Hello, Gorgeous

Today is the day my family is in a New York State of Mind, which is sort of unfair because I am so not thinking of Albany, or Brooklyn for that matter but of my #1 island destination, Manhattan.

Sigrid, Michelle and I (Pat is working; someone has to) are taking/have taken (depends on when you're reading this; you snooze, you lose) a Metro North train from New Haven to Grand Central and will wend our way (we are wascally wabbits) from the Freedom Tower to Macy's, to Rockefeller Center, to Central Park and other points, hither, thither and yon (those, I believe, were the names of the Lennon Sisters. Yanni was their brother).

The weather promises to be 'seasonably cold' (whatever that means) and clear though if it were 200 below (Celsius) with the skies darkened by clouds of flying frogs chasing swarming locusts, that would be fine with me as I'm a huge fan of Manhattan and incidental distractions are just that, incidental.

Speaking of which what is there about the 21st century the railroad folks don't get? I spent an hour plus thinking it had to be me but nope, I don't think so. Follow along and marvel. I am able to look at Metro North schedules on line, and actually order and pay for my train tickets in the ether (they are actually cheaper on line than at the station, an incentive, I would think, to order and pay for them electronically) but I can't print the tickets out and have them.

Instead the railroad mails them to me (for an extra charge I can get them via express mail), but only in specified quantities per order (and they'll break up the ticket order to make that happen). Seriously? The days of America's railroads rolling in the dough are distant memories, they are actually historical footnotes.

That they would subsidize, indirectly, another fossil, the USPS, should not, I suppose, surprise me as much as it disappoints me. Welcome to the time-honored tradition of featherbedding, 2012 Edition, brought to me by the Whale Oil Industry (Anachronisms can be fun, I suppose, as I put on my high-button shoes).

That's why the first order of business today in New Haven is to purchase train tickets at the window in the station instead of heading for the platform. But you know what? I am so looking forward to today that nothing, absolutely nothing, to include Metro North, Michael Bloomberg or Mothra (sorry-I got into an "M" thing there and had to follow through), will dim or darken my enjoyment.

In the days to come, I fully expect to post pictures, as awful as many of them will be (I am taking them after all) of anything that crosses my camera lens. Except train tickets-because I have a digital camera and pictures of train tickets must be taken with film and then delivered to the drug store, preferably by horse and carriage, to see what develops. There's a Russian Army dressed in pastel shades-suspect that, too, shall pass.
-bill kenny

That Same Small Town in Each of Us

As has been the case often and with excellent reason in this newspaper in recent days, I, too, offer congratulations to the players, coaches and families of the Norwich Free Academy football team. Thank all of you for not only a terrific season of football but for providing Norwich some teachable off-field life lessons we should be able to use everyday.

The Wildcats' NFA football team is a wonderful example of combining ability, heart and skill with a plan to succeed and the will to execute that plan. Everyone connected to the NFA football program did more than just 'love' football or 'want' to win. They understood there would be sacrifices needed and necessary to achieve both the team's long term goals, playing for a state championship as well as interim milestones, measured in successful practices and victories during the regular season.  

They had a plan that not only kept them focused and fixed on that long-term goal on the horizon where they wished to go but also served as a tool to measure their incremental progress on the gridiron and their process for achieving what they set out to do. 

Their plan was flexible enough to accommodate change because of an opponent's propensity or a game-day circumstance but also robust enough that they never lost sight of their purpose and their pledge to one another. They were the epitome of the word "team," all season long in victory and most especially in displaying grace and class following their loss Friday evening. 

Unlike other teams I, and you, can think of, though not any who play on artificial or natural surfaces, unless you consider municipal buildings to be one or the other, they owned every moment of their season and every action they took or chose to not take. 

At no time did anyone associated with the team offer an alibi masquerading as a reason or any form of an excuse or push and shove one another out of the spotlight of fan adulation. I can only hope the rest of us were paying attention.

Next season will be here soon enough. Some of this year's outstanding players will graduate in the spring but their places will be taken by new faces with different talents but with the same  hunger. More importantly, the method that produced this season's consistent excellence is in place and has proven itself so fans should anticipate talented youngsters delivering their effort, according to plan, towards clearly defined goals.        

Speaking of plans, tonight at six in Council chambers in City Hall, the Commission on the City Plan unveils the 2012 Plan of Conservation and Development, the road map to what's next in Norwich and the blueprint for success necessary to complement all that wishful thinking and hoping for better days that far too many of us seem to think is leadership. It isn't. Ask people who have filled trophy cases the secret to their success and they'll tell you it's no secret at all. Just plan your work and work your plan. Hope to see you tonight at six.
-bill kenny

Behavior and Motivations

Someone once suggested to me that everyone who drives faster than you is a maniac and everyone who drives slower than you is an idiot. Most days I fluctuate between the two on the highways and byways I travel and on rare occasion am both at the same time.

I was thinking about that and smiling to keep from grimacing after getting passed yesterday by someone driving home on CT Route 12, a blue highway, who having tired of drafting off of my car, and unable to maneuver his front wheels onto and in to the boot of my Forester so he could be even closer, blew by me in a no passing zone.

I live and work between two of the largest and most successful casinos in the world and assume whenever anyone with out of state license plates passes me, it's a car bound and down for one or the other (and depending on the hour and how Lady Luck is treating the guest, perhaps both).

It was a Chevy Cruze with Jersey tags. We met again at the traffic signal to go left over the Pequot Bridge towards the Mohegan Sun. The bridge has been around close to forever and was never intended to serve as a bi-directional funnel for tens of thousands of cars every day but it has since the two gaming establishments opened (we don't use the word casino because of its connotation).  While everyone agrees a two-lane bridge is definitely NOT an optimal solution, no one wants to pony up the  bucks it would take to make the bridge bigger.

Do I see a San Luis Rey moment in the future? Yeah it could happen, because anything could happen though I'm hoping it's well after I decide I'm so fabulously wealthy I can stop working. At that moment, devil take the hindmost. And, without intending to boast, I did visit with our investment advisor last week to map out a retirement plan.

The good news, as I understood his charts and chat, was if I were to retire tomorrow (which it seems legally I could) Sigrid and I would live very comfortably for the rest of our lives. Assuming, he was  required by law to add, that we were dead by Saturday morning. 

None of that mattered to the guy on Cruze-control in the next lane. All he was concerned about was burning daylight when he could be losing a house payment or winning a fortune. He peered at my car, obviously trying to place me. I guess some objects really are closer than they appear in the mirror.

As our signal went green, because I was in the closer of the two lanes I had the shorter of the left turns and was effortlesly back in front of him. I could feel my jaw draw itself into the most dazzling of smiles (and I have quite a few of those) as I  flashed on my favorite Elaine moment from Seinfeld and left him to admire my bumper.
-bll kenny      

Another Unread Book in the Library of Life

I was shopping yesterday, actually I was assembling my salad for today. I have pretty much the same thing-three different kinds of lettuce (okay, two lettuce and one spinach; all the green stuff looks the same after awhile), tomatoes, as many different kinds of peppers as are offered (hopefully green , red, orange and yellow), cranberries, diced chicken and fruit-this time of year grapefruit, yellow and pink though I like it more when the offerings include strawberries and slices of kiwi.

On the other side of the salad bar was a woman with a face like bad weather. Very hard lines and very deep marks between the far edge above her left eyebrow to just to the left of her temple. The kind of face we all see all the time, very quickly and furtively and then we look away. People such as she are waiting for us to make eye contact with them because that will serve as just enough pretext to be an invitation for her to tell us exactly how it happened.

Except we, or at least I, don't want to know. Someone, somewhere walked into a door or a wall or a cabinet but all the time it was really a fist and it wasn't walked into at all. It was clenched and balled and speeding at them at the speed of rage and would have hurt them even more badly if they hadn't turned their head or ducked or perhaps just fallen down at first impact.

I don't want to know not because I don't care, because I do, but because I can't fix her or change her or help her unless and until she wants to do this herself. Too many people stay with other people in abusive relationships and you can ask any cop or any judge but this time of year is always when you have the most and largest number of damaged people. Something about that Christmas magic which makes people who enjoy hurting other people want to do it more or more often, I've never understood which or why.

This is what I would have told her in the store yesterday but she wouldn't have listened. Maybe if you've come this far on the page because you think I'm describing you, maybe I am and maybe you'll read this and at least someone will get something out of yesterday besides me and all I got was upset.

Here goes: No one can make you a victim without your permission. Trust me on this one. I know all about it and deep down inside so, too, do you. Do not allow someone else to make you into somebody you were not born to be. You are allowed to be happy because you are a good person and nothing anyone can say or do to you can or will change that.

There are too many silent screams and broken dreams in this world. Stop waiting for the pain to end. It never will of its own accord. You have to stop it and once you start to do that, all the rest of us can help. Go.    
-bill kenny

Carol of the Bills

I don't imagine you'll be especially surprised if I tell you I do very close to NO shopping for my wife or either of our children at Christmas. I don't call this time of year 'the holiday'-if anything, I would call it The Holiday, capitalization and emphasis intentional, and not intending any disrespect to you if you're celebrating Hanukkah or Winter Solstice or What-Do-I-Know-or-Care because I don't. I was raised to call this 'holiday event' Christmas so thanks for your political correctness in letting me do that.

Meanwhile, all I do is follow around behind my wife and make sure whatever she decides finds its way to the car and ultimately into the house. The system has functioned like clockwork for thirty-year Christmases in some form or other.

Yesterday, we varied the routine by enjoying a musical interlude in the middle of the afternoon a short drive the house in neighboring New London, courtesy of the New London Community Orchestra, of which our daughter, a violist, is a member. It was marvelous, though I admit I could be biased.

Except I'm not-they really are wonderful. They are very fortunate in having a terrific patron, the Harbour Towers, a spectacular condominium project on Bank Street place at their disposal the ballroom for their performances which are really fund raisers to finance their community outreach at New London public schools for music lessons for those in need. Quite frankly, I think everyone needs music so I'm happy to go.

And yesterday's show gave me the smiles and modified joy I needed to take on a neighborhood mall and emerge hours later if not exactly victorious, then Victorious Secret. C'mon, I worked hard for that one and had the element of surprise as an ally. And I hope it made you smile, much in the manner as our daughter and the entire ensemble made me smile yesterday. I'm starting to think there is a Christmas spirit and it tastes a lot like razzleberry dressing.  
-bill kenny      

Forty Years and Fifty-Nine days

Today, for all those who came of age with The Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show, marks the 32nd anniversary of the murder of John Lennon by Mark Chapman. I'm offering that link in the interests of  further proving there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. That our two children were both born after Lennon's murder gives me pause about the world I helped give them. 

John Lennon was a part of the soundtrack of my growing up years from teen through adult. If I were being truthful, and today is probably as good a day as any to try some truth, there was a portion of his post-Beatles material that never spoke to me in quite the same way as his earlier solo work or any of the Fab Four material. 

After his five year self-imposed silence, his comeback album (which is what everyone called it at the time) in the fall of 1980, Double Fantasy, was, as I referred to it on air at the radio station I worked for, 'a decent EP' (Extended Play), with some material that didn't work for me at all. However, I always felt "Beautiful Boy" was exquisite (even more so when our own was born less than twenty month later). Obliviot that I was, I just assumed Lennon and his music would always be a part of my life (and that of any children my wife and I were to have).

How perversely ironic that he sang of 'patience' in that song and less than a month after the album's release, he would be dead. His son, Sean, the inspiration for the song was to grow up without his father (as did all of us, though to a different degree) and has worked everyday to live within and without the shadow of the legend and near-myth his father became. 

The two most challenging days over which we have the least control are today and tomorrow ("Nobody told me there'd be days like these"), but in looking at the darkness that both often have in such abundance, Lennon's music should help make our appreciation of the light and this, The Season of Light and Hope, that much more pronounced for all the days that remain whose number is unknown to each of us.
-bill kenny

For Frank, Clarence and the Doubting One

I have never been able to get close enough in real life to see a duck to confirm or disprove that it (he? she?) indeed, actually has lips. Based on the AFLAC duck, I'm thinking it's yeah.

Tweets, or no tweets, His Holiness, Pope Benedict the XVI, is without a doubt, Catholic. That leaves:

Subject to your questions that concludes my briefing. Let's break for lunch.
-bill kenny