11/2/25 5:28 pm

She lies in bed semi-comatosed, death approaching minute by minute. More lucid a few hours before, her last words were ” I want to go to church”. Not sure if a Catholic priest is the one to call we ask for Mormon help since she has been closest to that Church in her waning years. A local Bishop quickly arrives and performs the Last Rights as she lies in her own bed in her own home.

Her breathing is sometimes a series of gasps but the morphine supplied by the hospice nurse helps. She is surrounded by family and friends as the Bishop departs. 

On her nightgown clad belly sits my iPad. I reach forward and hit a play button on i tunes and we wait silently for the music to begin. Suddenly the room is filled with Handel’s Largo a most beautiful poignant piece of music which she wanted played at her funeral.  I’ve always thought it a bit strange that people would request particular pieces of music for their funeral as they approach death. They won’t be there to hear it so why would it matter? Instead I decide to play it while she is still alive. A beautiful moment comes to an end…so beautiful we all agree it must be played again to be sure that she has heard it…

She never wakes…

4 hours later as we stand by her bedside her breathing worsens, she sighs  and suddenly it is over. I am standing next to a pious Mormon woman, one of her dearest friends. We both gasp as the air above her body shimmers and slowly rises to the ceiling through the roof to fade into the early night sky . We turn to each other shocked and both say at the same time “Did you see that?!!!!!” 

Not sure what to do now that my mother has passed I walk outside to look at the evening sky. I stop at the front porch stunned. There are 3000-4000 black crows standing quietly on her front acre lawn…all turned looking at her bedroom to my left. She has fed a few them every night for years… scraps from her table.

 Too stunned to know what to make of it I too look to the left to see a deer stag next to her bedroom window…at least 10 points above his majestic head. Somehow I just know it  is her deceased cousin who she had always hoped would meet her at death. 

Somewhat in mild shock I turn to look south across the fields to see dusk turning to night. Suddenly a blazing meteor shoots across the sky from east to west, a bright, white fireball with a tail 1/4 the horizon. Instinctively I say out loud ” Good by mom…” and the meteor sinks below to the West.

All this actually happened, 10 years ago to the day to the hour to the minutes as I type this…

I’m not sure why but I felt a need to share this very personal happening…

These are very hard times in America for so many people. There is so much suffering and as much as I try to help in my own way it never seems to be enough…

However, I know deep down in my heart that there are realities beyond the scope of our understanding which we will never fully comprehend but which tell us never to lose Hope. 

There will always be Music, Crows, and Loved Ones waiting for us at the end. And truly …a Soul which will shimmer in its own way as it seeks Home. 

May your Guardian Angel guide you until your time comes… 

10/13/25

Nothing left to be said…

PS Autumn is here. I found these beauties walking through the woods with my dog…

Stay safe in these difficult times…

10/2/25

Across the table an old woman sits  in a wheel chair  slowly chewing cornflakes and blue cheese. A dribble of milk down her chin , slow movement of the hand to wipe it away…multiple strokes take their toll. 

She pauses her eating…” When I die Heaven will be an endless field of yellow flowers where I can run free, run as fast and as far as I can”…the spoon taken up again loaded with soggy flakes mixed with bits of blue…

I remain silent to honor the moment…

Quiet fills the room. She again pauses and looks at me…” I don’t know why I am even here…”

Quiet again…

“ Because you are our mother and you have so nobly brought us to this place”

Tears fill her eyes…” Thank you”

She died not long after at peace in her own bed with family at her side. 

I just finished another ride…this time as a route leader on the bike half a day and driving the support van the other half. 

I feel at peace…my belongings in a cubby 2 feet by  1 1/2 feet and two feet deep…all my worldly “stuff” left behind. This ride I am not the White Rabbit but rather the Sweep, always behind to be of help to the other less experienced riders in front of me. 

Riding alone most of the time I  am one with Nature…this ride has almost no roads or cars…rather endless tree tunnels.

As I ride I think back to my life and wonder at all the branches in the path I have taken. Should I have chosen a different way , do I have any regrets?

Last night my two granddaughters came bursting into my house full of joy and excitement. The 8 year old was allowed to get her ears pierced  after lengthy family negotiations and the 5 year had a new necklace to balance  her sister’s reward. 

Any thoughts of different paths or  regrets dissolve as they smother me in hugs…

I think back to my mother’s existential query…” Why am I here?”

Western Society values are based on nouns…to be blunt…” stuff”… I think we have gotten it all wrong. Life is about verbs….rides along a meandering path…. 

Near the top of my ride is  the small town of Ohiopyle. There cascades and falls highlight Mother Nature’s hand…torrents of water flowing down hill. 

Picture

Life is like this river flowing from up high to the oceans below….birth to death…part of a journey we all share.

Long ago I found purpose in life…helping to remove stones and boulders from  rivers to aid other’s flow . On these rides I reconnect with Nature and strip back the tarnish of stuff to reconnect with the River and settle into the role of being a Sweeper…sometimes clearing the path ahead for two little girls, sometimes cheering on those next to me near exhaustion from the toil, sometimes staying behind to help riders lost in the woods. 

I have been blessed with health and familial longevity…two more rides are planned next year… again as a Sweeper.

The time will come somewhere down the path where I will sit eating cornflakes and blue cheese pondering the nature of Heaven while my son quietly looks on… 

What will that vision of the Afterlife be? 

Only time will tell …but I doubt I will have any regrets about the path I took…

9/22/25

The Paw Paw fruit is native to North America. Due to its rapid ripening period and quick spoilage it is not a popular fruit. The taste is unique described as a combined banana and mango. It did however help early settlers to North America survive hard famine times. Those same settlers thought the fruit was papaya and so named it PawPaw but in fact it is not related at all being a separate species.
Just south of Cumberland Maryland is Paw Paw West Virginia. Nearby an engineering feat of the mid 1800, the Paw Paw tunnel. Present day the inner walk way is traveled by cyclists going from Pittsburgh to Washington DC.

What follows is from Wikepedia:

Built using more than six million bricks, the tunnel has been described as “the greatest engineering marvel along the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal National Historical Park.”^[2] Located at milepost 155.2, the tunnel served to eliminate six miles of canal and is credited with contributing to the economic success of nearby Cumberland, Maryland.^[3]

Construction on the tunnel began in 1836 and was expected to be completed within two years at a total cost of $33,500. But the project proved far more complicated and costly than expected, and the tunnel did not open until 1850, more than a decade behind schedule.

The project was delayed for many reasons. Not only did the construction company underestimate the difficulty of the work, violence frequently broke out among immigrant laborers of different ethnicities, and wages often went unpaid due to the company’s financial problems.^[4] By the time the tunnel was finally completed at a price of $600,000, it had nearly bankrupted the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Company. Due to the high cost and long delay in completing the tunnel, the construction ended at Cumberland, Maryland, falling short of the original plan to take it all the way to Pittsburgh.

The tunnel was used by canal boats until the C&O closed in 1924. The tunnel and towpath are now maintained for public use as part of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historical Park. Though never one of the longest tunnels in the world, Paw Paw Tunnel remains one of the greatest engineering feats 

9/19/25

She lies on a bus stop bench sound asleep…Next to her a large bag of soda cans collected for a few extra dollars. .. her pants split open along her natural buttocks line, an unfortunate bending for a few more cans. 

A policeman wanders by to rouse her but she is at the last minute waken by her boyfriend , a high powered lawyer having finished his business in a sky scraper above. The policeman gently helps her up and ushers her along, lawyer friend left holding a bag of cans…

When asked later about her behavior she replies “ but it’s Pittsburgh, might be worn down and out of luck but the people are so kind. “

My mother…God rest her soul. 

Now may years later I return to this city to start a charity  bike ride to DC. 

Pittsburgh  has been rejuvenated through community efforts, hard work and local pride. Much effort went into this successful endeavor on a massive scale civic and commercial cooperation. 

Today in America and throughout the world the air is thick with division , negative feelings and destructive actions fueled by a media looking for a quick story to make an even quicker buck. 

I was told once by a wise young woman to get out of my comfort zone any time I could. Even more so now I believe this. It’s too easy to be a couch potato and passively absorb negative media vibes. They do nothing but cause anxiety, stir fear and stoke the flames of hate. 

Today 16 people of various backgrounds come together to form the core of an ALS charity ride. 

I look to them on the bridge with the new Pittsburgh in the background and see a halo of kindness above them which lowers itself and touches each shoulder forming bridges where there were none.  

We leave as a group and it soon becomes clear some riders are more experienced than others. Rather than break into groups of equal skill as I have seen so many times before the better riders slow to help the newer ones. Never is there criticism or impatience but rather a genuine kindness which  by its very nature fosters success. 

Bridges are crossed in tandem through these helping hands.

We arrive in a small town along a meandering river greeted by strangers at church reaching out to tired riders. A safe place to sleep, an evening meal, showers and a promise of a homemade breakfast before we leave.

The pastor explains” We do this because we can and because it’s the right thing to do” .

Never once in this town did I consider  left or right, blue or red, white black or brown…and neither did the ones reaching out their hands.

This town…these people are the real America, those same people who came together to rebuild a run down city, that same policeman who helped my mother from her slumber on a run down bus stop bench, the same people offering us a safe nights sleep.

This is America made great by the common folk who live in the real world not in the virtual world of the internet. 

It would do us all well to turn off our TVs, iPads, and internet links, peel away the shells and seek out the kindness that abounds. 

It’s waiting for you…

8/26/25

This popped up in my yard 5 days ago.
“Chicken in the Woods” mushroom.
Now gone, eaten by slugs and birds…

Moral: Be sure to stop to enjoy the Beauty of Nature…it can be transient..,

PS: it’s glad I “ saved “ it on canvas…relayed the message to Angel before the last morsel was downed by a crow…

Angel told me so…

8/22/25

Long before we learned “Don’t judge a book by its cover” Mother Nature taught “Don’t judge a carrot by its skin”…

A real carrot…

Orange carrots are about 500 years old. The other colors …3000 to 5000 years old…

8/5/25

Majestic, the egret sits quietly waiting for the right moment to strike for a tasty fish. 

Instinct preserves life…

3 children aged 13, 9, and 8 glumly walk behind their parents, all three  drenched in Virginia summer sweat …a rural farm auction.

Suddenly ahead a marvel to see…a 1950’s vintage pinball machine in dire straits of repair. 

The three of us rush forwarded to gawk. My father approaches. The thirteen year old blurts out “I can fix it dad, can we buy it?” 25$…a lot of money to my parents then…

He laughs at my suggestion, scoffs at the idea that I could fix it,  and starts to walk on. The 8 year old, my sister, turns to him and with great authority says “If he says he can fix it I know he can”. 

Such Faith from the mouthes of babes. 

My father looks at his three ragamuffins and nods his head…a rare yes.

That night the pinball machine is open and the three of  us behold a true rats nest…a few mummified babies next to the main electric coil. 

Slowly I clean it out and study the wiring to realize it is nothing more than a series of electromagnetic coils triggered by a bouncing steel ball up top. 48 hours later …it is cleaned, rewired it is in perfect working order… its a week before we three can play it as my father has assumed it is his…

Looking back, my most precious memory is that of my sister standing there proclaiming total faith in my abilities to fix this machine I knew nothing about.

The power of Faith of a child is never to be underestimated.

Years later , having lived “ outside the box” all my life,  so many times I was told that I would never succeed at various endeavors…college, medical school, post graduate trainings, academic medicine, music school and finally art… 

 None of these endeavors were easy and I struggled through each to success recalling the Faith of a 8 year old sister in her brother. 

I find myself now at a transition in life.

As I  turn away from practicing medicine to  concentrating on art I question whether or not I have really succeeded at anything over the past 40 years. Old doubts surface and plague my soul … now  creeping into the quality and value of my paintings. 

I know the source of this doubt, a scoffing father and a mother who only twice in my life expressed satisfaction towards my accomplishments…yet I know given their backgrounds they did the best they could raising children. 

Recently another young girl spontaneously expressed faith in my abilities. After taking a picture of an egret in  Florida she exclaimed “ I know he can paint this!” 

So in thanks for her faith in me I did … 

The Faith of children is so pure, so instinctual whereas the faith of adults may be well meant but there seems always background noise as to the nature of their faith…from love, a need to support someone, flattery, ,PR, manipulation…whatever. Although that  faith is valuable, the pure Faith of a child is priceless…

As I age I come to recognize the tremendous value of being around children.

It is wise to learn from them…

We could all benefit from the luck of finding a child who shares unconditional Faith…

PS. Sometimes we have to reach deep down to find faith in ourselves. After a year of injuries I am going to ride again in September from Pittsburgh to DC, and if all goes well longer rides are planned in 2026. Keep your fingers crossed for me…more stories and pictures to come. 

I’ve warned Angel and Flossie to get in shape…

PPS; a Freebie…

4/12/25

Out of chaos…

” Hope Springs Eternal”

Need I say more ?

2/28/25

Last evening I manned a station at my granddaughter’s Elementary School Heritage Night…a time for students to share their origins. 

Children from kindergarten to the fifth grade helped their parents set up tables loaded with native foods, deserts, candies, pictures, costumes, and posters proudly sharing their origins.

 My family had one of the two tables from Europe, Italy and Poland, dwarfed in number by tables from South America, Central America, Africa, the Middle East, Asia, and Southeast Asia. 

Children whose parents and grandparents came from all corners of the world ran excitedly from table to table sampling foods. Later, shyly at first, their parents did the same until the large crowd became a collage of colors and a people of One. Smiles lit the room as children continued to mix the adults into a beautiful blend. 

I tasted foods from Africa at first and deserts from Armenia but then quickly returned to my stall to hand out biscotti, and chunks of panettone. Anyone who knows this Italian cake bread knows it is difficult to cut, rather it is eaten in “hunks” of moist pure pleasure. 

 I was amazed that over two hours one cake fed more than 100 people each with eyes aglow at the unique taste as it exploded in their mouths. I at one point wondered at the Miracle of Loaves and wondered at how it was that I fed so many. I turned to discover the truth…Angel was replacing hunks as quickly as I could hand them out…

Angel smiled and glowed while I bowed my thanks. 

I saw America last night through a throng of children and parents fed and sustained by so many different foods …including a  “Miracle of the Loaf”…

Pass the last hunk of Panettone please…