The Forgotten Day

  It should be right behind the Fourth of July. It should be held in higher regard than all the rest. There is no reason for it to be forgotten. Parades and ceremonies and fireworks simply are not enough. This is a day to truly be thankful, a day that should be met with football and giant dinners and family gatherings. It is the one day that should never be taken for granted. Today is Veteran's Day.

      The company I work for, like most companies theses days, does not recognize today as a day worthy of remembrance. It is a normal Wednesday. The union, as willing to accept dues as they are to concede recognized holidays, does not consider today a day worth fighting for. I wear the American flag stitched upon my work clothes, but can not recognize the heroes of this country without a sick day. The men and women who have fought and sacrificed for my rights and freedoms are not worthy of a day of recognition according to many, my company, it's customers, Local 807, and most of the rest of the country included. The beginning of Summer is more important. The "unofficial" end of Summer is more important. A fictitious fat man in a red suit is more important. Watching a giant ball descend a pole while partying with friends is much more important. The veterans of this country are not as important as these things. However, without them we would not celebrate such frivolous matters.
      For many years, I hunted with my father on Veteran's Day. We used to meet in the morning and drive to the Delaware Water Gap and walk the fields there in search of small game, pheasants and squirrels mostly. We never mentioned that it was a holiday. We just walked the woods together. Spending time together was enough, no hoopla. As my parents left New Jersey to reside in the slower pace of Pennsylvania, my father and I still made plans to meet on Veteran's Day to walk the same fields.  Times have changed since those youthful hunts. The holiday calendar at work has grown lean on what is considered an important or allowable day off. I, at one time, resorted to sick days to keep the tradition of hunting with my dad on Veteran's Day going. Recently, I have used seniority and vacation to ensure that this day is spent with family.
      My father is a disabled veteran of the Vietnam Conflict. He carries many scars of all kinds with him. There were years when those scars took their toll not only on him. I lost some years to those scars, too. The loss was of time and chances to make memories and I refuse to allow that to ever happen again. My children take pride in the fact that their grandfather was a soldier and fought for this country. I will not allow them to lose the opportunity to make memories of time spent with their grandfather. They proudly celebrate this day knowing they are, in some small part, connected to it. It is his day and he should have it. He has surely earned it and continues to earn it, everyday.
      My story is only one of thousands, perhaps millions by now. My experiences of the effect of war and the cost of politics and freedom are merely a blade of grass in a meadow of such experiences. All of those stories deserve a place, a day of recognition, a moment to reflect and remember, and a small word of thanks. These stories are attached to lives, to families. They can not be allowed to fade from the memory of a nation. They have sacrificed for every American. They have earned their day. 
     Who wants to be the one that takes their day away? Who wants to be the one that allows their memories to fade? Who wants to be the one that keeps their stories from being told? 

It will not be me. Mine is but a small inconvenience compared to their sacrifices. It will not be me.

The Forgotten Day

      It should be right behind the Fourth of July. It should be held in higher regard than all the rest. There is no reason for it to be forgotten. Parades and ceremonies and fireworks simply are not enough. This is a day to truly be thankful, a day that should be met with football and giant dinners and family gatherings. It is the one day that should never be taken for granted. Today is Veteran's Day.

      The company I work for, like most companies theses days, does not recognize today as a day worthy of remembrance. It is a normal Wednesday. The union, as willing to accept dues as they are to concede recognized holidays, does not consider today a day worth fighting for. I wear the American flag stitched upon my work clothes, but can not recognize the heroes of this country without a sick day. The men and women who have fought and sacrificed for my rights and freedoms are not worthy of a day of recognition according to many, my company, it's customers, Local 807, and most of the rest of the country included. The beginning of Summer is more important. The "unofficial" end of Summer is more important. A fictitious fat man in a red suit is more important. Watching a giant ball descend a pole while partying with friends is much more important. The veterans of this country are not as important as these things. However, without them we would not celebrate such frivolous matters.
      For many years, I hunted with my father on Veteran's Day. We used to meet in the morning and drive to the Delaware Water Gap and walk the fields there in search of small game, pheasants and squirrels mostly. We never mentioned that it was a holiday. We just walked the woods together. Spending time together was enough, no hoopla. As my parents left New Jersey to reside in the slower pace of Pennsylvania, my father and I still made plans to meet on Veteran's Day to walk the same fields.  Times have changed since those youthful hunts. The holiday calendar at work has grown lean on what is considered an important or allowable day off. I, at one time, resorted to sick days to keep the tradition of hunting with my dad on Veteran's Day going. Recently, I have used seniority and vacation to ensure that this day is spent with family.
      My father is a disabled veteran of the Vietnam Conflict. He carries many scars of all kinds with him. There were years when those scars took their toll not only on him. I lost some years to those scars, too. The loss was of time and chances to make memories and I refuse to allow that to ever happen again. My children take pride in the fact that their grandfather was a soldier and fought for this country. I will not allow them to lose the opportunity to make memories of time spent with their grandfather. They proudly celebrate this day knowing they are, in some small part, connected to it. It is his day and he should have it. He has surely earned it and continues to earn it, everyday.
      My story is only one of thousands, perhaps millions by now. My experiences of the effect of war and the cost of politics and freedom are merely a blade of grass in a meadow of such experiences. All of those stories deserve a place, a day of recognition, a moment to reflect and remember, and a small word of thanks. These stories are attached to lives, to families. They can not be allowed to fade from the memory of a nation. They have sacrificed for every American. They have earned their day. 
     Who wants to be the one that takes their day away? Who wants to be the one that allows their memories to fade? Who wants to be the one that keeps their stories from being told? 

It will not be me. Mine is but a small inconvenience compared to their sacrifices. It will not be me.

The Forgotten Day

      It should be right behind the Fourth of July. It should be held in higher regard than all the rest. There is no reason for it to be forgotten. Parades and ceremonies and fireworks simply are not enough. This is a day to truly be thankful, a day that should be met with football and giant dinners and family gatherings. It is the one day that should never be taken for granted. Today is Veteran's Day.

      The company I work for, like most companies theses days, does not recognize today as a day worthy of remembrance. It is a normal Wednesday. The union, as willing to accept dues as they are to concede recognized holidays, does not consider today a day worth fighting for. I wear the American flag stitched upon my work clothes, but can not recognize the heroes of this country without a sick day. The men and women who have fought and sacrificed for my rights and freedoms are not worthy of a day of recognition according to many, my company, it's customers, Local 807, and most of the rest of the country included. The beginning of Summer is more important. The "unofficial" end of Summer is more important. A fictitious fat man in a red suit is more important. Watching a giant ball descend a pole while partying with friends is much more important. The veterans of this country are not as important as these things. However, without them we would not celebrate such frivolous matters.
      For many years, I hunted with my father on Veteran's Day. We used to meet in the morning and drive to the Delaware Water Gap and walk the fields there in search of small game, pheasants and squirrels mostly. We never mentioned that it was a holiday. We just walked the woods together. Spending time together was enough, no hoopla. As my parents left New Jersey to reside in the slower pace of Pennsylvania, my father and I still made plans to meet on Veteran's Day to walk the same fields.  Times have changed since those youthful hunts. The holiday calendar at work has grown lean on what is considered an important or allowable day off. I, at one time, resorted to sick days to keep the tradition of hunting with my dad on Veteran's Day going. Recently, I have used seniority and vacation to ensure that this day is spent with family.
      My father is a disabled veteran of the Vietnam Conflict. He carries many scars of all kinds with him. There were years when those scars took their toll not only on him. I lost some years to those scars, too. The loss was of time and chances to make memories and I refuse to allow that to ever happen again. My children take pride in the fact that their grandfather was a soldier and fought for this country. I will not allow them to lose the opportunity to make memories of time spent with their grandfather. They proudly celebrate this day knowing they are, in some small part, connected to it. It is his day and he should have it. He has surely earned it and continues to earn it, everyday.
      My story is only one of thousands, perhaps millions by now. My experiences of the effect of war and the cost of politics and freedom are merely a blade of grass in a meadow of such experiences. All of those stories deserve a place, a day of recognition, a moment to reflect and remember, and a small word of thanks. These stories are attached to lives, to families. They can not be allowed to fade from the memory of a nation. They have sacrificed for every American. They have earned their day. 
     Who wants to be the one that takes their day away? Who wants to be the one that allows their memories to fade? Who wants to be the one that keeps their stories from being told? 

It will not be me. Mine is but a small inconvenience compared to their sacrifices. It will not be me.

The Haunts of October

     To begin, the story should focus on an October favorite, the haunted house, or in these times, the haunted attraction.  My family has gotten older, looking for a bigger thrill than those of the Peanuts crew and Great Pumpkin or the pedestrian-like street fairs that so often pop up in towns this time of year.  As budding teenagers, they began to search out more intimidating "spooky haunts" bolstered by their interest in the "ghost hunting" shows that fill an entire network.  They were not satisfied in the high school gym with smoke machines, although they are more than happy to help set one up and will even DJ the whole event for you.  Then came the Six Flags Fright Night experience, one in NJ and another in New England.  It was a glorious, commercialized success with scary outfits and sparking knee-pads and glowing everything.  The kids loved it.  Mom loved it.  The whole thing was a like a kick-off to Fall.  My oldest daughter would very comfortably stop right there, content in the amusement park scares in the neon glow of the roller coasters and carnival games.

    My younger daughter, along with her partner in crime, Mom, are more than happy to trounce right past that lofty scare goal and into the dedicated scare factories.  The Horseman's Hollow in Sleepy Hollow was the first.  Philipsburg Manor transformed from living history museum into historic undead maze.  The entire town embraces the season, from the original bridge, the historic Old Dutch Church that comes alive with candlelight to hear the tale of Ichibod, and the giant sculpture of the headless Hessian in the town square.  There is a chilling cemetery tour to be had by lantern and hot cider in the welcome center.  Up the road a piece is the enthralling Blaze, filled with jack o'lanterns depicting every scene imaginable to round out the perfect Halloween day/night adventure.

    Then there is the Headless Horseman Hayride further upstate in NY.  It holds multiple scary houses that are accessed by an initial hayride.  The less intrepid are left in the wagon's dust to wait in the midway, a market filled with themed shops and plenty of food vendors.  This one was one of the scarier attractions and a go-to when tickets aren't available for anything new, like the warehouse in Wharton, NJ.  13th Hour Haunted House is right off of Route 80 in NJ and housed in an industrial complex.  The parking lot is left shadowy and aids in maintaining that new age horror motif, less woody and more industrial. Which leads to the king of industrial horror, Brighton Asylum.  An old asylum complex in the middle of Paterson.  Tuck your car into one of the makeshift parking spots set up by the security folks that pass as great "traveling carnies" that most of the younger crowd have no idea are the true scary ones, and quickly scamper across the loading docks and driveways to the decrepit-appearing entrance to wait for your turn inside the elevator.  Your wait is entertained by the creeps outside working the line and cozying up to the patrons, especially if they find a particularly squeamish one.  All three are great interpretations of spook houses.

    Until you reach the granite walls and guard towers looming over a neighborhood, Eastern State Penitentiary does not quite seem real.  But when you touch the stones, feel the bars, and hear your footsteps in the hallways, the place is massive.  The attraction is executed gorgeously in the darkest sense, with smoke and monsters, strobes and lasers.  It has a lounge or two and cocktail hours for the more discerning haunt visitor.  It really is a carefully orchestrated dance between scare and true interactive entertainment.  And then....there is the true attraction: the goosebump inducing, truly creepy self-guided tour.  Walk the abandoned halls away from the ghouls at your own pace as you listen to Steve Buscemi tell the history of this place in your earphones.  Do you dare to listen to the narration or keep one ear open for the residents that never left this place?  The half-light of some bare bulbs trying to cut into the darkness behind the bars, peering into black souls.  Was that a mouse, a rat?  Did someone just throw something at me?  Where did it go?  The whole thing is October wrapped in stone; cold and waiting.

    No matter your preference, commercialized amusements, historic jaunts, woods or warehouse, this is the time of year to feel alive (or undead).  The spirit of Halloween is alive.  Let it captivate your imagination or feed your thrill or nurture the knowledge for history in a little different light.  But most of all have fun in the season, pumpkin spice is only here for a short time, indulge.

Into the Dark

     It seems fitting that this time of year would lend itself to reconnecting with the page.  It seems like forever since I have truly felt comfortable putting words to thoughts.  Fits and stops is a little too generous to describe the tiny effort put forth since those years ago.  So much time has passed.  The last years have definitely been a mischievous mix of tricks and treats, leaning mostly on the side of tricks.  These fingers are rusty and sometimes miss their mark but I am committed to getting them back into condition.  Time has not stopped and neither have the adventures and mishaps.  My only concern is the ability to recall them all.  And so, a new chapter hopefully begins.

    The new chapter is one of reflection or maybe just a flashback scene during a movie before fast-forwarding. It will recount all the marital hardships and triumphs covering the last few years.  Throw in the tortured high school years and graduation during a pandemic with incessant testing, enough to make an entire family's collective noses sore.  Lost opportunities at camp, at school, at life, stunting the maturation of young minds, never to be recaptured.  A company turned sour, tainted by the poison of greed and corruption, led into history by the children and grandchildren of entrepreneurs that no longer remembered the legacy of building things and only the wealth they were left to squander will lead us into a new chapter.  In order for new things to begin, some old ones need to end and I hope this stands true in this case.

    Times may be tough right now.  The world may be a scarier, darker version.  It is the right time.  That time of year, in the in-between time, when spirits were believed to be closer to us than at any other time of year.  Perhaps is is the perfect time to begin again, to listen to the spirits and tell the tales of times gone and times ahead.  Into this darkness is the right way to start, instead of sheepishly waiting for that "perfect" moment, make one and jump right in.

Time in Words

         My fingers can not clench tight enough to hold the seconds that slip by.  There is not enough strength in these arms to hug close the minutes that fly past.  My hands are powerless against the unswerving hands of the clock.  Time quietly but steadily moves ever forward.  We can not stop it, can not slow it, can not even negotiate an extra fleeting blink within its stride toward another day.  The best we can hope for is a stray February 29 and the chance of making the most of an extra 24 hours.  In this I am guilty of wasting those precious moments, of forgetting the importance of not allowing them to get away, of making the most of my time, here and now and always.

        Four years have disappeared since my words have danced across the page, moving along with the clicking of the keys and tapping of my fingers.  A decade has somehow become history since the first words were carefully chosen to bring my thoughts to light.  The collective meaning of those words is important, at their least to me, but even more important is the silence since that last word saw light.  I have been absent too long, from this page, from these words, from life and the vigilance of time.  It is an endless debate of which is more important, the passage of time, the recording of that passage and the events it held, or the ability to be present within that present.  And in this, I have become complacent, negligent, wasting precious ticks without ever memorializing them.  Good or bad, hard times or the happiest of days, mundane chores or intoxicating experiences, achievements and milestones, many things have passed and all of them need to be written in the history book that makes up my life.

        Today I hope to continue my acknowledgement of the days I have let slip by and the days yet to come and all the tales that are contained within and never to allow such careless or irresponsible waste happen again.  I have been too cavalier with the clock and do not wish to look back only to see that I have not made the most of the short time I have been given.  I have become older, grayer.  My children, all of a sudden, are not growing but are grown, flowing into their independence.  No matter how the time accumulates it will never be enough to see everything, do everything, feel everything that could fill a life but I intend to not allow anymore to pass unnoticed.

The Forgotten Day

     It should be right behind the Fourth of July. It should be held in higher regard than all the rest. There is no reason for it to be forgotten. Parades and ceremonies and fireworks simply are not enough. This is a day to truly be thankful, a day that should be met with football and giant dinners and family gatherings. It is the one day that should never be taken for granted. Today is Veteran's Day.

      The company I work for, like most companies theses days, does not recognize today as a day worthy of remembrance. It is a normal Wednesday. The union, as willing to accept dues as they are to concede recognized holidays, does not consider today a day worth fighting for. I wear the American flag stitched upon my work clothes, but can not recognize the heroes of this country without a sick day. The men and women who have fought and sacrificed for my rights and freedoms are not worthy of a day of recognition according to many, my company, it's customers, Local 807, and most of the rest of the country included. The beginning of Summer is more important. The "unofficial" end of Summer is more important. A fictitious fat man in a red suit is more important. Watching a giant ball descend a pole while partying with friends is much more important. The veterans of this country are not as important as these things. However, without them we would not celebrate such frivolous matters.
      For many years, I hunted with my father on Veteran's Day. We used to meet in the morning and drive to the Delaware Water Gap and walk the fields there in search of small game, pheasants and squirrels mostly. We never mentioned that it was a holiday. We just walked the woods together. Spending time together was enough, no hoopla. As my parents left New Jersey to reside in the slower pace of Pennsylvania, my father and I still made plans to meet on Veteran's Day to walk the same fields.  Times have changed since those youthful hunts. The holiday calendar at work has grown lean on what is considered an important or allowable day off. I, at one time, resorted to sick days to keep the tradition of hunting with my dad on Veteran's Day going. Recently, I have used seniority and vacation to ensure that this day is spent with family.
      My father is a disabled veteran of the Vietnam Conflict. He carries many scars of all kinds with him. There were years when those scars took their toll not only on him. I lost some years to those scars, too. The loss was of time and chances to make memories and I refuse to allow that to ever happen again. My children take pride in the fact that their grandfather was a soldier and fought for this country. I will not allow them to lose the opportunity to make memories of time spent with their grandfather. They proudly celebrate this day knowing they are, in some small part, connected to it. It is his day and he should have it. He has surely earned it and continues to earn it, everyday.
      My story is only one of thousands, perhaps millions by now. My experiences of the effect of war and the cost of politics and freedom are merely a blade of grass in a meadow of such experiences. All of those stories deserve a place, a day of recognition, a moment to reflect and remember, and a small word of thanks. These stories are attached to lives, to families. They can not be allowed to fade from the memory of a nation. They have sacrificed for every American. They have earned their day. 
     Who wants to be the one that takes their day away? Who wants to be the one that allows their memories to fade? Who wants to be the one that keeps their stories from being told? 

It will not be me. Mine is but a small inconvenience compared to their scarifices. It will not be me.