"A Collage of My Life"

This morning, after I woke up at around 3:00 AM, I sipped my coffee and tried to build a mental collage, a photo-montage if you will, of my life. I envisioned a huge white canvas and as I recalled mental images starting as early as probably 4 or 5 years old, the canvas began to reflect my life for the last 60 some years.


I started at the bottom of my framed composition and began with images of playing in the back yard with my friends, sleeping in a canvas tent during a warm summer evening. And, playing whiffle ball in the street and having to stop every few minutes as cars passed by. Watching as the yellow electric buses stopped by our house for the drivers to take a short rest. All of these images began appearing as symbols of my years on earth.


The canvas grew rapidly as a remembrance from each year and would be fixed permanently to my life portrait. High school friendships, college exploits, service to my country, marriages, children, grandchildren, all there for me to examine.

The early years were met with bright colors, sunshine, silent laughter. An occasional pastel would shade the brightness which I suspect indicated maybe a death, or an illness. Certainly nothing that
left a major bruise in my life.


As the portrait filled with my memories I felt myself concentrating harder and harder to keep focus, something that I have had to live with all my life, and even now with my mental thoughts, I asked myself if it was lack of focus or my resistance to a frightening past or an unsure future. I decided to simply fast forward and investigate whatever was causing this anxiety.

And then I had a shortness of breath when I saw what was causing my fear.


The canvas was almost complete. Only a small portion of it left for what I had hoped would be many years and memories to come.

Couldn't I just lengthen or enlarge the space giving me all the time I wanted? No, it was like elastic. and as I stretched the white background it pulled back harder only to show me then that this is it. This is all there will be.

I stepped back and took it all in. I saw a wonderful life. I saw happiness. I saw some sadness. I saw some anger. One thing I knew was that I lived life pretty much to the max.. I laughed and played and won most of my battles. I saw also that I had lost some battles as well, even a slight memory of when I thought I had died. Perhaps I had and was simply given that second chance.


Along the way I saw I had made mistakes. I broke promises. I ruined relationships. And for a time I spiraled downward.

I still have a little room on my canvas though.

Maybe I spent too much of my early youth painting with too big of strokes and that consumed too much of my canvas. Or maybe the memories just consumed me and all of those hours were truly wasted on a lost youth.. I don't know.

I plan on mixing my colors brighter on the palette though. I want to finish the portrait with brilliance. I want it to shine from the top down. Perhaps illuminating some of those darker periods.


What is important now is to leave the anger that has recently arisen. The hate that has dulled my mental picture. I want my life collage to reflect light, not darkness. I want the last parts of my collage to shine. It is not a cliche' when people say life is too short, it is just a fact.

Someday you will see my life's collage. Some of you will recognize those periods in time. Some of you will say, "I knew him when..."


All of this is not an expression of depression. It is a commitment to make sure my final images, my final acts, will shine the brightest. Life is to be lived fully until the last bit of the canvas is complete

How you doin'....

We ate lunch at one of our favorite restaurants yesterday. It's nearby, it's a little hidden, it's a little nondescript, it has excellent food and it's Italian....I mean REALLY Italian. It has Frank Sinatra songs playing in the background....it has authentic Italian dishes. And, you almost get a feeling you could see Tony Soprano sitting at one of the tables.

We usually try to get seated in our favorite waitress's station but we saw she was working on what appeared to be a large catering order. And since we were one of the first in the restaurant for lunch we opted to just be served by whoever had that particular area.

Seating us and who would also serve us was someone we have seen numerous times and whom we thought was one of the owners since he always greets diners, sometimes seating them, sometimes, serving water and just always keeping  an eye on the overall operations. That suspicion was sort of confirmed when he once gave us a complimentary dessert when he saw us eyeballing a piece of strawberry cake at a nearby table.

He is truly old school. Black slacks, white long sleeve shirt and that wonderful New York Italian neighborhood expression..."How you doin'..."

Shortly after placing the menus on the table, which Pattye thought were new luncheon menus, he returned to take our order.  I asked, "Are the menus new?"....he replied, "I dunno I just got here.". I laughed a little nervous chuckle just because partly due to his accent and slightly nervous because I didn't want to offend him.

Then I took it one step further. Since I can never go anywhere without engaging someone in conversation, I asked the elderly gentleman, "Are you originally Italian?"  As the question rolled out of my nervous mouth, I realized I meant to say, Are you originally from Italy?"...he kinda looked at me like I was a little stupid and said, "What, do I look Chinese?"...Again, that slightly little nervous chuckle from me.

Pattye ordered a bowl of the potato soup, which is beyond words, and I ordered the excellent chicken Parmesan. Often we just split a meal partly because the plates are huge and we eat a little less these days...Our waiter's comment to us..."What...is this a two for one. I can't make any money like this." and he walked away....and again, my nervous chuckle.

After we finished most of our meal, we asked for to-go boxes and a piece of that great strawberry cake..He looked at me, kinda smiling, yet somewhat stern..."No", he said, "You finish your meal here.. Eat it here". and then he walked away. In a few minutes, he brought the boxes and as I said "we'll do that".meaning, we would put what we wanted into the boxes....he proceeded to put the food in the boxes himself. And then surprisingly he declared, "You need more juice", referring to the broth from Pattye's soup, which I thought was a nice gesture. And off he went to enhance the take home dishes.

This is not the man's first rodeo.He brought back the change from two $20.00 bills that Pattye had given him (she always treats) and it was obvious he left the $.30 in coins behind...not a big deal...and actually something that one might appreciate since you don't have to carry it around anymore and its value is much less. Pattye gave a generous tip since the food, service and overall experience was great even though I wasn't ever sure of where I stood with the wonderful man, he certainly was entertaining.

And of course, as we were leaving, another man, whom we have also thought to be one of the owners, said as we left and he put out his hand and said..."How you doin'"

I love those Italian mannerisms, and even though my smile was a nervous smile, I think he was very sincere, so I replied in a similar manner, "How, you doin?". He smiled....thankfully.

"And when I die..."

Well, this morning when I woke up singing, it wasn't any different than most mornings when I start singing first thing, except today's song seemed a little ominous.

It's funny how we often create our own lyrics, either because we forgot the original words or maybe we never even learned them in the first place. I remember a thousand years ago, when my friend, PJ Shank's, mother, whom we affectionately called "Link" used to sing "One Ton Tomatoes" instead of "Guantanamera" for the words to the song by the same name "Guantanamera".


I laugh often when I watch people on the Ellen show make up there own lyrics as the camera pans across the audience during pre-show warmups.


But today, it was a little somber. A little dark. And at first it sounded a little hopeless as the words came out of my mouth.


I was singing a classic by "Blood, Sweat and Tears", their great hit "And when I Die". It has a fun melody, kinda upbeat, but boy...when I Googled the complete lyrics, since I couldn't remember the entire song and just kept repeating the one line of the refrain "I'm not scared of dying". It dawned on me. I am scared of dying.


But you know what, just like the next verse says "if it's peace you find in dying then let dying time be near."...it's all a matter of interpretation.

Another line in the song says "I can swear there ain't no heaven, but I pray there ain't no hell"....I guess I have to disagree with that as well. If there isn't any heaven, well, then, score one for the Big Guy for leading us down a hopeless path. There has to be something on the other side. I'm not ready to find out yet, and I am scared to find out, but I have faith..

I'm guessing a lot of this is that at my age, many of my friends are becoming ill and having to fight battles they never expected they would encounter. But I, like you, am here to help them. 

So, as the song says...

And when I die and when I'm dead, dead and gone,
there'll be one child born and a world to carry on, to carry on.


Now is not the time to give up hope, all of us have a lot of livin' to do.

Anyway, welcome to my world...It's crazy, but it's exciting.

On turning 100

I've never known personally, someone who was a 100 years old. Oh, I've read about them. I used to see them on the Today show when Willard Scott would wish them a special "Smuckers Birthday Greeting". But to be able to talk to a centenarian has never happened.

But that's about to change.

A very special person in my heart, Rosie Keefe, will soon be reaching that milestone on Feb, 4, 2017.

I've known Rosie my entire life. She is that special person that many of us have had in one's family. Though not related by blood, Rosie was more family than most other relatives.

My first memory of Rosie was when I would visit my aunt at her office across the street from Miami Valley Hospital in Dayton, Ohio.  My aunt, who my brothers and I, affectionately called Aunt Babm, worked as an office manager for a group of leading Ophthalmologists in Dayton, Drs. Stanbaugh and Thomas. Rosie, was their Registered Nurse, and my Aunt Babm's best friend.

The office was at Wyoming St. and Rubicon St. across from the hospital where the two surgeons would perform eye exams and operations with Rosie assisting them. A busy and bustling part of town with the University of Dayton near by and the Montgomery County Fairgrounds just down the street. A more commercial and business like area rather than residential. Yet, Rosie lived in a small frame house just across the parking lot from the office. I'm guessing she was probably never late for work being that close.

Since eye examinations were foremost in our household and I guess because they were probably gratis, I got to visit quite often. Rosie was always there in her crisp white starched uniform, always with a smile and a hug. She loved all of the Kender boys so much, but secretly I think she loved me the most.

A few years later, when I was in high school, I had an opportunity to work  nearby with Rosie. 

The office building housed in addition to the Ophthalmologists various Internists as well. They sent their patients to a laboratory in the  basement to have blood work and accompanying urine tests run. My Aunt Babm was influential in securing a position for me as literally "chief (specimen) bottle washer" after school. Each and every day, Rosie made it a point to come down to my little alcove and say hi to me always wearing her personable smile. Most days, I would venture upstairs to visit Rosie in her work area wearing my "Ben Casey-type" shirt/uniform to wish her a warm greeting as well.

Another mental snapshot of Rosie was when she ended up living only a few blocks away.

My grandmother, Nana, lived with Aunt Babm just a few streets away on Addison, just up from my house on Sandhurst. After Nana passed away, Rosie moved from her small house near the office and shared the home with Aunt Babm. Rosie would eventually become a care-giver as Aunt Babm's health began to slowly fail.

There they would spend their hours creating the most beautiful needle point pieces together and never, ever without fail listening to another of her loves, the Cincinnati Reds.

As time moved on and the house became more difficult to maintain they eventually both moved to Friendship Village in north Dayton and where after Babm's passing, Rosie lives alone today.

Even at 99 and soon to be 100, Rosie never misses wishing me  a holiday greeting. She always sends a Christmas card and always asks about my family whenever we talk on the phone.
When I return to my childhood home in Dayton, some 1,000 miles away, I always without fail make sure my visit to Rosie is at the top of my list.

 During a recent visit last September, I commented to Rosie about her upcoming 100th birthday and said "Rosie, I don't know anyone who is 100", she smiled at me and said wryly, " neither do I".

As I look back over the years, I realize I really don't know much about the life history of my centenarian friend. I guess it never occurred to me to ask. All I ever knew was that Rosie was just always there. But I will ask  on my next visit and next visit after that for I feel if Rosie has been with us this long, she will be with us for years to come and has a lot of stories to tell me. 

So, Happy Birthday my dear friend. I am blessed having you in my life. You are an inspiration to me to cause me to want to stay around for another 30 some of my years to attain the goal that you have now reached.

Your loving "nephew"
Tommy

Magazines.....sadly another treasure we are losing

I miss magazines. I miss reading magazines. I miss the feel of magazines, hell, I think maybe I even miss the smell of magazines. I grew up with magazines. 

Everyone my age and of course those older than me read magazines, and some of the younger generations read magazines. 

Webster defines a magazine as :  a type of thin book with a paper cover that contains stories, essays, pictures, etc., and that is usually published every week or month.


I guess that just about covers everything I read growing up.. Of course a few of the magazines I "looked" at had articles in them but I didn't read them. I said I did, but actually all I was doing was looking at the pictures.

Comic books were considered magazines. "Superman" was probably at the top of my list. Each month as the new issue came out, I would devour my treasure from front to back including the Q and A section in the middle that seemed to answer all of the same stupid questions. It frustrated me to no end how some of the stupid questions kept reappearing like "How did Superman get to Earth?". Geesh people why are you even reading the comic book if you didn't know THAT answer.

Of course, another important part of the comic book (magazine) was the back cover where you could buy anything from xray glasses, to a hover board, a one-man helicopter, and gag gifts like fake vomit and fake dog doodoo.

Jughead and Archie would show up on occasion in my personal library and although I wouldn't admit it back then, I think I even had an affection for Little Lulu.

My oldest brother, Dave, was a Boy Scout, so he would receive Boy's Life.magazine. I kinda liked it especially the hobbies and projects but the scouting information bored me a little bit.

Another favorite was Popular Mechanics. Wow, now we are talking about projects. I think Dave subscribed to that magazine as well.It probably gave him the foundation for majoring in Engineering in college. He still teaches Engineering classes to this day at the age of 75 at Wright State University in Dayton, Ohio where his name is legend.

The magazine, I think, also had instructions for making a "shock" machine that he used to run experiments with  my best friend, "The Jer" and I as he would make us hold on to some metal orange juice cans that he had connected to a transformer. "The Jer" could hold on all the way up to about 110 volts before he would let out a scream.

But the best of all, the stalwart of the literary world was the "Reader's Digest". What a treasure.

From start to finish, it held my interest for years and years. From "Humor in Uniform" to "Amazing Anecdotes". I read every article, every joke, every story..

My Mom submitted two or three stories for publication but they were never accepted. I still have the rough drafts to this day. 

As I have written in this blog in the past, her dedication to the written word is what has inspired me to share my thoughts in blogs and even a publication of some short stories about growing up with my best friend..

Sadly, now all my reading is done on my tablet. Gone are the newspapers. Gone are the magazines, gone is the "feel" of having that magazine in my hand.

Kids nowadays won't have a chance to have a rolled-up comic book in their back pocket that they could simply sit up against a tree or lay in the grass on a Summer day and read about super heroes.

It's just another thing of the past that yeah, I guess I do miss.