I was cutting my lawn this past week when my neighbor stopped me to chat. “Your lawn looks like Yankee Stadium,” he said. Under most circumstances, it would just be a friendly compliment. Except my neighbor is a professional baseball player. And he played for the Yankees. And his feet have actually touched that sacred grass. He has a legitimate reference point. That is most certainly the highest professional compliment my lawn and, by extension, me, has ever received. So, I a

Most mornings, Rigby, my dog, and I head out for our daily walk. Central New York weather (snow, rain, extreme heat, and cold) often dictates the timing and attire, but we still head out the door with purpose and regularity. For more than ten years, that daily walk has been one of my simple pleasures. I swear I can see Rigby smiling. I know that I am. My mind clears as the steps increase and Rigby discovers a new smell or a squirrel like he hasn’t encountered either one a hun

Why would someone choose a lawn chair in a garage over a beautiful back deck? Last week, Sue and I were walking Rigby through our new neighborhood. It was one of those beautiful late spring evenings that make you forget, if only for a brief moment, our long and unrelenting Central New York winters. As we turned the corner for the home stretch, we came across two of our neighbors. Like us, perhaps a few years older, they are retired empty nesters. With one of the most beautifu

There was a time in my life when I didn’t miss an episode of Cheers . Not because of the plot, which was usually secondary, but because of a central character named Norm Peterson. Norm was my alter ego before I even knew I needed one. He would walk through that barroom door, and before he could make it two steps, the room would sound off in a chorus of “Norm!” I remember watching that entrance and thinking, not about the beer or the bar, but about the feeling. The idea that s

What is it about the ocean and the waves on the beach that speaks so clearly about the relentless march of time, and how our lives are little more than momentary footprints in the sand? We are here for only a moment, until the waves, arriving with the steady beat of a metronome, wash away our presence and return the sand to its natural state. As if we were never there at all. And yet, we were, if only for a moment. The snow is piling up outside my window here in Central New Y

The calendar has turned to fall here in Central New York, and that means only one thing. Pasta. Well, two things. Pasta and friendship. Every September, when the evenings turn cool and crisp and the orchards fill with families chasing apples and cider, I wait for a familiar text from my long-time friend Mike. It always reads the same way: “Check your calendars, boys. It’s time to get AlfredoFest booked.” Almost forty years ago, Mike invited a couple of us over for his homemad