Congrats to our daughter Sarah,
that graduates tomorrow from MGH.
She will start her nursing internship in the ICU at the Newton-Wellesley Hospital in a few weeks.
Pamela and me are just a little bit proud.
Graduation tomorrow morning at the Hynes and dinner tomorrow night at the Tavern in the Square.
It should be an awesome day.
We are so proud of her and all that she’s achieved.
Leaving you with a nurse-inspired poem . . . for our new NURSE

By Jennifer Huff, LPN:

I said goodbye to you today.
In my own quiet way.
A hidden tear was shed.
Tribute to the life you led.

Empty chair, an unspoken reminder of you.
Too soon to be filled by a patient so new.
Numb to the pain of so many goodbyes.
Sorrow hidden, secretly brushing tears from my eyes.

You joined the others who paved the way for you.
The leader, the song-man, the feisty one, too.
The one who decided that he’d just had enough.
Saying farewell to you all has been so tough.

I like to imagine you are all gathered up there.
Playing poker, having feasts, so many stories to share.
No more restrictions on fluid and food.
No longer chained to disease, it is as it should.

Those of us left behind, keep your memory alive.
Working hard every day to help others survive.
Chair no longer empty, a new soul to tend.
Hidden tears suppressed.
A new beginning to the end.

Tonight I am wondering if a bio-engineered molecule can change my life.
I have suffered from psoriasis since 2002.
I was diagnosed as ‘severe’ a few years ago.
After countless steroid creams and quack homeopathic remedies, I’ve decided
that it’s time to get down to business and try to slay this red crimson dragon, once and for all.
Me and my skin have had quite enough of this rough and scaly road.
It’s high time I try and put an end (of sorts) to this disease of my dysfunctional auto-immune system.
I only ask that you all pray this treatment finally works for me.
I am itchy, red and so damn very tired of scratching.
Light a candle, please.
My thanks to all in advance . . .

~m

Expecting 1 – 2 feet of the white crap by 6PM tomorrow.
Doing the ‘happy’ dance . . .
[yeah, right]

~m

Yes, I am . . .
A thank you to all that have emailed me regarding my current literary aspirations.
It’s all good.
Hoping that everyone is well.

~m

I am: in transition and wondering about my future
I think: the world went to hell in a hand basket . . .
I know: I miss writing
I want: new teeth
I have: questions, too many
I wish: I could find some answers
I hate: goodbyes and temporary crowns
I miss: the old me
I fear: insomnia and more root canals
I feel: like I’m on the verge of something, maybe good, maybe bad
I hear: a fan cooling my sweating cueball head (I shaved this  morning)
I smell: a lit cigar
I crave: being 8 years old again running through my neighborhood
I search: for signs of my Mom and Dad everyday
I wonder: about my new neighbor next door and the fact that he wants to swindle me (NOT)
I regret: not finishing college and working retail. I’m so much better than that
I ache: for calm, for indigo breezes and purple sunsets
I care: about the future of my three wonderful girls (I am: so lucky)
I always: look before crossing  Boylston Street
I am not: perfect
I believe: in dreams
I dance: when I’ve had too much Maker’s Mark
I sing: because I can
I cry: more often than I believe I should
I don’t always: look before crossing Boylston Street
I fight: to stay alive
I write: because I can’t afford therapy
I never: wanted to be President
I stole: my wife’s heart
I listen: to things no one else seems to hear
I need: a creative kick in the ass and to play my didgeridoo more
I am happy about: my dear friends from Australia that will be here in less than 3 weeks.

Just updating my life status is all.
This post may turn out to be a monthly occurrence.
Tanks for the nudge, M

~m

On wings, fly to where you all need to be.
Know that we are here for you no matter what . . .
24/7, we will be here.
4 always . . .

Mom & Dad

It’s like watching the slow and dying embers in the
backyard firepit on a sultry summer’s night.
In some ways I understand it, some I don’t.
Maybe it’s meant to be that way.
It’s hard enough to watch someone you love die but it’s the
‘dying marathon’ of Alzheimer’s that really hurts inside.
I had a deeply emotional visit with my father this past Sunday.
I felt this impending sense of detachment from him that I’ve never seen or felt before.
My sister says it’s that way with most patients in the final stretch of the endgame.
I am trying to make myself understand that.
Not doing too well with it either.
The past 5 years have been a sad and long goodbye and although I’ve said it before,
I want to believe in my heart that he is ready.
My father did not cry yesterday which had me scratching my freshly shaved noggin.
It was almost as if he was trying to be strong just for me,
but maybe I’ll never know.
I sat and held his thin and badly shaking hands and really looked at him,
into my father‘s eyes.
My heart was instantly shattered as a lifetime of tender and lost moments came crashing into my mind.
I want many things for my father and not one of them was in this room that has held him prisoner for the past 5+ years.
I want him to walk and feel the rays of the sun on his face again,
love and be loved in return, find the missing piece of the puzzle he’s been searching for since he got sick.
Find my mother.
I want him to find enough strength to finally fade away and find his corner of the sky,
his cerulean peace.
It’s time for my beautiful father to go home.
Because of all the places I roam, I miss having him there the most . . .

When faced with a choice between Saints and Colts, I am obviously going with the Saints.
I have nothing to lose with this Super Bowl but I do pray that Archie, Eli and Peyton Manning
eat a big ass plate of crow after the game.
Paytoilet is a great quarterback, can’t take that away from him, but I do hope he gets his clock cleaned early and often. (come on linebackers)
As far as Archie and his age old nepotistic tendencies regarding his sons?
Give me a freekin’ break.
Will he ever stop pulling the corporate strings?
CBS will undoubtedly show many pics of the shithead man during the game.
If you do a shot of metamucil everytime they show Archie (which they will) you will shit for
10 years straight.
Better off to stick with the Cuervo Gold.

Go Saints!

Please obliterate the pretentious Manning masheen once and for all.
See you guys next week.
I am outta here!

After I hit the ‘publish’ button on this post I will be away
from the blog I so love for a little bit.
I have so many wonderful things to cook for the holidays over the next few days
that I will have no time to sit down and visit here.
I want to wish each and every person that visits a wonderful Christmas filled with
all the things you’ve come to know and love over the years.
I pray that broken hearts can be somehow mended, shattered spirits can be lifted,
a little grace can be restored and that
at least one person finally finds the true meaning of the holiday.
May God bless all of you.
Thanks for reading here.
I leave you with one of my favorite renditions of a Christmas classic.
And have yourself a Merry Little Christmas . . .

It is during this time of the year that I generally go into an emotional cocoon;
my own kind of hibernation and self preservation mode.
December 1st until January 2nd, my internal sensors (censors) go into a Lockdown setting.
Life is hectic, loud and screaming with white and pink noise.
I need a celestial graphic EQ (equalizer) to take out the nasty sonic peaks and hisses of the daily grind.
Ah, were it that easy.
Maybe there’s an app on the Iphone for that.
The only place that I can find some silent respite is when I fall asleep.
But sometimes even sleep doesn’t work.
The other night (this just came to me now) I was dreaming that I was standing in the middle of some godforsaken superhighway with cars and trucks whizzing by me at what seemed to be light-year speeds.
I could feel wind on my face but the cars and 18-wheelers were just horizontal blurs of colour.
I was frozen, frightened and couldn’t move without getting reduced to a platter of road kill.
I did finally wake up at 3:03AM.
My skin was clammy and I was thirsty.
I went downstairs and got a glass of water and back up to bed where I began tossing and turning my nocturnal thoughts like a mad chef tosses a freshly ordered Caesar Salad.
At 5AM I got up and made coffee.
The act of trying to sleep was maddening.
This dream was symbolic for me and the perfect allegory of my life.
It also made me think of a story someone once told me.
It could have been told to me by my mother – but like my dream’s unknown ending, I just can’t remember.
I do remember the story though.
Its author is unknown so I’ve taken the liberty of changing the POV.
This story inspires me and brings hope to the heart because a worldly truth is that we are all in this thing together.

I was at the end of my rope. Seeing no way out I dropped to my knees in prayer.

“Lord, I can’t go on,” I said, “I have too heavy a cross to bear.”

The Lord replied, “My child, if you can’t bear its weight, just place your cross inside this room. Then open another door and pick up any cross you wish.”

I was filled with relief.

“Thank you, Lord,” I sighed, and did as I was told.

As I looked around the room I saw many crosses, some so large the tops were not visible.
Then I spotted a tiny cross leaning against a far wall.

“I’d like that one, Lord,” I whispered.

The Lord replied, “My son, that’s the cross you just brought in.”

During this holiday season, it is my hope and prayer that the burdens you carry in your hearts today will seem lighter and somehow more distant tomorrow.
Pax . . .

*the picture I used for this post was taken by Amanda Lucier.
Click here to learn more about this amazing photojournalist and the story behind the photo.