplies with us.  She rinsed it out in the kitchen sink and we then applied paper towel, which we secured to her hand using duct tape, to stop (slow) the bleeding, and she went back to work right next to me, pulling up carpet.  

We have made a lot of great memories in our little beach house.  Thanks to proper planning and Margaret's eye for doing things, our former diamond-in-the-rough is rough no more and thanks to what appears to be an exploding market at the shore, were I inclined this morning to drop a "For Sale" sign on my front lawn, it would fetch a significantly higher price than what we paid for it.  While there may be a morning when that happens (and if it does it will simply be because we need a bigger house), this morning is not that morning.  

This morning is simply a morning to reflect upon and to appreciate this place that has helped me immeasurably in my life-long pursuit of peace.  

When we bought the house, our front lawn was a postage-stamp-sized piece of grass.  On our very first weekend as home owners, we observed that the grass needed to be cut.  As I was exploring the garage - and the little room next to it, I came upon a timeless classic.  The previous owners had left an old, somewhat beat-up and worn-down lawn mower similar to the one Clint Eastwood used in Gran Torino.  I wheeled it out of the garage, dusted off the cobwebs, and rolled it down the driveway to the front of the house where I proudly used my "zero carbon footprint" mower to cut my patch of grass.  

Lake Como - May 2015

I still have the hat, t-shirt, shorts and (probably) the flip-flops I am wearing in this photograph.  I still have old Gran Torino too.  The only thing seen in this picture that is no longer around is the patch of grass.  White stone now occupies that space.   

-AK