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I have found that stories can be found in the places we’d many times rather not lurk.

And cemeteries rank high on the list of places. Many regard this spot solely as the place deceased loved ones permanently rest, which is true. However, a glance at many tombstones can yield information that can trigger imagination, or lead one to think what the specific person accomplished during his or her lifetime, and what their lives meant to others.

Consider Pompton Reformed Church Cemetery beside Pompton Reformed Church in Pompton Lakes, New Jersey. I first visited the area a few years back when I wrote a series of dining assignments for a local publication called Suburban Trends. Between restaurant visits, I made a brief sojourn into the cemetery, driving slowly over the tiny roadway, pulling up and parking when I saw an elderly gentleman cleaning a marker. I walked over to him slowly. He acknowledged me with a nod, and I looked at the stone he had cleaned.

“Your wife?” I asked.

“Yes,” he responded. She had passed six months earlier.

“Sorry for your loss. What happened.”

“Well, she got ill, was in the hospital for a while. She got better and then I took her home. Then she got sick again, got worse, and then died at home.”

The couple had been married 55 years. June 9, 1951 was their wedding day.

Last Tuesday by chance I was in the area again, and made another stop, hoping to recall the exact spot of the marker, and to see if the husband had yet joined his wife in the “better” place. He hadn’t, and a single flower rose from the earth beneath his wife’s name, no doubt planted by him.

As I stood there, a light breeze blew during an unseasonably 50 degree day, and a hawk flew from tree to tree a short distance away, hoping to feed on birds and squirrels.

I thought of Lucille, my wife. This man and his wife had been married over a half century, and Lucille and I will celebrate 25 years of marriage this upcoming September. Then I thought of our wedding day, and then pondered how often this man thinks of June 6, 1951 when he visits this spot.

Also this past Tuesday, following my morning meeting and a restaurant event, I finally had the opportunity to visit the grave of a good friend who died suddenly this past August.  He is buried beside his dad, who passed away in 1987.  I remember when I saw him back then following his dad’s burial. “Whatever you do, spend as much time with your father as you can,” he said. My dad died in 2000.

The grave of my friend, who was buried in early September, is located in a tree-lined area, and the spot was still fresh, the dirt dark, moss or grass growth not yet evident. The words on the upright marker laud him as a beloved husband and father.

And, once again, an air of peace reigned.

Lucille and I read the marker together.

We held hands, tightly.

Steve

I don’t pretend to know everything, nor do I try to encourage others into believing that my way is THE way in any facet of life. I live my life, catch glimpses of what I believe may be beneficial to me and others, digest them, and jot them here to, perhaps, conjure new beliefs, attitudes or, more significantly, life changes.

But I also know that what works for one person may not for another. I therefore invite perusing of my Wednesday food and Saturday “musings and other” posts and snaring from them what may be beneficial.

And with regard to “beneficial,” a mid-August return to my faith — not just religion, but faith, spirituality really — is the most important thing that’s happened to me in six months. Faith-focus has opened up (or, better yet, re-opened?) different perspectives for me in certain areas:

– This writing life of mine – I never intended it to be a dream world. Sometimes it is; I mean, to work for yourself is a wonderful thing, but it has challenges. I have success, and I’ve had failure, and my faith has helped me realize that, now matter what transpires under both umbrellas, I still have a beating heart that, if it’s thumping when I rise in the morning, I still get another day, another opportunity.

– I’ve rediscovered my love for reading. I’m currently reading two books simultaneously: Second Thoughts by Francois Mauriac, and Facing Fear: The Search for Courage authored by Robert J. Furey, PhD. The former I found at a favorite spot, the Sprague Library on the campus of Montclair State University, and the second at another favorite place, the parish library of Saint Helen’s Roman Catholic Church in Westfield. The Mauriac offering is 51 years old, the Furey book 22, and I assume neither has been touched for some time at their respective locations. THESE types of books are exactly what I label “gems,” and they’re normally the types of books I garner when I do searches to decrease shelf space in my “Basement Library” (yes, that’s the official name).

– I was tired of being overweight and eating junk. On January 30, 1996 I was given a second chance at life and here I was squandering it. When I visited my doctor in October for blood test results, the numbers were bad enough for me, a former heart attack victim, to envision joining my late parents under the ground. Well, that’s always a concern, but now I’m taking better care of my “Temple of God” with the support of the (I think) bible of good health, Body-for-LIFE by Bill Phillips, the love and support of my wife, Lucille, and daughter, Stefanie, and advice and check-ins from my health coach, Leslea Clark Piscatowksi.

– People matter. People are important. People have feelings. I’m tired of talking about, hearing about, judging, and thinking ill of others. There should be a mirror in front of me wherever I go, so I can focus on my own shortcomings first. And, yeah, they’re there.

– I need to get to know my wife and daughter better. No scoffing allowed here. Instead, consider this. If you were to lose someone close to you tomorrow, no matter how long you’ve known them, you’d wish for five more minutes with them, correct? If I were to lose my wife tomorrow, and I got back that extra time, I’d ask her, “Tell me, what’s important to you?” I fact, I should be asking her, and my daughter, that very question every day.

I think that’s the key thing that faith has taught me. People matter. Living things — yes, beings, but animals. blades of grass, etc — matter. Cars…fine dining…bestsellers…fine wine…the White House…oceanfront mansions…are all impressive or nice I guess. But none have beating hearts,  nor do they have feelings or emotions.

And that’s more important…I think.

Steve

It pops up the moment I sign on to the Internet. IF I turn on the television, there’s a good chance it will appear on the screen.

What is it? Celebrity news. If you care to, you may and can add “annoying” to describe it.

I for one get tired of being bombarded about a celebrity’s new hairstyle, what whoever wore at whatever award show, athlete’s behaving badly…need I go on? Still, we are every day “hit” with news that, when you really think about it, is boring gossip. Translated: totally unimportant and a useless waste of time.

So, how do we avoid it? That’s how — avoid it. When it appears on your screen, ignore it, and instead find something more beneficial to do.

I recommend a trip into nature; visiting a place where you can be at (if you’re lucky) your lonesome for contemplation, and for quietly viewing how other living things live. This sojourn could be to a park, garden, the mountains or, my favorite spot, the beach.

On assignment recently, I parked my car on the side of the road in Spring Lake, New Jersey, grabbed my camera, and headed for a few nearby sand dunes:

It was the fall, and nature was in a way in bloom, golden rods appearing out of the dune. But there was more; a group of trees that were devoid of foliage and color:

I wondered how in the world, and for what reason, the branches were bare.

Spring Lake has a fairly active beach, and on this beautiful day I was not alone. People walked the boardwalk and streets, and some even visited the sand. However, this is not always the norm. Some of the spots I have visited, like some spots along the Delaware Bay, have no walking trails and boardwalks, thereby ensuring less visitation by people. A shame that is, but maybe lucky for the nature inhabiting the area, which can reside tranquilly.

In fact, a few such visits for me have lent itself to some poetry, like this work I call, “Beach”:

Loneliness in an endless beach of endless sands

No sound but the sound of the waves screaming at the top of their lungs, “I want you — I need you…”

Openness is control, but loneliness is a lack

Mornings make me happy
Afternoons lead me to think life has passed me by,
And nighttime has made my life and all disappear

My fingertips touch air; I’m ready for embrace with a heart that wants a chance

Only the grains, I think, understand
Only the sea cries for and pushes me

to tomorrow, where there’s a chance

again

Honestly, I’ll take a peaceful, quite walk in nature, watching the goings-on, enabling productive from-the-spirit thought, over gossip any day.

You?

Steve

This past Wednesday morning, I had penned on my To-Do list an upper body strength training workout.

For three and 1/2 weeks, I hadn’t missed any of my scheduled workouts, and the results are felt and seen. As a matter of fact, this past Wednesday night, a member of my writer’s group greeted me with, “Hey, skinny!” That’s something I just love hearing.

Anyway, on Tuesday evening, my wife Lucille asked me, “Are you going walking tomorrow morning?”

“No. I have to do upper body. Besides, it’s supposed to be very cold tomorrow morning.”

And it was. When I took our 16-year-old miniature dachshund Jeffrey for his morning walk, the temperature was 19 degrees, but with a wind blowing, it “chilled” at 6. It was brutal, and Jeffrey and me made sure he did his business and headed back inside as quick as we could. A little pleading on my part to his almost completely deaf ears did the trick, I think.

Then, when I reached my computer and began my meditations and prayers (some of which are Internet accessed), I thought of my wife walking in the cold. And alone.

And then I began thinking of various adversities we’ve recently faced, how we’re both getting older now, how I sometimes get impatient with her and my daughter, Stefanie, and I went upstairs to our bedroom and woke her up.

“Did you want to get up and go walking?”

“Yeah,” she responded. “What time is it? Is it cold?”

“Yeah — very cold. I’m going to go with you.”

“I thought you were weighlifting today.”

“No, I’d rather walk with you instead.”

When we arrived at Brookdale Park in Bloomfield, there was a lone jogger using the track. It was dark and cold. I grabbed my wife’s gloved hand, and we both walked into the wind, slowly. I wasn’t on this day concerned with raising my heart rate; just walking with my wife.

“Oh my God,” Lucille said while laughing. “It’s freezing.”

“We’re walking into the wind,” I said. “It’ll be better on the other side of the track.”

But it wasn’t. We decided just one lap around on this frigid day was enough, and we headed back to the car.

I don’t know why I decided to blog about this today. Maybe it’s because I see a lot of unhappy people everywhere, and I just don’t want to be one of them. Maybe I thought that morning that walking with my wife would make her happy.

I know one thing. It made me happy.

Steve