Skip a Stone

As our Jersey City condo nears its closing date. The thought of moving back east in order to be closer to friends, family and loved ones looms large. Before deciding to take a job offer and move to Seattle, My wife left the door open to moving back to the area if life here didn’t live up to what we expected it to be. At the time, moving away from friends, family and an area I had lived the entirety of my life in, did not seem to concern me. The opportunity to live on another coast was paramount. Thus making our decision almost immediate. Visiting Seattle for the first time ever back in May and ultimately moving here in June. I was able to leave behind a lot of my worries, anxiety and stress and view life with a fresh and very different outlook. As we close in on a year here in Seattle. I can’t think of how the move has change me for the better. Sure, it rains a hell of a lot here and the area has it’s share of problems. However, my friends back East have been pummeled by one Nor’easter after another. All things considered, the idea of moving back to New York City or New Jersey doesn’t quite appeal to me as much as plotting a course for another city I’ve yet to experience or country whose cities and culture would be further explored. In some respects, the nomad spirit in me yearns for new adventures.


Familiar Stomping Grounds

Over the St. Patrick’s Day weekend we decided to catch MOPOP’s new exhibition “Nirvana: Taking Punk to the Masses.” NeedleIt was one of the first times we’ve spent time in Lower Queen Anne since we moved to Columbia City in late September. Though I think we can all agree on how much I love Columbia City. It’s safe to say, that the time spent in Lower Queen Anne was well spent. Living out of a suit case in a corporate apartment might sound rough to some. However, for me. Living with just the basics was a complete joy and a way to practice minimalism in a way I never thought possible. The several months we spent in Lower Queen Anne offered us a great introduction to Seattle. One I’m incredibly grateful for. Whether it was riding the bus, taking the train or just plain walking. The time spent there provided the change I was looking for when we decided to give the West Coast a chance.

Below are several links I’d highly recommend checking out.

Nirvana Exhibit

Light in the Attic Records



New Lens Smell

After a delicious breakfast at Heyday, we ventured down the steep hills towards Lake Washington. I had brought my new Canon 70-200 f4 USM lens with me in the hopes of finding the right spot to fire off some test shots. I recall owning a 70-200 lens years ago but don’t recall it ever being so noticeably heavy. Quickly, we found a spot under the bridge. I proceeded to remove the already mounted lens and camera body from out mini coopers trunk. At first feel, you would think I was moving a centuries old pace of art  from the auction house to the high bidders home or gallery. Truth be told, I was more focused on convincing my wife that I hadn’t let my clumsiness get the best of me. Overall, I enjoyed the way the lens handled and the results were rewarding. I really enjoy the focal range it provides and the fact that I can use it without a tripod. Still, I’m looking forward to using it on one and testing it on some local sporting events. Until then, go big or go home.


No More Crying

NMCIIIt began with the best intentions. The days and weeks since my Neurology follow up had me feeling angry, lost and somewhat hopeless. I had mistakenly opened up to my doctor, therapist and wife that I had briefly thought of suicide, or commented on how I wished the original death notice I received when I was twelve would have ended me instead of prolonging my suffering through related issues. Falling down and not having the control you once had on your life it not easy to get used to. With that said and fully expressed, I had felt a positive shift in recent days that mad me feel as if I had turned a corner. I had all but stopped worrying about what I couldn’t do any more and started thinking about what I could. My intention was to share with my wife that the fear and negativity were behind me. That, whatever it took, I was going to be open minded and more constructive.

As I began to speak to her, I made a point to use the word “Positive”. This exchange was going to let her know that I was leaving behind the negativity and look at all the positives and embrace whatever changes might come. Before I even knew what was happening. Before she even had a chance to reply. She buried her head in my chest and began crying uncontrollably. I did my best to make her laugh and smile “Hey, there’s nothing to cry about. This is all about looking at things with a positive mindset.” “Come on, there’s no crying,” “I’m not crying.” She sniffled, as she reached for the nearby box of tissues. All I wanted to do was tell her how lucky I was to have two parents that loved me and a wife who, despite all my obvious faults, adored me. Still, she kept her head buried in my chest. Unconvincingly trying to conceal the fact that she had become overwhelmed with tears. “I have to pee.” She announced as she quickly made her way to the bathroom. Concerned for what she was feeling, I followed. More than anything, I wanted to comfort her. To let her know that it was okay to cry. Even with the door closed. I could hear her blowing her nose and washing the tears from her eyes. I entered and hugged her. Assuring her that, maybe for the first time since that hospital visit. That everything was going to be okay. That she could cry all she wanted to as long as she didn’t feel the need to hide it from me. “I was trying to tell you that I turned a corner and how I was feeling more positive about things.” “Why are you crying?” Still red in the face and filled with tears. She said something I never thought I’d ever hear. “Because it’s not your fault.” “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I have to say, it was humbling.


Throughout our entire marriage and even when we were dating. She was always the strong one. The rock, the ying to my yang, or whatever you call it. Being on the other side of the coin. The one to say “Don’t worry. No matter what happens, everything is going to be alright.” It was hard, but I feel it was long overdue. Whatever may come, I hope I can always be there for her when she needs it. Considering how much she’s done for me in reinforcing my health and assuring my happiness. I’ve got my work cut out for me.

Below are a couple of helpful links.

Zen Habits

American Meditation Society

Doctors Visit

As I sat in the neurologist’s office going over recent tests we hoped would shed some light on my worsening speech patterns and balance issues, I tried to control my emotions as I felt myself choking up. As he shared the results and his conclusive diagnosis. I found myself struggling to hold back the tears and the snot bubble that was massing in my right nostril, Suddenly, as I felt my wife’s hand tighten on mine. I turned to her lovingly only to notice the tears rolling down her cheek.

The answers we had been hoping for were not there. This was a month that featured X-Rays on my shunt. An MRI and CAT Scan on my brain and enough blood work to make a vampire foam at the mouth. It turned out that my symptoms had nothing to do with a recently discovered meningioma brain tumor residing on the opposite side of the brain where my original pineal tumor (The one doctors deemed as terminal. Giving me a month to live at the ripe age of twelve.) had remained or my 2008 stroke that was brought on by a build up from the radiation I originally received to shrink said tumor. Issues that could be easily understood, treated and easily removed.

 Back in Jersey during a March, 2017 seventy two hour EKG.

Instead, what they found was a rare, often genetic neurological disorder known as FAhr’s Syndrome. A disorder that has no cure or standard treatment. One that progresses over time, but won’t kill you. After the doctor went over each test with visual descriptions, he turned to us and said, “I wish I had better news for you.” A term which is easily translated to “Sorry, but you’re fucked.” Having amassed a stockpile of sarcasm and dark humor over the years, I asked, “If I drop you a few extra dollars for your next trip to the local strip club, would you prescribe a toxic cocktail that can put an end to my misery?” Instead of agreeing to my request, I was referred to physical and speech therapists. Complete with a follow up date and the name/number of a social worker.I was all but dismissed.  The worst part of it all, at least for me, was seeing my wife cry. We’ve been through a lot together (My 2002 shunt replacement, 2008 stroke, my struggles and sleepless nights due to an ongoing struggle with Gastroesophageal reflux disease as well as my numerous trips to the Emergency Room.) and she’s been at my side during every bump in the road. She’s a loving, supporting and very strong woman. Yet, I’ve only seen her cry twice in all our years together. Both being times when I was hospitalized or being diagnosed with some kind of bullshit.

While it’s hard for me to properly articulate what I’m about to say. Life has taught me that there’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve seen a lot and I’ve been through more. We are all a lot stronger than we ever give ourselves credit for. Though in my case, hearing stories from friends and loved ones who were around to witness some of the things I went through was more than I could take. More than I would ever want to burden anyone with. I don’t know if I ever told anybody this, but I often feel a tremendous sense of guilt for what I put them through. In getting the news of the next gift from God. I finally shared my thoughts of how I wished the original 10/11/1982 diagnosis of “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do. Your son will most likely be dead within the month.” Would have been fulfilled. Because, somehow, their saving me led to a lifetime of related bullshit that I couldn’t shield the people I loved from.

That’s me on the right wearing a Yankees team jersey.

While my rant was not received well by family, friends, or my doctor. It was something I had been feeling and wanted to be honest about. In retrospect. I’ve lived a charmed life. One that’s granted me love, happiness and enough positive experiences to look look forward to and back on for years to come. All the negatives are just bumps along an otherwise smooth road.


Fahrs Syndrome Information

American Brain Tumor Association


Once Upon a Time…

I have a long history of bad dreams regarding my childhood, the places I’d been, the characters in my life and some of the crazy things I had seen and experienced. Thankfully, I reached a place in my life (a good one.) that’s given me a sense of closure that’s allowed me to look back upon those times with a sense of humor. While writing about many of those experiences has helped immensely when it came to that closure. It’s given me something I never could have expected. That being able to sharpen my memory and bring a greater sense of detail to my writing. Time and perhaps forgiveness has given me the strength and to a great extent, a chance to look back, laugh and share some of these stories with a sense of detachment that allows me to write as if I was penning fiction. Instead of waking in the middle of the night due to a nightmare. I wake refreshed with a fluent memories of an experience I haven’t thought of in decades.

One involving my Mother leaving me in the care of a very nice woman who managed or  possibly owned a dry cleaners, While I can only recall being left there once. She was a very nice lady whose storefront was highlighted by a supersized fish tank that housed some rather colorful coy. I mean, I can’t think of a better place to leave your kids. “In before 9:00. Ready by 5:00.” had to have its origins.

The other, and perhaps the head scratcher of the two, came when left in the care of my father. Considering my parents worked shifts that almost insured they’d rarely see one another. (My Mother worked the regular 9-5 as a secretary in Manhattan. While my Dad’s city job as a bus driver had him on a 3-11 schedule. As far back as I could remember, my Dad was doing a lot of side jobs making money here and there doing work for bookies and loan sharks. While there were countless times when I could tag along to the bar (Cheese burger & fries, a plate of calamari and a couple of cokes. Armed with a handful of  quarters for the jukebox. The hours would just slip away.) Or the local O.T.B.   (Off Track Betting for those not old enough to remember.) Where I could sit and watch the races on closed circuit tv or run to the corner hot dog guy for a mustard, sauerkraut and onions Sabrett.

Through the years though, there were a number of occasions where my Dad couldn’t take me along with him on his rounds and had to get creative. The local gas station on the corner of 83rd st. and Astoria Blvd. just happened to be one. Though there were three filling stations within a two block radius of my Pop’s house. My Dad must have known the owner of this particular one. During the hours and occasions I was left in his care. I don’t recall any strange goings on. There was the office (or reception area) with a gumball machine. I spent time watching the mechanics work on cars. I can recall thinking how cool the collection of tools looked on the peg board. Those roller carts that allowed them to magically disappear under the cars and oh, those awesome car lifters that would raise the cars off the ground magically. The people there always looked after me, kept me entertained and safe from the constant traffic that flowed from La Guardia Airport into Astoria Blvd.

From a very young age, I had come to love visiting junk yards whether it be for a spare car or motorcycle part. Or to tag along with my Dad when he went to collect money for the bookies or sharks, By four or five, I had come to love the smell of gasoline.

Years later though, after hijacking my Aunts copy of The Daily News. I was somewhat surprised to see that the same gentleman my Father trusted to care for me was being arraigned on charges of extortion, arson and kidnapping. It was just one of many instances when someone I knew and trusted showed up in the local news paper or led off the days TV News report. It was just a part of growing up. People doing what they felt they needed to do to get from point A to point B taught me a lot about life and the many grey areas that you find along the road.



What’s In Your Bag?

Over the weekend I decided to pull the trigger and purchase the Canon 70-200 f4 USM telephoto lens. The choice came after almost a year of researching, second guessing and ultimately deciding on purchasing a much more budget friendly and lighter version of Canons 2.8 version, which retails at around $1,950.00. 00. It will be my first zoom lens since I purchased the Cannon f 2.8 28-135 (Not pictured here) some years ago. Adding it to my other lenses. The EF 85mm 1:18, EF 28mm 1:18, EF 50mm 1:1.4, EF 50mm 1:1.8, 40mm 0.3m/0.98ft (also not pictured here) and my trusted 15mm 1:28. And while it might seem like too much. Each lens has served a purpose and more than justified the money invested. As the lens is due to arrive on Thursday of this week. I hope and plan to use it as early as this weekend. Here’s to new glass.