I was happiest when I was writing. Today will start again.
I often wonder if it is preferable to ignore the inevitable.
I don't do the things that I love, because of the consequences each now carries.
I don't go to the Stadium, anymore. I loved going to Ballgames. Not so much night games, but an afternoon at Yankee Stadium was my idea of heaven. I never drank much, and in the afternoon it was more of a family crowd, I was more comfortable there. Now I don't drive, I'm afraid of being jostled on the Subway, The heat gets to me, and the fear of the steep steps. I'm afraid of the possible consequences so I avoid something that I love.
I no longer eat red meat. I loved a good hamburger. The best one that I ever had was at a tavern in an inn outside of Woodstock, Vermont. They put Maple syrup in it. I only ate half. I gave half to my wife. It's been 15 years since I had that burger, but I still taste it. Protein blocks the dopomine. If I had Red Meat, I would shake all day. I can't work. But would it be worth it to taste that burger again?
I don't go to the Theater. I can't sit still for prolonged periods of time. If I were to go, I would have to have the back seat, on the right aisle in the orchestra. I miss the theater. New York has many great and unique features, but there is nothing like Broadway.
Speaking of New York's many features, my favorite spot in the world, may be Central Park. It's the place that I hit the longest home run of my life, hobbled around the bases on a torn ankle, in front of a young lady whom I had a crush on. It's the place that I saw Elton John and Simon and Garfunkel. At Simon and Garfunkel, it may have been the only time in my life that I was seriously drunk.
When my dad was ill, I would go into Manhattan on Sunday Morning, spend the morning with him, and then walk to Fifth Avenue, making sure to look at the vendors outside of the Met, and walk into the park. I'd often take my camera. One day I saw this beautiful Orange Crested Bird. I took a picture. A British couple asked me what kind of bird it was. I said, "I think that it's an Oriole, but they are not in town this weekend." It fell on deaf ears. The moral is know your audience. Now the only time that I enter Central Park is for the Parkinson's Walk.
Fear of falling, fear of shaking, fear of sweating, fear of fear.
The things that you enjoy doing, were never as much fun as when they are taken away.
I often wonder if it is preferable to ignore the inevitable.
I don't do the things that I love, because of the consequences each now carries.
I don't go to the Stadium, anymore. I loved going to Ballgames. Not so much night games, but an afternoon at Yankee Stadium was my idea of heaven. I never drank much, and in the afternoon it was more of a family crowd, I was more comfortable there. Now I don't drive, I'm afraid of being jostled on the Subway, The heat gets to me, and the fear of the steep steps. I'm afraid of the possible consequences so I avoid something that I love.
I no longer eat red meat. I loved a good hamburger. The best one that I ever had was at a tavern in an inn outside of Woodstock, Vermont. They put Maple syrup in it. I only ate half. I gave half to my wife. It's been 15 years since I had that burger, but I still taste it. Protein blocks the dopomine. If I had Red Meat, I would shake all day. I can't work. But would it be worth it to taste that burger again?
I don't go to the Theater. I can't sit still for prolonged periods of time. If I were to go, I would have to have the back seat, on the right aisle in the orchestra. I miss the theater. New York has many great and unique features, but there is nothing like Broadway.
Speaking of New York's many features, my favorite spot in the world, may be Central Park. It's the place that I hit the longest home run of my life, hobbled around the bases on a torn ankle, in front of a young lady whom I had a crush on. It's the place that I saw Elton John and Simon and Garfunkel. At Simon and Garfunkel, it may have been the only time in my life that I was seriously drunk.
When my dad was ill, I would go into Manhattan on Sunday Morning, spend the morning with him, and then walk to Fifth Avenue, making sure to look at the vendors outside of the Met, and walk into the park. I'd often take my camera. One day I saw this beautiful Orange Crested Bird. I took a picture. A British couple asked me what kind of bird it was. I said, "I think that it's an Oriole, but they are not in town this weekend." It fell on deaf ears. The moral is know your audience. Now the only time that I enter Central Park is for the Parkinson's Walk.
Fear of falling, fear of shaking, fear of sweating, fear of fear.
The things that you enjoy doing, were never as much fun as when they are taken away.
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