Not Another Apartment Post

 

It feels like I've hit a wall in the apartment storytelling.

Or, as was recently said, "It was an epic 10-part saga on the blog."

So, yeah, I probably need to take a night off.

In fact, there wasn't much to say today as it is. 

Move this box, throw that out, etc.

A trip to a different Ikea (for a second straight day) yielded answers but no desk.

The part that I need -- legs -- will be available next week. So that gives me time to mull things over.

Plus I-95 was as it always is. I hit some traffic going to New Haven.

I hit some from New Haven to Stratford.

Topics for a sports report at CSB

I did "Doubleheader" and then taught my class at CSB.

A bad night of sleep made for a teacher that wasn't up to his best.

The class flamed out before I got back on 95.

Then I sat in construction traffic. I departed the highway at Exit 18 -- Sherwood Island State Park -- before doing a dance of traffic lights between Westport and Norwalk.

I hit literally every light. Red, of course.

Eventually, I made it back to Greenwich. Sean and The Cat awaited.

So did dinner.

Yeah, that was my day. There's still a change of address to be done and DMV issues to address. Other things beyond that.

But, for now, I'll pass on more tails from the Real House Dad of Greenwich (credit: birthday boy Chris Erway).

Maybe tomorrow.

Memorial Day, 2022

 

Nothing more American on Memorial Day than Swedish Meatballs, amirite?

Let's start with a few quick notes before I prattle on.

- Some say it's not appropriate to offer each other a "Happy Memorial Day." Well, I disagree, and here's why. We're honoring the men and women who died while serving in the United States Armed Forces, particularly those who died in battle or as a result of wounds sustained in battle. So, to say "Happy Memorial Day" is to honor their memories for the very reason they were fighting so that we could say so.

It is not, however, for veterans. That's in November.

Also, we really get hung up on the most ridiculous minutiae, don't we? How about you do what suits you?

- I'm grateful to each of you who has followed along with the probable overkill of the move (out and in). It has been a journey and I'm happy you've come along but no there are times that it has been too much. My goal is to never overshare but that is the finest of lines. I tell stories -- lots of stories -- yet I don't give every detail.

I'll give you more. One day.

But, for now, I'm beyond grateful.

*****

The goal for today was a table and a desk.

I achieved half of the goal.

Sean came for his first stay here and, right off the bat, I have to say we have a bit of a parking issue. We're allowed one car (I say we can fit two) and Sean is only going to be there basically half of every month. When he does get here, he basically parks his car and doesn't touch it for a week. However, as you might know, parking is a bit of an issue in Greenwich.

For now, my car is on the street and I let him take the parking spot.

So, we have a little figuring out to do there. I'm open to any suggestions from my Greenwich friends.

Still, that aside, we emptied out the car to take a trip to Ikea. Curiously, the location that was suggested to me wasn't New Haven. Indeed, I decided to go to Paramus, NJ. My "Spidey senses" for roads and traffic were tingling.

It was the right call. We barely struggled with Memorial Day ("Happy" or not!) traffic at all.

So we zoomed to the Garden State and set about our shopping goal.

As I said, one out of two, we got a small table where I can now sit and eat a meal, especially my cereal.

On the other hand, the desk didn't go so well. the very desk I decided on -- reasonably priced and sized -- wasn't completely available. Now, follow along here. The desktop was available and in multiple colors! 

They didn't have desk legs. Er...how is that possible?

I considered several others of different sizes and prices. Yet none of them really satisfied me.

"Wow," Sean chided me. "You're really indecisive."

One thing about me: I'll make my own decision but I really like having the thoughts of people I trust. I also consider all of my options. That's my management style. It's also my style as a father. So I asked for his opinions and, well, I got some but it took work to get there.

And, ultimately, I came home without a desk. I have a large folding table that I used back in Mahopac as a desk but I think it's a bit big for my bedroom. So I'll go with that temporarily until Ikea gets its act together.

Cat not included

Our trip to Paramus allowed one other advantage: a Wawa was only 10 minutes away! Coffee! Food! Happiness!

The boys drove home happily. We decided to take our goodies home and heat them up for dinner.

I kept looking for the big traffic backup and, ultimately, it didn't happen. We made our way back across the bridge that crosses the Tappan Zee.

No problems at all.

Upon coming home, I worked on putting air conditioners in the windows. Two old AC units were in our attic. One worked fine. The other? Not so much. Guess whose bedroom had the dysfunctional AC? 

I had to swap it out for another one.

To be clear, they're all turned off now as the night has turned comfortable.

But these are the things that will occupy moments as we settle in. A trip to Goodwill is necessary to donate CDs and books that I've purged. Maybe some other stuff.

Every day will continue to be a work in progress and I'm here for all of it.

Especially with working air conditioning to keep us cool.

It's supposed to be 96 tomorrow.

My "Quiet" Sunday

The view from the balcony

I made more progress today around what I'm jokingly calling "The Presidential Suite."

You know, as in Adams and son.

You know, John Adams (second President) and John Quincy Adams (sixth President).

I know. It's a stretch but I need things to make me laugh.

The sounds of Billy Joel continued to ring in my brain as I did stuff.

The first order of business today was to address a "tall person" problem. The shower head was a bit low so I thought I'd treat us to a new one. If it wasn't great for me it definitely wouldn't be great for Sean. So, I ran to Home Depot first thing this morning and bought one. Minutes later, it was installed by me.

Me. Who can't butter bread.

I did some organizing in Sean's room but stopped short of doing too much as he needs to do that himself. It's his space.

I focused mostly on my bedroom and the living room. Among my big products was a major (for me, anyway) purge of my books, especially after Kris and Sean both reminded me that E-readers exist.

So I really cleaned things out. Then, I took the remaining books and put them on the built-in shelves in the attic.

Slowly, more space is opening up in the living room. I still have to resolve my desk situation as well as a kitchen table. A trip to Ikea (most likely) will resolve all of that.

With each day -- more gets done to make this a home.

Rascal is also squeaking his way around here a little more. He sat in his tower for a bit today after I assembled it for him.

That, by the way, was around the time I fell asleep in my chair.

I made sure to take a break to eat, running out to get dinner before coming back here. I set up my balcony to sit outside and eat while trains passed by and traffic did its thing on 95.

Anyway, I'm babbling. The Cat and I will soon fall asleep thus ending another day on our own.

Happy Memorial Day tomorrow as we remember those who sacrificed all so that we can go to Ikea.

Storm Front

 

This post can be summed up simply: I like making people happy.

That's it. That's the post.

Oh, I can go all-in about the Greenwich Town Party experience.

I was there just after 8 a.m. and had WGCH's tent set up for the most part.

Despite the humidity, it felt like a good day.

I can tell you about walking -- WALKING -- to the concert site from home and how I walked back to meet Sean.

How we grabbed breakfast sandwiches and strolled back to the GTP.

How we weren't on the air when I wanted to be and how an audio guy made a snide comment to me. (Side note: he was wrong and took it out on me. Whatever.)

How we still didn't miss anything.

How we made the family of the first performer happy because we were on the air and his grandmother listened.

How that same performer came over later and was interviewed by me.

How there was a two-hour rain delay and, because I didn't feel right abandoning things, stayed with the equipment and went on the air occasionally to provide updates.

How incredible Robert Randolph is. Ditto for Preservation Hall Jazz Band. Extra ditto for Preservation Hall Jazz Band with Robert Randolph.

How the broadcast was basically flawless and how, once again, Sean was a great co-host.

But tonight was also Billy Joel at the Greenwich Town Party. I basically revere Billy Joel.

So does Susan, and Sean wanted to be there. And Susan's daughters -- especially her oldest, Lucy -- love Billy Joel.

And Paul Silverfarb and Jeff Alterman got passes. And Chris Erway hung out on nearby Grass Island to hear the concert.

But with a small request, I got Susan, Lucy, and Susan's youngest, Annabelle, into the concert.

And Sean was there to work with me.

So watching all of them happy was everything to me. Honestly, I didn't need to be there. I don't know that I care enough to go see Billy in his residency at Madison Square Garden. As I've said, my concert-going days appear to be pretty much over.

But this was different. Four loved ones were able to see an artist they love -- three for the first time. I saw smiles and hips shaking and people singing.

They all got to experience the joy of "Piano Man" which I can only compare to the McCartney sing-along on "Hey Jude."

I watched Susan hug each of her daughters. I could tell what it meant.

"Tell Rob thanks," Susan told Anabelle. Annabelle followed with the "thank you" of a typical kid whose mother just told her to say "thanks."

She owed me no thanks whatsoever. I could tell she had a ball. That's what matters.

I stood behind them and smiled most of the night. That's just it. As I danced what I'm sure was a "dad boogie" and nodded my head, I felt such total joy.

I don't care about what songs he did or didn't play. I felt emotion during "Vienna" (based on a conversation he had with his father) and smiled at "Movin' Out" since those were the two songs I played as I came home to Greenwich for the first time on Wednesday.

Greenwich. My home. The home I walked to from a Billy Joel concert.

Tonight wasn't about the music. It was about the joy of these people.

Tonight was honestly one of my favorite concert experiences ever. Yes, ever.

And that's enough for me.

In Need of Sleep

 

4:17 a.m.

That's what time it was when we finally finished the deposition this morning. I drove home past WGCH to see the studios lit up as Tony Savino prepared for the NewsCenter.

I had one goal: bed. I kept falling asleep during the deposition, even needing a moment to wake myself up as one of the lawyers said we could go off the record. Nothing was working to keep me awake.

Then again, given the enormity of the week, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that I was such a wreck.

Still, sleep is evading me here in the new digs. Rascal mostly hides when I'm not here so he wants some attention when I am. That, of course, isn't good for trying to sleep at 4:30 a.m.

So I might have gotten three hours of sleep.

I took my first walk around today, climbing the hill to descend into town for breakfast. I learned that the walk from my place to the Greenwich train station was probably 10 minutes -- 15 if the pace is leisurely. The hill made my hamstrings angry but, otherwise, it was a good walk.

But my walk wasn't done. I also strolled downtown to the parking lot near Roger Sherman Baldwin Park, site of the annual Greenwich Town Party. Coincidentally, the big show is tomorrow, so I went to pick up my media credentials.

For the third time, Sean and I will serve as hosts of the WGCH radio broadcast. We'll be on the air just before 11 a.m. and we'll be live with music and commentary until approximately 8 p.m.

I need to get to the park early tomorrow so I can set up. With Billy Joel as the headline act, this will be the first time that I stayed for the whole show.

So given my three hours of sleep, having come home at 4:30 and being generally exhausted, I'm going to call it a night and leave you with a short post.

We'll talk tomorrow.

Back to Work

That's progress. I swear.

I just got an alert that I needed to put the recycling out tonight.

Nope. Not anymore. That was a reminder from Mahopac.

The recycling now goes in a bin behind my apartment whenever I want.

The garbage goes out there also and I definitely added a few bags today.

I hit the ground running at 6 a.m. as I anticipated the arrival of a Verizon technician to set me up with my internet and TV.

Yes, I took on a TV package for the moment. I'm not sure that I'll stay with it but there are a lot of decisions I'll be making on the fly.

Oh, I should stop here and explain that I'm working a deposition from the office -- a mere eight minutes or so from the apartment. Thus, the title of the post. So, yes, I'm back to work here but, really, have I ever really stopped? In the middle of everything I was still jumping on any game I could grab.

I'll pause here for a moment to say I'm a bit disgusted with the play-by-play business. It just feels like it's time to do something else. Too many egos and roadblocks. 

I mean, how exactly does it work that you can just show up and call a conference championship game? Say, I'll go to Yankee Stadium the next time they're home and call some games on Robcasting! That won't cause any problems, right?

Maybe I'll just throw the Super Bowl on there as well. No one will blink an eye, amirite?

In chatting with Mike Hirn before, I asked him why I care anymore. Well, why do I? Nobody else does.

OK, I'm getting way off track here. So, yeah, Verizon. But first, a shaky night's sleep and an early start to clean out things to prepare for Verizon. I needed to create space in the areas where I thought they needed to access.

Then Diane from Verizon arrived. She was great in that she did everything possible to resolve each issue, including a screwed-up order and a bad router. So, props to her.

As she did her thing, I did mine, putting both the bathroom and kitchen in working order. Sure, there are still boxes and other things sitting around but we're heading in the right direction. In the process, I threw more things out.

That's the sad thing about the rush to move. Because of that, there really wasn't the proper opportunity to purge thoroughly (despite the full dumpster that drove away on Tuesday morning). So things got moved that shouldn't have been and, now, I'm cleaning things more in-depth.

Much has gone into the attic and will continue to and I'll just climb up there and sort it all out.

And books. My child (delightful thing that he is) and my cousin (ditto) were both pleased to remind me that there are these things called "electronic books" that allow for the physical product to be eliminated and, as such, reduce the weight of the items being moved.

So, yeah, further purging will be necessary.

Sean's room still needs some attention and, while I'll certainly assist, that's his land to handle.

But there's my bedroom and the living room to figure out. Lots of things that can't go in the attic but I'll somehow figure that out. And a likely trip to Ikea coming up to get a small table to serve as a new desk so that I can have a remote broadcasting studio.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I do have access to a radio station a mere three minutes away but I still need a place to record podcasts. Even if I do run from broadcasting, Hunt Scanlon's podcasts will remain in my arsenal.

As with everything else, I'll figure it out.

But, here I sit, in the office doing a deposition. I'm here in part because I didn't have a chance to test everything and make sure it works. But, beyond that, I'm here because I can't find the wireless mouse that goes with that setup.

It will pop up. Maybe I should put some cheese out for it.

Oh, hey, speaking of cheese, I need to do some grocery shopping! Right now, the cupboard is fairly bare. In fact, that's why I had dry cereal and black coffee for breakfast this morning. Speaking of the cupboard, or the refrigerator, the first picture to be hung on the fridge was a dandy from Sean's graduation party.

I definitely treasure that picture. Some of the faces have changed and, sadly, two of them have since passed away. So I'll take that as a precious document of what was at that time.

As for our friend The Cat, he stayed hidden under my bed for most of the day but popped out a few times to show his face. It's major process and he'll be fine.

But I'm happy with the progress today. Overwhelmed at 6 a.m., I was quite pleased with how things looked by the afternoon. It's hard work -- and will continue to be -- but it's rewarding.

It's me taking care of me for a change.

There will be much more this weekend (mostly tomorrow, Sunday, and Monday) but we're on the right path.

It won't be long before I'm writing posts from my balcony, listening to traffic whiz by on I-95 as an Amtrak or Metro-North train passes by.

I suppose that's probably the biggest adjustment. After 53 years of living on side streets and dead-end roads, I'm in a spot where I can hear the cars, horns, conversations, and everything else. That -- and lots of things rolling around in my head -- kept me from a peaceful sleep.

If tonight's deposition keeps going the way it's going, it will exhaust me to be able to get a few hours of bliss.

Bliss.

I'm trying to get there.

Night One

Early in the day -- under my bed

 

It's been a long day and I frankly have minimal cell service.

I don't have internet yet. That's supposed to come tomorrow, assuming I can make space for the Verizon tech to work.

So, tonight, I have no TV which is hardly an inconvenience. I turned this box on that I have. It's rectangular and is called a ... radio?

Yes. A radio.

I listed to my Yankees friends John and Suzyn call the Bombers' win over the Orioles as I began to finally unpack

The day was a delightful mix of anxiety, joy, laughter, horror, exhilaration, and now, exhaustion.

I stopped at the apartment three times:

- to settle in our Squeaky friend Rascal (and deal with laundry thanks to the aforementioned Squeaky)

- to pick up equipment, check on the cat, do a little bit of unpacking, and

- to come home for the night after "The Clubhouse."

That was the point of the strongest emotions. While I made the correct turn leaving Mount Kisco to go south on 684 I had this sad pang of wanting to go north.

But here I am.

I was finally greeted by our black, furry friend, who had some head rubs for me on my leg and is currently asleep a few feet from me. He explored my bedroom a little and it will all get easier from here.

The same can be said for me. I assembled a bit of my bedroom tonight -- some lighting, hanging clothes, plugging in fans, etc.

There will be more tomorrow. Plus Memorial Day weekend.

It's all good. I'll adjust.

It took Rascal three days to adjust when I brought him home for the first time. This time, he seems closer to being himself in roughly 24 hours. That's exactly what I hoped for.

Thanks for following me along on this journey. It will continue tomorrow.

This Old House

 

6:00 p.m., May 24, 2022. Time to go.

I had a bigger post planned tonight.

More memories.

More everything.

But as I sit in small Room 380 of the Even Hotel in Norwalk, CT, I simply just want to be. I don't want to think.

And I probably want to just let today go.

We did it. We finished a project that had been started and stopped and repeated since Sep 2020.

Then, roughly three weeks ago, it went into overdrive.

I'm still numb.

I'm all moved into my new place in Greenwich but we agreed that I wouldn't take occupancy until tomorrow. So, sure, I could go there at midnight but I got yelled at to treat myself to a comfy night.

Except I'm sore.

My parent's bedroom, which was my bedroom at the end

But we did it. We finished the job today. Every room is clear. I even took a moment and vacuumed. We can't give the new owners a perfect place -- there's a lot of work to be done -- but I can give them little things like clean floors.

Or, at least I tried.

The kitchen

But this is the house. The place Mom recalled watching the Kennedy Assassination in. They never truly knew what date they moved in but we can say "Nov 1963" and have that be sufficient.

A few months later, the family -- then only four -- watched another Fab Four and, overall, were smitten.

The 60s would move along and a fifth family member came along. OK, six if you could Tareyton the cat (yes, named after a cigarette).

The 70s would bring high school graduations and jobs.

The living room

We had the big blackout in '77 and I remember it well. I remember the first Yankees World Series title. We lived all of it in Mahopac.

The 80s would bring the first of the grandchildren as well as another high school graduation.

We watched Chuck and Di and "Friday Night Videos" and listened to Huey Lewis (and changed me) and "Live Aid" and my father watched the Challenger disaster.

And then, in 1989, the house would change immeasurably with the passing of my father.

The 90s would bring more grandchildren as we learned to move along without our patriarch.

And I moved out.

The 00s would introduce Sean to the world.

The 10s would bring me back to help take care of Mom.

The dining room

She died in 2020.

The house lost its soul that day.

That was my baseball field. I stood there once more today and took a practice swing.

Now, on May 24, 2022, it's empty. I could still be sleeping there tonight but, given sleeping on an air mattress last night wasn't fun and I wasn't looking forward to dealing with Rascal in the car, here we are.

I ripped the band-aid off.

We'll get through whatever tomorrow brings us and then move forward.

That's what we do. It's been our mantra since late 2007 and it's funny how that comes up tonight.

One day, the stories can flow. One day.

"Not yet," they say.

So I'm numb. The day has been emotionally surreal. How else can I describe it? 

Highs. Lows. You know how this works.

My original bedroom and, later, my broadcasting studio

I wanted to be in this hotel hours ago but it wasn't meant to be.

I even worked in a podcast recording and Kris was gracious enough to just keep bringing things in while I did that.

Everyone needs a Kris Adams in their life. One of the few people I can truly count on without fail.

So much more to say but, for tonight, maybe pictures of the end of 58-plus years will suffice.

The parties. The picnics. The fights. The Wiffle ball games. The laughs. The tears. The football games. Playing under the back porch and building a town (Friendlyville). The pets. The kids. The neighborhood.

The parents. Both lived and died there.

And, today, we said goodbye and moved on.

After my marriage crashed, I lived here. It actually was much better than it looks.

I didn't bring my desk to the apartment because of space. Part of the reason is that I hope -- despite Greenwich parking being what it is -- that maybe a few of you will come by and help Sean, Rascal, and I brighten the place up.

The Greenwich era has begun. The new chapter will be written.

(New York pizza is still better)

The Mahopac era is over.

I'll be a visitor now.

An unhappy traveler

But the memories will be there.

The ghosts will keep things right.

Sean's room (originally my sister's room)

The Last Night

 

New beginnings: My bed is quiet tonight in Greenwich

I'm sitting on an air mattress in the bedroom I've occupied since the fall of 2020.

I thought about going back to my old room -- my original room -- one more time but I decided not to. Either way, I'd be on an air mattress with a sleeping bag.

Most of my stuff is gone. It's moved on to my new home. We made one long trip today but we still have more to do tomorrow.

Then I'll pack up The Cat and head to a hotel.

I figure I'm allowing myself one night where I might not have to think.

Then a new life begins on Wednesday.

The house is dark. The power is still on.

The internet is still on.

But it's time.

Its soul has mostly left.

If you believe in ghosts then you know they're here.

There's still so much to do and I'll be right back up at five tomorrow morning.

Big nods to Kris and Sean for their help today.

But that's it.

It's over tomorrow.

Good night.

Pretzels, Keys, and Lacrosse

 

I'm writing from the dining room where there's no longer a dining room table. I moved my chair in here because I left an air conditioner in the window and I'm currently cooling down.

In other news, I have keys.

I have a lease.

I start moving tomorrow.

And I'm completely overwhelmed tonight.

There still feels like a ton to do. Oh, wait, that's because there is.

I have to get the electricity in my name and the internet/cable package set up (do I dare get regular TV?).

But, like everything else, we'll get through it.

By tomorrow night a whole lot of stuff will be gone.

Except for The Cat. He goes last.

And my neighbor of, well, a lot of years stopped by with pretzels and a card. I've known her literally her whole life. As we've aged we've caught up about kids and family and life and this road.

Our road.

And yeah, I've been known for pretzels for a long time.

But, if you don't know, I wasn't always here. I did leave before, well, stories. I tried to not talk much about living back at Mom's (stereotypes and whatnot) but the short version was that I needed her when I moved in and she needed me later on. That's why I was here, in case anyone is wondering.

But let's leave that there. Today concluded my year with Brunswick. Graduation was earlier this week and baseball wrapped up on Monday.

Lacrosse ended their season today.

Brunswick gave me the joy of four championship calls. As you know, I take them all so seriously. I believe it's important to have those broadcasts in the right hands.

Today the Prep Nationals Championship was in the hands of a crew that included me and Dan Arestia on the call.

Pretty sharp, I do believe.

More to the point, Brunswick won the crown over Lawrenceville (Huey Lewis went there. The more you know).

While I'm happy for Brunswick I always carry that responsibility of being good to both teams.

Still, from a Brunswick perspective, I felt like there was a "Curse of Rob Adams" going on. In the '21-'22 school year...

- Football: Lost bowl game.

- Basketball: Lost FAA championship game.

- Hockey: Lost NEPSAC championship game.

- Baseball: Lost FAA semifinal game.

Today, Lacrosse: Won Prep Nationals championship. Sean, ever the crackup, was quick to point out that I didn't jinx them.

Now, do I think I jinx them? No, but I don't want Brunswick, Greenwich, or anyone else to think that.

In the end, it's not about me (of course).

But that does end another year. Quietly, I've been around Wick athletics since 2000 but many don't know or remember that. Either way, this ends my sixth season of as much wall-to-wall coverage as I can provide.

As always, in my wackadoodle world, who knows where I"ll be in August or early September? 

So, for tonight, I'll just reflect on the end of that year with the hope of some conference and state broadcasts. If not, I'll stay active elsewhere.

Like setting up a new apartment.

And not forgetting about my old home.

The 'Home' Stretch

 

As is often the case these days, I was up early and ready to go. With a break between broadcasts, I could focus on the evolving mess that is the Mahopac house.

Two lacrosse games last night led to a day of working around the house in the blazing heat. There will be more lacrosse -- and more packing -- tomorrow.

Oh, there was a trip to the bank to get a check to move towards moving but, otherwise, it was all about what it's been all about: pack/throw away/repeat.

Yet today I was fortunate enough to have more help than just Laura and Sean. Don't get me wrong, we've all worked great together but it felt like we needed a different set of eyes.

So Kris was here and will be back on Monday.

So were Meaghan and Katie and Marshall.

I'm not going to deny it meant a lot to have them stop by for just a few hours, including a break for lunch. I've been preaching for everyone to come to the house and, now, the help is much-needed.

I've been rolling since the dumpster showed up last Monday and we've nearly filled it.

That's where I've struggled. I hate -- yes, that's the word -- the waste of throwing away perfectly good items. No, I'll never be confused with some tree-hugging lover of biodegradable this and sustainable that but I prefer to see things find a good home.

We did well getting rid of a lot of stuff but not even close to everything. We sold a lot. We gave some things away.

We still, sadly, had to throw a lot out.

For the most part, that process is now complete. Laura will return tomorrow to get some things and I'll load up a truck on Monday. I'm really hopeful that we'll have most it done that day and anything else will go in my car on Tuesday. I don't want to go crazy on Tuesday to finish.

My biggest concern about moving? It's not the fragile items or forgetting something. It's the four-legged freak with the black(ish) fur.

I know, I know. He'll meow and cry and hide and, yes, I've moved cats before. I've transported them before. But it tears at me, like hearing a child cry under various circumstances.

The rest of it stuff. It will sort itself out. I'm hoping to just get everything into the new place, sort through it all, set it up, and not need to use self-storage.

"I can't figure out how I'm going to react on Wednesday," I recently said.

"I do," came the reply, fully expecting me to have some deep emotions at some point.

I don't know, to be honest. The process -- the whole thing since 9/4/2020 -- has been a collection of mourning. We said goodbye to Mom and knew, basically right away, that the house would have to follow.

There are things that have kept both Laura and me from having any particular emotional moment. That's not to say there aren't brief interludes.

So, I really can't predict what it will be like when I drive away from here.

I expect to feel a great deal of relief when it's all over on Wednesday.

Welp (A Post Not About Moving)

 

We tried.

The other day, I suggested to my fellow play-by-play Facebook group admins that we should post something about Joey Zanaboni, the highly-polarizing broadcaster.

Wow. Was I stupid?

As with everything else in our society, we can't handle simply having conversations anymore. Anyone who has an issue with Mr. Zanaboni's style (HI!) was labeled "jealous" and a "keyboard warrior."

God help any of us for not bowing down.

I described his style -- his broadcasting style -- as "narcissistic." I stand by that because Joey is all about Joey. It's not about the game. It's about sizzle. It doesn't matter if there's any steak.

I was asked if I knew him because it came off as a personal attack.

Except all I was talking about was style. Nothing personal about it.

Apparently reading comprehension isn't a strong suit.

Joey might be a great dude. But his style is all about him. I remain firm on my point.

He's been asked to call a conference baseball championship for the ESPN family of channels (probably not the Ocho) and we thought it was time to have a conversation.

So Mike Hirn posted it. Shawn Sailer and I supported it.

Some needed to post manifestos. Others chose to simply say that they were going to say nothing, thus indicating their opinion.

Eventually, I chose to shut comments off and just end it.

The idea was a failure.

Clearly, even having a conversation about a broadcaster simply isn't possible.

It's sad.

I've heard overwhelmingly awful reviews.

If I'm being honest, I've tried listening to him actually call a game, regardless of the screaming and the look-how-funny-am-I comedy bits. I wanted to hear if he could handle the fundamentals of calling a game.

He's been hired for the comedy. He's been hired to be viral. Not for the fundamentals.

Yes, there are so many boring voices in the business today. Too many just recite stats and can't handle the storytelling and intricacies of a broadcast.

Too many don't have a pulse. Oh, trust me, I hear it.

Do I admire Joey's pluck? Sure.

Do I like how he shamelessly tagged every broadcaster online, begging for relevancy? Meh. That's not my style.

But, after a few calls went viral, he got his wish.

That's on the people doing the hiring and giving him attention.

In the long run, my guess is his style will find his niche. The screaming will annoy people. He'll have a fan base. He'll have his pocket of the world.

But the clock is running. Is it 15 minutes of fame? Maybe. Maybe not. Many have said his shtick is funny but they wouldn't want a steady diet of it.

He'll remain polarizing.

So, is it personal? Is it some ego-driven jealousy? 

No, and no.

It's protection of an industry I adore. It's frustration at opportunities being taken away from legitimate grinders trying to make their way.

That's not me. Not at my age. Oh, I grind and work my tail off but, in some ways, I have a foot out the door of broadcasting. It's just a question of if I stay or not. In the middle of everything going on, I went and called the two lacrosse Prep National semifinals tonight.

I could ramp up and do more games or I could back down. Time, of course, will tell.

His style will never mesh with mine.

That's a simple fact.

But it's also part of an opinion. One I'm entitled to.

If you're saying we're "keyboard warriors," you might want to look at the mirror, champ.

It goes both ways.

A Day Off

 

Though I can't really afford it, today was a complete day off from the chaos of closing down the house and relocating my life.

On the other hand, I can't really afford to not work, and I'd committed to hosting Hunt Scanlon's conference today in New York months ago. OK, let's face it, I've committed to basically anything Chris Hunt and Scott Scanlon as me to do but I digress.

So after a full Wednesday of throwing things in the dumpster, I stepped away without doing a thing, other than renting a moving truck for next week.

I was out of the house in the cover of darkness, leaving all of my concerns here a little after 4:30 a.m. I walked into the Mariott Marquis a little after 7 a.m.

Then? The usual. Keep things on time, read the script, ad-lib where needed, and try to keep things moving.

I've apparently gained a reputation for being a stickler for keeping things on schedule. Well, that's the job, so I'll take that as a compliment.

With the cooperation of the speakers and a great audio/visual crew, and of course my Hunt Scanlon colleagues, we brought the ship into port right on time. A richly-deserved beverage awaited as well as laughs with my friends.

Then came dinner with Paul Silverfab and the walk back to the Grand Central Terminal.

Oh, and I bought a couple of black and white cookies for a father/son combo. I'll save them for tomorrow. The son knows about it and he thinks the father is pretty great.

I'll take it, er, I'm sure the father will take it.

And now I'm home. The clock continues to tick and the pressure continues to build.

Onto tomorrow.

OK, Where?

 

First, I have to tell you something funny.

The blog posts tend to get a handful of likes on social media, especially Facebook. I truly appreciate all of that.

But I've also wondered how many of those likes are based on the picture or something else. In other words, how many people actually read the post?

The answer is not everyone. Here's something I wrote in Monday's post: "No, I'm not ready to name the town yet. I want the lease signed and everything confirmed before I announce it."

And yet I still got asked where I'm moving to! It gave me a good laugh.

So, now, I guess I'll finally answer that question.

First, I should tell you that I'm going to announce this without every "t" crossed and "i" dotted. Still, I figure the puzzle pieces are in my hand and I just have to assemble them.

Once upon a time, I was a reporter at a circus called "The Decision." On July 8, 2010, you probably recall that LeBron James announced on prime time TV where he would "be taking his talents."

I was there, reporting live from outside of the Boys and Girls Club in Greenwich where the event was held.

I'm reminded of that because I feel like I've been building this announcement up more than I actually should. 

Or I'm reminded of it because it happened in Greenwich.

Because, friends, I'm moving to the town where I've been professionally known for over 25 years. 

I'm moving to the town where I've often been told that I'm a "townie" by association.

I'm moving to the town where I personally know the first selectman. Oh, wait, everyone knows Fred Camillo.

I'm moving to the town where I've broadcast the games of the public high school and the private boy's school. In fact, I've broadcast at least one game for every high school in town.

I'm taking my talents -- minimal as they are -- to Greenwich, CT.

It simply just happened. It wasn't something I thought would happen but opportunity (and social media) opened the door to a place where Sean, Rascal, and I will call home for the foreseeable future.

Now, and I can't make this clear enough, this doesn't change what I'll cover as a broadcaster. I'll still cover anything in the tri-state area (and beyond). My friend Kevin Halpenny has asked me to do youth sports out in Matamoras, PA in early June and I'm all in. That won't change moving forward.

It will give me more inside knowledge of life in Greenwich for my work on WGCH as well as at Brunswick and Greenwich High and anywhere else.

It will allow my commute to be short. Really short.

And I'll happily come back to Mahopac to do sports at the high school anytime. I'll always be happy to go back "home."

My address is changing. Other things will change as well. But my core isn't going to change.

By the time Billy Joel sings "Piano Man" next Saturday night, I'll almost be within walking distance of my bed.

Here we come, Greenwich.

Hope you like us.

Are you ready for him, Greenwich?

The Lawn Goodbye

 

Unlike many, I've never really been into cold pizza. 

I was going to order delivery tonight since we won't be around many more nights here for dinner, though one never knows if we'll come back I suppose.

Still, I saw the frozen pizzas I'd bought at Wegman's last week and I figured I should save a few bucks.

So I began cooking.

I told Alexa to set me a timer for 20 minutes.

In the meantime, my neighbor, John, was lingering outside. Only yesterday had he stopped by, yelling out "sir" to me and then asking about the tractor I'd just placed in the front yard. 

John is new to the neighborhood -- two months, maybe -- and he explained that my asking price was a little high for him since he and his family have a mortgage now.

Look, I'm not a tough negotiator. The tractor was sold to me just after mom died (long story) and was supposed to need a battery. That battery was supposed to be installed "the next day."

Nope. Nor the day after that.

In fact, it never happened.

John made his offer to me and, honestly, it was half of what I was asking. I was trying to get $50 over what I paid for the tractor when it was dropped off back in 2020. It had a new engine in it and I figured I'd shoot my shot.

I accepted John's offer but wouldn't go any farther until we knew it ran. Keep in mind, if I couldn't sell it I'd have to get rid of it somehow. Our instruction from our lawyer was "make sure the house is empty" and I'm doing everything to honor that.

John was trying to install a battery as I made the pizza. However, he didn't know that.

As the seconds counted down I heard an engine fire.

"Son of a..." I said, pleased that he got it to start and shocked that we might actually have a deal.

John got it to start. It stalled. Start. Stop.

Then? It started and he drove away.

That's when I saw him walking up the driveway. I went out and met him. 

"I don't know how to actually engage the blade and mow the lawn," he said.

Shockingly, I did, as this was similar to the model Mom had since the late 1990s.

Remember, I mowed this lawn on and off (mostly on) from 1980 until this year. As far as I knew, I'd never mow it again and it was looking ragged.

I was embarrassed but there wasn't much I could do.

So, I got in the seat.

I started the engine.

It stalled.

Yikes.

I started it a few times and engaged the blade only to have it stall out.

Then, after a few adjustments, it took off.

I did a few laps on the old lawn -- for old time's sake -- and headed back towards him when he windmilled his finger at me. 

So, thinking he wanted me to do a little more and make sure it worked, I complied.

A few minutes went by before I drove it back to him.

He handed me the money.

"Do you want to mow your lawn?" he asked.

I was flabbergasted. Yes. Let's go with that.

Also touched but I couldn't show it. It was like a hand reached down and said, "Do it one more time."

All this. Over a lawn. What is wrong with me?

But this was more than a lawn. It was a baseball field and a football field and "roads" on grass and a golf range and a place where we once had horses in the front yard (yes, seriously) and so many other things.

This was one thing I could actually do. I could cut a lawn. When my father taught me how to use the push mower in the summer of 1980, my simple role was to do the trimming. That was the grass that he couldn't cut with his Gravely.

The tractor that he called "George Harrison."

The tractor that I rode with him as a little kid.

The tractor that I eventually learned to drive after he died.

John walked away as I began, beyond grateful for this likely final chance to make things right with the lawn

But, first, I put the brake on.

I raced back into the house and took the pizza -- slightly burnt -- out of the oven.

Then, I returned to the tractor.

I began to enjoy this beautiful moment. It was like a scene out of a movie. An orchestra was playing. Or maybe it was Kenny Loggins. 

Whatever it was, the tape soon switched speeds and slowed down. 

After a few minutes, the tractor wouldn't move. I put it in gear. Nothing.

The deal would be off. How could I justify selling it to him?

I kneeled on the road and looked underneath. A belt had come loose.

OK, I thought. Not fatal.

Still, could I -- ME -- put it back?

I stretched. I pulled. I groaned. I grunted.

"Come on," I snapped. "Don't give up." I think I was talking to myself.

I got it.

It was like the Fonzie had hit the jukebox and the music came back on.

It wasn't long before I'd mowed as much of it as I could and it was glorious.

I won't deny the presence of a lump in the throat or a tear on a cheek as I rolled along.

I mowed the front yard a second time -- at a lower setting -- almost not wanting the moment to end.

But, end it would need to. I thought to myself that if anyone wanted me to come back and mow this lawn in the future, I'd actually consider it.

There's such history there. My history. This block's history. My family's history.

In the end, I drove the tractor across the street to John's, parked it, and walked away, beaming at the fresh cut.

It wasn't perfect. There was dead grass everywhere. It didn't matter.

My pride was saved. Oh, sure, the grass would be high by the time the new owners arrived next Wednesday but I'd done my part.

I went in and grabbed my now lukewarm pizza and began to write.

Then? John was back at the door.

"I want to buy your snowblower."

There is good in this world.

The Update

The glamorous life of moving!

I realize you're hardly sitting on the edge of your seat waiting for news on my living situation but I can give you a brief update.

No, I'm not ready to name the town yet. I want the lease signed and everything confirmed before I announce it.

That might seem silly but when you always expect the other shoe to drop, you learn to hedge your bets a bit.

However, we have enough news -- yes, of the good kind -- to tell you.

A dumpster showed up this morning and, given it has rained a lot since Saturday evening, it feels like it's here just in time. I actually had to clear the driveway a bit so that the truck could get in with the dumpster.

I might have even sold the used tractor that I bought in late 2020 but still needed a battery. Thus it was never used. Basically, the person who helped us get it (dating back to when Mom was still alive) said he'd come back the next after dropping it off.

Yeah. About that.

Anyway, it looks like I've sold it to a new neighbor here in Mahopac.

With the lawnmower gone and the shop vac also being sold, it's getting more difficult to do tasks around here. My sense of pride is struggling with the fact that I can't do the lawn one more time. You have to understand that I took enormous pride in the lawn. 

Sean would call me obsessed and yell at me every time I suggested that I needed to mow the lawn.

But, to the news. Thanks to my new landlord, I will be able to settle into my new place next week -- ahead of June 1.

It frankly annoys me greatly that the new owners of the house wouldn't let us have it until the 1st of the month but we'll simply move on.

And out.

Take the high road. We're good at that. Too good.

This week will be a constant run of filling that dumpster.

It will also be a daily slog of packing as well.

Yet I'll take work where I can because life has to go on and I have to pay for the apartment!

I was supposed to call Brunswick's FAA baseball playoff game against Hamden Hall today but a miscommunication left me out of the loop. I took my time shopping and eating lunch before heading to Brunswick where the parking lot was loaded for other events. I sat in my car, hung out in the dugout, and even walked around the field for a bit before I discovered that the game had been postponed.

So we'll try it again tomorrow.

Brunswick's senior numbers

I'll also handle moderating duties for Hunt Scanlon's conference on Thursday in New York City.

Oh, and the lacrosse Prep National games are this weekend at Brunswick to close out the school year with the Bruins. I'll be on the call for the semis on Friday and the championship on Sunday.

Next Monday and Tuesday will be moving days, so long as the steps are all in place. 

The end of my parent's house is next Wednesday. I'll go from the closing to my new home.

The FCIAC playoffs will also be heating up.

Next Saturday is the Greenwich Town Party. 

Finally, after filling in for Rick Zolzer, and hosting his Poughkeepsie Nissan Sunday Sports talk show with Fran Pomarico, I will begin to settle in.

Maybe I'll have pizza on my deck (I'll have a deck!).

I was recently told that I'm home alone way too often, waiting for life. This will be a welcomed change (and my wake-up call). Time to start living.

Get busy living or get busy dying as Red said in "The Shawshank Redemption."

Life will indeed carry on.

Or begin again.

Closed for the Day

 

The tag sale is over. At least for now.

Laura and I handled everything today. We cleaned the giant pile bound for the dumpster that will be arriving soon (hopefully tomorrow).

But we did get a considerable assist from some family. My cousin Matt, his son, daughter, and my Aunt Nina -- my mother's sister -- stopped by.

They picked up Mom's chair lift and recliner, thus eliminating two big headaches for us.

While making money off those items would have been great Laura and I both agree that there's no better place for both things than with Mom's lone remaining sibling. 

There was a hope that I would take the recliner in my still-to-be-announced place. But space is limited and this is the best answer.

With each day, we'll continue to see more swings of emotion. At times, today was disheartening. Waking up to rain didn't get the day started on a good note.

By lunch -- after Aunt Nina and company left -- Laura and I decided to give up. We filled our cars to take some things to Goodwill but even that brought headaches. 

We drove away and got lunch at a nearby Chili's.

To be clear, I did not feel God in that Chili's today (The Office reference).

A few stragglers did show up, including a gentleman with a pickup truck after I got back from eating. He grabbed a few more things and, the way I look at it, everything taken helps us in the long run.

So I decided to post a few signs, advising people of the tractor, the free stuff, and the stuff that's still hanging around. Please inquire within and, quite honestly, we've done very little haggling (in case you're wondering about prices). 

Had we done this a year ago or even a few weeks ago we could have been a little more particular. Now? Not so much.

One of the items we said goodbye to was my push lawnmower. That means I now have no way to mow the lawn.

Further means that, unless something changes, I'm done mowing the lawn that I've cared for (mostly) since I was 11 years old.

Emotionally, I've been mostly unfazed throughout everything but, briefly, I discovered a part to my father's Gravely tractor among things we were cleaning. It's hard to explain but I felt an unexpected flood of memories. There, in that moment, I simply said, "Ouch" and doubled over. 

Like I said, it's hard to explain.

Before I wrap up, I want to shout out two friends, Mark Sinsabaugh and Steve Alpert. Mark (whom I've never met in person) and Steve (oh yeah I have) stopped by for a few minutes on their way to the Mets game. It allowed me a moment of chatter and laughter and the fact that pulled in if only to see how I was doing, meant a ton.

Thanks, guys.

There's a chance we'll do the tag sale again next weekend but no guarantees.

The countdown to the end is on.

The Workroom

 

If I have any regret in the process of cleaning out my parent's house it's that we didn't really document everything.

I say that because the before and after pictures could have been great.

Today, we dealt with perhaps the most daunting thing that we had to address.

Of all the rooms in the house on Longview Drive, the workroom -- my father's dojo -- was the one we were dreading.

Not only was it where my father might have buried some things (I'm hopefully only kidding) it was often an easy place to just put stuff.

It was the room where, without fail, I'd get asked to go locate a card that he'd hidden in a drawer.

"Get me that and a pen," he'd say to me so he could sign it to give to my mother for whatever event it was.

In later years, my toolbox sat there.

So did certain combinations of audio equipment.

But it was also a receptacle for mail to be dealt with or things that had been taken out of the car.

Tonight it's clean.

Gone is...everything.

The myriad plumbing supplies (my father worked for a plumbing supply firm).

The wood.

The tools.

The junk.

Gone.

Laura and I, in between visitors to the tag sale, continued to build a potential bonfire at the end of the driveway.

With it left the echoes of voices that passed from the garage to the basement and the stairs to go join whatever picnic was going on.

With it went the conversations about valves and pipes and sinks and fixtures and brakes and oil and lawnmowers and Gravely tractors.

With it went my father asking for a Philips screwdriver, only to receive a flathead one. Or, worse, something that wasn't a screwdriver. Yeah, tools weren't my strong suit. God forbid we dealt with wrenches or some other foreign tool when I was young.

Sean also showed up and helped us and I was really thrilled. This wasn't his weekend to be with me but he recognizes the importance of what's going on and that Laura and I are limited in terms of help. He also knew my sister might be handling the tag sale without me and he wanted to keep her company.

Yet, a nod goes to Brunswick baseball, unfortunately, as the Bruins' game with James Monroe High School was canceled. I was driving towards Greenwich when I get the news and I immediately turned around.

As for the tag sale, well, we made some money. We didn't have perhaps the foot traffic we had hoped for and adjusted to a burst of rain that effectively ended things for the day.

Yet, ever the optimists, we saw the good in that we had more in our pockets than we did when the day started. We also cleaned out the bear of a room that had myriad items hanging overhead in the beams.

We also saw the beaming face of a child -- no more than seven -- who was looking at Sean's toys while his parents shopped. They had picked out several things and were quite likely our biggest customers of the day. He had decided on a few items and was told by his parents to ask us how much for his goodies.

"I'll tell you what," I said. "Since your mom and dad have been such good customers, you can have those items for free."

A wide smile popped on his face.

Day made.

For both of us.

Sure, I'm a lousy businessman but what dollar value could top that?

We sold some things but there is plenty more! The CDs weren't touched! There are DVDs and furniture and lots more.

Come visit!

Maybe we'll even let you have a look at our newly clean workroom.

Probably last clean in 1963.

I'll take that as the sign of a good day.