It would have been nice to see on Secretariat’s 40th anniversary of winning the Triple Crown that another horse would have captured that ever elusive achievement. It’s been 35 long years since another horse has won such glory. With three Triple Crown winners in the 1970s, it appeared that accomplishing such a feat might even become routine. Like a cadre of Voltaire’s Candides, we had become demented optimists.
History should have precluded such a roseate worldview. It would not have behooved the sport to have Triple Crown winners being as common as the rain. Expectations should not be as certain as the changing of seasons, for history is replete with examples in discouraging such a sanguine outlook. Reality has a rather obnoxious habit of intruding upon cheerfulness and it’s important we keep our fondest hopes in proper perspective. The record book shows that 25 years separated Citation’s and Secretariat’s Triple Crown victories. The three winners of the Triple Crown in the decade of the 1970s would have been seen as aberrational if not for the rose-colored glasses plastered against our faces.
There is not enough time to list all
The generous sacrifices made on our behalf.
I am startled awake by the thought—
we must find our civic sight or be lost.
When I became a new dad many years ago, I asked a friend whom I admired how to be a good father. Without missing a beat, he responded simply, “Love their mother.”
As husband to a mom of four and son to a mom of five, I live (you can already guess) in a mom-centric zone, and over time that lesson has become abundantly clear to me. So I thought I’d take a break this week from the usual legislative topics and instead reflect upon the powerful love we celebrate in the middle of May each year.
It was an appalling moment in American diplomatic history, indelibly searing the psyche of the civilized world. I can still see the bloody images of Ambassador Christopher Stevens being dragged through the streets by an angry mob. Such atrocities are not supposed to happen to Ambassadors who represent the genteel and sophisticated world of international diplomacy.
The seniors of the Herricks Leisure Club welcomed spring after an active, and sometimes arduous, winter.
The new year started with a flea market and a presentation of Pinocchio by the drama students of the Center Street Schoolin January.
In February, the club celebrated Valentine’s Day with a dais decorated by Helene Picchiello, and apple turnovers donated by Martha Harris.
Most of us know that nothing is perfect. This includes government and more specifically, the laws it creates. Every elected official comes to this realization sooner or later, even if they don’t have the guts to tell you so. You could take any law on any given issue and there will always be pros and cons. What may be perfectly fair and just to some, may leave others feeling nothing but the negative impacts.
Yet there are plenty of people who believe that some form of utopian government can be achieved in which all of our most complex problems can be resolved through legislation and unfortunately, there are plenty of politicians who see no advantage in disagreeing.
I’d like to remind all readers that May is “Melanoma Awareness Month” in Nassau County. Melanoma is the most dangerous form of skin cancer, and causes the most deaths of any skin disease. As the season heats up, help us prepare for the sun-drenched summer months.
Deregulation --- it has become the catchword for reformers about everything that is wrong with our world. With this one unrighteous, iniquitous act our economy in 2008 was sent into a tailspin from which it has still not recovered. Like original sin, deregulation has polluted the soul of the economy and the unholy and ungodly effects have left in their wake a bloodied economy.
Like a lot of mythmaking, this story has a compelling narrative fraught with storybook villains and good old-fashioned cupidity. The evidentiary standards for such conclusions would never stand up in a court of law. In the court of public opinion, however, it is virtually a slam dunk case. But who needs evidence when you have as an appetizer a juicy story of plutocrats who had thickly buttered their greed on a doughy slice of American naiveté? It’s the grassy knoll factor of these stories that are so enticing to the public imagination. Malevolent forces conspiring to wreak havoc upon the good have always found a large and susceptible audience. This November it will be 50 years since President Kennedy was assassinated and still 4 out of 5 Americans believe that it was a conspiracy despite there being overwhelming evidence that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone.
I remember clearly
the cute little form of our child
born at the bright edge of morning.
How everything was a gift
building on this prolog,
the transfer of blood and love.
I remember what it is
to feel your belly
before our child was born,
the transfer of warmth and love.
How you talked and sang
in the still calm night, your words
reaching to cradle our child
in outstretched arms
was music flowing through me, too.
All the mysteries
folded into a delicate bundle,
wrapped in satin and
lined with Queen Ann’s lace.
The easiness of the first meeting,
our child known, seeing your joy—
tiny hands wrapped around your fingers.
Now the long hair already,
such forward little feet,
how promise and love wake to body.
Despite the rift of years,
the warmth continues to move inward,
still bringing me to my knees.
The heart pushes the flesh,
we all move into the uncertain seed
of the unknown.
But how like cloud is the realm of love.
Garden City Park
The mind seizes,
falls back in the
face of this horror,
unable to gain a foothold.
How sudden the light
condition of pain and sorrow
are too powerful.
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