Author: mikeberretta

After hitting fifty…well, more like 40…or even 35, I have had more and more difficulty remembering things. Some things. Definitely not all things. There are certain things that I couldn’t forget, even if I tried…and believe me, I’ve tried. It would be nice if we had a schematic of our brains so we could figure out how to selectively turn off the bad stuff and keep the good stuff. I guess what I’d really like is to be able to have that for my kids.  

They’ve had to go through some pretty crappy times. Some of it was my fault. Some of it was their mother’s fault. I suppose all of it was both our faults. People have always told me not to worry because kids are resilient. Resilient. Kids should not have to be resilient. Well, be that as it may, but kids remember. I remember most of the craziness when my parents split. Hell, I remember vowing to myself that I’d never get married because I didn’t want to put my own kids through that.      

Obviously, my thoughts on that changed at some point- well at a point that I know well, and will maybe share at another time. I never really cared what our custody agreement said. I was going to be with my kids as much as possibly and after the split with my ex, I had my kids with me a lot more than I was “supposed” to. Pretty much every single weekend and some weekdays. Soon after that, it was every Saturday to Wednesday. I’ll never forget the third year, I believe, when Mother’s Day rolled around. I heard through the pathetically dismal chain of communication from my ex, that she had plans for Mother’s Day and wouldn’t be taking the kids. I was floored. The kids- especially my daughter- love celebrating any holiday. I could see if maybe you were with your kids 24/7 and desperately needed a break. Then, yeah, Mother’s Day might call for a nice relaxing day, without the kids, but when your kids are not living with you for the majority of the time, it’s not even an option to pass them off. I gladly took them and we celebrated Mother’s Day with my mom. There have been other years when I’ve picked up and/or dropped off the kids for short visits. I guess it’s safe to say that I’ve never understood that woman and I’m quite certain I never will. 

Anybody who knows my daughter knows that she is the most loving little ball of spit and fire and emotion and stubbornness in existence. She absolutely loves holidays and loves any excuse for a party. She called me yesterday, as she always does every Saturday. “Daddy, what time are you picking me up?”

“Um…tomorrow’s Mother’s Day, honey. Aren’t you spending it with your mom?” 

“Oh! Hold on!”

She asks her mom if she’s staying home with her because it’s Mother’s Day…then I hear the response. 

“Mommy’s busy tomorrow. I have an appointment.”

“Please mom- it’s Mother’s Day.”

“No, honey.”

The conversation on the other end continued, but finally I interrupted and told her I’d be there at 4:30 to pick her up and we’d go out for dinner. I was crushed over what might be going through her head. Fortunately, she is not very analytical and due to her condition, her brain doesn’t function in such a way that would allow her to figure things like that out….which, I guess is sometimes a good thing. 

I almost forgot the best part- when I picked her up, she climbed into the car and immediately started giggling. The giggling turned into a belly laugh- which Maria is a pro at I kept asking what was so funny, but she couldn’t speak. She finally composed herself and said, “that looks like you!” Pointing to a box I had put in the back seat days ago. It was from a box of ‘Mr. Clean’ and had the big bald Guy’s mug plastered on the side. “Very funny,” I said. 

  She spent part of the day with my mom, visiting my stepsister’s family and all of her baby cousins who she absolutely adores. Then we played a little and made dinner on the grill. After that we took the dogs out for a short hike and stopped by Cold Stone for some of the most outrageously overpriced delicious ice cream in the universe. 

Now, I’m not putting this out there to make my ex look bad- contrary to what she believes, I don’t need to say a word. I’m pretty sure everybody who observes her daily actions, came to their own conclusions. I’m also not looking for accolades. I’m not a great dad. I have tons of shortcomings and I haven’t done the best job possible, but I’m still working on it. I just want people to know that despite being ‘resilient,’ kids are kids. They’re super impressionable un-molded little blobs of feelings and emotions and they are not all created equal. Hopefully, one day, mine will look back and remember the more of the good than the bad. 
God knows, if there was a poster child for resilient, it would be Maria. At the end of the night she said (as she says nearly every single day of her life), “Daddy- today was the best day of my life!”
This Sunday, May 15, Maria and I will be walking in the March of Dimes March for Babies. Please help us reach our goal. She LOVES babies and wants to help. Thank you! 

 
https://www.marchforbabies.org/Fundraising/Personal?personId=6513346&participantId=8130314&user=mberretta&bt=24

Today is the third anniversary of the passing of my cousin Maria. I’m not ashamed to say that she was my favorite cousin when I was growing up. She was pretty, fun and always, always smiling. That’s how I knew her and that’s how I remember her.  

Granted, we were kids and my family lived in Poughkeepsie and they lived in Staten Island. Times were different back then. Both my mom’s side and my dad’s side got together, separately, for every holiday. Every holiday. Every major holiday, minor holiday, many birthdays and anniversaries, parties, weddings- even my Aunt Loretta’s (yes, Loretta Berretta, but that’s a whole different story) dog’s annual birthday party were all held in Brooklyn, and we were all there. 

I’m pretty sure I spent enough time in Brooklyn to be considered an honorary resident. I had a lot of cousins and we were all very close. We always gathered at our grandparents house and we all spent many nights scattered on living room couches, floors and pull out beds- laughing, fighting, pranking. There were nine of us on my dad’s side and I was right in the middle. 

Yes…times were different then. 
My memory is not my greatest asset, but there are a few things I do remember about my cousin. Mostly her smile and her loud, contagious laugh. I’m pretty sure that anybody who was around her, always felt good or at least better. Sadly, she went through some tough times. Like many people who appear to be perfect on the outside, she struggled for a long time, on the inside. Eventually, she got herself back on track. She started reaching out to her family and we were able to reconnect. It was almost like she knew what was going to happen. One of the last things she said to me was how she couldn’t believe our kids don’t know us as cousins. The bonds we had. How close we all were. Like many other families nowadays, we’re all scattered now. My kids rarely see their cousins in Arizona. They’ll never know what our childhood was like.

Thankfully, I did get to tell my cousin Maria about my daughter Maria and that she was a big part of why I chose the name for her. She got very sick shortly after that. She came down with double pneumonia and just couldn’t fight her way out of it. Unfortunately, they never met, but my Maria knows who she is and always talks about her. 

 
So yes, my cousin is gone three years today. She made me realize that people are not always as they appear and tomorrow is not promised to anyone and most importantly, life is short. I’ll never understand why people make big issues out of small problems. 

 Maybe not so coincidently, today is also the one year anniversary of my blog, so this one is for my cousin, who I miss- and for all of my cousins, who made growing up in a big, crazy, Italian family so fun and memorable. 

So, today you’re going to learn a little more about what it’s like to be me and the insanity that encompasses nearly every single facet of my crazy existence.

It’s New Year’s Eve, 2015. I always like to go for a nice hike on New Year’s Day, but it was fairly warm out and I was on “vacation” all week. I also had my daughter for the better part of two weeks, so I figured we’d take advantage of the nice weather and hit the trails a day early. Let me introduce the players- here’s where some ‘splainin’ will be necessary. Bear with me.

I contacted my doggie momma- the amazing woman who has custody of an eight year old rescue puppy that she took during the earlier portion of our time as a couple. I met Laura about six months after my split with my…ummm…my lovely ex-wife, and we were together for over three years. She helped me through some of the most difficult periods of my life and I will always be indebted to her and we will forever be friends…and that’s quite possibly all you will ever hear about that story. My kids were pretty young when we met, and my middle child had a little bit of a speech issue with his r’s at the time, so Laura became “Lola,” a name that has stuck for nearly nine years. I love our dog, Pike. He was just a few months old when we got him and I am granted ample visitation opportunities, which usually also includes Lola’s 11 month old Bernese Mountain Dog, Hudson. Hudson is a 90 pound puppy with about 60 more pounds to go. If you look up the phrase ‘bull in a china shop,’ his picture should be there. Pike and Hudson are pretty much polar opposites. Pike is very reserved and usually uninterested in most people. Hudson on the other hand is, well…Hudson. It’s not always easy, but it’s a great way to get my daughter, who loves animals, to go on the many hikes and walks I try to take her on to keep her healthy…

My daughter…the love of my life. It’s always a little hard to share this, but for those who don’t know, my daughter Maria, has a chromosomal disorder called Turner Syndrome. The disease has several serious issues attached to it, but is not nearly as bad as what many kids are burdened with, so I try to treat her like any “normal” child. She does have some mental, social and physical problems and she’s technically on the autism spectrum, but to me, she’s just the most loving little girl in the world- with one major problem. She has my stubbornness. I try to help her stay healthy, so we are always on the go. Lots of hiking. Often with the dogs. Many times, we go to the Wappingers Creek Greenway. A local trail alongside the creek, a little over a mile each way. A trail that Maria has grown bored of and tries to avoid as much as possible. She might complain a little, but she does try as best as she knows how, to be a good kid and she loves being with me. No matter how wacky the rest of my world may happen to be, she always has a smile and she always greets me with a loud, cheerful, “Daaaaaddddyyyy!!!”

That’s my girl.

So, I send Lola a text, and we’re re off to get the puppies. I set up my Outback, which is not nearly as big as it should be, for doggie transport which involves shuffling random articles of clothing, sneakers, hats, empty cups, bottles, crayons, food wrappers, and about 127 hair ties into the foot space of the empty rear passenger seat so we can fold it down and lay down a blanket for the pups. They are super excited to see us because it’s been about an entire day since our last visit. Honestly, it could be a half hour and their reaction would be exactly the same. Well, for Hudson, it could be two minutes… I take them up the hill in the backyard for a quick walk because I was thinking about taking a bit of a drive to go someplace Maria had never been. It’s about 11:45. We load up and hit the road. Maria struggles to eat her bagel, with Hudson trying to nose in on the action. Little did I know it was going to be her last bit of food for the day. While she’s eating, I get the usual 47 verses of ‘Where are we going, daddy?’ To which I reply forty seven times, “It’s a surprise honey.” I was taking her to the Cornish Estate in Cold Spring, NY, a 200 year old mansion that burned down in the 1950’s. I love exploring old ruins and I knew she would get a kick out of it. The 40 minute drive took about an hour because somebody forgot where the entrance to the trail was…not a good premonition for the day. We finally get to the tiny dirt parking lot and drive through a small pond of a puddle that took up about half of the lot, and we park. As I get the leashes in order and get ready to exit the car, I notice an attractive, young woman staring in my direction and smiling, in the car next to us. As I glance over and give a wave, it’s obvious that she’s only interested in the dogs who are smothering my daughter behind me, trying to escape the confines of my vehicle. I get out of the car and am surprised at the how warm it is. I toss my Carhartt jacket back to it’s storage spot on the front seat and I grab the pups. Maria had a pretty heavy Cabela’s hoody on, so I chose not to participate in the usual twenty minute game I like to call “put your jacket on” and we are on our way.
‘A chorus of ‘watch the puddle, Maria!’ was followed up with the grabbing of the hood, to swing her away from a mud bath. The first thing we get to is the trail kiosk. I open up the map holder and it’s empty- except for two maps stuffed down inside it, out of reach, below the slotted plastic cover. Oh well. It’s a pretty straight forward up and back trip. We’ll be fine….or so I thought.

Timeline- 1:00pm. The trail up is more of a very old winding road, with a pretty constant view of the Hudson River- one of my favorite sights in our area. I am forced to keep the dogs on their leashes because of the fairly large number of people heading back down the trail…I mean, because that’s the law. It takes us about an hour to get up to our destination, as we greet several other dog owners along the way. We reach the old mansion at about 2:15. If you’ve never been there, I highly recommend a visit. It’s an amazing, large stone structure, with two huge fireplace stacks that are still standing. One is five stories tall! We explore and take pictures and have a chat with a couple of guys visiting from NYC. Then we continued on to check out the other buildings on the grounds. We stepped into the old greenhouse, with it’s checkered, glassless frame still in tact, and vines growing through the naked squares. We walked to the nearby overlook. Maria wanted to go to the smaller buildings down below, requiring a stream crossing which resulted in the full submersion of my left foot, while assisting her across the surprisingly fast flowing, chilly water. Oh well. “At least it’s not freezing out,” I saidto myself. When we we started to head back, I figured it would be more fun to take the longer, looping trail instead of doing an out and back trip. We had plenty of time…or so I thought.

As we headed up the trail- and I do mean up, I talked to a couple of other people headed in the opposite direction. The first one said it was about an hour to the parking lot. The second said an hour and a half. OK, I thought, we can do this before dark, as I encourage Maria to keep moving. Now, I almost always try to follow my instinct, which is almost always right. I had a weird feeling all day. Hell, at one point, I even texted Lola and jokingly asked if she was worried I wasn’t going to bring the dogs back. Which got me thinking. I always scan my environment to see what options I have if there was some bizarre sort of emergency situation. I am pretty adventurous, but aware- and like most parents, I always have one eye on my children, but my Spidey sense was tingling and something felt a little bit “off.”

As we pushed onward with our adventure, I became more and more concerned with the time. An hour and a half until sunset quickly became an hour, then just a half. At this point, I am regularly checking my phone GPS map, and the trail starts to turn around, away from the mighty Hudson River, where our car is waiting. Ugh. “Come on Maria, you’re doing great!” I shout, and I tell her for the fifth or sixth time, “I think this is the last hill!” Thank goodness for the Berner, who happily pulls Maria along when she gets tired- and for Pike, who is leading the way, sniffing out the trail for us, as we finally reach the high point and the trail turns into more of a crazy unmarked rock scramble. I take what would be the last picture of the night- Pike overlooking the river.

It’s still a long way down, I think to myself. We’re going to get home in the dark. This is definitely the turning point of our trip. As we push on through the rockiness, the trail becomes less obvious and suddenly, it becomes invisible. We’re scrambling over and between rocks, going downhill. I’m looking for the next trail marker, but finding nothing. It’s OK. I glance at my phone and conclude that as long as we head south and down, we will eventually intersect the trail, hit the parking lot, or at least come out on Route 9d, the road we started from. My thoughts were correct, but the terrain was getting pretty difficult and the time was getting closer to sunset. I knew official sunset was at 4:34. We didn’t have any time to waste. I was leading the dogs and helping Maria along, and occasion running up ahead, trying to find the trail. As the descent got steeper, I had no choice but to allow Maria to slide on her butt, over the wet leaves and damp ground. Not at all what I wanted, but it was the only way to keep her moving. I was concerned, but not panicked when I realized we may have a problem. A serious problem. I look around and find a safe, flat portion of ground and tie the pups to a tree. I tell Maria to ‘sit tight‘ for a minute- a phrase I will soon grow to despise and will hear several times throughout the night. I scoot down the steep, very rocky mountainside a short distance to discover a bit of a cliff below us. I look up and see a very tall cliff above us. I look to the north and to the south and i have no idea how we got here- or how to get out. I run back up to Maria- a trip I will make at least 25 more times during the night. I explain to her that we are going to need some help getting out. She gets a little scared, but handles the news pretty well, as I dial….9…1…1.

Time line- 4:25. Seriously??? Me? Lost in the woods? We’re not even lost! We’re stuck. On Mount Taurus- just south of Breakneck  Mountain. I chose a ‘camp’ for us on the only patch of level ground I could find- in plain view of Route 9d. I could see the small, trendy town of Cold Spring, where I knew city folk and locals were flooding the bars and restaurants preparing to say goodbye to another terrible or amazing or ordinary year and getting ready to welcome in a brand new one of hope or despair. As I dial, I am full of embarrassment, but I’m confident that this happens fairly often, and we’ll be home in time to grab some dinner and prepare for our usual New Year’s Eve hors d’oeuvres celebration at home. “911, what’s your emergency?” “Well, it’s not really an emergency,” I explain and give the short version of what has transpired. “OK, well, you’ve reached Dutchess County 911. I’m going to have to transfer you to Putnam County 911.” This is the precise moment I come to the realization that this is happening to me. Not that I’m really worried- just the fact that this is my life. Nothing- and I truly mean nothing- is easy. Ever. I call 911 for the first time ever in my fifty years, and it’s the wrong number!  Now here it comes…”Sit tight sir, while I transfer you.” I hear a dial tone, some beeping noises and then, several minutes later, the two 911 operators are talking. “Do we have his coordinates?” one operator says to the other. “Yes.” was the reply. I feel a little relieved, knowing that through the magic of modern technology, they have pinpointed our exact location on this huge mountainside via my fairly old, yet technologically amazing cellphone. Now I’m on the line with the Putnam County 911 operator. “Ok sir, I’m going to have the Park Ranger call you back…sit tight.” Ummm…ok. Sitting tight. Keeping Maria calm. Making sure the pups are happy. Try to text Laura and let her know we are in a bit of a jam. Twenty minutes later, my phone rings. Yes! It’s the park police. “Yessir, this kind of thing happens all the time. We have a crew on the way and you’ll be down in no time!” were the words I expected to hear. Instead I heard, “yes, well uhhh…unfortunately, I’m in Washington, D.C. I can’t help you.” Ummm…exqueeze me? I’m thinking… Seriously? Then he asks me to download an app on my phone. Dude, I tell him. My phone is five years old. I’m at 40% power. “If you download this app, he says, it will give you’re exact location.” Didn’t they already have that? Ok. I’ll try. “I’m going to call the fire department” he says. “They’ll call you back shortly- and then, yes, you guessed it- “sit tight.” The fire department, I thought?? Am I a cat stuck up in a tree?? Don’t get me wrong- I have 110% respect for firemen and know several, but isn’t there supposed to be a crew of Swiss mountain climbers with climbing axes and coils of rope on their arms with their trusty Saint Bernards by their sides with whiskey barrels on their necks, on call, eager to jump at such an opportunity?? So, we sit. And we sit. I scramble up and down the steep, rocky mountainside. Up and down..up and down. I start to set up our little camp, sheltered from the wind. I’ve got this. I was a boy scout. I camp. I’ve seen all the crazy survival shows. Twenty more minutes go by. I call 911 again. Ugh. Dutchess County… Really? I get transferred again. They review my coordinates again. At least they know exactly where we are. Again. Yes sir. The fire department is on the way. Keep your phone clear and…yeah, yeah, I know. “Sit tight.”

Finally we see a fire truck go by with lights blazing. The phone rings. “Yes, yes, I saw you drive by. I can see the road. If you turn around, I can tell you when you are directly below me.” He does. I do. He stops the truck. I tell him you are directly below us. I flash the bright, tiny light on my trusty old iPhone 4. I see you, he says. I see where you are. Ok. “They’re on their way up. It won’t be long now,” I tell Maria. One hour, maybe two hours later, I see their flashlights getting closer, waving randomly, to and fro. I’ve been calling out to them for a while. Shouting. Yelling. “Helloooo!!! Heyyyyy!!!” A light finally shines up, in our direction. “We are right above you!” I shout. Shine your light to the north! To the north! To your left! Shine it to your left!! I call on my phone. ‘We are directly under the tree your light is on right now. Ok sir. We have your location. Unfortunately, we can’t get to you from the bottom. We have to go up and come down. OK. No problem. It won’t be long now. We’ll sit tight!

What felt like hours had passed. I heard no more shouting. I saw no more flashlights. The emergency vehicles below had dimmed their lights- and best of all- my nearly ancient iPhone 4 has decided to take a well deserved, but poorly timed siesta. The battery power indicator said 24%, but it decided to retire for the night. After several failed attempts to restart it, I quietly slid it back into my pocket. Maria asked if it was dead. I told her I was just conserving the battery. I then gathered up as many dry leaves as I could find to rebuild our slightly damp resting spot. I re-positioned Maria up against Pike and focused on keeping her warm, while I explained our new plan. We are going to camp out and make our way down in the morning light. “OK daddy,” she said, “But we’re gonna miss the ball drop.” “I know. Try to get some sleep honey,” I told her. It’s going to be a long night, I thought to myself. As I laid there, feeling helpless and stupid, knowing I could work my way down the rocky cliff alone, but not wanting to leave my family, I talked to Maria, making sure she was alright, when all of a sudden, I heard a faint, but distinct sound in the distance. Shhhhh…quiet honey. Then the only three words that came to mind- and I hope I didn’t say then out loud, was ‘no f’ing way.’

“What’s that daddy?”

“Ummm… It’s…a…ummm…it’s a helicopter, honey.”

A helicopter. They sent a rescue chopper? They know where we are. Why would they send a helicopter? We watched as the lone light in the sky proceeded to float up the west bank of the river, shining it’s bright spotlight down into the mountains. The mountains on the west side of the river. Unfortunately, we were on the east side. It circled around, shining it’s light on the mountains across from us and then in the river itself. Maria said, “What’s wrong daddy? Is somebody lost?” I laughed and said, “I think they may be looking for us.” ‘Well, they’re not very smart,’ she replied. The helicopter made a few more passes, nowhere near us, and vanished off into the distance. What the hell was that all about?, I wondered, as I got Maria and the dogs settled again, preparing to stay the night. Shortly after that, I heard another sound in the distance. It was moving faster. Suddenly a bigger, louder rescue chopper busted over the tree line, lighting up the ground in front of it. This was crazy. Half of me felt horrible that all of these people were out here because of me. All of this money was being spent. Half of me was nearly hysterical laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, and whatever was leftover was thinking…we’re getting airlifted and riding in a rescue chopper for New Years! This chopper searched the correct side of the river! It even had the right mountain- but it was nowhere near our location. I could not shout over the roar of the engine. I could only shake my head in disbelief. We’re right above the fire truck. You guys know where we are. At some point the fire truck turned its emergency lights back on. Finally! Maybe they told the pilot to search straight up from the truck…but no such luck. After four or five passes, he headed back down the river to wherever he came from. Now my throat was sore from yelling, my arms tired from waving my dead phone at the copter. I get everybody settled down again. Shortly after calming my daughter and the dogs, the helicopter returned. After four more unsuccessful passes, it flew overhead. I’m talking close enough that in my near delirious state, I could picture the rescue lines pulling us up into the big side doors. Then it happened- the nearly blinding spotlight shone down directly on us. I’m talking directly. I continue to wave my phone at them, trying to reflect the light off of the glass. “Daddy, he sees us!” My daughter shouts. “I think he does,” I replied. And then, after studying our position and after my arms are nearly ready to fall off, he positions the nose of the chopper to the south, ever so slowly…and…and he disappears. Gone. Buh-bye.

Timeline- I have no idea. “Alright, honey. Let’s get some sleep.” All I could do was wonder why they weren’t searching the area straight up the mountain from the fire truck. They had our coordinates. What happened? Oh well. I gather up some more leaves and we once again hunker down for the night. The helicopter returns again, this time no spotlight. He sits at the base of the mountain and apparently waits for me to build a giant reflector to magnify the weak dead battery display on my spent cell phone. He is mocking me. All I can do is continue to wave my phone, occasionally with the dull white iPhone plug light that appears when your battery needs charging. I’m not sure what he was doing, but he was done and he was leaving. Looks like we’re camping out. Maria has been amazingly calm and quite happy throughout most of the day and night. She complained about being cold a few times, as I constantly rubbed her legs and back. At one point, she started to shiver a bit and Hudson seemingly instinctively, shimmied up from behind me and laid across her legs. I joked that she now had a puppy blanket and I rubbed his belly in appreciation. Soon after her Bernise comforter was in place, she fell asleep.

As I lay there, looking at the lit up town, slightly envious of the lucky folks getting ready to ring in the new year, I also had the opposite feeling. Sympathy. Sympathy for all of the people who will never be stranded on a mountain on New Year’s Eve with their daughter. Silly thought? Maybe, but as long as we were safe, I was loving almost every minute of it. While looking down to the town I was also checking to see if the emergency vehicles were still there. Suddenly, Pike’s head jolts up. He scans the cliffs alcove us. Several seconds later, Hudson bolts up on all four. They’re both staring in the same direction. Now, I had thought about the possibility of wild animals, but other than gather up a few large sticks to keep nearby, there wasn’t much I could do about it. OK. Here we go. I grab a stick and stand up next to the dogs, watching quietly in the direction of their stare. Their leashes clutched in my hand, as they had been for most of the night. After several intense minutes, that felt like an hour, I see a flash of light below us. And then above us. A light. A flashlight. I wake up Maria, to warn her that I’m about to yell for the millionth time. “Hey! Hello! Down here!” Again. And again. Now there were two lights. Waving back and forth from above. “Down lower!” I yell. “Mike?” They shout back. “Daddy, they said your name!” “Yes honey, they did.” Suddenly a light locks in on our position. As soon as it does, Hudson, a normally quiet dog, lets out a huge, bellowing bark that would have woken the neighborhood if there was one. One after another. Woof, woof, woof, woof! Nonstop, until the two Newburgh Fire Fighter rescue team members were standing by our side.
They asked if we were ok and one of them went straight to Maria and said, “Hi. I’m Tommy.” He quickly gave Maria his sweatshirt, gloves, socks and even his thermal long johns. She was thrilled- not to be warm, but to be wearing real live fireman gear. As they unpacked some equipment, he said to Maria, “What are you doing up so late do you know what time it is?” I thought to myself, what time is it? Will we get to see the ball drop, like Maria had been asking all night? He said, “it’s two o’clock in the morning!” Ummm…it’s what?

As we waited for the rest of the search party to get to us- the rest of the Newburgh crew and the other group, from the West Point rescue squad, the first two guys explored the area below us and a few guys and a woman climbed up as close as they could below us. It was about a half hour until they decided on a route down. They put harnesses on Maria and me. Tom hooked up to one end of the rope, Maria and I were on the other. Two men took the dogs and I turned to them and said, “If anything happens to these dogs, you may as well leave me on this mountain.” They looked at me and laughed. “No. I’m completely serious,” I responded. They assured me they would be ok. After much coaxing and joking and even one fire fighter offering to sing Maria a song, she was finally ready to go. We slowly rappelled down the rocks and drop offs, stopping three times to reset the rope to a new anchor. Eventually, we reached a point where the crew at the bottom said we could walk the rest of the way. I was relieved- until I saw what we were climbing through. More huge rocks and lots of prickers. At that point, the dogs were returned to me and I once again clutched their leads tightly as we worked our way down to the bottom of the mountain. I would hand Maria off to Tom, and then he would walk her to me. We were moving at a pretty good pace when I heard Tom say, “OK Maria, come to me, I’ve got you.” To which my extremely stubborn and brave eleven year old replied, “No..it’s OK. I got this.” And she hopped down a series of boulders like a billy goat. I laughed out loud, half amazed that she was even awake at this point. “My daddy taught me how to hike.” She told him. Due to her disabilities, she has never been able to participate in any organized sports, but that single moment was better than if she had scored the winning goal in a championship game. That’s my girl, I thought to myself. That’s my girl.

We finally got to the actual trail where we started. When we stepped out of the woods, I could not believe the number of emergency vehicles and personnel on the scene. Fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, flashing lights everywhere. Holy crap. Lola’s parents greeted us with hugs and her dad reached for the dog’s leashes which I was later told, I would not let go of. I thanked them and I thanked the puppies. We were led into an ambulance where Maria was offered warm blankets and she said, “No. I’m good. Can we go home?” They filled out forms, the police officer filled out a report. Finally, the state trooper who initially greeted us at the trail, offered a ride down the street to our car. Maria was thrilled to ride in a police car. As we get out, he says watch the puddle! As I instinctively grab Maria’s sweatshirt swinging her body away, with her boot skimming the huge puddle in front of her. We walk to the car and the trooper says, I just need to see your license. “Sure thing” I reply, grabbing it from my car. A few minutes later he returns, handing it back, along with a piece of paper. “I had to issue you a ticket.” He says. I burst out laughing. “A ticket? Really?” “Yes. Sorry. I have to do it. It’s for leaving the marked trail.” “Okay, thanks for your help,” I say and we hit the road.

I think that’s when the exhaustion and hunger finally hit me. As we start the forty minute drive home Maria says, “Daddy can we walk the dogs tomorrow- but not on that trail- let’s go to the Greenway Trail.” “Sure honey. Whatever you want,” I reply.

A few minutes later, I hear in a tired voice, “Daddy…can we do that hike again next year for New Year’s Eve?”

Yes, indeed. That’s my girl.

So, today I made an old man cry. I don’t think I started out my day with that intention. Actually, I’m quite certain that the thought has never, ever crossed my mind. My day started out a bit earlier than usual. I had a parent-teacher conference for my daughter, so I decided to go to the gym early in the morning. Too early. After that, I went to the meeting, which went surprisingly well. It’s good to know that there are teachers out there who are genuinely concerned for their students. I guess special education teachers are even more aware of their student’s needs. Anyway, I am grateful that my daughter has an excellent teacher. I’m also glad that I had my own conference with her to avoid the potential…or inevitable drama that occurs when my ex is present.
Today was off to a good start. Gym- check. School meeting- check. Off to work. It was a pretty typical Thursday for retail/commercial sales. We were fairly busy, so the day was going by pretty quickly- plus, I had a late lunch break, so closing time was coming fast. It was right around 4:00 when the old man walked through the door. I was standing behind the counter, so I saw him come in. I’d guess he was in his 80’s. He was wearing an old man’s suit. Not that it was a bad suit. It was a suit that had seen many years of use. I’d bet he had a few suits like it and he still wore one every day.

 You probably know somebody like him. A man from another time, trying to make sense of the craziness of modern times. Adjusting and readjusting to the world. Working at a store that has been around for 128 years, we get our share of older customers, so it wasn’t all that unusual. I watched him walk to the counter where a coworker was also standing. He presented a small, wooden, oval box in his old, bruised, shaking hands. He gently placed it on the counter. Don said, “so, what do we have here?” The old man took off the top of the box. Then, he carefully removed a tiny, metal replica of an old sewing machine and presented it to Don. I walked around the big counter and moved in closer, next to the old man. He then reached into the box again and took out another piece. It was a small clock, about the size of a ladies watch. He explained that he had been attempting to repair the tiny keepsake, but the parts were so small, he couldn’t do it. He said the tiny screws may be stripped and he could not reattach the clock. I asked to see it and after examining it, I  suggested that maybe it wasn’t the screws that were stripped, but the holes in the time piece. This brought a new sadness to his face, as he asked if we had any suggestions of who might be able to repair it for him. He said he would be happy to pay anybody to fix it. He needed to get it repaired. Don told him he didn’t know of anybody. The old man frowned. I took a closer look. I told him we might be able to use a longer screw and try to catch some of the deeper threads that were still intact. I took the clock to the section of the store where the very tiny metric screws are kept and then returned to the counter with two long 2mm screws and a 2mm nut.

When I got back to the counter, the old man was telling Don the story of the sewing machine clock. He had bought it for his wife over twenty years ago and she had loved it. The sewing machine was one of her favorite things, but she had recently been moved to a nursing home and it was misplaced in the shuffle.  He paused and looked up at me and asked if I could fix it. I gave him a not so reassuring “maybe.”  He continued on with his story, and I got to work on the piece, shortening the long, tiny screws with some cutting pliers and re-threading them with the nut. It took a while, but the old man’s story was playing in the background. He said his wife was on a waiting list for a local nursing home, but was lucky to get into a temporary spot in a disgustingly expensive home in Connecticut, which was about an hour away for him. A long way to travel daily for anybody, let alone a man of his age. He told us how she remembers some things, but not others and recognizes most people, but if you walk away and come back, you have to start all over again. He told us how much she loved the little sewing machine gift and how important it was to bring it to her. All the while, I was trying to hold the tiny little screws in my fat fingers, cutting and threading and re-cutting to get them to the proper length and attempting to fit them into their place, while the small crowd at the counter watched.

Finally, I got the little screws snugged up in place and the clock was securely mounted where it belonged. I took a towel and wiped the whole thing down, polishing the glass, as if it were a Rolex. Then I showed it to the old man, placed it in the box and said, “You’re all set, sir.”

He said “It’s fixed???” and reached into his pocket with his shaking hands and pulled out his wallet asking how much he owed us. I said, “No charge, sir. Merry Christmas.”  Don told him his money is no good here and wished him luck with everything.

I was a bit choked up and I could tell everyone was a little emotional, but as the man left, Don said, “You know you just made that old man cry?  There were tears in his eyes when he left.”

So, yes. I made an old man cry today. It’s funny how life goes.  Everybody has a story. Everybody has their own problems and challenges. Normally, most of us walk through each day focused solely on our own issues-not even considering what is going on in the lives of the dozens of people we come into contact with. No matter how bad things are for you- and trust me, sometimes, they’re gonna be pretty bad- there is always going to be somebody going through something worse. When you see it that way, the big problems seem to get just a little smaller. Maybe we’re all joined by a common bond of wanting things to be just a little bit better…for everybody.

Now, do me a favor and go make somebody cry.

Merry Christmas to all.

How many of these things start out with “I never thought I’d be writing a blog” or “I’m not really sure what I’m doing, but here goes nothing.” Well, not this one. I know exactly what I am doing…sort of. I am attempting to save my life.

Let’s start with the basics, although there are no basics. I am a {gulp} 50 year old man… That’s the first time I’ve ever said that. I am fifty. Pretty new at it.

Wait a second. How is that possible? How did I get to be 50? 17 seems like just yesterday. I distinctly remember being in high school. Rowing on the crew team for four years. Playing the drums since elementary school and in a heavy metal band from 7th grade to post-college. Christ. My oldest son is in 11th grade now. Where did those thirty plus years go? Anyway, I am newly 50. I am divorced. Eight years now. I’ve been ass-rammed by ‘the system’ for most of those eight years. I have three kids who live with me part time…sort of. Not nearly as much as they used to. I work in the wonderful world of retail. I currently live in my mother’s house. I have been in family and support court more times than I can count and I’ll be back again soon. That topic alone could be pages of blog material in and of itself. I went from living in a brand new house with a huge master bedroom, in a nice neighborhood, to residing in a basement and sleeping on a couch.

I am not a complicated person. I thrive on simplicity, but oddly, most of my relationships have been disastrously complicated. Go figure. Several years after a failed marriage and then a couple of fun and interesting relationships, I wound up with an amazing woman…sort of. Then, in a case of my own mistaken reality, I had once again found myself alone- which is not a terrible thing, it’s just not what one would have expected by age 50. Well, it’s not what I expected. Actually- correction- honestly, I did initially expect to be alone. My feelings on the institution of marriage have fluctuated greatly over the years.

But, now I’m fifty. I’m overweight. I’m tired. I’m sore. I’m a little angry and I’m a little bit broken. Here, I will share my oddness, my music and drums, my random encounters with birds and heart-shaped rocks, my obsession with abandoned ruins and cemeteries and water and trees, my love/hate relationship with exercise and bicycles, and my many other unusual and slightly bizarre tendencies, experiences and thoughts.

This is the journal of my journey. My journey to regain my self, my health, my heart and my life..sort of.