A blog about a life awakened and rejuvenated around Western New York.

Leave a comment


A wet Monday for the most part, still battling my weather woes. I don’t usually find my self in the throes of such a malaise, and I’d be crazy to start now. So it just seems natural for music to soothe this savage’s breast.

I’ve spent the day searching for the songs that express such days perfectly. The Mamas and the Papas sing “Monday, Monday” and I find myself harmonizing right along John, Denny, Michelle and Cass. “Rhythm of the Rain” by the Cascades stokes a few chords but doesn’t completely satisfy. Dipping back into the days of my Bubble Gum youth, the Cowsills “The Rain, the Park and Other Things” brings a smile.

Chicago’s “Thunder and Lightning” rocks with horns (I still miss Cetera’s voice in the later stuff). “Raining Men”  by the Weather Girls… I don’t think so, “Let it Rain” soulful, but I had enough. “Purple Rain”, “Bucket of Rain”, “Who’ll Stop the Rain?” Enough said.

“I Don’t Like Mondays” (Boomtown Rats), melds into “Long Monday” (John Prine) and “Manic Monday” (The Bangles) fill the calendar day.

But I guess the ultimate theme for days like these is the spirit that lives in Karen Carpenter’s lilting voice in “Rainy Day and Mondays”. She finds a way to ignite my fire long after she’s gone. I miss her voice, terribly!

Hey, so I’m a passionate guy. Sue me!

Leave a comment


Buffalo weather is right on schedule. It’s cold, it’s hot. It rains like a son-of-a-bitch or sprinkles in misty precipitation. They tell me there’s this thing called “the sun”,  but I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of it in so long, I have come to doubt its existence. I will offer some resistance and wait to see what the weekend brings.

But still there’s this mood it dumps on me that needs more shaking than an upside down Etch-a-Sketch on its last leg. I steer clear of windows, for the effect the view has on me. I listen to KZOK-HS2 out of Seattle. Great rock, no talk and none of the insipid local weather/traffic headaches with which to deal. Even the Weather Channel app on my phone depicts the grayness in the wallpaper representing the Buffalo sky. And they’re being optimistic.

I’ve heard folk say, “Well, a good thing about the rain is… you don’t have to shovel it!” (Nyuk-nyuk) Tell that to your friends in New Orleans next time you have too much time on your hands.

And you know, it’s not even so much about the rain. I can take a sun shower ten ways to Sunday. I’m a colorful guy and my palette is usually full. Muted shades of gray leave little to my imagination. The rain is just a reminder.

Forecasts call for improvements (I know this shit isn’t gonna last forever). It’s just that it’s caught me on a few bad days (although I question if this is a chicken and egg thing). So I’ll string it out and shout when the sun peeks out and I start to sweat. And you can bet I’ll piss and moan when the heat returns and burns my sorry rump.

But, there’s a big advantage to the sunshine. You don’t have to shovel it!

Leave a comment


It was an amazing 24 hours. The whole week really. Melissa had come home to be married out of our house like she always dreamed. We ate meals as a family. We watched movies together (wedding movies, needless to say). 

Cold, wet skies pocked the approaching days, and in a way we prayed for better weather. It poured as we entered the church to rehearse. Step here, do that. Don’t do this, the wedding party goes here… And it seemed to go smoothly (a precursor to the following nuptials). Dinner and a gathering again as a soon to be newly formed family. Drinks and laughs and food and long glancing looks.

Her mother looks contemplative. She knows our daughter will join the ranks as a wife and somewhere down the road, a mother. They’ve had their battles, both headstrong and driven. Melissa was too much like her mother, as much as neither would admit it. As much as they both hoped they would be.

And I was as melancholy as I had become as the big day neared. Mixed emotions, I guess you would say. Melissa was our first born. She was my helper, my right hand. She cared for her sister while mom worked nights and I tried hard to keep the ship afloat. Her chosen field (teaching) came to her naturally, again in her dealings with Andrea, her junior by seven years. The girls liked to play school. And in acting as teacher, Melissa did indeed teach her sister, how to read and write long before she had been enrolled at school.

She was my biggest fan. She enjoyed my music and was my best critic when it came to my verbal scribblings. I knew my poetry was good when I was able to elicit tears from Melissa through the touching beauty of some well chosen words. For a while it felt like I was losing that.

But all I was losing was the daily connection we had come to rely upon. None of the rest really changed.

The morning of the wedding moved like a high speed movie. Disjointed scenes, random clips of a pre-scripted show. Hair appointments, and dressing, photographs and in the milieu of time, a wedding happened. Me, on wobbly legs escorting this beautiful woman (the second time in my life) down an aisle to a new life. No practice was really necessary, she knew what to do all along. It was as if she were leading me to where she needed to be. I had been replaced. And she couldn’t have chosen a better man.

But in reality, it was he that made the correct choice. And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer couple of kids.



Today’s forecast: Fair, with a chance of thunderstorms.

That’s like saying – A great life… with a chance of death.

Ok, so reality could come to bite you in the ass on occasion, that is as long as it’s based on some semblance of fact. Reality based on fact? (What a concept!)

Sometimes I wonder, “Do they even really know?” The weather “gurus” play with their models (boys and girls with their toys) and then form OPINIONS on what THEY see. One scenario says it won’t be such a bad day… High in the low to possible mid-sixties, partly cloudy but dry. The other forecast says the temperatures will drop into the fifties and rain like a son-of-a-bitch (not an official on-air weather term). So we will be dealing with a cold to moderately warm, dry not so dry deluge of biblical proportions.

It’s like going to a psychic who sees a possible male or female with an b, s, n, or o in their name who was, is or will be acquainted to you in this or another life…

Rather random, wouldn’t you say? So, I prefer to use my father’s age old (and extraordinarily accurate system). “Sonny”, he’d say “stick your head out the window. If it comes back wet… take an umbrella!”

Yeah, he called me Sonny and he never knew why. He claimed I wasn’t that bright! But I know his garden would have loved all this rain (if it eventually falls or not!)

*******  UPDATE ******

OK, so it started to come down in a torrent of precipitation. A whole lot of rain in a short burst, but I’m taking off points for the lack of rumble. I’d like my thunder storm to make some damn noise, thank you very much!

But apparently, I pissed the rain gods off! I didn’t realize I wield such power! I must learn to harness this for good!



It’s been a great run, but I knew the string of gorgeous weather wouldn’t last forever. Highs in the upper seventies, brilliant sunshine and nary a cloud in the sky.

So today it started to rain. Not a massive downpour, but enough of a reminder to say “All good things must come to an end”. Surely, it’s not the end of the world. But I could get used to the former.

I mean, let’s face it. It’s mid-spring and everything seems to be popping. The trees are either blossoming, or dropping their seed. The greenery is in its early finery. The tulips in my gardens are fully grown and wonderful shades of violet and deep purple, reds and yellow, and some colors I don’t even remember planting. We could use the rain.

I haven’t had much time to plan a garden, with other important events taking precedent. But what will be, will be.

It’s rather nice actually, the rain. Misty drizzle in actuality makes a sit on the porch a true happening. I can hear the birds in their hiding spots, still chirping the songs. The woodchucks scurry in and out of the brush in the field across the way, (an attempt to play) but they stay close to the shelter of the foliage. The sound of the soft rain upon the leaves and the porch roof is the most enticing. There’s music in the tympani. This symphony of a Spring shower, stirring the flowers and all things alive. Me, included.

April showers be damned. This May rain rules the day.