Little Randy had filled himself to the brim with turkey and stuffing and family good cheer. After reaching his limit of pats on the head from maiden aunts and exclamations of, “My how big you’re getting!” from other well-meaning relations, he put on his coat and escaped to the rolling hills out behind the house. He had not been to Grandma’s in a long time and had forgotten how much fun it was to roam the fields and make up adventures that grownups would never understand.

He had, also, forgotten about the ominous dark building at the very top of the tallest hill, which he imagined to be the ship of a sea faring explorer tossing upon the waves. Sometimes the clang of a bell would echo across the glen that separated the imaginary ship from the imaginary shore upon which he stood. Cupping his hands around his eyes as if peering through binoculars, Randy focused on the double arched doors at the front of the structure and tried to get a clearer view. Maybe he could catch a glimpse of the captain or see if the crew was permitted Thanksgiving rations as they tirelessly manned the sails.

All of a sudden, one of the doors swung open and out marched a group of unusual looking people dressed in black bonnets, starched white collars and long dark robes. Randy was taken by surprise. He never really expected to see anyone — it was just pretend. But the whole procession was now headed precisely in his direction! He turned quickly and stumbled down the hill. “Mama, Mama, the Pilgrims are coming, the Pilgrims are coming!” He shouted as he ran.

He burst into the house. “What’s the matter?” his mother asked with a concerned voice and a curious look. “The Pilgrims are coming, Mama!” repeated little Randy. She put her arm over his shoulder and hurried to the window. They parted the curtains just in time to see a group of Nuns from the Abbey on the hill passing by on their after dinner constitutional.

Randy is Vigi’s kid brother and ‘The Pilgrim Story’ is one of her favorite Thanksgiving memories from childhood. He was only three or four at the time and today sports more than a bit of gray around the gills, like so many of us — but it is the family times that offer the most vivid memories of this festive holiday.

There are those who write about atrocities committed against the Indians (It would be 300 years or so before they became Native-Americans). Still others use the occasion to make some obscure political point. Me? I wasn’t around back then to harm anyone. The only atrocity I ever committed on Thanksgiving involves turkey, stuffing, two kinds of potatoes, cranberry sauce and a few notches let out in my belt to make room for Vigi’s fresh baked lemon meringue, pumpkin AND apple pies. It’s a celebration of life and plenty — a purely American holiday made for gatherings with family and friends. It’s also a time for reflection and for gratitude.

I live in a terrific home sharing a wonderful life with an incredible lady. While we’ve had some rough patches, and each of us has slipped at times down a health-threatening slope, we’re here to talk about it. I’ve known the joy of children, the sweet smell of success and bounced back from the bitter taste of failure. I have good friends. I may not be wealthy but I am rich. I have no regrets.

On Thanksgiving I choose to celebrate and give thanks for these things and for more than any man has a right to. If anyone wants to complain about historical matters that have been rewritten a thousand times, and probably never once accurately, the best I can do is point him toward the window and tell him to keep watch for the Pilgrims — but first, please pass the gravy.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Look for Bananas Crackers and Nuts Podcast links under
“Recent Podcasts”…also check out the Podcast Page.

Some people slide into retirement easily.  Not me.  I guess part of the problem is that I never meant to retire.  Oh, I said the words last New Year’s Eve but then you say a lot of things on New Year’s Eve when your tongue is well oiled with enough José, Tanqueray or Andre, vintage last Tuesday.  I’m still ready to work but I’ve played in a ‘young man’s game’ all my life; now  it seems young men either fail to place a premium on experience or feel threatened by it.  I think I’ll go with threatened. I like the sound of it better.

Among the many changes that occur when you retire, regardless of how the decision is made, I find three things particularly outstanding:  Traditional ‘markers’ disappear, time accelerates at warp speed and you find yourself in need of a new identity.  The first two happen automatically; the third takes some serious reconstruction and I, for one, am still breaking ground in that area.  Guys, especially, tend to define themselves by their occupation.  So when there is no longer an occupation there’s a huge gap in your mental resume — and nobody likes to say, “Used to be”.

I had a wonderful experience this past week and the gentleman responsible for it would probably never fully grasp its significance.  You see, all he did was remember me!  He not only made my day but popped a few pieces of the puzzle into place.  As I’ve written before and mentioned in the Podcast [if you've listened], my background is radio and announcing. One friend from ‘the business’ refers to us as pronouncers.  By any other name, broadcasting means public person. It also means colossal ego.  If a person who toiled in anonymity behind a desk all his life stumbles a bit during the journey into retirement, imagine the concussion from the thud when some radio guy’s huge ego hits the floor!  Believe me, it’s not pretty.

Anyway, the gentleman who made my week is a former customer of my production studio who I last saw about ten years ago.  Out of the blue, he called and asked if I would be interested in appearing in a commercial he is producing for television.  I mean, the guy is opening the door to work again!  He not only remembered me but actually thought about ‘me of the radio face’ as a T.V. type!  After the initial excitement of being wanted again wore off, I began to wonder if he had considered the changes that might have occurred since he last saw me — ten years worth of wrinkles, twenty pounds worth of pasta and a salt-and-pepper instead of pepper-and-salt beard, just for openers.  He hadn’t.

I sent him three current pictures and he sent me a kind note that was like an umpire calling the batter out on three straight strikes.  Oh he didn’t say, “You’ve got to be kidding,” or anything like that.  But his carefully worded note read, “Thank you for the pictures but I’m afraid you don’t look the part”.  My return message told him not to be afraid and thanked him for thinking of me.  What really surprised me was my feeling of relief — like a giant weight had been lifted from my shoulders that I didn’t even know was there!  I definitely felt disappointed and unquestionably felt sad but my overriding emotion was one of relief!

The opportunity was welcome but the revelation was valuable.  I think I’m finally beginning to find my fuzzy retirement slippers instead of running around on broken glass in my bare feet.  The part of me that needed nurturing from public performance is satisfied.  It is now relegated to the ‘been there, done that’ category.  It is yesterday. I’m through playing. I’ve folded up my game board and tucked it away in the top of the closet. Now, if I can just close the door.

Look for Bananas Crackers and Nuts Podcast links under
“Recent Podcasts”…also check out the Podcast Page.

I received an eMail from a good friend the other day describing the way he felt as, “Like an urban fire hydrant”. My reply was something along the lines of, “…as long as the kids aren’t unscrewing your plugs and trying to install a sprinkler cap.” He’d been having trouble with his knees lately but this was something different and his new lament started me thinking about a question that I’ve pondered ever since my own magnificent 21 year old bod began to disintegrate exponentially.

When it comes to longevity, who do you figure is better off — the person who was never sick a day in his life or the one who has been through the mill, sporting surgeries and illnesses that would make most folks long for a simple case of swine flu? I don’t really have a definitive answer and by the time I get one, I won’t be able to tell you about it. But I have made a number of observations.

Good health is not an absolute. I’ve talked with people in wheel chairs who considered themselves in excellent health while others, quite vertical, toddle around claiming a personal key to death’s door. One most elderly gent even claimed, “I must be healthy — I got up this morning didn’t I?”

When you reach a certain age, you may not be hear Gabriel’s horn yet but you begin to understand that he only takes requests from the boss — and I’m not talking about Springsteen! Inheritance can get you only so far, whether you’ve been doing laps at the deep end of the gene pool or treading water near the drain in the shallow part. After that, God tried to give us smarts enough to help our own cause with a little common sense, a few tests and a good physician.

When it comes to health, we’ve been educated with an “If it ain’t broke don’t fix it” mentality. Most of us only see a doctor if we feel lousy or there’s an arm or leg ready to separate from the main housing. I know people who have no idea what their blood pressure is, don’t know their cholesterol numbers, haven’t experienced the thrill of prep for a colonoscopy and even guys who have never had a simple PSA performed. Well, I did talk my ‘hydrant’ friend into one but to my knowledge he never went back for another test. That’s kind of like walking around feeling fully dressed while wearing only one shoe.

This group has three things in common: They all claim good health [without any basis for it], they think health conscious people are a bunch of hypochondriacs and by the time they finally recognize the riff Angel Gabriel is playing, the last expression on their face will be surprise.

On the other hand there’s another group that has been poked, prodded, sliced, diced, and in many cases, has left one or two hospitals packing less original equipment than they checked in with. I belong to this group. Such experiences have taught me [upon receiving the bill] why doctors wear masks and that the best chance of overcoming any compromising condition is early diagnosis.

It’s a paradox, because having your health make a wrong turn most certainly takes its toll. You’ll never feel better than you did before your wellness went south because, by the time you convalesce, you’re one side or the other of a year older and we all know what that’s about! On the other hand, whatever went on the blink in the first place has been fixed and the principal players are aware of anything else that needs monitoring. “Well-claimers” usually don’t find out about the shaky stuff until later.

In the long run, I figure it’s like bad umpiring in a baseball game — it tends to even out by the last of the ninth.   Still, before you start feeling like an ‘urban fire hydrant’, wouldn’t it be nice to know there’s enough water in your hose and no stray dogs in the ‘hood?

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