Today's MOZEN: Preaching To The Choir - Again!

Frank LoBuono

We're all guilty of it. At some point after repeating to ourselves over and over again, we just say, why bother? Nothing changes. And, if you're my age, you may recall the oft-repeated parental mantra; why do I have to keep saying this until I'm blue in the face?

As we seem at some inevitable point to become our parents, we find ourselves parroting the same themes, well, because they're mostly true.

This is one of those times when I currently find myself in the same predicament as it comes to my opposition to one Presidential candidate: Donald J. Trump.

Why bother?

I get frustrated saying the same things to the same audience, over and over again. And I've been doing it for years. Mr. Trump is a poor excuse not only for a leader but even as a decent human being. He is NOT FIT for ANY important position, much less as the most powerful man in the world.

The fact that his repeated abhorrent and even illegal behavior is not only tolerated but supported by millions simply boggles the mind of any reasonable human being. DJT does not appeal to me on ANY level and I can't reason how it might to others. I simply can't.

And its not just a personality conflict. That man and his followers are DANGEROUS. His outrageous, above-the-law, take-no-prisoners personality reeks of despotism. He abuses women and bullies subordinates. The more he steals from them the more they seem to support him. Our Constitution that insists that no one is above the law doesn't seem to apply here - not when it comes to one DJT.

His minions rally under the flag of fascism masquerading as patriotism. They greedily gobble up the raw meat of hatred and bigotry he happily feeds them on a daily basis. They roar at his ridiculous taunts and insults of anyone who opposes him like a 12 year-old school yard bully instead of a former President of the United States.

They continually ignore his mounting legal problems, even making him a martyr for the cause of White Privilege.  Trump's anti-migrant, violent, fear and loathing rhetoric fits their narrative that this is a white, Christian country with no room for anyone else who doesn't fit that description.

Tragically, as displayed by the despicable behavior his followers exhibited on 1/6, they are even willing to destroy our very Republic on HIS behalf - all for a pack of lies. 

Just because I haven't said it ENOUGH, Donald J. Trump is NOT a leader. He IS a thief, liar, and grifter. He will never be more than that, no matter how many continue to buy his shit.

And to once again prove that I have indeed become my parents, I will add another ancient but accurate expression: I'm preaching to the choir.

I know.

Now, this now brings me back to my original theme for this post:

Why bother?

Who's mind will I really change?

Well, probably no one who will actually read this post. But I don't know that for sure.

One thing I DO know comes from one of the most brilliant American voices of all time, Dr. Martin Luther King:

Our lives begin to end the day we begin to become silent about things that matter.

So, Dr. King, I will honor you. My life will not end. Not now. I WILL NOT BE SILENT.

SAVE DEMOCRACY. VOTE. VOTE. VOTE!

Today's MOSTLY TRUE SHORT STORY: I Was There - The Miracle On The Hudson

F LoBuono

It was a day very much like today; a beautiful, clear and brutally cold January day with windchills hovering in the teens and single digits. I was working the 3p-11p shift as a cameraman/technician for CBS News at the Broadcast Center on W57th and 11th Ave. in Midtown.

My shift began as most usually did, i.e. pretty normally and without much fanfare. The 7a-3p crew leaves and the 3p-11p gang takes over. 24/7-365. I was actually scheduled to be working AT the Broadcast Center.

Well, that didn't last long.

As I recall, around 4pm we start getting reports that a plane had just landed on the Hudson River AND it was IN THE WATER just down the street from the Broadcast Center. US Airways flight 1549 was down!

If you haven't been in a newsroom when BIG news breaks you have no idea how quickly a routine day of mostly boredom can turn into a cacophony of sound and a flurry of action that can be most accurately described as the shit hitting the fan.

Since this was all happening right down the street, we didn't even wait for our broadcast trucks to roll. We were told to get whatever you needed ASAP and GET THERE! 

So, I grabbed my coat, my camera gear and tore ass, running down W57th St towards the last reported sighting of the plane: the NY Waterway Ferry Terminal just a few blocks south.

My instructions were to begin to cover the scene as best as possible and wait for a reporter to join me. We would then be joined by our broadcast trucks to begin LIVE reporting from the location.

Of course, we would not be alone as just about every news crew in town would eventually be there. But we were FIRST because we were closest.

AP Photo

Within a short time, I was joined by our reporter, Wendy Gillette. I remember that, since she was scheduled that evening to desk produce and not field report, how lightly dressed she was for the brutal cold. I took particular notice that she was wearing just lightweight shoes and women's stockings. This would eventually prove problematic.

We stayed there as a team, working in the brutal cold for our entire 8 hour shift until we were eventually replaced by the night crew to continue the 24 hour coverage of this extraordinary story. I can't recall many times where the cold was more punishing. It had gotten so frigid that we feared that Ms. Gillette's feet were in danger of getting frostbite!

Being the consummate professional, she finished her shift without complaint and suffered no permanent damage.

But this is typical of virtually all of the journalists I worked with at CBS. Each one, including technicians, dedicate themselves to telling a full, truthful story, often at great peril and at the cost of one's health and comfort.

There were many heroes from that day including the captain, crew, passengers and 1st responders who saved so many lives. But we often overlook the journalists of all skills who risk so much to do the job of making sure that their heroism is recognized. 

Today's MOZEN: Sometimes The Magic Works

 

Frank LoBuono

In order for magical moments to happen, a few things must occur:

First, you have to suspend belief in what you know in your logical mind and yield to the possibility that it was all part of a bigger unplanned plan. 

Next, you have to believe that magic can and and does exist.

Then, accept that magical things often happen under the most simple of circumstances and at times least expected.

And, lastly, you must acknowledge the fact that sometimes the magic works and sometimes it doesn't.

With that in mind, I'd like to share an experience.

I was dressing this morning when I decided to throw on a pair of sweat pants that I hadn't worn in at least a few days. While adjusting the waist band, I felt something in my pocket.

When I reached in, I discovered a small neckless that I had been searching for for about a week. It's simple a leather strip with a dangling crystal. It's certainly not an expensive item but it has tremendous sentimental value to me.

It was given to me by the daughter of one of my dearest friends in the world. She lives in Florence, Italy and I met her many years ago while traveling. We have been fast friends ever since and I have watched her family grow over our 30 year relationship.

She is one of the most gentle people I have ever met and her artist-daughter seems to have inherited the same genes. Her daughter gifted me the neckless on my last visit to their home in Italy. I promised then that I would always wear it close to my heart.

And I have.

However, there are times when it just has to come off.

When I do remove it, I have always done my best to place it in a spot where I could find it again. And, generally speaking, it's worked. But, like my cellphone, god forbid I should leave it in the same spot EVERY time.

Therefore, unfortunately, despite its value, this was not the first time it was misplaced.

But I DO remember removing it and I THINK I remember placing in the pocket of one of my garments. But, as I remember it, that garment was one of my fleece vests that I frequently wear in the winter.

So, I concentrated my search efforts on the 4 or 5 just such vests I own - to NO avail.

But, I never lost faith that it must be SOMEWHERE in the house.

Well, this morning, not looking at all, there it was - in a totally unexpected place. You should have seen the smile come to face. It's back wear it belongs; around my neck.

So, my friends, sometimes the magic works, and sometimes it doesn't. This morning it did.

KEEP THE FAITH!

fallen gods II

Words and photo by F LoBuono

 fallen gods

How I love the rain in summer

the Thunder and Lightning

at night

when nature’s awesome power is displayed

for all to see

in a bolt

to pale even the brightest city.

How I love the rain in summer

its boastful roar

beckons a query:

“Must you bellow and exult in your fearsome power,

Old Man”?

How I love the rain in summer

to hear its gentle clatter -

a soft and peaceful music

played upon my bedroom roof

to ease a troubled mind into blissful sleep.

How I love the rain in summer

for the relief it brings

to a parched and thirsty land

Listen

you can hear the earth drink

after a day’s summer swelter.

How I love the rain in summer

filling the air with scent

Fresh, Clean, Renewed

an odor of union

between earth and sky.

How I love the rain in summer

for the gift it truly is

for the memories in my mind

Flowing

like streams of water

Tears

from some fallen god’s eye.

Today's MOZEN: With Regard to Our Humanity

Original Photo by F LoBuono

While watching the local TV news, I was amazed by the vast range of human behavior exhibited in 2 stories, broadcast back to back, and that lasted for a total of about 3 1/2 minutes.

But, in that short period of time, I was moved to tears by the compassion shown in one story and horrified by the lack of any decency in the other.

Stephen Siller

The first feature was a LIVE update on the Tunnel To Towers event that raises money for various 911 and military families with runners from all over the world by recreating the steps of NYFD firefighter Stephen Siller who, despite being off duty, ran - literally - in full pack - back through the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel and into the dying towers on 911. His body was never recovered.

The event honors ALL of the First Responders who gave their lives on that faithful day.

William Burke

One of the them was William Francis Burke, a.k.a. Captain Billy Burke of the NYFD, Engine 21. After ordering his men to evacuate the mortally wounded North Tower of the Trade Center, he went back to the 27 Floor where he refused to leave a man in a wheelchair and his friend who could not be moved any further. Despite knowing his fate was sealed, he would not leave a defenseless man, an act not only of incredible courage but of immense compassion, as well.

The three perished together. Their bodies were also never recovered.

The second story was about a robbery/shooting in a bodega in Brooklyn. In the video shown, a tall young man wearing a dark hoody and mask enters the store. Within seconds, he produces a handgun and starts shooting INSIDE the store, possibly targeting an employee by still indiscriminately blasting away! Who, despite his intended target, might have been also injured or killed was obviously of no concern to this man.

It's easy to call him a coward and monster. He certainly exhibited the behavior of a person bereft of any moral compass, especially when seen in contrast to the 1st story.

However, in addition to the disgust that I felt for this misanthrope, I could not help but acknowledge that, despite the extreme range in behavior, BOTH of these men are just that, MEN, i.e., HUMAN BEINGS. We can label both, hailing one as a hero and the other as a creep.

But, by doing so, are we really coming to an understand of what it truly means to BE human? How is that one gives to humanity in the ultimate way and another takes from it without regard to moral judgement?

I suppose that this is a rhetorical question. Well, at least I don't have the answers.

What I DO know is that the only way to combat the evil that lurks in the hearts of men is to counter it with the type of courage and compassion exhibited by so many on the fateful day.

BOTH lie within. The choice is ours.

Frank LoBuono

 

Today's MOZEN: Birthday Reflections. #68

 

It's unavoidable.

At least it is for me.

As my 68th so-called trip around the sun approaches, I find myself reflecting on where I've been, where I might be going, and, most importantly, who the hell I've become!

There is so much swirling in my head that it's hard to even think about and damned near impossible to put those thoughts into words.

The very thought that so much more of my life is behind me than in front is not lost on me!

68?

How the hell did that happen?

Well, I will say this:

I think that I've done OK, not just in terms of profession and career but personally too. Like all of us, I've hard my share of both joy and heartbreak. There have been some memorable triumphs and lots of miserable failures too.

In other words, my life has been full and I truly hope and trust that it will continue to be!

And, I am certainly (often painfully so) aware of my many faults.

But, I am also confident that my heart is pure.

Despite so many mistakes and so much pain caused to many, I have always tried to do my best to do the right things for the right reasons. My execution was often flawed but my intentions were always meant to serve a greater good.

At least that was my goal.

I'd like to say that I never intentionally hurt anyone in my life - but that would be ridiculous - I ain't St. Francis.

However, even with that admission I do feel that I've always done more to be bring light and life to the people around me than darkness and despair. I've treated people with the respect that I demand for myself and have put myself at risk to defend the principals that I was taught and still deeply believe: a commitment to social justice, freedom from oppression, and, above all, the power of love to conquer hate.

I always have, and will continue to look for the light.

Today's MOSTLY TRUE SHORT STORY: My Sicilian Challenge

 

All photos, F LoBuono - Motta D'Affermo

Perhaps some of you are aware that along with my stepson, Jeremiah, we purchased a villa in a village in Sicily named Motta D’ Affermo. It is an ancient place where time has remained little changed for centuries. In fact, the current village dates back to the early Middle Ages built over an even more ancient, Greek settlement.

This is both its blessing and curse – Motta is a living paradox.

The village, located about 90 minutes from Palermo, high in the mountains above the Mediterranean, can be a challenge to get to. You can see it, glistening in the distance. 

Getting to it is another matter.

Of course, this is the 1st of many paradoxes: they built these villages there because they ARE difficult to get to (i.e., to keep invaders out). And they ARE special BECAUSE they can be a challenge to drive to.

In other words, they are off the beaten bath, providing adventurous travelers opportunities to experience a truly Mediterranean culture. If you’re looking for a valet to carry your bags, go to Firenze!

It is blessed with its ancient homes and churches, spectacular vistas, ancient olive groves, delicious, fresh food, and soulful, friendly people.

However, it terms of modern conveniences, little are found there.

There are 2 small grocery stores, a pharmacy, a small night-time bar, and, of course, the obligatory coffee shop. But there is no sit-down restaurant – a deficiency that the remaining residents understand needs to be addressed.

And Motta is quiet at night – very quiet. There are only about 600 people left. Most of the younger people have left to find work on the mainland.

Again, here is another paradox – what makes it too quiet for some, appeals greatly to others – people like me.

At this point of my life, I’m in the been there, done that phase. I had a long career in the media that involved its share of both challenges and rewards. I left few stones unturned. Now, it’s time to find another reality, one of a quieter nature.

I believe that I can find it in this ancient, frustrating, and magical place.

Besides, my entire family is Sicilian. Both my mother’s and father’s ancestral villages lie within driving distance of Motta. And as soon as I breathed the fresh air under an azure sky, a blazing sun, with the aqua blue Mediterranean in the distance, a deep, abiding peace came over me. I felt that I had come home.

Sicily, and Motta, is not for everyone – and it shouldn’t be – that’s what makes it special. I hope that it is for me.

And, perhaps for you too.

 

Today's MOSTLY SHORT STORY: If Even for a Moment.

While my stepson Jeremiah and I were exploring our new village in Sicily, Motta d'Affermo, we found ourselves in one of only two small grocery stores in town. They're kind of the equivalent of what we call a bodega here in the States - you can get a little bit of everything. In the case of Motta, that includes locally made pasta, incredible panini sandwiches, dish soap and toilet paper.

Motta d' Affermo, Sicilia, F LoBuono

We needed a cigarette lighter or matches to be able to light the stove in our new villa. Well, of course, the ONLY 2 items that they didn't have were those. No big deal, Jeremiah said, I saw some at the other store.

So, we turned to leave the store and head the flew blocks to the other bodega. As we did, we noticed that we were being approached by a local man. He looked perhaps in his 40's and was, quite frankly, a little unkempt. His clothes were worn and dirty and he looked as tired as they were. He had a shoulder bag slung around to the front of his body and one hand in it. With the other, he was gesturing to us with a vigorous wave.

We thought that maybe he was preparing to give us a pamphlet or brochure - surely something to sell. But, being experienced travelers, Jeremiah and I were prepared for whatever might come.

As he came closer, I began to realize that he was not a vagabond at all but was dealing with some type of mental and physical challenges that were affecting his appearance.

When he finally reached us, he removed his hand from his satchel, and low and behold, he had produced a used - by working - souvenir cigarette lighter. And, he wasn't selling it to us, he was giving it to us!

With outstretched hand, slowly, in Italian, from what I understood, he said, please take this and have a pleasant and safe journey.

We all smiled completely and with great joy, for it was one of those special moments when you realize that good people come in all forms and can be found all over the world.

I responded in my basic Italian, molto gentile, signore, molto gentile.

Then we went our separate ways to continue our different journeys knowing we shared the same path, if even for a moment.

Today's MOSTLY TRUE SHORT STORY: A Night in Trastevere

 

3/9/23

Well, here I am again, alone in a magical spot, not by design but by circumstance.

I'm drinking delicious red wine while sitting outside in a tiny, relatively quiet café, deep in the heart of an otherwise buzzing Trastevere. In an odd coincidence, great American Blues is playing in the background. I tell the owner, me piace la musica!

So far, Rome has been her magical self; full of surprises and contractions. She's dirty, rude, ancient, sublime, frenetic, frustrating, and fantastic. In just 3 days here I've already experienced so many highs and lows. It's definitely a love/hate relationship.

The Romans themselves are very much like their city: awful AND wonderful, both at the same time - much like we New Yorkers. I think that I may actually love the place. It may be a hell of a lot older than New York but one thing is for certain - their 'tude is pretty the same as ours!

They call it the Eternal City, and for good reason. The place seems to be mostly in an eternal state of mass confusion and decay. Yet, it not only survives, but thrives and continues. Around every hidden corner, I find another ancient vestige of long gone glory. They drive like savages and can manage to squeeze a car into a parking spot the size of a shoe box. And, everyone smokes cigarettes like fiends. Everyone. It's quite a turnoff for me to see an exquisite woman, dressed impeccably, burn one as she sashays by.

As I sit and sip, a couple of young women, speaking in their native German, take the small table next to me. The difference in the Italian language and German is of great contrast to me. Even when the Italians are loud (often), the sound and melody to their speech has a calming rhythm to it. On the other hand, the Germans, even when whispering, seem to be shouting.

I continue to sip, listen, and observe. Then, at one point, the bartender, waitress, and, obviously, a regular patron decide to come outside and stand near by table to have their conversation - and, of course, their CIGARETTES. They happily drag away, filling what was once sweet night air with a suffocating layer of smoke.

I quietly take my last sip, raise myself out of my chair, and make my way back to my hotel.

Ah, Roma, I love you so!

Today's MOZEN: A Moment of Grace

They are usually fleeting; normally lasting only a few minutes. They also come at the oddest times and usually under the simplest of circumstance. They may be ephemeral but those brief Moments of Grace are always spiritual - at least to me.

It's a warm feeling of well-being, when all is right with the world. At that very moment, your stars have aligned, your ducks are all in a row, a steady course has been set, and everything, in its own time, will be just fine. You have no doubts.

I had just such an experience last night. It was cold; below freezing - the kind of weather for a nice cuddle under a warm, hand-made quilt. 

On this night, I was fortune to have access to both.

So, when it was time to sleep, I quickly stepped out of the chilled air and slid myself between the sheets and under the quilt. My girlfriend, Amanda, was already in bed and rapidly approaching sleep. I immediately came close to her to spoon against her warm body, She responded gently to my presence, eagerly accepting my embrace.

Then, as an added bonus, my little bear of a cat, Joe, jumped onto the bed and quickly ensconced  himself at our feet, providing further warmth and comfort.

Within seconds, that feeling washed over me: it could only be described as a State of Grace! It was if I was bathing in the pure light of simple satisfaction. At that brief, fleeting moment in time, my existence was as complete as it would ever be.

I drank it in deeply, as I would from a tumbler of the best bourbon.

I giggled gleefully, sighed. And smiled. Broadly. Completely.

And, then I slept. . .