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…

2/2/25

This morning, while grocery shopping, I happened upon a magazine stand and considered buying this book. As I thumbed through the pages, I decided it best to leave it on the shelf  as I already have enough books.

Walking away I pondered at the various pages that I had perused and  thought to today’s events happening in this country and throughout the world. We have lived in a recently peaceful time characterized as a “democracy” here in this country, but it would appear that we are heading towards the age of Oligarchs similar to our Gilded age in the late 1800s. One only look at the photographs of the recent inauguration to see who was surrounding the returning president.

Throughout our 12,000 year history, there have always been at least two levels of society, those on the top with power and wealth and all the rest of us who live our daily lives as best we can. If we are honest with ourselves the recent Middle Class is in reality the upper level of the lower society. 

I am reminded of the Renaissance with the Medici family  and the Popes and how much they fought with each other, yet must recall the vast majority of the people who lived in the lower levels of society worked their daily lives with the impact of these upper level fights seen only when drafted into the army or when overly taxed to support power or wealth seeking endeavors. 

The vast majority of us are peanuts in history.

I am reminded of the Tolstoy’s great work, War and Peace where throughout the novel the two levels of society mix on the battlefield and at home. The novel is great, not only as a piece of literature, but also as an examination of human society as it travels through times both “good and bad”.

Our times may be unique in that the media from all different aspects, seduce the lower levels of society to continuously “watch” the upper level of society …an intricate soap opera with new episodes on a daily basis. 

For 10,000 years these conflicts have raged, but the vast majority of the time they occur offstage. 

Mass media has changed that.

I have come to realize that, regardless of what politicians say, regardless of what party they belong to, or regardless of what we think of them, they have little concern for those of us who are the peanuts. They are playing their game at a higher level, often at the cost of our lives and fortunes. The media forces us to believe that they have some good or bad intentions towards us, but in all honesty, I don’t think they’re really care at all. We are nothing more than a source of revenue through taxes or canon fodder in times of war. 

War and Peace examines  yet another level of society, if we could call it that,  in the movement of history through time. It examines the question and makes us ponder, whether or not either of the two levels of society have any impact on the marching of history or whether or not the path is set in pattern by our genetics, the environment, mathematics, Darwinian evolution, or some Divine will.

Even those at the top who believe themselves important will find that there are nothing more than footprints in the drifting sands of time. Go buy the book I looked at this am if you doubt this.

How does one deal with this on a day-to-day basis? It is my belief that we would all be much better off  if we would ignore the media and its drama , and concentrate on what we can do for our own level of society. 

I do this through working in rural healthcare for those in need, and recently have put on my radar food programs at my granddaughter’s local elementary school so the children do not go without breakfast or lunch if an Oligarch decides to siphon away money for his agenda. In addition, I am becoming more attuned  to those who may need help who are being persecuted by the upper levels for their own personal gains.

Regardless of whether or not you believe in CNN, Fox News, ABC, CBCS, NBC, or PBS , whoever, they too have little interest in the needs of the lower classes, but in all honesty are rather motivated by the marketing and profit of advertising. 

I think we would all be better off if we would turn away from the mass media,  look to our own people and find ways to help each other on a local basis out of  any limelight.

There is a saying that taxes and death are inevitable, and in fact, that  is true. But at the same time we can make the lives of those around us better by concentrating on their needs rather than spending time “chewing the cud’  about what the Medicis  and Popes are doing in their palaces. 

I recently painted this picture and try every day to live my life accordingly.

Stay safe in these times.

8/28/24

I looked down in agony to my ankle as I got off the train to see  marked swelling and an already forming collection of blood around my achilles tendon. 

I had just 30 minutes before run to catch a connecting train only to clip my heel on something as I boarded the moving coach.  

Sometimes its not worth running for a train. 

After the engine  pulled into the station 

I limped to my son’s house two blocks away knowing that I would never be able to ride my scheduled rides this year …so much obvious damage to my ankle. Angel, supposed to protect me, just looked on. 

3-4 days later when I returned home not only could I not ride but walking more than a block was excruciatingly painful; I knew by exam there was no complete rupture of the tendon but definitely a significant tear.

A black mood descended over my soul as I saw my summer plans fade away.

4 weeks later to cheer myself up, limping in a little less pain, I revisited my son but ran for no trains. That Saturday morning, when I was supposed to be in Seattle to start a ride,  with two sweet little girls  in tow, I hobbled across the park behind my son’s house to a garage sale advertising children’s  books.

Arriving not three minutes later, thank goodness for my heel, both ran off to the overflowing tables while I stood spellbound looking at the house.

I approached the owner and asked about the sale to learn that he and his wife were moving and that the home was soon to go on the market. Spontaneously I said” I want to buy your house”. He just smiled and went back to work.

We had considered moving to Washington Grove, Maryland * several times but such a move required the right kind of house to meet certain physical needs. In addition the timing just never seemed right with responsibilities in NC.

But this house was a Goldilocks dream…just right; one floor, few stairs, a quiet isolated neighborhood surrounded by woodlands…a home 200 yards from my son’s house and…an attached professional art studio. 

A half hour later while sitting on my son’s porch an unknown woman approached .

 “ I understand you are interested in that house. I am the realtor..would you like to see it?”

After a tour I called my wife unsure as to the reception on the other end of the phone.

 To my surprise: ”I’ll get in the car and drive up right now. “

8 weeks later we closed .

My son…a gentle soul…took the realtor aside at the end and said “”My parents moving here is a dream come true. “

The realtor to me: ” I wonder how many children anywhere feel that way about their parents?”

There are still responsibilities n NC to be resolved and it will be a slow 4 month move. After  job interviews in Maryland I decided my place was here in rural Eastern NC caring for those who the world has left behind. CFHC (my employer) has graciously agreed to a schedule and transportation starting in 2025 that will meet all needs. 

Next week I ride from Pittsburgh to DC and will leave my bike at my new house at the end of the route…my ankle has finally healed after 15 weeks of slow recovery.

I look back now and in wonderment think how a damaged  achilles tendon and a empty mood may have led to the  final peaceful stage of my life. No wonder Angel did nothing to prevent my torn leg… 

Sometimes there is hidden beauty in a dark, bleak, doom … just as in the slow opening of a black iris bloom… 

• if interested go to Wikipedia and search: Washington Grove Maryland …” The Town in a Forest”. 

6/13/24

I stood there on the corner by myself; all the rest of my classmates from the second grade long gone … in my hand a Mercury Dime , bus fare to get me home some 5 miles off. I fingered the coin thinking how beautiful the greek god was.

Earlier in the day in class a nun had begun to berate a small hispanic child for not being able to understand addition. I’m not sure he even understood English much less math. In frustration she yelled at him that he would have to stay after class as punishment. Out came the ruler for a knuckle wrapping we all knew too well. Im not sure where I got the courage to do so but I stood up at my desk, said just one word ” Stop” ,and she turned shocked at my insolence. Before she could come towards me I calmly said ” I’ll stay late too and teach him math”.

Stunned she did not know what to do and sat down. 

And I did… and I was late getting home, not that it really mattered since I was a latch key child even though we never locked the house since robberies were unheard of then in Colorado Springs. 

I was to have been on a bike ride by now but I injured my ankle running for a train 6 weeks ago. Maybe I can go in September.

Yesterday while in clinic I got a call from the police. My art studio had been robbed during the wee hours of that morn. After clinic I headed there to find 3000$ of my art gone, about 60 paintings, and all my food missing. I had stocked up for the 6 week bike ride but had taken it to the studio when my ride was postponed. 

Needless to say I felt gutted at my loss not so much financially but at the loss of my art.

Having postponed my ride I signed up for night clinics at migrant camps. We have  a well run mobile unit with an MD or PA with nurses and lab techs especially to help with diabetes care and HIV screening.

Last night I arrived at a sweet potato farm covered in clouds of dust. I felt like I was in the middle of a desert storm.

 We set up and I began to see patients one by one. Many were suffering from dust exposure either lungs or eyes and I did what I could. Hypertension and Diabetes are high on the list of problems and I found myself as usual back in the world of primary care. 

CFHC, the organization where I work,  is an incredible institution which  helps the poor, disabled, mentally impaired, those addicted to drugs or alcohol, AIDS patients,  and migrants in camps. 10 years here now and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Driving home after dark I pondered the migrant’s situations, they are with us each year for 6 months. As I did so my robbery losses came again into focus and I realized how unimportant they  were compared to the needs I had just tried to address.

When bad things happen, like my ankle or the robbery,  I often wonder if there isn’t an underlying plan moving along beyond my vision or thoughts…

I doubt I will ever see my paintings again. That’s painful to me but is it really such a great loss?

I have sprinkled some throughout this story. 

If you happen to see them for sale on some street corner in  DC or NYC  ponder their beauty, enjoy them, then pull out your bus fare and move on…

Stay safe one and all…

3/31/24

In Italy “zucchini ” is a general term for squash. All the plant is eaten… the fruit is cooked in various ways, the flowers lightly battered and fried, and the stems hollowed out for children to use as straws to sip on watered down wine or cappucino. 

I’ve never been much at playing the role of a couch potato and find that I am more related to a squash…

I decided to ride again… surprise surprise…

Last Fall, just after Thanksgiving, I was broadsided by an SUV on my way to work.  The sun blinded an  oncoming vehicle and on her birthday, a sweet, young, 22 year old totaled my car. Angel at the last moment placed a wide hand over the right side on my face and spared my eyes from hundreds of shards of glass that penetrated my scalp and right arm . Damage occurred, hearing loss from air bag explosions , a broken finger and two hours of glass removal from my head by a clinic MD. Luckily the other driver was OK.

I got a new car…not the way I wanted to.

I was leery  about riding again but my hearing is fine except for loss of high tones. I cannot block ambient noise so I avoid malls, restaurants, theaters and conversations with more than 2 people in a room. I was never very social to start with so no great loss on my part. 

In Harari’s second book, “Homo Deus”, he has a section concerning attempts by science to make humans (rich humans) near immortal. One interesting point he brings out is the fear these immortals will have at being involved in an accident or being exposed to possible life threatening  trauma. From this fear they live in cotton padded cocoons to minimize dangers , an even worse idea to me than  being a couch potato.

The wreck certainly brought my mortality into focus but after great thought and  sore couch buns I decided I can’t live in fear of death.

I always admired Freud and his theories even though much has fallen out of favor with modern Psychiatry. I still believe in the concept of the ID, EGO, and Superego but wonder about a couple more additional stages. I don’t think the early stages disappear but rather blend and mix with compromise… creating a “self” . We all still retain the child’s  ID at heart.

I think I’ve entered a fourth stage…I named it Wizego…old enough to be a little wise…tempering and adjusting my previous three selfs. 

This ride I plan to let Wizego be in charge. I’ll ride slower, bask in the natural surroundings of the Northwest and Pacific coast and not bother to bring out the White Rabbit from Seattle to San Diego…( well…. not often anyway).

My mother in her last 6 months of life entered the last stage of Life…“Tirego”. 

She told me she had lived a full life, was tired, and it was time to let go. I have a ways to go before I get there, maybe Wizego will last 15-20 years, who knows, but as I ponder my future I may as well do some of it on a bike raising money for a good cause and relishing what Mother Nature has to share.

 This Zucchini still has unused parts …and a ways to go…

Angel and Flossie were not terribly thrilled that they had to start training again…I just gave them both a hairy eyeball and said “life’s tough…get on with it…”

11/27/23

Pineapple upside down cake was my favorite desert as a child…

8 years ago on my first MS ride, bikers very obviously fell into two groups, college students and the rest of us nearing retirement age. Needless to say as we pedaled across America conflicts arose, late night partying, alcohol and  marijuana use, and roughty behavior on one side and on the other, a wish  for peace and quiet, a good nights sleep uninterrupted by bathroom breaks, aspirin,  and daily nourishing meals.

We each survived over 4300 miles and actually became good friends.

I promised myself I would never ride again with such a group  only to be scolded by dear Cassie about getting out of my comfort zone and learning from the young. 

As history showed I rode again.

Now even older I find that many young people have little regard for their elders even though I have come to value them. I think that is due to a lack of wisdom on their part and evolving wisdom on my part. They will eventually get there…

I read recently about a Dutch man who was suing in his country’s courts to have his birthday changed to 15 years later. He explained to the judge that people looked upon him as old at age 70 …no one would hire him for work, he was not eligible for free education and retraining, and he could not get a date either in person or on internet sites. I giggled at that but realized he was probably right.

As I decide on full retirement in the next year or two I look at myself driving a 25 year old car( it works fine as long as you don’t care about air conditioning…too old for parts), still write with a fountain pen, read books made of paper even though I have an iPad, and walk or ride a bike almost everywhere I go. 

Two weeks ago after an Amtrak ride I spent the weekend taking care of my two granddaughters, 6 and 4. I brought gifts for them as usual. The 6 year old got a book on craft projects while her sister got dress up clothes..both presents matching their so different personalities. The 6 year old read through her book twice studying the projects …she reads on a 6th grade level….the smartest member of our extended family she has recently learned how to do google searches on the tablet she got from school in Kindergarten…frightening…

I had her dictate to me a list of supplies for the projects and we went off to the art store to buy them. 

At home she asked about one word in the book she had trouble with “ tetrahedron”…I explained the concept of polyhedrons to her.

I asked if she wanted help only to be told: ”BaBa, creativity belongs to the artist. I don’t need any help.”

She then sat down and constructed polyhedrons from straws and clay…Plato’s perfect solids from 2500 years ago.

Today I decided to load music from CDs on onto my phone to listen to while I walk. I had 9 CDs from the past 6 months…Adelaide, Enya, and Oh Wonder.

As I started I could not get my external CD player to work with my MacBook Air even though I bought them together as a package…both sleek, smooth, thin miracle polyhedrons I got more and more frustrated and finally gave up…got  out my old lap top and used that to load music only to find it not compatible with my iPhone. After 2 hours of frustration I lost it and let loose with a string of four letter words…

I called my son at work for help but he was mildly annoyed and said we could try on face time later that night…

Stewing over my predicament I suddenly thought of my oldest granddaughter and wondered what she would do…

I sat there and looked at my CDs, laptop, external player and pretended I was looking through her eyes…

“BaBa, why is your CD player upside down?”

OMG!!! The sleek thin design had thrown me off and I had been putting CDs in an upside down player for two hours…

Somewhat embarrassed, even though I was alone, I then inserted the CDs upside down too…who knows why I didn’t turn the CD player right side up…Pride I guess…

As I sit here watching the CDs load I ponder learning from the young…who make tetrahedrons like the ancients thousands of years ago and see the obvious with their unclouded eyes. 

 Cassie , as always, was right. 

God bless the Young…and of course… the Young of Heart…

10/1/23

There will always be individuals within our government who choose to show their less flattering sides. 

Having just finished a ride of 350 miles from Pittsburgh to Washington over gravel paths , rocky roads, mud, sand, and the C&O canal I arrive in Washington amazingly optimistic about this country.

It was a wonderful ride with 20 individuals who I hold in deep respect. Not one of the individuals was without pain somewhere throughout the ride and not one did not stop to help others in times of need.

I was too tired each day to write a story after 67 to 70 miles of this terrain but instead now include pictures  of various aspects of the trip.

My last day now I am now waiting for a train to Pittsburgh where I can get my car and drive home. I spent four hours in the Smithsonian amongst hundreds of small children and parents, oooing and awing  at the dinosaurs, elephant, whale, gems, mummies, and all the  other sorts of interesting museum exhibits. 

When I left the museum, I walked out on the mall to become part of a crowd here for the World  Cultural Festival .

There were thousands of people listening to musicians, religious leaders,  spending time with friends,  eating, sleeping, meditating or just enjoying the beautiful Fall day. Police on horseback were greeted with food, water, requests for pictures and applause. 

I thought back to the events of January 6 and contrast them with today. The Capital now stands as a beautiful structure against the blue sky, as opposed to a scarred building with broken windows and defecation smeared floors and walls on the inside… courtesy of a small group of individuals who thought they knew best for this country.

We are much better and bigger than Republicans, Democrats, Biden, Trump, or whoever you choose to associate with. We are country filled with limitless  potential and stability … far beyond 99.9% of the places on this earth.

The end of this trip brings to me a renewed sense of optimism in this country regardless of what the news media has to say about our present state of affairs.

Yes, it is true that there are individuals who will show their bottoms to the world as politicians or “to be” politicians but they are not America. Not now, not before and not in the future regardless of what they believe about themselves.

America was along the Ride , in the Museum,  and on the Mall . 

America is in our Hearts.

God bless you one and all and God bless America. 

9/20/23

He sat before me looking much older than his stated age of 93. 

As I had with many of my older patients I asked him what had been notable, important in his life… sure that I could learn the secrets of Time. 

“ I remember my daddy…he was a Jamaican slave…freed …who came to America to start a new life when Monroe was President”.

Wait! Monroe? That was 1820. 

I was used to Civil War parents or grandparents but 1820? Monroe?

His father had sired him while in his early 90s …a veritable stud-muffin…and had lived another 10 years before dying early in the 20th century.

I asked for details…

“ He came to America free and worked his whole life to help his family and help others get free…he never gave up hope for better times…that was the most important thing in my life…my daddy”. 

Over and over again I asked the same question to patients in their 80s, 90s, even 100s only to get a very similar response. Electricity, the two World Wars, the Depression, the Bomb, TV, Automobiles, the Telephone, Computers, the Internet…nothing ever compared to the concern and love… or pain and grief …for a loved one. 

It became clear that in the end it was people who mattered to other people…nothing much else. 

There was almost always Hope for the Future and Faith that the next generation would “do better” but it was always people …usually family… at the center of that Hope and Faith.

In a few days I will start what will probably be my last MS ride. I tend to process in cycles of 7 years. It has been 8 years with that organization now…I feel the winds of change.

I decided to do this ride not so much to accomplish anything…rather I wanted to be one more time with people who mattered to me . I know more than half of the riders and hold each of them in high esteem. 

They are people with Faith in Humankind, Hope for the Future and Hearts of Gold… with help for  strangers  at their finger tips. 

I think of all the miles I have ridden, twice around the earth at the equator, all the beautiful nature I’ve seen, the people who I’ve met along the rides who reaffirm my belief in the basic Good , the money I’ve raised for MS…none of these compare to my thoughts of the other riders.

When asked 15 -20 years down the way what I most remember about the rides it will be those who struggled with me …those in front of me  and those behind me on long difficult mountain climbs. Those who I helped and those who helped me. Those who never gave up Hope of climbing that Mountain… or Faith that we would all make it to the Top. 

I will relish my 5 days with them as I ride from Pittsburgh to Washington DC. 

A Freed slave 200 years ago climbed mountains to help his family …

Every day we can follow  in his footsteps through Faith, Hope and Charity. Our respective Families are there waiting to continue the Journey with us or for us…the Bikes are propped up against that Pickett  fence…

May you each find an Angel to lead  the way…