Poi Pounder

On one of my trips to Hawaii I learned that poi is created from mashed taro root with a tool appropriately enough called a poi pounder. I met a man who made a good side income fashioning poi pounders from monkey pod wood. I was so fascinated that I bought one from him and have admired it on a shelf for years. I must say it has never pounded poi. Sometimes the functional can become our art and delight us more than any amount of intended use.

A Winter's Tale

Now that it is hot, I have been thinking about winter for some reason. One winter when I was a teen, we had a storm in Rochester which kept everyone from going to work or school. I thought it would be a great opportunity to have a neighborhood party. My father worried about the family running out of food. We both thought each other was crazy. I have come to see since that there are people who want to seize every opportunity and those who fear the worst no matter what. With age, I have also learned that their is a middle ground of responding to adventures which present themselves and being careful not to shoot yourself in the foot.

Send in the Clowns

I wrote recently about my girlfriend Carol signing up for clown school. Last night I attended her graduation with her best friend Chick and four other clowns through Grease Paint Alley in Greece NY. I could feel their joy as they awed children wandering into the Greece Ridge Mall. They shared their joy through baloons, stickers and their wonderful selves. They all showed us how to have fun and to appreciate children by making them feel special even if just for a moment. The world welcomes their spirit.

Clowning Around

My girlfriend graduates from clown school tomorrow. I never thought I would be writing this. Frankly it never occurred to me. She has been looking for a way to brighten people's lives (beyond what she already does on a daily basis with her personality.) Tomorrow she will be in costume practicing a new way to bring joy to people. I wish more of us thought seriously about what they had to share with others and how to make the world a little more joyful place.

(Clown triggerfish)

Fingers Do the Walking

Yesterday in church as I watched Jane's fingers create a mood of meditation, I thought back over the last week to the fingers of Jerry Lee Lewis and Doctor John at the Rochester Jazz Festival and how they could excite the Eastman Theater. I have wrestled with the piano for quite a while but have never been able to make my fingers connect the keys and the music with any proficiency. I marvel at the music flowing easily from musicians as their souls float on their melodies. It is one of life's joys for me.

(Reconquista Festival, Vigo, Spain)

Liberalism is a Mental Illness

The above title graced a bumper sticker which recently caught my attention. I wondered what that made conservatism. What about the varieties of religion, occupation, interests and other ways in which people differ. Sometimes we hear of something we could never imagine doing and say, "A person must be truly sick to do such a thing." When we can't picture ourselves thinking or acting in certain ways, we sometimes think those who do must be showing signs of mental illness. Might it not be possible to think or act in different ways from ours and still be sane?

(Reconquista celebration- Vigo, Spain)

Beginning and End

I finished the draft of my first novel this week. I had trouble deciding if it was the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning. It was an accomplishment to reach the last page. Then I realized I had just finished the first stage and that I had quite a bit of editing to do before the book is ready for consumption. Even though there is always more to do, I think it is important to take time to appreciate the steps of accomplishment along the way.

(Lighthouse- Nantucket)

The Art and Science of Life

To look at the newspaper, one would think that living is a scientific endeavor with all there is to be said about medications, medical discoveries, nutrition, etc. In the leisure or living section, we find references to the arts but they are not presented as being essential to our survival, as if they are an afterthought. Lifing life scientifically can be practical but drudgery while living it artfully brings us joy and also an understanding of life's difficulties. As usual, a productive life lies in the balance.

(Carol and Joe at the Mardi Gras Museum- Algiers, Lousiana)

Rodin and Writing

At our writers' meeting on Tuesday, Bill talked about the process of creating written art as a gradual one. The author starts with writing a general group of ideas and then gradually refining them until they finally emerge as a work of art. I thought of Rodin's Gates of Hell and all the refining it must have taken to produce this masterpiece. I remember watching my son starting to weld steel welding rods together bringing to life a mother polar bear and her cub which gladden my heart every time I see them

on my wall. I am grateful for Bill's observation and for the inspiration for my writing which accompanies contemplating sculpture.

(Auguste Rodin- Gates of Hell; Peter Langen- Polar Bears)

The Baker's Corner

Today Carol and I decided to visit the Public Market in Rochester. We had only been there once before on a busy summer Saturday and had to park several blocks away and hike to the market. Today was cooler, in the fifties, after several days of very warm weather. A sparse gathering of customers were blown through the lanes of outside stalls, clutching their coats and shirts while making their purchases. We managed to find some promising fruit and were about to head for the car, away from the chill. We noticed a bakery in one old building and decided to look in. Not only did they offer loaves of fresh bread and pastries, they also advertised the flesh of many beasts and birds. We were less adventurous and chose simple sandwiches. The building was old but servicible.

The owner served us and doted on us while whe had our lunch. The bakery provided shelter from the cold and wind and the proprietor warmed our hearts.

(Tapas in Gijon, Spain)

You May Think That I'm a Dreamer

...as the John Lennon song goes, "...but I'm not the only one." I have long realized I was a dreamer, but sometimes thought I was the only one or at least one of a relatively small number. I have since realized there are many dreamers and have been so throughout history. Dreamers are sometimes seen as useless or a hinderence by those of a more practical bent. I sometimes wonder what the would would be like without any dreamers, whether the rest of its inhabitants pay much attention to the ones among them them or not. Sometimes it is lonely being a dreamer, but usually it is very gratifying.

Railroad siding junction- Batavia, NY)

Zest for Life

Yesterday I felt aware of people who ignored traffic rules such as turn signals and cell phones, sniped at each other and ignored others' needs and wishes. On my drive to Spencerport for the Relay of Life, I was aware of the wonderful scent of honeysuckle seemingly eminating from every stand of trees. It transported me into a different dimension. When I arrived at the Relay, I was aware of a sea of purple-shirted cancer survivors surrounded by their friends and families. Contrary to what one might expect at an event focusing on cancer, the mood was one of celebration and remembrance of loved ones as well as hope for the future. On the way home, the honesuckle kept me focused on the sweetness of life which all too often we seem to forget.

Following Our Senses

I am currently reading Diane Ackerman's book, A Natural History of the Senses. I am reading it to help me be more aware of sensory experiences in my writing and incorporating them to make my writing more personal and graphic. It has been interesting how, as I read about each sense, I become more aware of it and less likely to take it for granted. I think the book will make me more attuned to my character's senses but will also help me be more aware of the sights, sounds, tastes, smells and touches which surround me and carry me through each day.

(Silver Sword plant- Haleakula Volcano- Maui

Remembering to be Appreciative

I was visiting with my doctor today who told me that fifteen percent of people can maintain control of rheumatoid arthritis with methotrexate alone after getting it under control with stronger medications. I am lucky enough to be in this fifteen percent. I am doing extremely well compared to my limited functioning three years ago and can again use my fingers to type proficiently. Most days I tend to take it for granted. I am glad I was reminded today of my great good fortune.

(Me sitting in Herman Melville's pew- Seaman's Bethel, New Bedford)

Memories

In the paper today were accounts of memorials to those who served in our armed services to keep our country safe. Several TV stations ran marathons of war related programs to remind us of the intricacies of what it took to keep us free. I thought yesterday of the people who over the years contributed to keeping me safe in so many other ways as well. I also thought of all the people who showed me that life was worth living, that their trials as well as mine were surmountable and it was still possible to laugh no matter how bad things got. Thanks everyone.

(Aunt June's Ninetieth Birthday)

Horses and Hot Rods

One of the fascinating things I found in A Natural History of Love about coming of age is that girls focus the romance of relationships on horses and boys on cars. These are the vehicles through which girls and boys first imagine what romance is about. I guess it should not have been any big surprise, but it is just one of those things I had not really thought about. Our bodies, minds and souls are fascinating as are the travels we have on the physical, intellectual and spiritual planes through our lives. I am always amazed that no matter how long I live there is still more to discover.

Barter and Handshake

Diane Ackerman describes evolution as taking place by barter and handshake rather than proclamation. Humans, like all other animals change in tiny ways over millions of years to adapt to our changing environment. I remember a principle from embryology, "ontogeny recapitulates philogeny" which means that the lifestory of the individual mimics the lifestory of the species. It seems to me that our lives are a series of barters and handshakes. We cannot just will the world to be the way we want it to be but must make a series of small compromises in order to survive.

(Herb and spice market, Vigo, Spain)

Our Warrior Culture

Not too long ago I read an article about the Los Angeles Police Department suggesting that they lived in a warrior culture. I have at times thought the same thing about our national culture. Often our first response is to fight back, seeing it as the only way to respond. Warriors do not often stop to consider what the conflict is about but are more focused on the best way to fight. Sometimes the outcome of the battle is that we become more bellicose rather than finding any peace. Maybe we need to first consider what we are fighting and how much the enemy lies within our own souls.

(Siege tunnel- Gibralter)

Sitting on the Porch

I have been reading Diane Ackerman's book Natural History of the Senses lately. I am interested in a better appreciation of the different senses and in heightening my awareness of them. I opened my journal for today's entry and started writing. To my surprise, almost my entire entry consisted of documenting the various sounds I heard while sitting there. I didn't know I could do that. Every once in a while I learn that I have a skill I did not think I had.

(Breakers on the shore- Curacao)

Art Therapy

When I first heard this term many years ago, I wondered what to make of it. Art seemed like creative expression and therapy was a way to address mental health problems. Over the years I have come to see that the two are interlinked. One of the effects of mental illness is to make people feel they are cut off from "normal civilization." They often feel others do not understand how they feel and are often frustrated in trying to explain their feelings to others. Art is a way of expressing feelings in a graphic way without the difficulty of words. People understand art in their own way and are often able to communicate through art in a way in which words do not allow them to.

(Acrylic on paper- Pete L.)

The Mystery of Love

I wrote a column recently about the power of love. When I started the column, I realized how little I knew about love. When I had finished the column, I did not know much more. I think love is largely a mystery. We seem to know more about war, hatred, competition and all the things love is not. I recently discovered Daine Ackerman's book, The Natural History of Love and started reading it this afternoon. I am hoping for enlightenment.

(Wedding in Portland, Maine)

The good is oft interred with their bones

At a funeral yesterday, I thought of the words of Marc Antony from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, "The evil men do lives after them while the good is oft interred with their bones." Fortunately this does not seem to be so in the twenty-first century. Now it seems that people's good points are stressed and remembered by families and friends. Although we can still learn from the difficulties our loved ones have faced during their lives, it is easier to remember and emulate the characteristics which endeared them to us. When we are not sure how to act, we have fond memories to inspire us.

(Rocky Mountains- Estes Park, Colorado)

Spring Breezes

I sat on my porch this morning with my coffee in hand. I felt the swirl of the spring breeze, watched the whispy clouds on the edges of the sky, listened to the birds sing and felt the long awaited warmth on my skin. As I watched the cars speed by, piloted by determined drivers, I thought back to the days when I ignored nature's beauty in my quest to get to work on time. I once thought that getting older was not something to look forward to. Now I appreciate having the time to commune with nature without having any pressing engagements.

(Gulls at Canadaway Creek)

Ready for Heaven

I did not know Pops well and only met him in his later years. I saw his delight in his wife, children and grandchildren. He enjoyed being among them peacefully, quietly celebrating the milestones of their lives. I did not know him in his more active years but only in his twilight. I was not acquainted with his life struggles, challenges or accomplishments. I did hear him practice his bird calls in occasional moments of quiet. The last time I saw him he was sleeping quietly in his hospital bed. I heard that several days ago, he reached out to God and asked to be taken. He died peacefully in his sleep last night. My hope is that when it is my time to die, I will also be at peace and ready to go as well. James, rest in peace.

(Sunset on Lake Erie)

Knowing You are Right

There seem to be plenty of topics on which people are sure they are right and others are wrong. I can remember times I thought I had my facts right and others were mistaken. In addition to remembering facts, which can usually be proven one way or another, are opinions to which we hold just as tightly. We can be just as sure of our opinions, although there might be no way to prove them correct. Our opinions come from our experience, what we have heard from others we trust, or maybe from what we know "must be true." Wars, fights and arguments are often based on these differences. What would the world be like if we all followed the adage "Never deny, seldom affirm, always distinguish?"

(Rainforest Cafe- London)

Who Owns God?

Karen Armstrong wrote a book called The Battle for God. In it she wrote about the struggle over a period of centuries for people of the major religions to come to terms with the implications of the modern world and their age old traditions. It does not seem that this battle has ended. Some people have opted to reject the modern world and cling to their own particular beliefs. Others have chosen the modern world, rejecting all religions. Some have tried to forge their own way realizing that their solitary path has few guideposts to make their journey easier. Some people see it as their job to convert others to their view of God and reality. Others see it as their job to get others to see the fallacy of any religion. Still others have chosen to live the best life they can without help or interference from others. Those of us who think about why we are on earth struggle to make sense of our lives and discover the purpose for which we are here. Is there a way for us to help each other with this search without being dogmatic in our efforts?

(Stone relief in Santillana, Spain)

Writing, Religion and Spirituality

In our writers' group meeting this week, we listened to each other read our writing and were able to make constructive suggestions to each other. Our final discussion was of a passage which centered on a spiritual experience. We had more difficulty with this one. It was interesting to me that of all the topics we discussed, spirituality should be the only one (so far) which has caused us any problems. Spirituality or lack thereof seems to be a very emotional topic for at least some people. There are people for whom their spirituality is their lifeline, those for whom the mention of spirituality recalls for them bad memories of religion being forced on them or or disappointments arising from unmet expectations of God. Others think the whole idea of spirituality is silly and illogical. Some don't seem to know what to think of the whole topic. It occurred to me that the difficulty of listening to others talk about religious and spiritual views which differ from our own is part of what makes nations war with each other. We can't change the whole world by tolerating differing beliefs, but at least it is a start.

(Westminster Abbey)

Rabbit on the Lawn

Yesterday morning, I awoke with my mind full of all the things I had to get done. I looked out the kitchen window and saw a rabbit nibbling grass in the back yard. I had not seen him since last fall. He looked up at me, or at least that is what he seemed to be doing. I looked back at him and was not in any particular hurry to accomplish anything at the moment. I stood for a few minutes in contemplation of the rabbit and of nature in general. I don't know what the rabbit was thinking. I was glad to have a few minutes with him.

Why Do Birds and People Sing?

I was sitting on the porch a few minutes ago writing my morning pages in my journal and thinking about what to write here this morning. I heard a robin singing its intricate song and thought of the blue jays and cardinals I had heard earlier this morning. I got to wondering why birds sing. There are a variety of practical purposes. They greet each other, define territory, attract mates and warn of danger. But do birds also sing for the fun of it? Do otters slide and dolphins lead ships for fun also? I don't think anyone has discovered a way to ask them yet. But I think they might just like to play sometimes. I also thought of the Metropolitan Opera which I attended last week. There are much simpler ways to communicate information than song. Arias often do not contain very many if any words. My favorite is the one sung by the Queen of the Night in The Magic Flute and also hummed by my friend Joe as he walked down the street last week. Song seems a good way to communicate feelings and sometimes is just for fun.

(Metropolitan Opera House, Curtain-Adventure of the Seas)

The Flowers That Bloom in the Spring- Tra La

I was feeling in the full bloom of spring when I visited New York last week. It was warm to the point that I did not need a jacket the whole time I was there, even at night. The trees went from beginning buds to almost full leaves in the few days I was visiting. Daffodils were in bud one day and had broken into bloom the next. I had visions of getting out my lawn chair and relaxing in the back yard as soon as I got back home. Unfortunately, it was in the forties here and not yet fit for back yard lounging. I went back into winter mode and rode out the rest of the week in my winter coat. It was great to have a promise of spring and a taste of what is to come.

(City Island- New York)

The Abatement of Surliness

I just returned from several days in New York City. I expected to find people helpful when asked but not always happy about having their lives interrupted by my needs. I envision surliness as part of the New York psyche. Surprisingly, it was completely absent on this trip. Maybe it had to do with the wonderful warm summer-like weather. One friend told me that New Yorkers were at their wit's ends and holding on to what little patience they had during the recent spate of bad weather. The sunshine and warmth seemed to help them unclench their teeth and smile at each other. I am happy I was able to be a part of it.

(Feet in Central Park- New York)

Spanking and War

It seems a difficult lesson for parents as well as nations to learn that violence leads to further aggression on the part of those whose aggression we are trying to quell. Psychologists have learned that punishment makes children work hard to avoid it but not necessarily change their behavior which caused the punishment in the first place. Could the same not be true of factions we wish to quell with our own violence. It might make us feel better but is it effective. Maybe we need to look at the bigger picture rather than just satisfying our aggressive urges when we are riled.

(Photo- cannon in Siege Tunnel- Gibralter)

Bartleby the Scrivener

I was looking through a discussion of various authors and their writings yesterday when I came across a reference to Bartleby the Scrivener by Herman Melville. I remembered sitting in Mr. Melville's pew in the seaman's bethel in New Bedford and feeling some of his spirit. I was also intrigued with a story about a scrivener, which literally means a copier or writer. He spent his days copying financial records when he "preferred" to do so. Apparently a very mysterious life lay behind his public persona. I sometimes wonder what lies within the lives of people we deal with as we need to and then tend to dismiss and take for granted.

(Photo- Window in the Tower of London)

Staying in the Middle of the Road

I remember a quote I learned in high school which I think was by Alexander Pope, "Be not the first by which the new is tried, nor yet the last to lay the old aside." I saw it as an admonition to play it safe and not stick your neck out. I think I remember it because it was never my way. I was more "Ready, fire, aim." I have sometimes wondered what the would would have been like if no one had ever taken any chances. I thought of the wisdom in the fifteenth century about the world being flat, with concern about falling off the edge if one sailed too far. It seems dumb now, but only from the perspective of what we have learned in the mean time. I think life and personal growth are a matter of what risks we are willing to take. How many famous inventors went ahead with experiments which everyone else was convinced would not work?

Why Children Don't Gossip

Teens gossip. Adults gossip. Children don't. Why? To me, gossip is spreading salacious tidbits about other people in order to make ourselves feel better. This trivializes what we say. To children, almost anything they encounter is new, bigger than life and a source of amazement. Children tend to shout about what they see rather than whisper about it behind a hand. Maybe we all need to rediscover the amazement of our universe.

Registering a Compliment

Several years ago I searched for a comfortable pair of sandals and was consistently disappointed until I found a pair at a big box department store. I was very happy with them and stopped by the customer service desk one day to tell the clerk I would like to register a compliment. She had no ideal how to react to such a thing. She stammered and seemed quite flustered. I decided my attempt was more trouble than it was worth. This week I had a problem with my car insurance and called the company which happened to be based in Hartford. I had some reservations about getting the problem solved easily long distance. I was pleasantly surprised to find an agent who pleasantly, efficiently, quickly and professionally resolved the issue in a matter of minutes. Since I could not easily visit the office, I sent an e-mail to the customer service counter complimenting the agent and received a grateful reply within a brief time. Maybe times have changed. I hope so.

Out of Sorts

In a visit to Genesee Country Museum, I stopped at an old time printer's shop. I learned the derivation of the term "out of sorts." Sorts were small spacers placed between letters and other characters in manual type to prevent everything from running together and helping make sense of what people read sothateverythingdidnotgetallbunchedtogetherandbecomehardtoread. Yesterday I found myself out of sorts with a stomach bug. It was as if there were parts of my mind missing and I could not bring myself to create anything even though I was in the middle of working on my novel. Maybe experiences such as this are designed to help me appreciate the times when I am able to use my mind and body without difficulty. I think I sometimes tend to take them both for granted.

Sunrise, Sunset

I have been thinking and to some extent writing lately about the proliferation of bad news in our newspapers and TV news programs. Bad news does seem to sell well and also confirms our pessimism as well as making us feel better about our own personal fortunes. As I looked at the sunrise this morning, I realized that I have never seen a sunrise or sunset featured as an article of news. Yet they are probably the two most spectacular events we can find on earth. I guess it is up to each of us as individuals to thank God for this wonder freely offered for our appreciation and amazement. Thank you, God.

The Mystery of Easter Eggs

Along with Easter and the Christian celebration of Christ's Resurrection, come other traditions.

I was thinking about Easter eggs this morning and realized I was not sure where this tradition originated. I might have known once but don't now. Since Easter is a time of Spring renewal, rebirth and new life. eggs seemed like an apt symbol but I still wasn't sure. So I looked it up. One account was that eggs were a symbol of life common in many cultures and their spring rituals. Another account indicated that rabbits are also seen as symbols of fertility in light of their common multiple births. It was said that children thought rabbits laid eggs in the grass, giving rise to the connection between the Easter bunny and Easter eggs. I wonder how many other traditions we take for granted and don't really understand.

The Feast of the Circumcision

In the past few days there have been newspaper articles reporting circumcision as providing protection from HIV especially for higher risk men. When I was growing up, January 1 was the Feast of the Circumcision of Jesus in the Catholic liturgical calendar. It has since disappeared. When I was born, my father was in Guam with the navy and my parents did not have a chance to discuss circumcision which had been in and out of favor somewhat like breastfeeding. When I was seven, my parents decided it would be a good idea even though I was not having any medical problems suggesting it would be a good idea. That was in the days when most surgery involved a hospital stay. The surgery itself was not as traumatic as everyone at the hospital knowing why I was there and having to explain at school why I was absent for a few days. I was always uncomfortable with the Feast of the Circumcision. That particular episode was always a source of shame for me. This is the first time I have written about it. It's good not to have this secret anymore.

Cuddling

I usually write about ideas. This morning I awoke before five and read the newspaper. When I was done, I went back to bed and cuddled with my lover. No words were exchanged and nothing else happened except that the two of us lay there intertwined enjoying the closeness. I thought about the pleasure and comfort of physical touch and shared warmth. I think that sometimes I am so busy with my thoughts that I miss the little moments like this and fail to appreciate them. Fortunately I was in the moment this morning and was glad to be there.

Journal Travels

In my writers' group last night, we shared pages from our journals. I knew why I kept a journal but was amazed to see the variety of approaches other took. Some chronicled their sensory observations, some their adventures, memories, impressions, dreams, discoveries or concerns. It is enlightening to see the variety of approaches writers can take to a seemingly simple daily ritual. Some write only when they have something of significance to say and others write several times a day. Some write for the writing, some for themselves and some for posterity. I was glad to be there and share it and appreciate the broadening of my experience. If you are wondering, that's me sitting in Herman Melville's pew at the Seaman's Bethel in New Bedford.

Keeping My Life in Perspective

Sometimes it feels like I am at the center of the universe. Everything revolves around me and has meaning in the way it affects me. It is like I am all that is. At other times I realize my insignificance in the grand scope of things. I am only a tiny particle in the universe and in the procession of people who have lived before me and who are yet to come. I think my life is better when I keep my perspective and don't think I am too important. That way I can contribute what I have and not get too excited if people don't always take me seriously.

Priming the Pump

I have noticed lately that I can write for a while and then I run out of things to say, at least for the moment. After I read or talk with people I have more ideas. It seems like the stimulation of others' ideas starts my own creativity flowing again. I don't know if this has always been the case, but it certainly is for me right now. It is interesting what I can learn about my creative process when I pay attention.

Momentum and its Vagaries

I have noticed that there are days when I can't wait to get started writing. The words flow from my fingers and from somewhere in my mind. It is as if I can't do anything else until I write for a while. Other times it is all I can do to write, even if I have set a deadline for myself or if someone is waiting for what I might produce. I would like to know what brings about this difference in momentum. How can I be so motivated one time and so listless another? So far I have not figured this out. It seems I am at the whim of my muse. Maybe I need to tend more to the care and feeding of muses, once I figure out what they like.

Going to the Opera

When I was a child, my parents dragged me to an opera outdoors on the lawn, "Opera Under the Stars." I don't remember which opera it was but in protest I faced the other way so I would at least not have to look at. Saturday I went willingly. I knew one of the cast members in the New York Metropolitan Opera production of Il Barbiere di Siviglia. It was simulcast live from the Met to hundreds of theaters around the world. Not only did I tolerate it, I thoroughly enjoyed it, finding the singing wonderful, the plot line easy to follow and the antics funny in addition to watching Michael perform. When I was a child I never thought I would live through an opera voluntarily. I have come to enjoy a few operas, especially The Magic Flute and Carmen. Now I can add another one. I have been thinking that I might want to explore other operas as well. It is amazing to me that my childhood aversion could turn into and interest. I don't know whether it will ever become a passion as it does for some people. But the process of change is always interesting.

The Gilbert Street Greeter

During nice weather I became accustomed on my way home to seeing a man standing on the corner waving to each passing motorist. I wonder how many people interrupted their thoughts about rushing home bristling at anyone who might be impeding their progress and took time to appreciate this man's mission to stand on his lawn and greet everyone. He lightened my heart each day. He did not do much in the larger scope of things but did remind me that there is more to life than rushing from one place to another annoyed with anyone who gets in your path. As spring was arriving, I began to look forward to seeing him and his friendly wave again. I read in the paper this week that he had died in Florida. I didn't really know him and am not sure whether he was there for a visit or spent the winter some place warmer than western New York. My fantasy of him is of his spending his last days greeting cars and their drivers in Florida.