The last couple of days have been nothing if not hectic.

Another Easter has come and gone. The family spent an enjoyable day together at my oldest daughter's residence over in Rockaway, where we feasted on lamb chops, shrimp, pasta and salad, accompanied by a wide selection of fine wine. Truth be told, I am not a great lover of wine and my entire life experience with the juice of the fermented grape revolves my youthful involvement with such upscale spirits as Ripple, Thunderbird, Mad Dog, Night Train, Wild Irish Rose or Boone's Farm.

Back in the day, I could have cared less about the lexicon of wine aficionados, aroma, balance, body, bouquet, dry, earthy, etc. The only words I have to describe these American classics are sweet, tasty

Next Monday, April 8, I will be celebrating the 69th anniversary of my arrival on this planet back in the early 50s. You might think that is a rather odd way to describe my birthday but then again, my dear mother always maintained that I had been "dropped off by the "little green men." I always assumed that she was jokingly referring to those irascible imps of Irish folklore, the leprechauns but, as it turns out, way back then, flying saucers were all the rage. What with Hollywood's "The Day

Recently I was laid up for quite some time due to an injury sustained when I almost broke my leg when it fell off the ironing board while I was attempting to iron my pants. My infirmity left me with little else to do other than spend hours online chuckling at the political fiction being passed off as actual news by the various media outlets where the truth goes to die. Now don’t get me wrong. I am not saying all politicians are liars. For example, take Marion Barry, the former Mayor of

As a youngster growing up in the 1950s in the small Irish enclave of Woodside, Queens, I can remember my father taking me in tow, at least once a month, and walking down Skillman Avenue to "Paul's" barbershop for a haircut. 

The shop had its own unique smell, as well with the smell of cherry, wintergreen, apple, and butternut-flavored pipe and tobacco smoke mixed with the scent of hair tonics, pomades, oils, and neck powders. The moment a man stepped inside, he was enveloped in the warm and

Well the Mueller Report is finally in and, much to the chagrin of our progressive liberal left, the mainstream media, academia, and Hollywood, the White House remains standing while ABC’s “Fuller House” has folded like a deck of cards with the college scandal indictment of Aunt Becky played by Lori Loughlin. Truth be told, the only 2020 Democratic Presidential bid that has crashed and burned because of the Mueller investigation is that of porn star  Stormy Daniels’ attorney and CNN fixture

Valentine’s Day, an annual holiday celebrated on February 14, originated as a Western Christian liturgical feast day honoring one or more early martyred saints named Valentinus, and is recognized as a significant cultural and commercial celebration in many regions around the world, although it is not a public holiday in any country. Now, we Catholics are a strange bunch and have a thing for martyred saints. 

Growing up in Woodside in the late 50s, I attended St. Sebastian Grammar School, where

As I strive to move through the initial days of the New Year, I find my house is clean and empty. Sterile, even. The tree, though still up, lacks its pre-holiday luster. Mixed emotions collide and cloud my vision. Was it the best day of the year, or the worst? Did I find the true spirit of Christmas and recapture child-like wonder? Or did I lose another piece of my innocence to the cynicism of adulthood?

I think back to the days prior to Christmas that now seems so far away, so utterly

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