Flash back to the little girl in the pale yellow tutu, arms flailing, feet scurrying in a mad dash to join her class onstage for her very first dance recital… Flash forward to (as I write these words) this upcoming weekend, when that same “little” girl will perform in her 20th – and final – show.
Where ever did the years go?
It’s funny how certain dates tend to take on added significance over time; well, maybe funny isn’t the right word – more like ironic. I bring this up only because today, May 9th, happens to be one of the those memorable dates for me, for both good and bad reasons…
It must be a joke. Some sort of ironic, bizarre, twisted joke. Every single time I decide to spontaneously buy tickets to something – anything – baseball game, concert, anything of the outdoor variety, one of the following occurs: A) it pours, to the point of the event being cancelled, or rain-delayed for five hours; B) the temperature soars to around 110º or so, making the act of merely breathing an effort, never mind climbing dozens of staircases, ramps, stationary escalators, etc; C) there is some sort of severe weather advisory – hurricane, tornado – or let’s not forget the random earthquake thrown in for good measure.
Last night, I received via e-mail what at first glance appeared to be possibly the most insulting piece of “constructive criticism” I had ever gotten from a reader. Beginning with the line, “I am fairly sure you are a very nice person. Being nice, however, does not make one a good writer,” it went on to detail this individual’s disappointment with my columns over the years – of course begging the question, why continue reading? – and the suggestion that I “stop vacillating…and actually say what (I) believe.”
Harsh, yes. But (somewhat) true.
Almost exactly five years ago, in February of 2006, Lillian Nolin announced her retirement as the Editor of South Bay’s Neighbor Newspapers, or “South Bay News,” as she still fondly referred to it. I remember the day that she “gave notice” to me, an editorial assistant about 60 years her junior who had only begun working at the paper myself less than a year earlier – one of those “moments” destined to forever shape your life, whether you realize it or not at the time.
How do you encapsulate an entire life, in a column? It was something Ed Lowe did every single week, for years. Somehow, amidst the details, the quotes, the anecdotes – at times touching, at times humorous – he managed to boil it all down to the essence of the person. He was a master storyteller, in a class all his own.
Last week, I was invited to participate in a “Welcome To The Media Arts Department” panel at my alma mater, C.W. Post, geared toward offering some words of advice to both incoming freshmen new to the major and those seniors embarking on their final year of college before heading out into the workforce.
Never being much of a public speaker, my initial reaction was one of slight trepidation. But, upon further consideration, I thought I might actually have something to offer on this particular topic.
I suppose it all started about two years ago. Somewhere between periodically trimming my hair and keeping up with my highlights, I decided I wanted to grow my hair long again. Like, really long. Like, this was going to be the last go-around, before I chopped it all off in favor of a more mature style.
Any style, really.
Last week, the New York Yankees lost two legendary figures – one, in iconic public address announcer Bob Sheppard, the other, in larger-than-life owner George Steinbrenner. In terms of personality, the two couldn’t have been more polar opposites. In terms of impact on arguably the most famous sports franchise in history, their respective losses have shaken the very foundation of the team and its fans.
There were the chairs, neatly lined up in rows on the football field. There were the bleachers, empty and waiting. And could it be? Yes. Yes it could. The soft strains of “Pomp & Circumstance” wafting through the air as the band rehearsed. Graduation time once again.
Can it really be ten years since my own? An entire decade? At times, it seems like only yesterday that I led my own class onto that very same field. Other days, it seems like an eternity ago. So much has changed. And yet, so little. Just another chapter of life closed.
There are certain people who, no matter when or where you go out to a dining establishment with them, something so bizarrely absurd occurs so as to make it something of a regular “thing.”
A friend of mine from college and I attempt to get together every month or so for dinner, lunch, or whatever our packed schedules will allow. Once a month usually turns into once every two or three months by the time we coordinate and reschedule seven or eight times, but the effort is always there, and we have no trouble picking up right where we left off when the planets finally do align.