Ep. 21: You're never too young

An important message from the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute 

Friday, April 12, 2013, 5:32 PM

I made it.

With literally thirty seconds to spare before the doors closed I stepped into the 5:32 train.

I forced the guy seated in the little seat near the door to give up his two-seat monopoly by saying, "Excuse me, do you mind if I take that seat?," fully expecting him to grimace and move out to let me in. As anticipated, he did exactly as I predicted.

As soon as I sat down I began to sweat like a hog well knowing he was next on the chopping block.

I had literally had sprinted half a mile up Park Av from 32nd, because the subway train I had just boarded, the stop before, was now stopped because a big old Tyler-Perry-looking black lady had injured her ankle and a police officer had begun writing an incident report when I stepped off to see what the hold-up was all about.

Immediately, I decided that this was going to take longer than forever and so checking the time—5:25, I decided to make a run for it. I had seven minutes to run ten blocks thru a million pedestrians at rush hour and ten stoplights.

By block-two my lungs were burning, that tightness in my chest that I had started to feel a couple hours earlier at my desk was feeling tighter, and the bitter cold was simply a nuisance and not conducive to run like Forrest.

Nonetheless and allthemore, I had to stop-and-scurry up a block only once, ultimately making it to the train in time.

As I waited for the conductor to look down, nod and say "Okay," so I could put away my wallet, I couldn't help but worry that I was going to be the next passenger to delay a train.

Due to all the moving of furniture, yard work and general labor around the house for the last four weeks, I have had extraordinary exposure to all the allergens that make my life miserable: house dust, cat dander, mildew.

As a result, I now carry around an emergency inhaler just in case I have an asthma attack.

Unusually short of breath, I was compelled to use it while we waited for the train to roll.

However, what has been more disconcerting to me, is that I've consistently been under so much physical duress for the last month that every morning when I scurry to catch the train and every night when I drag back up that hill, I cannot help but wonder (and worry) as to when I'm going to have a heart attack.

Coincidentally, two hours earlier I was interviewing a colleague for a story I'm writing and she told me that she had been delayed because a good friend of her's son has just died. He was 45.

I'm 45.

Ep. 20: I guess I'm a Yankee fan after all

When sports still meant something to me. 

I had no idea that ABC has not broadcast Monday Night Football since 2005...

Friday, April 12, 2013, 7:34 AM

I know I'm the odd man out here, but I find sports fans a curious bunch.

Crossing the bridge over Peekskill Station this morning I overheard a gentle giant of a man tell his female companion, "The Mets are in Minneapolis already; it's snowing."

And here I was about to grumble about the grey skies and drizzle-bound for-rain.

At 41 and chilly, crawling up to 45 and I'll-still-be-cold, I could care less about baseball, but this guy's genuine glee over his team raised my spirits a little, much like Milo's latest gesture, muffled laughter, consoled me upon my return home last night.

Everyone started down the stairs as the train began around the bend of Peekskill Bay.

At the last step Jolly Green Giant giddily took advantage of a passing friend's token inquiry, "Tired! We won last night."

Googling the score I discovered that the Mets actually lost to Philly 3-7 on Wednesday.

Upon further inspection, I found out the last night's winners included the Nationals, Orioles, Athletics, Dodgers and Rangers.

In other words, if this guy was referring to baseball after all, his hometown is likely either Washington, Baltimore, Oakland, LA or...Texas?

So much for my half-witted inferences. I suppose Sherlock Holmes I ain't.

Nonetheless and allthemore, I still find sports fans themselves more entertaining than their obsessions.

Some years ago I was sitting at the Blue Smoke restaurant bar waiting to negotiate a contract, when my colleague, our staff attorney, asked me about the football flashing on the screens above. I half-scoffed, half-cringed with shame, replying with squinted eyes, "Mmmm, I'm not a big sports fan. I rather play than watch."

Shocked, he replied, "Well, what do you talk about than? Especially, when you're at the bar, out drinking with the guys?"

I shrugged and politely answered, "Good point," well-knowing that with the right company there is plenty to talk about.

Regardless, some of my best friends and the smartest people I know are sports fans; Chelsea and I have attended intimate Super Bowl parties the last two years hosted by two different good buddies of ours, both who happen to be amazing chefs. So, don't be fooled by my petty review of my fellow man.

I do like sports fans, but I just can't relate to their fantasy games, jersey touting, bar shouting and late-night and bleary-eyed hooray-hurrah the-morning-after revelry.

I will admit, I suppose, if I were forced to make a choice here, sports highlights and bloopers, as well as Monday Night banter between Gifford and his co-horts over 25 years - Meredith, Michaels, Dierdorf, and Madden,* are far more interesting (and innocuous) than what I often overhear women excitedly squawking about.

Last night I got "lucky" because I got to sit next to the only two commuters who knew each other in our car, two working girls who chatted incessantly the whole ride up the Hudson. 

They were literally talking nonstop, often commenting over one another. Most of what they excitedly had to share was office gossip, relationship mysteries ("What was he thinking?"), and a lot about shopping, "I know, I was looking at Groupon, there's so much stuff!"

Ugh. 

Okay, the boys win. I guess you can count me in after all.

So what do you think about them Yankees? 

14 to 1 over Cleveland on Tuesday and a rout on Monday too!


*NEWS—to me—FLASH! Monday Night Football has not been broadcast by ABC since 2005. Really? I seriously had no idea it was on ESPN for the last eight years...

Ep. 19: A good neighbor policy is also good security policy

Five different families have lived in our house over the last ten years.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Yesterday, after making my ascent up our very own Lombardo Street, I was at the crest of Requa when I noticed one of my neighbors holding a young child in his arms.

After arriving at the base of our front steps, I decided to turn around and go over to introduce myself.

Kevin Ward is a true native. Born in Peekskill, he and his wife have lived in same house on Smith Street for thirty years. They raised their only son there and now they entertain their only grandson, 15-month old Giovanni.

Currently, Kevin serves as a community service officer of the Peekskill police. A 20 year veteran of the force, he worked for IBM for just as long, before they laid him off like hundreds of others.

He started out at International Business Machines  in charge of global security for traveling employees, and then moved onto “bombing and terrorism,” which he told me three times.

He was also very excited to tell me about all the activity that occurs in town over the summer. The road on restaurant row closes down and they bring their eats to the street; there are hot rod and vintage car nights; the Dragons on the Hudson dragon boat races; and of course there are the fireworks and festivals. His list, like his fervor, were endless.

Alas, as I like to immediately google everything, I’ve discovered that half of what he shared with me, won’t be happening this year. According to the peekskillcelebration.com, “due to the City of Peekskill’s financial challenges and that tough budget cuts associated with personnel/overtime expenses for special events like Peekskill Celebration” it will not take place this year in 2013.  

Oh, well.

Finally, Kevin also told me, “I coached the baseball team here in Peekskill for many years. One of my players painted your house. I can't remember his name.  My wife was good friends with a former owner of your house, Mary Martinez; she'll be able to tell you."

When I googled him for a little more in-depth on this article, I couldn’t find anything on Kevin and baseball, so I’m not sure if he was a high school or little league coach.

I replied to Kevin that I would definitely be returning to ask, because I wanted the low-down on the house.

At that moment I realized that neighbors are great sources of local history, which is especially the case with our home in particular because everyone seems to notice it. (See Ep. 13: It’s a good thing were not in Connecticut)

I’m particularly interested in knowing the history of our house, not only because it is now our home, but I’m also eager to write a novel with our house our home as the central character; one that spams the whole 125 year old history of 367 Smith Steet, Dominguez Manor.

Thus, I think getting to know my neighbors will keep me on track.

Besides, with neighbors like Kevin, a good neighbor policy is also good security policy.

P.S. If you’re interested, here’s is what I have found out in regards to the previous residents of our home.

Dates of Residence	Owners and Occupants
March 2013 (House was empty and on the market for over a year)	Lorenzo Domínguez & Chelsea Hollander, our governess Adela Andrade, our four boys, and Oliva soon to come!
January 2008 -  January, 2012	Justin Tyack (Deputy CEO at Office of School Support, NYC Department of Education, now residing in Brooklyn ) & Cody Hepworth (Hair Stylist now residing in Dobbs Ferry)
July 2006 – January 2008	Jose Gotay Jr. and Heather Dearing Gotay
June 2004 – July 2006	David Nicholson (now resides in Waterbury, Connecticut)
March 2000 – June 2004	Josefina Gallego Diaz
c. 1992 – March 2000	Kristopher Curry and Deborah Curry
c. 1939 – c. 1973?	Frances M. and Bruno M. Grenci, Sr.; their 4 sons, 2 daughters; and Micheal & Caroline Vozzella (parents-in-law) Frances was a business partner with Thomas H. Ellis, who together owned Grenci and Ellis, a granite business in Yorktown
c. 1919	Willis F. & Mildred Ottis Mildred was born in 1882 and she hosted meetings for the Women's Missionary Society of St. Paul's.
1884- c. 1915	Mr.* & Mrs. Matthew Clune 1911-1915 Aunt Margaret Torpy M. Clune died 1910
c. 1892	Elder S. B. Dyckman The house was built in 1887, but Dyckman owned the land.

Ep. 18: More Trains, More Confusion

Sorry Peekskill commuters, no new trains for us. 

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

A good way to keep passengers alert and on their toes is by changing tracks of the train home every day.

Apparently the MTA permanently changed the train schedule over the weekend to accommodate more frequent train service and that simply confused those of us who will continue to take the same train at the same time, day in and day out.

Metro North announced major changes including “85 additional weekday and 22 additional weekend trains on the Hudson Line.” Alas, these changes do not benefit Peekskill commuters at all, because only the stations with the highest ridership are getting extra trains.

Thus, instead of the 5:34, we're catching the 5:32 and we've got to check the board each time to check what track they've put us on this time. It was so much easier when we all just met at the same time every day on track 34.

Such are the innocuous woes of the Peekskill commuter.

Ep. 17: Where the Dolphins Roam

Dominic getting ready to jump a thousand times for a good cause.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

"If you're going to Sea World by yourself, we're going to have to have a conversation."

That's what she said to the balding man, as we boarded the train that had just entered the station.

He replied with a halfhearted laugh; seemingly, slightly uncomfortable with the truth that his polite chuckle was veiling.

A moment before, as we waited on the platform, he was preaching the merits of tapping into your inner child, seemingly referring to how his children inspired him.

You could tell that he was giddy with sincerity—he honestly felt what he advocated, at least until the mean, old, most likely middle-aged and childless, lady crushed his enthusiasm.

We should let our children, both the inner and outer, inspire us. They truly make it easy for us; we make it hard for ourselves by imposing our adulterated agendas, our rules and regulations, all our shoulds and do nots.

Of course, all these measures are for good and they have been gleaned through a lifetime of mistakes and minding our own manners. But—that's a big-ass butt, qualifying caveat—every once in a while we've got to let it all go and embrace all that life has to offer.

Two examples have certainly inspired me lately.

Dominic, our 11 ("and a half" he will say) year old recently completed a crazy challenge to raise a little money for the American Heart Association. (Click! on the link if you are compelled to help Dominic become "a heart hero" by giving a little to help him help others).

About four or five weeks ago he asked me, "How many jump rope jumps must I make for you to donate $75 to the campaign?"

"A thousand," I spontaneously replied, half-believing he wouldn't accept the challenge, but half-hoping he might.

Well, he did and a little over a month later Dominic asked me to pay up. I gladly did so, not only because it was a healthy accomplishment, but also because he didn't let fear of failure or the inhibitions of what we might feel is impractical stand in his way. Instead, he simply pursued this crazy dream and did it. Yeah Dominic! You are my hero.

My second source of inspiration is Milo. Milo, Milo, Milo, oh Milo.

Although I have thousands of photos of our first-born to remind me (sorry Dominic), I must have a bad memory, because I simply don't remember Enzo or Dominic smiling and laughing and clapping as much as Milo does. He is simply an ever-rolling ball of genuine optimism and appreciation.

I try not to let how somber and sad; worn and weary we become as adults rein me in all-the-time. Instead, I do my best to let my happy baby and the other boys remind me that we must enjoy every moment, as if we had no where to go but to where the dolphins roam, no where to be but here and now, and nothing to hide.

Granted, it is far easier to advocate these platitudes than to live by them.

Nonetheless and allthemore, I say - go to Sea World by yourself if you want to—just don't wear a trench coat.

P.S. Inspired to live by my own words, instead of scurrying to the office from the station as I normally do, I stopped to smell the virtual flowers and stood to watch a fun video for a few whimsical minutes. Created in honor of Grand Central Terminal's centennial celebration, Grand Central Diary by Carolyn and Andy London is a funny, creative piece, seemingly inspired by a child's imagination. It can be viewed outside of the New York Transit Museum or online by clicking the link provided here.

Enzo, our oldest, just turned 14. 

Let's hope I can help him keep his inner child 

by being a little less parental, and little more permissive.

Ep. 16: Despite the morning chill

Despite the morning chill, Milo eagerly embraces 

the belated arrival of Spring

Monday, April 8, 2013

Anticipating 70 degrees today, the majority of the commuters stood trackside at 7:20, despite the residual morning chill.

Moreover, since station management had not planned for this delayed start of the blooming season, the bridge over the tracks was now hot and uncomfortable. A horde of four senior secretaries stood chatting, reeking of bad perfume and cigarettes.

Until today it has been so cold that half of the people waited upon that bridge or huddled closely in conversation.

Now, everyone except the tea party stood either sipping coffee, allaying their loneliness by rereading email or looking out yonder across the Hudson, contemplating, wondering, wandering, planning or scheming to take advantage of this belated arrival of Spring.

Ep. 15: Woe is not me; Fodder for a post

Like me, Willy was in love with writing.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

I am now officially seven days behind in writing posts to The Peekskill Commuter.

I've taken dozens of notes over these long lost days, but simply haven't had a moment to spare.

In addition to time, writing requires a tranquil place to compose.

As I've done for the last week or so, I can take notes on the fly—typing them on my iPhone’s Notepad during my round-trip commute, dictating thoughts as voice memos as I walk to work, occasionally opening up my catch-all Word doc at the office as thoughts fruition—but to properly and aptly congeal them into a fluid composition I need a little more than a patchwork of moments.

I need a good, solid, chunk of space—physical, chronological, mental and emotional—one that lets me work out all the intriguing problems of composition—context, fluidity, transition, structure, comprehension, relevancy, propulsion, originality and of course, the most wonderful conundrum of all—astute word choice.

It is this sacred place and space where I clip and cut and insert and play with my words until I can read and reread and be happy with the results.

Alas, resolving my linguistic puzzles and problems have had to defer to greater, more immediate, concerns —clogged shower drains, clogged toilets, carpeting saturated with years of cat dander and urine, broken shelves, broken banisters, no place to hang towels, is there heat in the house ?

No, now my worries weigh upon me as a slew of do-it-yourself home repairs, and new bills and accounts to keep on top of.

Woe should not be me though, for at least I have a home.

And admittedly, prosaic troubles such as this, feed the beast and have given me fodder for a post.