Photo Gallery: At The Water's Edge

All photos the property of F LoBuono

Today's Photo Gallery: Summer On The Tappan Zee

All photos the property of F LoBuono

Today's MOZEN: The Art of Being Human

Words and photo by F LoBuono

I like to fancy myself a student of human nature. There are few things in the world I enjoy better than being a fly on the wall, quietly observing people. I often find a dark corner at a neighborhood watering hole just to watch the local inhabitants interact. For me, the essence of the human being is filled with a myriad of behaviors - some of them are the very definition of grace, like love and compassion, while others like hate and cruelty demonstrate our hearts of darkness. It can be an endless source of curiosity, inspiration and, sometimes, consternation.

But, of the plethora of human emotion there are two that I understand the least: greed and hypocrisy.

Everyone wants their share of the pie. This is not an unreasonable expectation. If we work hard we all anticipate being compensated fairly. We want the best we can achieve for ourselves and our families. However, greedy people want not only THEIR share of the pie, they desire YOURS, too! There is not enough money nor possessions that can satisfy them. It's an insatiable lust for things. They measure their success, their very VALUE, by what they HAVE - instead of who they ARE.

Hypocrites puzzle me. Perhaps, it's because I am so secure in who I am. They talk convincingly about their beliefs but then act in a way that's totally contrary to it. The implication is that you are trying to be all things to all people. When someone does that they lose the only person they need to impress - themselves.

Certainly, none of us are perfect. In fact, to BE human is to BE flawed. We need to understand that. When we do, we give ourselves and our fellow human beings a needed break. It makes us more tolerant and patient (the GOOD human traits). The key, in my mind, is to continue to work at being BETTER. And, it's a lifetime commitment.

Today's MOZEN: With God On Our Side

Words and photo by F LoBuono

"When we have the favor of the Lord, we rest in quiet confidence that our sins are forgiven" (Romans 4:7).

This was a Facebook post that I saw recently and it prompted me to ask this question: what happens when we don't have His favor?

A nice gentlemen attempted to explain it to me by saying that we are all born into sin and that only our acceptance of Jesus will free us from our plight. This is how we seek favor from the Lord.

Well, I'm not buying it. First, I do not believe that we are "born into sin". No, I do not believe that AT ALL. In fact, to the contrary, I believe that we are actually born into grace. We enter the world innocent, "god-like", if you will. It's only during our lifetime that we experience the so-called pollutants of human nature like greed, jealousy, and hate that separates us from our inherent god-nature. It is with the practice of compassion and, as the Buddhists say, mindfulness, that brings us back to the path of righteousness, enlightenment and, if we get it right, salvation.

I understand the Christian ethic of "giving it to god". All of us experience the feeling of being overwhelmed, especially in times of great emotional stress. I think most of us at one time or another in our lives have uttered, God, PLEASE HELP ME. It's really tough to go it alone. When we have an omnipotent power in our corner, we can't help but be confident in our ability to overcome.

However, what happens when god doesn't hear our prayers? Is he not listening? Is he angry with us? Am I not worthy? After all, bad things DO happen to good people.

The answer may be that "god" does not operate that way.

In order to accept the scenario of Divine Intervention we must believe in an "active god", i.e. a personified deity that has a direct hand in every aspect of our lives - you know, the bearded old guy in long white robes. This, to most, is the very DEFINITION of faith. I get it. I just don't see it that way.

I prefer to think that ALL of us are god. At least, that should be our goal. It really is THE goal! We need to return to the state of complete innocence that we were born with. In this way we come back to god by becoming him. When we see ourselves in our OWN divine light a number of positive things happen. First, we respect ourselves more - we ARE god-like! Next, we respect others. Remember, if we are ALL god-like, consider whom you are dealing with. We also take personal responsibility for our own actions - there is no more the devil made me do it. And, finally, god can't be on EVERY ONE'S side - otherwise, the concept of good vs evil has no merit.

The Bob Dylan song, With God On our Side, perfectly reflects this last sentiment. If, in war or conflict, god is on one side then he can't be on the other. And, then, who is to say which side is more righteous? Does winning the war ALWAYS insure that?

I also think of Christian athletes who praise Jesus for their success on the field. We've all seen the interviews. The winning pitcher is asked, " how'd you do it"? "All praise to Jesus" is often the response. That may be, but how does the same pitcher explain that, in his very next start he got torched for ten earned runs! Did Jesus abandon him? Did he do something wrong to fall our of favor with the Lord? No. I think it's more a matter of it simply just not working that way.

I was raised a good, Catholic boy and spent K-8 grades being well indoctrinated at Madonna Parochial School in Fort Lee, NJ. I was even captain of the altar boys. So, I'm pretty well versed in comparative religions. All are interested in providing a path to salvation for their practitioners. However, how they go about doing it makes a world of difference. I am not interested in those whose vision if obscured by guilt or dogma that is not inclusive. I seek a spirituality that is truly open - one that encourages me not to fear god but, rather, embrace him - for we are ALL god.

Today's MOZEN: Silence Is Not An Option

F LoBuono

People often chide me, "why bother, Frank"? You keep writing and cajoling but you will never change peoples' minds! Well, I'm sure that they are probably right. But, I keep falling all over this quote:

The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by the bad people but the silence over that by the good people.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

So, I guess that I'll keep going.

Today's MOZEN: Racism, Bigotry, and the Left Lane

Words and photo by F LoBuono

Racists and bigots remind me of the people who insist on driving below the speed limit in the left lane: Either they are ignorant of the fact that it's not only against the law - it's dangerous. Or, they simply don't care. One way or the other, it's not a good thing!!

Today's MOZEN: Like Water.

Words and photo by F LoBuono

By no means is it a new concept. In fact, it's rather ancient. I think that I always "knew" it, but it never completed registered. So, let me call it a revelation. 

I need to become like water.

It came to me, with clarity, the other day. I was attempting to repair the seal on one of my water pipes. Now, stop snickering. Water pipes are also ancient, being used in many cultures to smoke various materials. Be that as it may, mine needed fixing. Without the proper seal, the water reservoir from which the smoke is drawn up and through the head of the pipe was leaking continually, leaving a sloppy mess wherever the pipe was left. So, I began the process of resealing the pipe.

I found that I didn't have a true sealant but I did have some epoxie based glue that I thought should do the trick. I applied the glue to all the places I felt required it and reattached the water reservoir to the head of the pipe. I allowed what I thought was a sufficient time to dry and then filled it with water. Within a few minutes, I noticed moisture at the base of the pipe. Perhaps, it was just spill-over from filling it? However, that was not the case. When I checked the seal I noticed that the leak was STILL emanating from there! I thought to myself that I must have missed a spot. Or, I didn't wait the proper amount of time for the glue to cure. One way or the other, it had to be redone.

I preceded to repeat the procedure with certain "improvements".  I am nothing if not persistent. In addition to the inner seal, I added an extra application of glue to the outer portion. I waited even longer this time before adding the water. Still, attempt #2 failed, as well.

I added even MORE glue.

After the third attempt, I checked the pipe for leakage. Nothing. I waited a few more minute and nothing. Apparently, my extra efforts had worked. It was holding!

So, now, besides the power of persistence, what I did I learn?

Water is patient. It can be rapid, but it doesn't HAVE to be. It waits for its opportunities. It is inexorable. It will not stop until it reaches its goal. It may take eons but water will always win out. It rages and trickles. It splishes and splashes. It dashes and smashes. It gives and it takes. Water has no form but can still assume any shape it desires. It can move boulders and mountains.  It can also seep and creep.. It can trickle out of your hand or carve its mark into the very shape of the earth. It can grow a flower as well as cause massive destruction. Water is eternal. Water is life.

Yes, I need to be more like water.

Indeed.

Today's MOZEN: BLM and R E S P E C T

Photo: The Independent. Words: F LoBuono

BLACK LIVES MATTER (BLM). This grassroots organization who's origin can be traced to the aftermath of the shooting death of unarmed black teenager Trevon Martin by a white Community Patrol Officer, identifies itself by the slogan Not a Moment, a Movement. And, a movement it has become, challenging our leaders to accept the fact that institutionalized racism is still alive and well in our society. It has also chided them to do something about it. Occasionally, its methods have been abrasive, interrupting candidates (like Bernie Sanders) and generally creating mayhem. However, it has also been effective in bringing this most pressing issue to the forefront of conversation. BLM continues to gain traction with every incident involving an African-American and the police.

One of the more divisive issues confronting BLM is its insistence that people use BLACK Lives Matter exclusively when referring to its message. If and when someone attempts to use the more universal ALL Lives Matter in its place, they are generally shouted down and silenced. BLM claims that, of course, all lives do matter. But, it is not THEIR message. Anything that detracts from or dilutes that message will not be tolerated. To BLM, it is the ONLY message of importance at this time and place. Although I believe that ALL lives do indeed matter, overall, I get the point. White lives are not lost to the police at such an alarming rate as black ones are. We do need to focus on that.

However, still, with that said, a slogan cannot become a movement unless EVERYONE buys into the message. And, this must include not only white intellectuals (those who seem most responsive to it) but MORE members of the black community, as well. Yes, the movement is spearheaded by young blacks but it is also marred by them, too. I know the socio-economic realities that face black communities, creating a very complex issue. Generally, it makes many of these neighborhoods inherently dangerous places to live. I understand that these factors skew crime statistics to appear that so-called black on black crime is rampant. These statistics can be very misleading and when studied further prove not to be the case. Also, I get the anger. I understand the frustration. But, it's not necessarily what I am talking about. I'm talking more about assuming personal responsibility.

This week marked the anniversary of the death of Michael Brown, an unarmed, young black man at the hands of a white police officer. Mr. Brown's death and the subsequent exoneration of the police triggered weeks of unrest in Ferguson, Mo. Protests and marches in the city of Ferguson were planned by BLM to commemorate the anniversary. The events started off peacefully enough but by the time night fell they had disintegrated into violence. Shots were fired. Arrests were made. Again, MOST of the people involved were peaceful. However, there were enough trouble makers to cause significant amounts of social unrest. And, it appears that the violence was not even related to the protests! Be that as it may, after the first night's violence, a state of emergency was declared by the St. Louis County Executive. Again, police in riot gear where forced to take to the streets.

So, an opportunity to demonstrate that Black Lives Do Matter (truly) was lost - lost, once again, to violence - violence within their own community - the black community. This is why, even though I understand the urgency of BLACK Lives Matter, I still prefer ALL Lives Matter. When we achieve MUTUAL respect, across the board, ALL of our lives will improve. Whites must respect whites. Blacks must respect blacks. Whites must respect blacks. Blacks must respect whites. WE must respect ONE ANOTHER. Because respect is not a black term. It is not a white term. It is a universal one. When we can accomplish that, we'll be just fine.

Today's MOZEN: The Magic Shoes

Photo AP. Words F LoBuono
(notice the cleats)

He was my absolute favorite. I mean as a kid, I liked all of the NY Giants; Spider Lockhart, Pete Athas, Jack Gregory, and many others whose names have been mostly forgotten by time. But, Ron Johnson was THE man for me. A running back out of the University of Michigan, he was everything I aspired to be as a football player. I even insisted that I wear his uniform number (30) for every team that I played for. He had good size and speed, and was seen as a complete player. And, he added a little dash to his uniform that I thought was just the coolest thing - EVER! He wore blue, kangaroo leather, Puma cleats, complete with "wings". Now, Johnson was not necessarily a "flashy" runner but those cleats gave him a sense of style, of panache'. They were to me like Dorothy's ruby slippers were to her in The Wizard of OZ - magical. No one else on the Giants wore them. In the days before Billy "Whiteshoes" Johnson, no one else in the entire league wore anything even like them (with all due respect to Joe Willie whose white shoes were more of a "gimmick"). I just had to have a pair.

Before the advent of the Internet, I'm not sure exactly how we found unusual items to purchase. But, be that as it may, I somehow discovered that Cosby's Sports, the legendary store still located inside Madison Square Garden at 11 Penn Plaza, actually carried them. Taking public transportation, I made a reconnaissance run to Cosby's to see if it could possibly be true. Sure enough, there they were, on display in the front window. Like most kids would do at a candy shop or toy store, I pressed my nose hard against the glass, and cupped my eyes to get a clear look. Yes, it truly was THEM! They were black, not blue like Johnson's, but that was OK.  They were still soft, kangaroo leather and the black matched better with my uniform anyway- our Fort Lee High School colors were orange and black.. There was only one caveat; they were $50. And, in 1971, fifty bucks for a pair of athletic shoes that you would only wear once a week (game days) was considered outrageous. At least it was considered to be so by my parents. Even my father, who supported all of my my athletic endeavors thought that beyond the pail. They would not "give" me the money. Instead, they used it to teach me a valuable lesson in independence: If you really want those shoes, earn the money and buy them for yourself. I agreed.

I was fourteen. Now, there aren't many jobs, besides paper routes, for kids and I wanted a "real" job. My dad had a connection at Palisades Amusement Park where he worked security part time. Perhaps, he could find me work there. First, I would have to get my "official working papers" to begin at such a young age. I did that through my high school guidance counselor. And, so began my life at work.

My father arranged for me to work at a cotton candy stand in the park. My job would be to make cotton candy in one of the two "booths" designated for that purpose. One was virtually under the roller coaster (not my favorite - WAY too loud) and then other was in front of one of the park's main performing stages (which I liked much better - got to watch the shows!). I was paid $1/hour - off the books - and could eat all of the cotton candy that I wanted - as long as I didn't put it on a paper serving cone. The boss counted the cones and that's how he balanced the days receipts. Funny thing though, I never really liked cotton candy and the thought of rapping it around my hand on a hot summer's day made it even less appealing. Even though my hours were supposed to regulated, since I was working off the books, there was no real way to track them. So, I often wound up working 12 hour days; from 12 pm to 12 am. I would actually walk the mile + to get home from work, at midnight. Remember, I was fourteen! But, that was in a day when it was actually safe for kids to do so.

I remember working long and hard to earn my money. On weekends the park would be packed and I virtually never stopped making cotton candy. I would add sugar in the heated metal drum or spinner and use a paper cone to collect the threads of "cotton" created - endlessly. On hot summer days, the spun sugar (which is what cotton candy IS) would cling to the hair on my arms making me very uncomfortable. One week I actually worked fifty hours. And, my boss paid me $55 - a $5 bonus for working so much! But, it wasn't all bad. Since I was a park employee, I had free access to any ride in the park - not bad for an adventurous kid! Besides, I was earning enough money for my shoes and would even have enough left over to join my teammates for the end of summer football camp (which the school did not pay for). I kept at it because I knew that all the hard work would finally pay off at the end of the summer.

After I collected my final paycheck and thanked the boss for the opportunity, I wasted no time in heading in the City to claim my Holy Grail. My father agreed to drive me and off to the Garden and Cosby's we went together. With great anticipation I remember placing my order with the salesman. He went into the the storeroom to check for my size. I held my breath. When he came out of the back and opened the box, I could smell the leather before I could even see the shoes. It was a divine odor. Then, he pealed back the tissue paper that lined the box - and, there they were - in all their shinny, new glory. I removed them and gently rubbed my fingers up and down their length, marveling in the suppleness of the kangaroo leather. I tried them on. I was transported to the turf at Yankee Stadium (where the Giants still played). They made me feel like winged Mercury! I couldn't wait to wear them in real action. I was sure that they would make me run faster and jump higher - just like Ron Johnson.

When we arrived home, my father suggested that I treat and protect the leather by polishing the shoes with a preservative like mink oil. Of course, I would agree with anything that would keep my babies from harm! So, I did - not once, not twice, but repeatedly through out the day and into the evening. Finally, it was time to bid them good night and get some sleep. I'm sure I probably considered bringing them to bed with me. But, in the end, I thought better of it and just placed them in the clothes closet for the night. I shut the closet door and went upstairs to turn in.

Or, at least I thought that I had closed it.

Apparently, I did not shut it completely. We had a new puppy named Sammy. Sammy must have been about six months old and was curious like most puppies. Well, he surely was about a closet door that was left partially open. At some point during the night, he must have smelled the sweat leather of my new cleats and went in to investigate. What he found, to HIM, was a pair of irresistible chew toys.

When I woke in the morning, I ran downstairs to check on my cleats. Instead of being were I had left them, they were now in the middle of the floor, next to very content looking puppy. He had chewed the heels off of both of them. Gone. Completely. Devoured right up to the laces. Ruined. Worthless. Needless to say, I was not pleased with our little Sammy.

I brought the damaged cleats to the local shoemaker. I thought that if anyone could repair them, this old Italian master might. When I showed them to him, he looked at me and shook his head in a negative fashion. Finally, he said: I'll try. But, the integrity of the shoe is gone. He did his best and actually attempted to create new heels. But, it was no good. The very SHAPE of the shoe had changed and they really became ineffective. I tried using them once in a scrimmage. I applied lots of extra adhesive tape in an attempt to actually keep them on my feet, but to no avail. In fact, I actually blew a coverage during the scrimmage because I was running out of my shoes - literally! What was supposed to make me faster actually inhibited my performance.

I never got to wear my prized possessions in an real game. In fact, after that scrimmage, I never wore them again.

Ron Johnson went on to become, at that time, the leading rusher in NY Giant's football history. Knee injuries would eventually claim his career. And, I still went on to have a decent career as a high school and college football player - even without the magic shoes.

Today's MOZEN - No Need For Words - The GOP Debate

There are many who dislike this photo. I get it. It's vulgar. Well, sometimes vulgar, when applied properly, can be effective. And, so, this is how I really feel about that fiasco Faux News tried desperately to call a debate of the top ten GOP candidates the other night. No further words are necessary!!