A merging, an ending

My Aunt sent me a cassette of I'm Your Man when it came out in 1988. I'd never really listened to Leonard Cohen before, so chalk up another one for Sandy.

She died four years ago yesterday. This is the first video of a posthumous release of Cohen's.

And here we are. Brexit begins, the senate acquits. Putin wins.

The View From West George Street

We're staying on the first floor of an apartment/hotel. The ceilings are super high and the bedrooms are set back far enough that we do not hear much of the street noise. It's a busy one way street that goes straight into Nelson Mandela Place to one of the large shopping areas of the city. It's central, and we have not stayed anywhere this close to anything in over ten years. We were in one of my favorite bars the other night, at night, which was a first. I do not know if the city takes on a different pace at night, but it's cool to walk an abandoned Buchanan Street at 11PM, knowing that the way to bed is about six minutes away, instead of having the rush for the late train to Lenzie.

Spent some money today, and not necessarily on whiskey. Bought a shirt at a shop I would have have considered even entering five years ago, but here we are now in our new financial reality.

We've been to a few events: Ian Rankin and guests talking about murder cases, Vic Galloway reading about the wonderful Rip It Up exhibit on Scottish Pop in Edinburgh, followed by club night of music by said musicians on vinyl with Galloway, Divine and Stephen Pastel DJing. Tomorrow night its the Posies at a legendary club I've only read about. It's my first concert in Glasgow and I wonder if I'm worthy.

This was my best visit to Edinburgh, the people were actually pleasant this time about. All the while I lamented to my sister-in-law about a city being loved to death by tourists (yes, I know) we went to the blissfully quiet Oxford Bar where I used a toilet that Ian Rankin has surely used a couple of times, at least. Edinburgh was crowded, busy, now with a tram, and took away a lot of the unpleasantness of previous visits. Cheers!

The buses and taxis move behind me, there are occasional drunken shouts late at night. We're in the middle of this city, the energy, activity and screw the front of house at Mossa who were not capable of seating us let alone look at us after they finally got us a table, this has been a good stay.

Around 4:30AM

My Mother died five years ago this December. Last night I had what I believe is the first dream I've had with her in it, at least what I can remember.

It was in flashback, my son was small, and I was trying to get some rest in the basement of her house on Long Island. All I remember was my son running around in the living room, and a group of people coming in the house, including my mom.

She came downstairs to check on me and asked how I was doing. I told her exhausted but I am not going through chemo the way you are. She could not stay, had to go back to the hospital. I could not kiss her goodbye because of her condition.

Then she left, and I woke up.

The tone I've been looking for

When people are looking through over 40 years of your life on one side of the room, and you are on the other - holding forth and making gin cocktails, it can get a bit stressful.

The Westgate Cavern was festive on Saturday night. We had a very nice party and everyone hung out in the basement this time out. People were looking through my record collection without me hovering over them, judging my life's work. I'm sure all the cool stuff they liked was added by my wife. In the end, it all worked out. The worst thing was one record being misfiled - I hope a librarian did not do that. Got to add some new vinyl as my brother's partner came to the party, gifting me of his record collection. I spent some time yesterday weeding out the duplicates and what will move along and added some cool stuff and things he had that I lost in the flood to Discogs. That Lloyd Cole Rattlesnakes record is damn good.

There's a new member of the family also. Finally bit the bullet and got a new amp. The Supro Comet is a little tube dynamo. A ten inch speaker powered by six or fourteen watts of power, and it cranks at both. Good reverb and a smooth tremolo makes it what will be the last amp I ever need.

It was a bit of adventure getting the amp. I had bought from the company before and thought I put in my new address. I did not. Saw that it was shipped to the old address and races over there right away. When I got there, the guy had his laptop open and said, "You work for Ohio State." He was googling me to find some contact info as he suspected I'd need this, and he was right. And he is an honest man, this renter of my old house. Also, apologies to all the people I spoke with at UPS over the past week. My tone was not appropriate.

So it is good, a solid party turn out despite steady rain that ranged from a hard drizzle to near biblical. The puddle in the downstairs bathroom held off forming until after everyone left.

Thomas Wolfe and the home thing

Back on Long Island for a visit. Just a visit. For a change there are no funerals to attend. The weather has been oddly glorious for early November. This morning, though, there was a dense fog and I went to Heckscher State Park to see how the Great South Bay would look. It was hard to see though the mist. Very eerie and quite cool. A mist formed over my glasses. Made me wish I’d spent more time down here in high school. Should have ridden my bike down there instead of the to the South Shore Mall to play video games. It would have given me some much needed serenity.

The presence of my Mother is at many turns I make. She worked at the Connetquot State Park, which looms large with my family. There’s a memory bench with her name on it by the hatchery, where the public cannot go. My Stepfather and I went there today. He’s struggling with mobility these days, as he ages. But he got out his walker and rolled himself there.

As I drive my rented Hyundai around Western Suffolk County, memories flood me more than usual this time. Mostly about all the places I did not go, and how much time I wasted not going to them. But there’s the place I cursed up a storm at a guy for taking my bike. There’s the building I where threw a solid punch at a guy and knocked his head back. And of course, the house I lived in under some torment. But my Mom is still all over the place, and me - well I deliberately tried to erase my presence, or at least my footprint - and I cannot put it back, nor do I want to.

Overall it has been a good and necessary visit. My Stepfather took us to dinner last night, I took him to lunch today. My Niece does not take any crap from by Brother, which is a good thing. Later, I’m taking my Aunt to dinner. After that, who knows.

Really, do not vandalize cemeteries

My third Great-Grandfather, Joseph Plunkett served in the army with the Massachusetts Volunteers during The Civil War. His arm was either injured or blown off during the Battle of Petersburg and he was taken prisoner. He was freed during a prisoner exchange a couple of months later. I’m not certain what POW camp he was detained in, but it would not have been an easy place to be captive.

My Great-Uncle Eddie was killed in action on March 26th, 1945 while the U.S. Army crossed the Rhine River. He was 20 years old and his death had a profound impact on my family, especially that of my Grandfather who was 20 years older and looked after him almost like a son. He is buried in the St. Avold Cemetery in France because my Grandfather wanted him buried there with his buddies. I have not been there but I have photographs of the site that were taken by relatives who went to pay their respects to their Brother or their Uncle.

As you know I have a deep respect for cemeteries and the way we honor and remember our dead. I’ve also gained respect for how we honor our war dead. So when I saw that the Camp Chase cemetery, about a mile from my house, was vandalized last night, it disappointed me.

Camp Chase was a military camp in Columbus, during The Civil War it became a prisoner of war facility. Over 2,000 confederate soldiers lost their lives in the dirty, unsafe and medically primitive facility. Call it the Andersonville of the north.

I honor the gravesites of the war dead of the average soldier. Men who were often threatened by evil governments with death of their own families to enlist for a terrible cause. Win or lose, war is shit. Luckily my family was on the winning side of the wars. Yet, I do not hate Germans for killing my Great-Uncle as I suspect a terrified average 20 year old was probably the one who pulled the trigger in retreat.

The Camp Chase site is rather humble, not very well kept and in a non-vibrant part of Columbus. There is a stone that has an engraving of why the site is there and on top of an arch was a statue of a generic confederate soldier, with the inscription “Americans” underneath. That statue was taken down, after being up there for over 100 years, by vandals last night. I support that the meaning of the camp and it’s origins should be updated for our times. I do not agree that cemetery vandalism and desecration is the way to accomplish this.

A Soldier's Letter Home

Among my Aunt's possessions were letters my Great Uncle sent to his brother during World War II. I'm hoping to find time to scan them and keep them preserved for family history purposes. Most of them are from his time in training North Carolina, but there is also some V-Mail from when he was in Europe and this one from Italy in 1944.

He refers to Jimmy, my Father, I believe Chickie was my Aunt. Pa was my Great-Grandfather who died in November 1944. Eddie would never see him again as he died while the 45th Division was crossing the Rhine on March 26,1945.

You may ask yourself, well how did I get here?

I'm writing this from the parlor of a B&B that was built in the late 19th century and once owned by the family that exported Mumm Champagne into the country. Word on the street says it's now partially owned by a financial analyst who shouts a lot on a cable network.

We're going to be meeting some friends, and attending a pre-wedding dinner of a family member on Sunday in an Ivy League club in Manhattan. Excited about taking trains.

The weather is unseasonably cool. Drove here yesterday in an incessant rain through most of Pennsylvania. A drive I already cannot stand. Paid about $25 for the privilege of driving on some substandard roads.

When we got to the room last night, we set to lie down and catch up on events online but the power in the building went out for about fifteen minutes. It seems the power company was working on some utility lines and they knocked out power in the whole town. So it was not me signing into the wi-fi.

Going to head out and explore the town a bit more before getting lost on the way to our lunch date. Then again, Siri helped us get here with no incidents, maybe she can help us get around New Jersey without any tears.

Not angry, just lost

When I buy Irish Whiskey, and it’s rare that I do, it’s Bushmill’s. This gets people up in arms about Protestant Whiskey and a beverage being problematic. And I hear this from people who are not Irish.

Oh the dissonance.

I do not like the taste of Jameson’s, is that a crime? And I’m not going to buy a Whiskey called Michael Collins. Might as well have one of those Irish Car Bomb shooters to go along with it.

My Mother’s maternal Grandmother and Grandfather were both Polish immigrants who came over in the early 20th century.

My Mother’s paternal Great-Great Grandparents both came over from Ireland in the late 19th century.

My paternal Grandfather’s Mother emigrated from England in the late 19th century.

My paternal Grandfather’s Great Grandfather emigrated to the United States from Ireland in the mid 19th century.

My paternal Grandmother’s family history is filled with mysteries but with some certainty I can say her Grandparents were from Ireland and emigrated here in the late 19th century.

How much Irish Soda Bread should be in my house today?

I can take or leave Guinness Stout and have one or two a year, but not today.

How much Americanized distance is there between me and my ancestors from 1850-2017?

Here I am now, closer to my so called roots to Suffolk County, New York, Western New York State and Columbus, Ohio than to any of the olde countries any members of my family lived. I am closer to Fall River, Massachusetts, Brooklyn, Astoria, Greenpoint than Derry, Dublin, Libniki, Baba or Clitheroe. Maybe it’s one large disconnect between my brain and the world?

If others want to hoist one for St. Patrick, wear Kelly Green and shamrocks, fill their bellies with corned beef and cabbage (which I loathe) so be it. I might just break out some Van Morrison and drink a Four String Big Star instead.

Write it down!

Been going in on Ancestry the past couple of weeks. Got over 300 names in the tree and there are still more to go. At the point where I'm scanning some photos and putting them in individual profiles.



This could be Jennie, Mable, Evelyn or Mary. I'm not certain. Why? Because there is no indication anywhere on the picture who it is, and anyone who can identify here is probably dead. If I were to guess it's either Evelyn or Mary, but I cannot be 100 percent right.

Pro tip. Write something on the back of the damn picture!

The clouds, the breeze

How does a parent tell their 14 year old non-verbal child that the world has changed? I’ve had to tell him about the deaths of Grandparents and other relatives and it is so hard to know what has registered. As a parent of a severely autistic child, I’ve been advised to assume he is aware of the world around him even if he behaves as if he’s separate from it. Gauging his reaction is always difficult and in the wake of a death or other Earth shattering event it’s frustrating for me.

“I have to tell you something important happened last night. You know how Daddy yells when something bad happens to Everton? Well it’s like that, but a bit bigger….”

Oh Hell I do not know what I’m doing but I’m even more fearful about his future now, and about the health care of so many special needs children and adults who are probably going to lose their benefits when the new administration erases the Affordable Care Act.

The new sheriff in town does not inspire confidence when he mocks a man with cerebral palsy onstage and his followers kick a child’s wheelchair.

It’s not a good time to live in this country unless you’re a straight white male with some means. I have no idea what the next four years will bring, even the stock market shocked me with a rally today. Yet I can’t seem to want to give up hope. Maybe when the guy leaves it will be better than it was? I can’t help but be cynical and frightened for my friends and coworkers who do not look like me though.

Failure to thrive

Traveled last weekend and came back with a sickness that has been kicking my ass this week. All the humidity on Long Island combined with going into air conditioning and not enough (never enough) rest added up to something nasty taking hold on my system.

Did get some things sorted about with my Aunt's estate. I now have the rest of her pictures and went though my Father's pictures and did some scanning. A lot of memories went by, good and bad ones. Did end up driving on the LIE during afternoon rush hour to see my Sister in LIC. Nice neighborhood, with a cool view a few blocks from her apartment.



Driving was tiring. Put over 1,500 miles on the car, and it performed wonderfully. Still, it was a long trip in a shot amount of time. That, and my son's annual IEP meeting always adds up to additional sadness and inadequacy as a parent. The meeting went well enough, his Mother had concerns about the amount of a therapy he was to receive, which made sense to me. That my son is attending a new school and they're still getting to know him adds more to the uncertainty. He does seem to be doing well there. We were very concerned about how he would take the transition to a new school and pickup and exchange between his Mother and I, but that has not been a problem. Which is a very good thing.

Called an accountant today, we're meeting next week to talk about finances. This is a first.

Week two of my NFL hiatus is in full effect. Weird getting messages during the game and comments directed to me the next morning about what happened the night before. I do not know the specifics, I see the headlines, but do not know how the Bills are sucking.

Now, back to trying to rest or avoid writing.

How did I get here?

Of the documents and photos I inherited this is one of my most respected.



Alfred Dewhurst was my paternal Grandfather's Grandfather. He came to the states from Clitheroe, England in 1881. He made his home in Fall River. At the time he died, at he age of 43 in 1900 of tuberculosis, he lived around the corner from the Lizzie Borden house. Makes me wonder what my family knew of the crimes, if they attended any of the trial.

That document makes me want to go to Clitheroe, and try and find some of my ancestors graves in the local cemeteries.

This happened on Thursday



Easily the newest car I've ever purchased as it had 63 miles on it at the time. It's a thrill to be connected to the road, and have a warranty. Have no one to thank for this but my Aunt, really. Her planning made it possible. A friend of hers said she'd be happy for me, and that she'd be giving me directions. There were very few times we were in a car together and only one in which were were alone. I drove her to the luncheon after my Mom's services and she said I was a very good driver, it was about a mile.

Witnesses to notoriety?

Scanned a few more pictures tonight. There are so many and it's hard for me to figure out how to label them when there is no information on them.



That's my Grandfather, today is the 112th anniversary of his birth.

Got some genealogy updated. Have a couple of death certificates that I cannot connect to the rest of the family. One of them is of a girl who died at the age of five of marasmus. Click on the link if you dare, times was hard in 1888.

Also confirmed that some of my family lived around the corner from the Lizzie Borden home at the time of the murders. Small town that Fall River. Wonder if they were ever interviewed, or in the background the crowd photos of the trial, if there were any taken. Plenty of research in that case.

Things the bubble wrap and packing peanuts protected

When I went through my Aunt's belongings after she died, I found a lot of the genealogy I was looking for, a few things she held onto after a life in the entertainment industry and other assorted artwork and memorabilia. I took what I could that day, which was not much as I was on foot and traveling by train, and let my Brother, who is the executor of her estate, know of a few things I might like to eventually have.

What she owned is now in storage, and the company shipped me a few of the things I had asked for. Somehow I received more than a few videotapes of single song rock videos that I could not use, but I do have the home videos of trips she took to Yellowstone Park and Europe in the early nineties. As I watched the trip in Europe I marveled at how happy she was, and how much fun she was having reading about where they were for a guidebook as her husband played around with his new video camera.

One of her drawers had a number of original scripts and screenplays from various productions her company produced in the eighties and nineties. I mentioned this to a coworker and she suggested I donate them to my library's theater department. I got a name of the librarian, gave her a list of what I had and she let me know which ones they can use for the Theater and Research Institute. There will be a little note on the script or in the record that they were donated in honor of her. I am very, very pleased this was able to happen.

So many links, so many mysteries in the hunt for facts

Finally opened up the genealogy binder that I found (in the last place I looked) in my Aunt's apartment and started plugging data into an online family tree database. The site linked me to some other previously unknown to me distant relatives so the tree has a few more branches.

My paternal great-grandparents came from Clitheroe, England, which I knew. But I have his naturalization documents from 1888, which is very cool. The family all settled in Fall River, Mass. and many of them moved to Brooklyn/Queens in the 20's, which is when my father's parents met. They were married in 1928 in Brooklyn at a church that still stands. The Irish on that side I have going back to the early 19th century and those ancestors came from Derry or Dublin. There are also ancestors who lived in New Hampshire and New Brunswick.

My maternal grandmother's story is sometimes painful and difficult. She was a twin, her brother did not live a year. Her Mother died in 1910, she was put in an orphanage then her father died six years later of TB and was buried on Hart Island. Her Mother also had a brother, but he was shot in the head in 1913 and I'm trying to find the documentation of that event. Did he shoot first? My Grandmother's Grandmother had a number of children, none of whom seemed to live past 1910. This is frustrating when you cannot find anything, but the thrill of recovering history happens when you can match a name.

My Mother's Grandmother came to the U.S., alone, from Poland in 1893 and settled in New Britain, Ct.. She married her husband, also from Poland in 1897 and lived in New Jersey for a time before they moved to Brooklyn. I do not know too much of my Mother's Father, neither did she, so I have not really traced that side of the family.

I also have a lot of pictures, none of them written on so I have no idea who all these ancestors are, and there is no one left to identify them that I know of. I do not like lost history, so I will plug away from time to time and get people identified and noted properly. As a librarian/cataloger/archivist it is something I have to do.

A trio I did not want to report

Found out yesterday that my Father-in-Law's Cousin's Wife died. Finally got to meet her during our last visit in June. Lovely woman, who had a very subtle and vicious sense of humor. She and her husband were both doctors, helped build hospitals in India in their missionary work. Good people, who sent us a cool quaich, for our wedding, which we used in the ceremony. They also gave me a great word to use in Scrabble. Hoping the best for her husband of at least fifty years, who faces life without his partner.

Was also very dismayed to hear of the death of Monica Harris in a car accident on Thursday. She was the Wife of Joseph, aka Logic, a poet whom I have come to know though his visits to Columbus. They were both just here a couple of weeks ago with their baby, their third. I cannot imagine what he is going though. It's very hard for my brain to deal with three small kids having to grow up without their Mother. This is a family that has been broken, but will be strong. They also need help. A GoFundMe page has been set up on their behalf. If you can, please consider a donation.

After he announced he had pancreatic cancer a few weeks ago, I figured death was inevitable but did not expect it to be so soon. Pat Conroy was one of my favorite writers. His use of rich, expressive language was an incredible skill. His work was a pleasure to read. His best, and worst traits were that he talked to much. Would have loved to have got to hear him read and tell him thank you. That there will be no new Pat Conroy work makes my world a sadder place.

Not the last words

My Aunt Sandy died on Friday. After she retired, her health deteriorated. It makes me angry that such an active person was not able to enjoy her final years on her terms.

I owe much to her personally and culturally. She gave me a lot, took me on my first plane trip to D.C. when I was 12 and a bigger jerk than I am now. She should have left me there. She made time for me just to talk adult things, turned me on to a good portion of my music collection, got me tickets to The Rolling Stones and The Who, backstage passes to Aerosmith, Cats and so much more. Geez, there were things we outgrew and lost like the “God Save The Kinks” t-shirts she gave us, or the vinyl Yellow Submarine tablecloth.

She’s been a very important part of my life for as long as I can remember. Her own life was amazing. She worked as the office glue for the entertainment industry for 50 years. From the Brill Building, Capitol Records, RCA, Atlantic, Geffen, Dreamworks, an EGOT and SONY it was a wild career that she worked at with amazing professionalism. She was called a “Paragon of discretion” by a household name and I’m seeing the respect and love her colleagues had for her on social media today. Yes, she was cool as all that.

It’s quite touching to learn about this part of her life as she rarely went into detail. She’d tell me that, “George Clooney came into the building, nice man very handsome.” Or, “Woody came into my office because he wanted to use it in one of his movies, all he said to me was when he asked if the air conditioning could be turned off.” “Had lunch with Andy Partridge, brilliant man.” And I’d be, please go on. Really, really wanted her to write it down and unless there’s a diary in her belongings, I think a lot of those stories are lost - which is a damn shame.

As her health wavered a lot of people looked after her. It was frustrating for me as I was far away and have my own challenges here. So the work and care of so many family and friends is gratefully appreciated.

Her services are Saturday in New Hyde Park, and she is going to be buried in the plot with her parents.

The ridiculous cost of airfare

The past two nights have consisted of me being home alone, as my wife is working, waiting for a phone call/email/message that will contain the inevitable bad news. It is once again tough and frustrating being so far from loved ones who are nearing the end of their journey. Making the trip multiple times in a short time span is not feasible with my custody schedule, my wife's new job and the amount of time left I can get off work. Have to pick and choose the situation, and feel like I'm still doing it wrong. So I wait, try to function as best as I can and await further instructions.

Bad days and days

It's a struggle that has nothing to do with agoraphobia but it's a time a year when I just do not want to leave the house.

Another tough holiday after a tough year approaches and it's really hard to celebrate. Never know what to get my son. Hard to know what he likes to do other than watch trailers on iTunes.

Mom's been gone two years, my Brother two months, it's too freaking dark outside although unseasonably warm for this time of year.

So it's become too easy to stare at a screen, a device, to catch up on season two of Buffy and ironically chuckle at the use of a Sarah MacLachlan song in the last episode. The results are no real writing or reading gets done, let alone attempting to be social.

My Wife has some hope and started a new job this month, there is that to rightfully celebrate and appreciate.

Getting out in the crowds is difficult, but maybe next weekend. Perhaps the temperatures will remain warm or there will not be bitter wind chill to annoy me during the experience.