I’ll state the obvious. I love to scrap. The pictures I use create loving memories—even of the hard times, like when I ran a race in a hurricaine or the water innudated my basement. I take a picture and then laugh as I recall the events that prompted me.             It’s a messy hobby. …[ read more ]

            My case is hopeless. I have no reward waiting for me in heaven. None.             I’ve spent it all here on earth. I tried not to. I’ve tried to save them for heaven, but no matter how hard I try, I always get back more than I give. Only a few samples of my …[ read more ]

Picking the defining trait of my mother daunts me. Could it be her generosity? She is, without doubt the most generous person I know. The quintessential example would be the time she took the whole family—22? of us—to Punta Cana for a Club Med vacation. It took place in 1992, and to this day, we …[ read more ]

So I ran 9.3 miles along a beautiful course with bands playing, crowds cheering, boom boxes booming and water everywhere. The Boilermaker had the best supply of water stops. I came to the end. Thought I saw Neil, smiled and waved to a gray haired, gray bearded man who never saw me before. Then I …[ read more ]

It doesn’t pay to be kind. Believe me. I tried it and it gave me an ulcer. I trained for the Boilermaker—an elite race of 13,000 crazies who run the streets of Utica for 9.3 miles (that’s 15K in runners’ speak). Neil, as obligated for a dutiful spouse, drove me the four hours to Utica …[ read more ]