24 March, 2025 0 Comments

An Anniversary Filled With Lessons

March 24, 2025 By Leave a Comment

Covid marked its 5th anniversary recently.

It’s a sad occasion, one we’d rather forget. But we shouldn’t forget. We should reflect and learn.

I’m afraid we won’t.

Five years and millions of lives later, vaccines are on the ropes, trust in government is virtually non-existent and overseas monitoring of future pandemics is said to be at risk thanks to government cuts.

But all that noise aside, there are many lessons we should be taking away from our Covid experience among them: working remotely for extended periods of time does harm to our social networks, downtown economies and company culture.

Also, closing schools for extended periods of time has a big impact on children’s social and educational development.

We should also learn that messaging around vaccines must be done carefully.

It turns out mRNA vaccines provide meaningful protection but don’t provide guarantees against infection.

One would also hope that medical supplies would be shored up and that we would have learned some lessons about supply chains and the importance of essential workers.

Are you confident that we have?

One takeaway I have is that “medical infrastructure “is a real thing and an essential piece of a resilient community.

We need top notch healthcare professionals, great emergency medical services and best in class hospitals.

Community leaders should be running SWOT (strength, weaknesses, opportunities and threats) analyses on a regular basis to ensure that we are ready.

Some public health doctors fear that Covid has called into question whether “health is a collective endeavor, a public good at all,” according to Siddhartha Mukherjee, a physician.

“The deeper message is that we’re all on our own, fighting our private battles,” he wrote in the New York Times recently. “I fear we will come to regret it.”

We will.

Meanwhile, Florida is suffering from a shortage of nurses, and I can personally attest from my own experience as a Covid patient that nurses made all the difference in my recovery and I’m sure that of others. They are the unsung heroes of our medical system doing the dirty work in the trenches that save lives.

Sometimes I find it hard to believe that its been five years since the World Health Organization declared COVID-19 a pandemic. In some ways it feels like a lifetime ago. In other ways, Covid has never left us. It has never left me. I’m just not the same after my 39-day stint at Bethesda Hospital.

Few could have predicted its lasting economic and social transformation. Half a decade later, the world economy bears lasting scars. According to news sources, government debt has increased 12 percent globally and labor markets have been fundamentally altered.

Scientists are only now discovering the lasting impacts of the virus with “long COVID “ impacting cognitive function, cardiovascular systems, lung health and gut health.

I’m particularly concerned about recent cuts to the National Institutes of Health and USAID.

While there is no doubt that we need to cut spending (and increase growth) and weed out waste, fraud and abuse it’s pennywise and pound foolish to cut spending that may help prevent or mitigate the next global health threat.

Perhaps philanthropy will step up their already Herculean efforts in this space, but government has a role. These are investments not sunk costs.

“Move fast and break things” may work in Silicon Valley but it’s no way to run a railroad or a government. Strategic thinking and the use of a scalpel not a wrecking ball is a better way forward.

We have a choice: political and economic turmoil or innovation and progress.

It’s an either or proposition, you can’t have both.

 

Saying goodbye to a local news legend

Long time WPTV Channel 5 anchor Michael Williams retired recently.

I consider Michael a friend and I’m happy for him and his family.

Michael enjoyed an amazing career in local broadcasting and leaves with a stellar reputation and an amazing body of work.

When I reached out to congratulate him on his retirement and thank him for his fine career, I was pleased to learn that he will be launching a podcast soon.

That means he will be continuing to tell stories and keep us informed as nobody else can. Michael’s attention to detail,  his cool under pressure and deep experience will be missed on TV, but listeners will benefit from his voice soon.

Remembering Fred Stolle

I’ve been remiss in not commenting on the passing of tennis Hall of Famer Fred Stolle who passed recently.

The Australian great who was adept at both singles and doubles served as honorary tournament chair of the Delray Open for many years. I got to know him in that capacity and once spent a memorable evening watching the matches with him.

Fred was a tennis encyclopedia and a keen analyst of the sport. He not only explained to me what was happening but what was going to happen. His theory: whoever won game 7 in a set would ultimately take that set. I haven’t watched tennis the same ever since.

A kind and affable Aussie, Fred Stolle was a true legend. Just another amazing character who touched our community in an unforgettable way.

Coco launches A Shoe

Speaking of tennis, please check out the advertisement for the New Balance Coco Gauff Delray tennis shoe. It’s amazing and available on YouTube. Here’s a link. https://youtu.be/g8BpIuS3bjI?si=YIKi5QwS_aFJ-pro

Our friend Yvonne Odom and Delray itself features prominently in the ad. It’s a classic.

Remembering a special philanthropist

Last week, Lynn University announced the passing of Elaine J. Wold, a cherished member of the Lynn University family. As a philanthropist whose generosity touched many, Elaine’s legacy included the creation of the Keith C. and Elaine Johnson Wold Performing Arts Center—she also founded “Elaine’s Musical Treat,” a theater program connecting Lynn students and acclaimed actors.

Elaine’s commitment extended to healthcare, supporting Boca Raton Regional Hospital and numerous local organizations. In 2014, she received an honorary Doctor of Humane Letters degree from Lynn. Elaine’s kindness, grace, and vision will be deeply missed by all who knew her. Our condolences to her family and friends.

Remembering Kitty Dukakis

For a few years in the 90s, Michael Dukakis and his wife Kitty spent their winters in Delray Beach.

The former Massachusetts governor and 1988 Democratic (and it’s Democratic not Democrat party) presidential nominee taught classes at FAU and could be seen jogging on George Bush Boulevard. He also spoke at several political and civic club events.

His wife Kitty volunteered her time at recovery facilities in Delray.

I had the privilege of getting to know Gov. Dukakis well. He was extremely interested in our community policing efforts and we went on a few ride-alongs together. I found him to be kind and very intelligent.

I met Mrs. Dukakis once or twice. She was also nice and devoted to helping people in recovery.

Mrs. Dukakis died last week in Brookline, Mass.

She was a dedicated volunteer and was extremely transparent about her struggles with diet pills and alcohol. Her positive example served as an inspiration for a generation of people who shared similar struggles.

She will be remembered fondly by those whose lives she touched.

Jesse Colin Young

Get Together

We suffered another loss with the death of music legend Jesse Colin Young recently.

Mr. Young enjoyed a long career and will be remembered for the classic song “Get Together” which was released by The Youngbloods.

A few years back, when we owned the Delray and Boca Newspaper, I had a chance to interview Mr. Young prior to his show at the Funky Biscuit in Boca.

He was a delight.

Here’s what he had to say about “Get Together.”

“I remember the first time I heard the song,” he said. “It hit me right away…unlike any other song, before or since. And I immediately knew I wanted to record it. I felt the song was destiny for me, in some way. I have a love for it. It’s spirit is what I believe in and it’s what the world is crying out for. It’s incredibly special.”
Indeed.

May he rest in peace.

 

 

 

 

3 July, 2023 8 8 Comments

Love & Grace

July 3, 2023 By 8 Comments

Gracie recently celebrated her second birthday.

This is a story about love.

It’s a personal story, but I’m sharing in the hope that you may find something of value. Something you can apply to your own life.

So here goes….

As you know, COVID brought us unprecedented challenges, forcing people around the world to adapt to a new way of life.

The pandemic also ended the lives of nearly 7 million people worldwide, according to the World Health Organization.

I was almost one of those people.

It was nearly three years ago that I contracted the virus that put me in grave danger; clinging to life in the ICU at Bethesda Hospital.

During the 39 days I spent fighting to survive, I vowed that if I made it, I would spend more time appreciating the gifts that I’ve been given—a wonderful wife, a beautiful family, great friends and  meaningful work.

I’ve always been an appreciative person, but I feel things deeper now. In a weird way, COVID was a gift.

The disease reminded me that life is finite, and that tomorrow is not guaranteed. Of course, I knew this pre-COVID, but my experience of isolation in the hospital drilled that concept deep into my consciousness.

I’ve never been a materialistic person, but I wanted three things when I got out of the hospital: more time with my wife Diane, a getaway place in Maine and a golden retriever.

I’m still working on the time with Diane (there will never be enough) but we got a place in Portland and a Golden named Gracie came into our lives. As a bonus, we rescued a Chihuahua named Emmitt from a wonderful non-profit in Maine called Ellie’s Legacy Animal Foundation.

Emmitt

I share this because I hope it inspires you to be conscious of time, grateful for health and maybe open to bringing a pet into your life if you have the inclination (it is a major commitment).

Gracie just turned two and if you would excuse the pun, she’s a golden ray of sunshine. When Gracie entered our lives, she brought love, happiness, and healing to me in the post-COVID era. She brought our family even closer, because our children love her too and want to be nearby.

She’s a happy dog, always smiling. Always glad to see you. Always there with a hug (seriously, she actually hugs you).

She’s also goofy and like most pets full of unique quirks. She watches TV—but only shows that feature dogs, loves her little brother Emmitt, and has a thing for shadows. She likes to chase them.

I’ve had a few goldens in my life; my childhood dog Rusty was a shepherd-retriever mix, he was followed by Magnum, Casey and then Teddy. All of them were amazing—loyal, loving and fun.

But golden retrievers also shed (a lot), require lots of exercise and have been known to drool. Of course, their great qualities more than make up for having hair on literally everything that comes into the house.

When we lost Teddy, we were heartbroken. He was a soul mate as much as a pet. It’s hard to describe, but Teddy was so good that you had to remind yourself that he wasn’t a person. He was considerate—I’m serious he was.

When he got cancer, we did everything possible to save him and probably bought him a year. Losing him was devastating and we felt the same way when his 19-year-old chihuahua brother Randy passed away surrounded by family and our longtime friend and vet Dr. Jim Grubb.

So going down the emotional road again, post COVID was a big decision. But I told Diane that I’m just happier when I have a golden retriever in my life. Luckily, she feels the same way and so we brought Gracie into our home. She has filled it with love ever since.

But she and Emmitt bring something even deeper to our lives.

If we open our eyes, dogs teach us valuable lessons.

Gracie reminds us of the importance of living in the present. She teaches us to embrace joy and to find that joy in the simple things. She also reminds us to cherish the connections we have with others and to express our love and affection freely. Gracie’s unwavering spirit and boundless love are a constant reminder that even in the face of adversity, happiness is always within reach.

That’s a concept that I need to be conscious of because post COVID…. I’m different. I just am.

Recently, I read a story about the actor Jeff Bridges. He survived a cancer diagnosis and a terrible case of COVID that almost took his life. He spent 35 days in the hospital. I had him beat by four days, but our survival story had a lot of similarities. The intense struggle to breathe, the awful weakness, the searing pain, and the refusal to be on a ventilator.

But what shook me was his description of something he called “morning dread.” Mr. Bridges struggles in the morning. So, do I.

I thought what I have been experiencing was unique, but it isn’t. I did a little research after reading about Mr. Bridges’ case and learned that COVID does impact mental health; they call it post-COVID anxiety and studies are under way. I’ve shared with readers of this blog, that I struggled after I came home. I did some therapy via Zoom and it really helped. But that darn morning dread…. well it has persisted. It doesn’t visit every day, but it does come often and when it comes it’s not good.

Emmitt and Gracie help alleviate the dread. Their adorable faces are better than any prescription.

In the aftermath of the pandemic, Gracie and Emmitt have emerged as guiding lights, offering solace and unconditional love. These two goofy characters have brought happiness into our lives. They foster healing. They spread joy.

Gracie’s presence reminds me that even in the most challenging times, love and companionship can uplift our spirits and restore our faith. Through Gracie and Emmitt, I rediscovered that sometimes, the smallest acts of kindness—like a wagging tail and a wet nose—can have the most significant impact.

Note: I was saddened to learn of the passing of Joseph Lang, a veteran Delray Beach firefighter who retired in 2017 after 25 years of service.

Joe was a wonderful guy who served on the department’s decorated dive team and served as a driver/engineer.

He will be missed. May his memory be a blessing.
Finally, happy birthday America. Have a safe and wonderful fourth.

 

25 July, 2022 8 8 Comments

Community & Connections

July 25, 2022 By 8 Comments

“ What should young people do with their lives today? Many things, obviously. But the most daring thing is to create stable communities in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured.” – Kurt Vonnegut

Don’t you love that quote?
I’ve been thinking about loneliness lately. 
It’s been two years since I recovered from Covid after spending 39 days in isolation at Bethesda Hospital. 
For me, and for millions of others, Covid was a profound experience. The virus changed our world, altered our society and ended and upended the lives of so many people all over the world. 
But even though I was isolated in the hospital I was never alone. I had a community behind me. What a blessing that was. I believed it saved me. 
I’m reliving the power of community this week through the magic of Facebook memories. 
Throughout my hospitalization, I received a steady barrage of encouraging messages and prayers from the community. It was powerful and profound. I’ve been moved all over again just by scrolling through the memories. 
The power of community. What a beautiful thing to behold. 
I saw it again last week when I tuned in remotely to watch the funeral service of former City Commissioner Bob Costin. 
We are deeply saddened by the loss of Bob who was beloved by so many. 
But we are also reminded of the example he set. His was a life of service and dedication to family, friends, country and community. 
Bob loved the community he built here in Delray, at his lake house in Georgia and among fellow RVers and florists. 
Community enriched him, strengthened him and in turn he gave his communities so much. 
Pat Canning, who we lost last week, also understood the power of community and service as did her late husband Vince Canning, who was a legendary civic leader. 
Watching Bob’s funeral and reading tributes to Mrs. Canning, I was reminded of our better angels and better times.  
Across town, our City Commission was meeting and while I don’t watch those meetings I was sent a clip that bothered me. The clip showed a local philanthropist who gave $2 million to Old School Square standing before our elected representatives and wondering aloud why her donation was squandered (the project she funded was not completed when the commission voted 3-2 to terminate Old School Square’s lease after 32 years of service and community building). Margaret Blume, that generous philanthropist, is a wonderful person. If you watch the clip, you can’t help but notice the hurt and disbelief in her voice. She was never thanked. The theater and museum she loves both sit dark. The community she hoped to be benefit with her generosity , is not being served by vacant buildings. 
Friends, we need to tend to our community. We need to repair the parts of the fabric that have been torn. 
We need to honor the memories of our civic leaders who understood that service, love, respect, dialogue and kindness are building blocks that create great and happy places. 
We long to live in a community that wraps its arms around us. It’s a choice. We can do it.  But we need to be intentional about what we want to be. 
At that same commission meeting, a citizens group of which I am a part, led by former Fire Chief Kerry Koen told the commission about a plan to honor the late Alfred “Zack” Straghn, one of Delray’s civic heroes, with a plaque outlining his tireless efforts to make our community a better and more inclusive place. 
The idea seemed to be embraced. That’s a good thing. A start. 
We have so much work ahead of us. 
We may or may not be able to heal the divisions affecting our wonderful country. But I hope we will. 
We cannot bring back those lost to a brutal pandemic. But I pray we can heal those suffering from the lingering effects of long Covid and I hope we can comfort the families of those who lost loved ones. 
I also hope that we will spend some time thinking about those who serve our community as volunteers. 
Volunteers are precious commodities. 
They don’t volunteer for the glory or the credit, they give back because they love something. 
They deserve our thanks and our respect. 
That’s not controversial, that’s basic. 
To come full circle. Take another look at that Vonnegut quote. 
We live in a society of devices. We are buried in our phones, wrapped in headsets and ear buds. 
We work remotely. We date by scrolling through photos on an app. We get our news in silos that agree with our particular beliefs. 
These days we have our own set of facts and we fail to trust institutions we once banked on. 
It’s a recipe for loneliness. 
But the antidote  to loneliness is community. 
It’s a time to reconnect. It’s time to rebuild. It’s time to say thank you. 
It means everything. 
Two years ago, this community wrapped it arms around me and my family. It made all the difference and I’m forever grateful.
I’ve experienced the benefits and I’ve seen the downside when community erodes.
There’s no comparison. Community heals. 
 
 
9 August, 2021 14 14 Comments

A Year Later…

August 9, 2021 By 14 Comments

Covid Memorial

I really wish I didn’t feel compelled to write about Covid.

I wish that this damn virus was in the rear-view mirror instead of front-page news. Again.

But hospitals are filling up—again.  People are dying—again.

According to the Surgeon General —and most of the medical and scientific community— there is no reason for people to be dying. If this is something you don’t believe, fine. You should probably stop reading right about now.

But if you are on the fence, I’m going to try gently to convince you to take the leap and get the shot.

Here’s the pitch.
We have a vaccine and if you take it, the statistics tell us that you won’t die.

That’s it.

It’s a straightforward value proposition.

I know people— including a lifelong friend— who take issue with what I just wrote. They will not change my mind and I will not change theirs either. This is where we are as a society these days—locked into our positions, identified by our tribes and in possession of our own “facts.” For the record, I believe my sources and I think theirs are full of crap.

There….it’s out of my system.

But my friends, Democracies can’t last too long in this kind of atmosphere. Democracies rely on the acceptance of objective facts, a healthy regard for science and the rule of law. Yes, we have a right and an obligation to question things, but after a while we should opt toward the evidence.

Democracy also relies on freedom.

We wield that word like a cudgel these days. Some people view mandates as restrictions on our freedoms—and they are.

But freedom also comes with responsibility. We have a responsibility to others. We have never been able to do whatever we wanted whenever we wanted. There have always been rules of the road.

As the old saying goes: My right to swing my arms in any direction ends where your nose begins.

I fear sometimes that we forget that fundamental pillar. You do not have a right to get others sick.

But this isn’t another piece for the culture wars. It’s testimony.

A year ago, I was in Bethesda Hospital with Covid and double pneumonia. The virus almost took my life.

I didn’t want to let on at the time, but I did not think I was getting out of there alive. A lot of people on my medical team would have agreed.

At the time, Covid took everything from my breath and my strength to my ability to think, walk and take care of myself. Spending six weeks flat on your back in a hospital with a mask on your face, attached to hoses and ports is a traumatic experience. You are left alone with your thoughts and your fears; the days go on and on and on. And the nights are terrifying.

I’m reliving the experience through the “memory” feature on Facebook. I was blessed with a daily dose of kind messages from friends who live near and far.

When all you can do is hold a phone that proved to be a lifeline and a source of inspiration at a time when I desperately needed both.

So here I am a year later.

Back to work.

Back to the gym.

Back home with my family.

But things aren’t the same.

My perspectives have changed, I hope in a good way. You learn to appreciate life more than ever when you almost lose it.

It took me a full 10 months to feel anything like my former self physically and as I take inventory a year later, I have to say that things have changed for me and millions of others.

I can’t sleep well.

I’m tired.

My brain is not as foggy, but my memory is not as sharp.

My joint pain is gone (and it was awful) and I stopped losing my hair, but my breathing is just not right.

Every day, for parts of the day, I feel like I can’t take a deep breath.

It feels like there’s cotton in my lungs, an obstruction that comes and goes. It’s hard to explain.

And I am one of the lucky ones.

I share this because I want you to know that Covid is real, very dangerous and more than a little mysterious.

It affects people in different ways. My wish is for people to live their lives, but to be aware and to try and do the things it takes to stay safe.

The best thing you can do is to get a vaccine.

That’s the bottom line my friends. Sent with love and concern. No need to send me your theories on Fauci, magnets, 5G, Bill Gates etc. I’m not interested. I’ve read about those theories and I’m comfortable that they have been debunked. Bottom line: I trust the science. And if you’ve read this far, I’ve warned you.

This is for the people on the fence, and I know a few. I hope you take the leap. I will help you take the leap if you want.

This is about all of us. Let’s stamp this darn thing out before we get a variant that comes back to bite us all. This one already is—especially here in Florida. The next variant may elude the vaccine’s protection.

By my math, more Americans have died of Covid in the past 17 months than in four years of the bloody Civil War. Enough already.

Enough.

17 May, 2021 4 4 Comments

Old Friends…

May 17, 2021 By 4 Comments

Old friends sit on the park bench like bookends.

What a slog we’ve been through.

What an exhausting and scary experience Covid has been for all of us.

Worldwide more than 3.2 million people have died from the virus and that number is likely an undercount. We have lost almost 600,000 Americans and despite a light at the end of the tunnel we are not out of the woods yet… but we can see the light that leads to normal.

Still, I don’t see us ever forgetting this experience. The pandemic has changed us—I’m hoping for the better.

Lately, I have been having some “Covid dreams”—it’s a phenomenon that I have read a few articles about. Some therapists call it a form of PTSD, others say it is how we humans process what we’ve been through. I don’t know what to call it, but for me the dreams are vivid and frequent.

I’m often trapped in a room, or a box with blank walls. In my dreams, I call out but no one hears me. I’m alone.

The other day, I  dreamt I was in a room filling with water chasing after a piece of paper. I’m not sure what the paper represents or what was on it but I just couldn’t get it. When I would get close, it would slosh away on a wave.

Like I mentioned before, I’m not alone in the crazy dream business.

A change in dreams due to a crisis is very common, says Deirdre Barrett, a dream researcher and assistant professor of psychology at Harvard. When we’re in a dream state, the brain is processing the same things we think about during the day. But when we’re asleep, the parts of our brain that handle logic and speech are damped down. The parts that handle visuals, however, are ramped up.

 

Barrett has been collecting dreams from people all over the world since the start of the pandemic. She says common dream themes range from actually getting the virus to natural disasters and bug attacks. Healthcare workers have regularly reported the highest level of stressful COVID-19 dreams, according to her data.

 

“The typical dream from the healthcare workers is really a full-on nightmare,” Barrett told “Science Friday” recently. “Just as bad as you’d see in war zones.”

Barrett has a new book out called “Pandemic Dreams.” I read a few excerpts online and some of the dreams she shares are jarring.

I have a feeling we will be dealing with the psychological, physical, economic and emotional side effects of this pandemic for the foreseeable future. If you are someone struggling, please know you are not alone and it’s OK to reach out for help.

If I may, here’s what has worked for me.

A dash of music, a dollop of comedy and a big heaping serving of family and friends.

For me, it’s just that simple.

Music is a tonic, comedy is medicine and friends and family are good for the soul.

Admittedly, it sounds trite and simple and in the Covid era, its been hard to see people in person.  But that’s changing.  If we’re vaccinated, it’s safe for us to get out and “see the world.” (Great song by Brett Dennen by the way).

Luckily, thanks to medical science, things are opening up quite a bit and thankfully technology has been there to fill in some gaps.

Readers of this blog know that I have a group of childhood friends who gather via Zoom every other week to reminisce about the glory days, joke around and talk about the issue du jour.

These calls have been a lifeline for all of us during this strange time.

I’ve known some of these guys for 50 years—we went through school together, knew each other’s parents and grandparents, our siblings, childhood homes, first cars, first girlfriends, favorite teachers etc.

We played ball together, went to each other’s Bar Mitzvahs and weddings and were there through the good times and the bad. And there’s been plenty of both. That’s just the way it goes.

Every one of us has had a pretty nice life—we enjoy the love of good women, have great kids and tons of life experience. But we’ve had our struggles too—career crises, financial highs and lows and health challenges too.

But through it all– through the decades, the distance and the din of life—we’ve managed to stay together or find each other again and again.

We used to see each other every single day and that is where the bonds were forged—in school, at a summer pool club, on long summer nights spent driving to nowhere special. It was enough in those days just to be together and as a result develop a shorthand that in our case has lasted a lifetime.

Over the summer, when I thought Covid would mark the end of my story, I thought about these guys and some of my newer friends that I’ve also grown very close too. I thought how friendship is one of life’s greatest gifts and how I wasn’t ready to say goodbye and how sad it was for those who tragically couldn’t beat this damn virus.

When we pass, a whole world dies with us—but some of that world lives on in the hearts and minds of those we leave behind.

Still, as  I reflect back on the year or so of Covid, I can’t help but also think about the positives.

I’ve been surrounded by love, concern and friendship. My wife and I have grown closer, I feel closer to my children, my sister, in-laws and my dad and his wonderful girlfriend. What a gift.

What an amazing gift we’ve been given—another day.

And then there’s the friendships. The new ones and the old ones.

That every other week Zoom call is a real highlight—a precious gift because it connects me to a group of guys who are my brothers. We fill the gaps in each other’s memories, support each other in our current ventures and know that we will always be there for each other. We also laugh. A lot. Its been good for the soul.

I have a great set of local friends too—and I really wish there was a way these groups could meet because I know they would hit it off instantly.

Maybe someday they will—like the old Simon & Garfunkel song “Bookends”—on some park bench somewhere.

Someday….

Until then, the old friends plan to meet via Zoom and my local buddies will gather at some of our favorite watering holes. Now that we are vaccinated we are beginning to feel safer.

Meanwhile, we have been forever influenced by our pandemic experience.

The other week, after another particularly vivid dream, I woke up with a phrase on my mind: “love is the prize.” Four simple words—corny I know.

But I’ve been thinking about those words a lot.

We live in an area that has great wealth and great poverty. In Delray, where I live, we are America in 16 square miles. In Boca, where I work, I see a whole lot of bling and pristine beauty. We live in paradise—we truly do.

Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in the craziness. I do all the time—until I’m grounded by a friend, a circumstance, my lovely wife or a situation at work and then I realize that love is the prize. I never had the words until that dream. Now I do.

Love is the prize.

I’ve found it.

I hope you do too.

22 March, 2021 8 8 Comments

Thankful For The Vaccine

March 22, 2021 By 8 Comments

The Health Care District did a great job.

On the day I got my first vaccine, Florida reported 5,093 new Covid cases and 94 more deaths bringing the death toll to 33,219 and the total case count to almost 2 million.

By the time you read this, those numbers will have increased. But we know that the numbers only tell part of the Covid story.

Every “stat” is a person with a family, friends—a life. This virus is a beast—it is not the flu.

Covid can be lethal and for those who survive but suffer  from “long hauler” symptoms, it’s not something that you can just power past.

So when I got an appointment to get my first shot last week at the South County Civic Center in West Delray I was thrilled.

Sometimes you don’t realize how stressed you are until you experience relief. And truth be told, I’ve been worried about re-infection and anxious about the variants I’ve been reading about.

I was able to book an appointment with two of my co-workers so went together. Like most Americans—indeed most humans—they’ve been touched by Covid with family members suffering from the virus and with a few relatives dying as a result.

We talked about how lucky we were to be getting the vaccine and how sad it is for those who died before a vaccine was available.

I’m especially grateful because I thought this virus was it for me. So when I sat down, rolled up my sleeve and thanked the Palm Beach Fire Rescue “vaccinator” for giving me the shot, I got a little choked up.

He asked me if everything was OK and I said “oh yeah, I am so happy to be sitting here right now.”

He talked to me briefly about soreness and side effects and truth be told, I barely listened. Because a little soreness or a fever doesn’t compare with 39 days in the hospital wondering if I’d ever see my loved ones again. Bring it on, if it spares millions from the horrors of this disease I’m all in.

Yes, I’ve seen the anti-vaxxer screeds on the Internet and social media—isn’t the First Amendment grand? But I’m throwing my lot in with the scientists. I have faith in them. I am so grateful for their efforts.

These vaccines are modern day miracles, I believe they will save millions of lives.

That’s my  firm belief.

Everyone is entitled to their own views, but I’m rooting for people to take the vaccine and I’m rooting for herd immunity because I’ve felt the ferocity of this virus from inside the belly of the beast. It didn’t want to let me go and it has claimed a ridiculous amount of lives.

And every day…every single day… when I ache, experience headaches and feel some “brain fog” I am reminded that I had this thing.

I don’t say this to elicit sympathy, I know that I am a very lucky man.

I chose at the beginning of this experience to share with you the good, the bad and the ugly in the hope, that maybe my sharing would raise some awareness.

So we chronicled it all. I say we because I’ve had a lot of help all along the way.

We talked about long haul issues and the emotional aspects of Covid, because the pandemic has unleashed a lot of trauma on society.

To continue in that vein,  I wanted to come full circle and share about vaccines.

My belief: they are safe and effective.

My hope: you will get vaccinated.

After taking the shot, they ask you to stay 15 minutes to see if you have a reaction. I sat with a bunch of people who were just jubilant. You could sense the relief and the emotion in the room. A woman nearby cried softly and said she wished her mother had lived long enough to get the vaccine–Covid took her a few months before the shots were approved. Yet, amidst the sadness there was a lot of joy and a lot of relief too.

I sat there with a sense of hope and pride; hope for a better future and pride that we have the scientific chops to protect humanity. It was a very powerful moment.

Let’s do all we can to get our lives back.

Let’s do all we can to help our health care workers who have been through so much and let’s support our local businesses who have suffered mightily by doing what we can to venture out again.

That’s my hope, that’s my prayer. I hope you and your loved ones are spared now and forever.

 

 

 

 

28 December, 2020 0 Comments

A Trip Around The Sun

December 28, 2020 By Leave a Comment

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty five thousand moments so dear

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure? Measure a year?

In daylights,

In sunsets,

In midnights,

In cups of coffee,

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife

In five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure a year in a life?

“Seasons of Love” from the Broadway show Rent.

2020…oh my goodness.

We sure have been through a whole lot together.

Covid.

Social unrest.

Division.

So much division.

Before we say goodbye to a year I think we all yearn to see in the rear view, let’s pause for a few moments and reflect on what we’ve experienced.

This is the deadliest year in US history with deaths expected to top 3 million for the first time due mainly to the coronavirus pandemic.

Final mortality data for this year will not be available for months but preliminary numbers suggest that the United States is on track to see more than 3.2 million deaths this year or at least 400,000 more than 2019.

That’s a staggering number.

It’s almost too much to comprehend.

But we need to try because we end the year with so many families in pain, hungry and lost. Friends, our world needs a lot more empathy if we are to create a better world for our children.

U.S. deaths increase most years so some increase in fatalities is to be expected but the 2020 numbers amount to a jump of about 15 percent and could go higher. That would mark the largest single year percentage leap since 1918 when tens of thousands of US soldiers died in World War I and hundreds of thousands of Americans died in the flu pandemic.

Yes, this has been a helluva year.

We won’t ever forget 2020 but while we are anxious to turn the page and resume our lives, I’m hoping we don’t blindly rush forward. I’m hoping we drive slow and consciously think about how we can make this world a better place. I know that’s kind of a sappy sentiment, but sometimes the world can use a little sappiness.

We are at a crossroads. Down one path is more fighting, down another is a chance at healing and progress. We can’t have both. It’s one or the other.

I happen to think that we are very weary of fighting each other. So many people I talk to are tired of the callousness, the meanness and the insensitivity of our discourse.

I sense that we long for kindness, community, purpose, meaning, love and empathy.

We need to carve out a space for gentle hearts to thrive in this world.

How do we do that?

By standing up to bullies.

By rewarding kindness.

By extending a hand to those who need a lift up.

By setting the record straight– if we can.

By doing what we can to help others.

Simple things make a big difference.

While 2020 was brutal, it did force us to slow down. That’s a good and valuable thing.

If we were lucky enough to take the time to reflect, we realize that life is both fragile and precious.

Last holiday season, nobody knew the word Covid and yet the virus upended our lives and almost took mine; proof that we are vulnerable and tomorrow is not guaranteed.

While we know that intellectually, it’s easy to lose sight of our mortality and fail to prioritize what’s truly important. In 2020, gliding through life became harder and for many of us impossible.

So as we close in on another trip around the sun for some reason the words to a Jimmy Buffett song are swimming around my head.

“Yes I’ll make a resolution, that I’ll never make another one.

Just enjoy this ride on my trip around the sun. Just enjoy this ride.”

To my friends, I hope you enjoy the ride. Please stay safe and let’s do what we can to make 2021 a better year for everyone. That’s my prayer for the New Year.

7 December, 2020 10 10 Comments

Bookends: The Healing Power Of Old Friends

December 7, 2020 By 10 Comments

A little scruffier, a little balder, but the bond endures.

The most treasured gifts in the world are kind words spontaneously tendered. (Thanks Dewey)

— Jim Collins

It’s December.

Thank goodness.
We find ourselves in the home stretch of a brutal year and at last there is hope that 2021 will treat us better.
Like miners stuck below the surface of the Earth trapped in a dark cocoon of gloomy news— anger, divisiveness, disease and death —those of us still fortunate to be here can find solace that next year will be brighter. It has to be, right?
With any luck, we can resurface and reclaim our lives.
I, for one, can’t wait.
In the years to come, if I am given years to come because I realize that’s not a given, I will look back on 2020 with a mixture of awe, gratitude and dread. I know that’s an odd combination of emotions. But this has been a very odd year.
But despite wave after wave of brutal news, many of us still found some light.
I found my light in the usual place: family and friends.
Close readers of this blog have heard me mention my twice a month Zoom calls with childhood friends.
I write about those calls because they have been a lifeline to me in an extraordinarily challenging year.
It’s been hard to be quarantined.
It was hard to work remotely—because I like the interaction and the kibitzing you get in an office with people you can see right in front of you.
I miss being able to gather with my friends.
I miss happy hours and dinners with a bunch of people.
I miss the movies.
I miss the meetings in coffee shops (and I’ve never even had a cup of coffee).
But the next best thing to being there is Zoom.
To be honest, I have a love-hate relationship with the technology but when I think about it, Zoom has been a life raft that has kept me from drowning. Zoom made it possible to see my oldest and dearest friends—if only on a screen.  Those boxes, that contain those familiar faces, have meant the world to me this year.
I hope you have had a similar story of connection during this year of Covid.
Here’s mine.
I grew up in the 70s and early 80s in Stony Brook, located on the north shore of  Eastern Long Island.
From the age of six (not a typo) I was fortunate enough to build a small cadre of friends that have remained in my life for 50 years.
The bond we share is both special and rare.
We’re spread out these days—California, Virginia, Wisconsin, North Carolina, South Carolina, New York, Arizona, Vermont and Florida.
We went all through school together and stayed close through high school and college.
In our early 30s, we had some reunion weekends and then life took over.
But the pandemic has somehow brought us back together again over Zoom and I couldn’t be happier about it.
While we never drifted apart totally (well a few of us maybe) our communication became spotty and we were never all together anymore. These Zoom meet-ups have changed all that.
Our calls—which usually last about 90 minutes—cover a range of subjects and I always come away energized by the interaction.
When I was asked recently by my dad what it’s been like to “hang out” again with all these guys I told him the one feeling that comes up is pride.
I’m proud that our friendships have lasted.
I’m proud of the men they have become.
I’m blown away by their intelligence, humor, life experience, professional success and by who they are.
They are all interesting. And they are all interested in the world.
So I’m proud of them.
Someday, maybe soon, we will be able to get together in person.
That would be great.
Over the summer, I learned that life can be very fragile. I think we are all learning that lesson these days.
It’s the rapport, the kindness, the playful ribbing and the fact that we serve as the gaps in each other’s fading memories that make for lasting and special friendships.
One of the crazy things about this year is that it has forced us to  take stock of what really matters.
We no longer can take the simple joys of our lives  for granted.
Whether it’s the joy of meeting a friend for dinner, taking a weekend trip or having family over for the holidays—Covid has made sure we will appreciate moments large and small.
For me, when I look back on 2020 I will be forever grateful that every other Wednesday I can find my buddies on a screen if not in person. That’s more than good enough–for now anyway.
I’m just glad to still be around to laugh and share with them.
 Here’s to what comes next guys.
19 October, 2020 36 36 Comments

On The Path

October 19, 2020 By 36 Comments

The staff at Bethesda is truly remarkable.

When I entered the hospital with a positive Covid test and double pneumonia in July, I tried to think about how I could shed light on the virus and maybe help others by raising awareness.

I hoped that by sharing the good, the bad and the ugly of my experience I could —in a small way—serve my community.
I thought by sharing my specific experience, others might find something they could connect with.
My Facebook posts and now my blog were greeted with generous displays of love and caring. I’ve heard from many of you and your comments have given me strength and boosted my spirits. But more importantly, I’ve heard from several of you that my story made you stop and think about the virus and the safety of your loved ones.  For that and more, I thank you.
That’s the good.
The bad is the virus itself.
It’s dangerous.
It’s scary.
And it’s potentially lethal.
It’s important that we know that and respect that fact. It is not a flu and it is not a hoax.
It’s also not going away the day after the election.
I wish it would. But as we experience yet another surge in America and across a good swath of the world, it’s becoming apparent that we are up against a dangerous hydra that will alter our lives for the foreseeable future.
The ugly of this virus can be put into two buckets. The political aspect and the long lasting effects that some will experience.
The politics of this pandemic can be frustrating.
  I will probably be attacked for pointing out the seriousness of the virus because some believe that Covid is an overblown hoax. That’s OK, bring it.
Everyone is entitled to their opinion but not their own facts. I just don’t share those views. I trust in science. Not that science gets everything right, especially on its first pass, but eventually our best and brightest scientific minds figure things out.
The other bucket relates to the potential long haul of this disease.
For some, even when you recover, there are lingering issues to deal with.
When I decided to write about my experience I committed to telling the truth even if that truth is well…ugly.
So let me say that while I feel much, much better I’m still struggling.
My breathing is improving but still not quite back to normal. I remain very sore, my physical strength is returning but is vastly diminished and I suffer from horrible stabbing pains in my left leg and steady pain in my right arm.  I have daily headaches and have experienced Covid related hair loss.
All of that is bearable—even the leg. And it sure beats the alternative. I know I’m very fortunate.
But there’s an emotional aspect to this virus as well.
So here’s my confession—I’m a little off these days.
I get sad a few times a day.
It comes in waves triggered by stories I hear about people who have lost their lives during the pandemic or songs that just get to me. I get restless at night, have some trouble sleeping and feel anxious for no reason.
I’m really worried about my family and friends. I’m really worried about our community and the world itself.
I think about kids missing out on a normal social life and about senior citizens who are at risk and unable to enjoy their lives —cut off from grandchildren and others who enrich their lives.
I worry about small business owners and the unemployed and I think about the families of the more than one million people who have died worldwide in the pandemic.
I also worry about our medical workers, teachers, first responders and essential workers who fear for their health every time they leave for work.
I’ve been told that the flood of emotions I’m experiencing is to be expected.
Last week, I learned about a concept called “survivors guilt.”
Readers of this blog may remember the name Skip Brown.
Skip is a friend, a retired Delray police officer and a Vietnam veteran. I had the honor of pinning the Bronze Star he earned in combat to his chest a few years back. It was one of the great thrills of my life.
Skip has taught me a lot over the years and he explained the concept of survivors guilt, the idea that you feel pressure and question why you survived while others died.
We spoke on my way to a pulmonologist appointment I had last week. When I walked into the doctor’s office I was told of other patients who died and how lucky I was to have made it considering the violence of my pneumonia and the damage the virus did to my lungs.
Hearing the stories of those who didn’t make it, leveled me. It just leveled me.
It’s important that I share that because you may know someone who gets this virus and it’s important that we be there for them not just with medical care but with spiritual and emotional support as well.
I believe I was spared for a reason. I’m not sure why, but I’m searching for answers.
I’ve been wrestling with what to do with my second chance.
I’ve been told by people I love and respect that the answers will come and I believe they will.
I’m on a path and I have to trust.
So far, several people have come to my rescue. And I believe that there may be some divine intervention involved.
The call from Skip came at just the right time.
A call from Max Weinberg, yes that Max Weinberg, which inspired me and pointed me toward a book I need to read.
Two calls with friends who recommended psalms that are relevant to my experience.
A conversation at work about grace, healing, love and faith.
At the height of my illness, so many people sent messages of love and kindness.
I was overwhelmed; grateful for each and every message of hope. Thankful for every prayer.
I vowed then that I would share my story because I wanted to let people know not only about the virus, but about doctors and nurses, family and friends, prayer and hope, love and friendship.
I experienced the power of community in the midst of a period in our history where we are angry and estranged.
I feel compelled to tell you that love and community feels a lot better than anger and division.
I honestly don’t know what I will do with my second chance.
I’m going to trust in the path laid out for me.
So when the darkness washes over me, when the waves hit, I’m going to keep fighting. I’m going to keep working. I’m going to keep breathing—for as long as I can.
23 September, 2020 20 20 Comments

200,000 lives: A Grim Milestone

September 23, 2020 By 20 Comments

This park in Detroit honors those lost to Covid-19.

 

“Breath is life. When the stakes are high and the challenge is hard, I come to my foundation for answers — breath.” Circus Performer LadyBeast. 
 
I stumbled on this quote while reading a blog about Creative Mornings and it hit me. 
Breath is our foundation.  We stop breathing and we cease to exist. 
I’ve been conscious of breathing for most of my life because I have asthma. So sometimes  breathing can be difficult. 
Every now and then, especially when I’m nervous, I have found myself short of breath. But I have never felt endangered. My asthma was mild. I knew I would feel better quickly. 
But my recent bout with Coronavirus changed my relationship with breathing.

At the height of my illness, I struggled with every breath. My lungs hurt and they weren’t working very well. 
Laying on my back, attached to leads to monitor my heart, a port in my arm and a mask strapped tight over my face I felt like I was drowning. 
I was working hard to get air and it felt as if the virus was suffocating me. Every breath was accompanied  by a painful sharpness. It’s hard to explain but when I inhaled I felt a cutting type pain. 
While I was frightened and afraid to sleep because I didn’t think I’d wake up, I was also keenly aware that I had to fight. 
I couldn’t really speak, but I wanted to yell out and say “no, I’m not letting go.”  
My mind raced from thought to thought. 
“No, I won’t let this be the end” and then “I can’t believe this is the end. I’m only 55. I have a wife and kids and a career and friends. I never said goodbye and I have so much more I want to do.”
I thought of my late mother and my beloved grandparents. I asked them for help. I prayed for G-d’s mercy and I wondered if I was in some sort of dream. 
My mind kept coming back to my mother. She passed at age 59 and missed so much. Now here I was four years younger. I would miss seeing my kids get married, I would miss having grandkids and I would lose all the things I wanted to do once I retired. While tempted to give in and let go, I just refused. 
Breathe. Just breathe. Keep breathing. 
And I did. 
 
 

I’m a little over two months into my Covid odyssey and here’s where I stand (or mostly sit).

 I am still on three liters of oxygen. I can go off for short periods of time, but when I dip below 92 on my pulse oximeter (always by my side) I have to go back to the O2 hose—you don’t want to starve your brain of oxygen.
For the most part my breathing is ok. But sometimes I feel like there’s something stuck deep in my chest. And  I still lack my wind.
My body is sore from what I guess is the therapy I’m doing after 39 days in a hospital bed.
But I also have a stabbing pain in my left thigh. I’ve been applying heat to the leg which also feels numb at times.
The stabbing wakes me some nights.
My neck is also stiff and my tailbone is sore which means that I need to sit on a lot of cushions. My friend Scott bought me a “donut” and I literally can’t live without it.
Best. Gift. Ever.
I’m not really sure if some of my soreness is the residual impact of the virus or the result of being in that hospital bed.
My sleep has been inconsistent, but I am not fatigued like so many Covid patients report.
I am, however, experiencing a fair amount of anxiety. There are some mornings when I feel very jittery. It fades as the day moves forward but I also experience pangs of fear and just overall dread that seems to come at me in waves.
When I get hit with the wave, I try to shift my mind to a positive thought. I’m so lucky that I can call friends or read messages and cards to lift my spirits.
I have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of support and love I have received from family and friends. I jokingly told my wife that I feel that I attended my funeral without having to pass.
But boy did I come close and that experience is both real and surreal.
To be honest, I’m still kind of processing the whole experience.
As a news junkie, I’ve always paid attention to what’s happening in the world. But these days, stories about Covid truly affect me on a different level.
The 200,000 plus deaths in America is not just a grim statistic to me; it’s a shockingly real kick in the teeth because I’ve now seen the enormous toll this virus has enacted on our country and on the families left to grieve.
I was one of the lucky ones.
So I wonder: why I was spared?  And I  wonder what I should be doing now that I’ve been given a a second chance. I realize how fragile life is; how easy it could have been to simply stop breathing.
The last few months feels like a dream to me.
I went to get a test at Bethesda Hospital and came home 39 days later.
In between, I wore masks to breathe, had morphine to dull the pain (it barely took the edge off) and struggled to even sit up. I had odd dreams, painful spasms and felt dizzy and disoriented at times. For a few weeks, my eyes burned and there were times when I woke up and wasn’t quite sure where I was. Sometimes things seemed to move in the room. I would see the TV on the ceiling but then realized it hadn’t moved. I was just confused.
I heard screams from a nearby room and thought to myself someone has it worse than me and I prayed they would find relief.
Since coming home I’ve had extensive therapy and it’s helping.
I am slowly getting my strength and stamina back. I came home with a walker and a hospital bed.  Both are gone.
I can climb a flight of stairs but I lose my breath and need a few minutes to recover. But it’s progress.
I am so grateful.
When I wake up I am reminded how fortunate I am to be alive.
I’m more appreciative of my friends, love my wife even more (she’s been my rock), cherish my kids and family and can’t wait to get back to what life has to offer.
I write these words to raise awareness and to urge people to be vigilant and safe.
Last week, we attended a virtual fundraiser to raise money for Bethesda Hospital’s Covid efforts. I was happy to see a brief video of my departure from the hospital as part of the event. The health care heroes that were highlighted that night saved my life and the life of many others. When I left Bethesda, I promised them I would try and spread the word.
And that’s what I plan to do.
I am grateful I have the opportunity to do so.
I’m here because of prayers and the talents of amazing medical professionals. We are blessed to have these people in our community.
Thanks for reading.
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