Labor Day in the US is considered by most people to be the last day of Summer. Granted planetarily it’s not for a few weeks more that Summer becomes Fall. At least here in the States the start of school – primary, secondary and even college – marks the end of when people or families will take summer vacation, though as I have talked about earlier there’s plenty of opportunity to get away thru the Fall.

That last statement is my opinion, and many people I know don’t share it. Back to school is pretty much the end of Summer in many minds. And if three months of summer was not enough, more and more Sum-sum-summertime is shrinking: many schools are starting classes as early as mid-August and some that do start after Labor Day are starting extracurriculars and athletics in the eighth month. This happened with my clan, as high school and club sports started the first full week of August. Fortunately we were able to squeeze a week away just prior to the restart of kids activities, and as you can see in the photo accompanying this post it was a great week at that.

With the start of school comes the start (or rather restart) of structure. Predictable schedules return with the kids return to classes. I am coming at this from a point-of-view of a household where both parents work remotely, and many reading this may homeschool or have other scenarios. Last-minute playdates and picking up of random summer job shifts and the logistics that accompany them slow to a manageable crawl around the weekends. That structure doesn’t make things less hectic, just more predictable. For as much as employers want to offer a work-life balance, stuff happens. Only having to work to one calendar for a majority of the day is a joy.

With summer in the rear-view mirror, the view is also blended with regret. Why didn’t we do this? Why didn’t we do that? If we only had more time! Where I don’t have as much of this as do others, I of course have some regrets. I try to focus on what we DID do, and in this day and age we also have about a million photos on our mobile devices to remind ourselves about it.

As I eluded to earlier and want to state overtly so it is not missed – I love Fall. September until the first snow fall is a great time, and read my post about top 10 reasons why that I wrote almost a decade ago that I still hold true.

Deconstructing the Change of Seasons

We can’t go back, but we can appreciative what we have. And yes, we can plan better for the future to mitigate any regret next Summer. I’ll also leave you with this – Summer by Buffalo Tom, somewhat of a sad song but one I listen to a lot this time of the year and the inspiration for the title of this post. Click on the link in the title or watch it embedded below.

---

This is from The Hot Iron, a journal on business and technology by Mike Maddaloni.

---

Did you enjoy this? Subscribe to The Hot Iron by RSS/XML feed or Read by Email

Diversions • Thrive • (2) Comments • Permalink

Experts say there are 5 stages of grief after someone close to you dies. They are (and different sources may list them differently, but general consensus on Web searches were) denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. In said Web searches I never found laughter. Yes, laughter. However that is something I experienced at my own Mom’s funeral many years ago.

It was a late spring day just outside of Boston where we had my Mom’s funeral at her church. Though I lived close by, I had only been to her church a few times, as she often came to my church with me. The pastor of my church, Father Joe whom I wrote about after he himself had died, was awesome, and his sermons were always very real and relatable to me. He was also very helpful to me in understanding the logistics of a funeral, especially the “law” at the time that only one person could give a eulogy at a funeral. As this was over 20 years ago and in the midst of the sexual abuse scandal in the Archdiocese of Boston, this was very tough for me to digest. I opted to allow my sister to give the eulogy, but had a lot of input into it.

Where I had been to funerals ever since I was a child, this time it was me sitting in the first pew. We were guided through this by the church’s funeral coordinator and the funeral home that was extremely helpful – they had handled funerals for the likes of former House Speaker Tip O’Neill, so the Maddaloni family had nothing to worry about. As it was a funeral mass, it went through the regular Catholic mass sequence, then it came to the sermon by the priest. As I had only been to a few masses at my Mom’s church, I didn’t have a strong memory of the mass there leading up to her funeral. I had met the priest a few days earlier when he gave my Mom Last Rights. We felt bad for him at the time as he was an older priest and showed some discomfort after ascending the 3 flights of stairs to her apartment.

As the priest started his sermon, I was struggling to understand him. He had a very gravely, raspy voice. I knew he didn’t know my Mom personally, so I wasn’t listening for specific stories, rather a basic understanding of what he was saying. I clearly wasn’t alone, as I looked to my fiancée (now wife) and sister who also had a look of query as to what he was staying. Then it happened - a thought popped into my head that I couldn’t get out: his voice reminded me of Johnny Most, the legendary announcer for the Boston Celtics basketball team. It was right after that the next thought popped into my head that I couldn’t shake: the famous final play from the 1965 NBA Eastern Finals where the Celtics beat the Philadelphia 76’ers after Celtic John Havlicek stole the ball as the clock ticked to zero, giving the Celtics the win. Where the play itself was famous, the announcing by Johnny Most was legendary, with him screaming, “Havlicek stole the ball!”

For context, here’s a video of the game play and call by Johnny Most embedded below, or click this link to view the video.

At that point I lost it and started laughing. I tried to hold back the physical laughing but I could only hold back the sound. I hunched over to try to hold back but couldn’t and was physical shaking. My fiancée and sister looked over and wondered what was up and I was able to muster whispering, “Havlicek stole the ball!” to which they started giggling, but to no degree I was in utter laughter. My Aunt then looked over, wondering what the heck was going on, but in true Italian form, she remained calm and didn’t get into the middle of this. I eventually composed myself as his sermon ended, not remembering a word of it. But remembering that basketball play a few years before I was born helped me get through the funeral and the day.

Why Am I Writing This, And Now?

First I will address the timing of sharing this story. I never did tell my Aunt why I did what I did, as she likely thought like others at the funeral that I had simply broken down crying. I realized this as others consoled me after the funeral mass, and I never told anyone about this. I also promised myself I would never tell this story to my Aunt at all out of respect to her and would not share it until after she died. She left us a few years ago, and to say I miss her dearly is a gross understatement.

Recently people close to me have died or came close to it, and all of whom were at my Mom’s funeral. My good friend Peter died late last year after a long illness, in recent weeks my cousin Dinita died also after a long illness and last week my good friend Eric died unexpectedly. All of them live hours away from me, so though we were not physically close we kept in touch in varying ways over the years, but in hindsight it was not enough. I also had a scare with my good friend RJ as he woke up one morning finding out he had cancer, and just the other day he called to tell me after insanely intense treatment he is cancer-free. Fortunately he and I got together recently after too many years just before he got his latest great news.

As their families and my own are going through the stages of grief, I am sharing this story – with them and with the world – for their benefit and my own and to let them know there could be a moment of laughter among the pain, and that it is ok.

---

This is from The Hot Iron, a journal on business and technology by Mike Maddaloni.

---

Did you enjoy this? Subscribe to The Hot Iron by RSS/XML feed or Read by Email

Diversions • (4) Comments • Permalink

For those readers in the US or those who observe the US holiday elsewhere, Happy Thanksgiving! Whether you are reading this as you start your day or towards the end of it as you complain about eating too much (and hopefully not during the game where my Patriots are taking on the Vikings, but I digress), I would like to share some unique tales related to the holiday.

Your humble author has actually spent a lot of time in Plymouth, Massachusetts over his lifetime. As a Bay State resident I of course visited the town for its historic role where the Pilgrims landed. Additionally I worked in the town for over a year and a half on a great consulting project early in my career (which I too should write about someday, another digression) and mixed with townspeople and tourists often. Allow me to share a couple of stories from that time.

Landmarks of Sorts

When I worked in Plymouth it was over an hour from my home, so I often shopped local businesses for goods and meals. There was a great sub shop in downtown Plymouth I would often go to, which just happened to be close to Plymouth Rock. Some lunchtime visits there were easier than others, depending on the number of tourists huddled by the gazebo that sheltered the infamous boulder.

One day after getting my lunch I observed there were only a few tourists by the Rock. Where every bone in my body was telling me not to go to it, I did anyway. I had visited Plymouth as a young adult before (as I will talk about later) and had seen it, but decided to give it another look. For those who have not had the pleasure to see it in person, it’s a large rock with “1620” chiseled into it, laying on the shore’s edge. The gazebo is a granite-pillared structure where you are standing a level above it looking down upon where supposedly Pilgrims took their first steps onto the New World. So that it is not disturbed by people, a gate is on the waterside of the gazebo, though water can freely splash on it.

So I stood there, with sub in hand, leering upon this tourist destination. It was somewhat peaceful looking down at it and Plymouth Harbor behind it. But the longer I was there, the hungrier I got and decided to have my lunch right there as I leaned on the railing under the gazebo. Where I kept the sub wrapped for the most part, likely crumbs from it landed on the centuries old symbol.

History Takes a Break

The Plimoth Patuxet Museums (known as Plimoth Plantation up until 2020) has on its grounds a creation of the original compound the Pilgrims built upon their arrival among other features. It is considered a living history museum, where in addition to the buildings there are actors who are dressed as people did in the 1600’s not to mention speaking in the English dialect of the time. Though someone who is not a fan of such places due to growing up in New England and going to such museums more than a person likely should, I have gone twice, the first time with my immediate family back in my young adult days.

As one tours the above-pictured village, you can see what is believed to be what it looked like back in the day as well as interact with people playing the roles of those whose names are familiar from history lessons, including William Bradford and Myles Standish. Though the exact location of the original compound and its specifics are largely unknown, it gives a good idea of what life was like at that time.

On the museum grounds is a beautiful visitors center that features a movie theatre, gift shop and a dining hall where you can have for lunch a Thanksgiving dinner (the hall also makes a great place to have a wedding reception as friends did when they got married at a park on the property several years ago, again I digress). Following a few hours of immersion in the history of the Pilgrims, we were hungry and decided to have said Thanksgiving meal and got in line at the cafeteria.

After a while standing in line I turned around and low and behold it was Myles Standish. Well, it was the actor who played him that we saw “on the set” a short while ago. He was still in his woolen period uniform, though he had unbuttoned the top and was wearing a very 20th century t-shirt under it. Tapping into my inner-tourist I smiled and said to him and my family, “look, it’s Myles Standish in line with us!” At this he scowled and said, “not now, I am on my lunch break.”

May you make your own Thanksgiving memories, in Plymouth or wherever you are.

---

This is from The Hot Iron, a journal on business and technology by Mike Maddaloni.

---

Did you enjoy this? Subscribe to The Hot Iron by RSS/XML feed or Read by Email

Diversions • (0) Comments • Permalink

Recently I began recalling thoughts and taking notes to write on a series of events that, though they happened over 2 decades ago, I remember fondly today. In 2000 and 2001 as President of the Boston Jaycees I was involved with a partnership between my Boston chapter and the Belfast Jaycees in Northern Ireland. These events included hosting a delegation from Belfast in Boston, and being part of the delegation from Boston who went to Belfast. To say it was a truly unique experience is an understatement.

One experience of my trip to Belfast came to mind in the last week when word that the United Kingdom’s Queen Elizabeth II died. As guests in Belfast, we were invited to the Jaycees’ President’s Banquet, a black-tie affair at Belfast City Hall, which was the setting of this particular flashback.

Something I was told of before arriving in Belfast was the formality that surrounded people in leadership positions. As I was the “president” I was to expect heightened attention and ceremony that there goes with the role. What I experienced was something outside of what an average American would observe, even someone in a leadership role. At the Banquet, I was piped (as in bag pipes) into the hall in a procession and sat at the head table along with Belfast’s Lord Mayor and other leaders of the Belfast Jaycees and dignitaries. If only there was video of this.

As I sat down at my appointed seat, I was made aware of the various drinks in front of me and told not to drink them until the proper time. The menu for the event listed the toasts of the evening that had a corresponding drink to go with it.

One of the toasts listed was “a Toast to Her Majesty the Queen” as shown above from the original menu. Upon seeing this, I figured this would likely be a grand toast, even in the capital of Northern Ireland, which was just a few years into the peace as agreed to in the Good Friday Agreement. Of all the toasts, this was one I was most looking forward to... even more than the toast I myself would be giving afterwards.

When the time came for the Toast to the Queen, a past President of the Belfast Jaycees went to the podium. As he approached the microphone and hoisted his glass, I watched with eagerness as he started to speak the words of the toast:

“To the Queen!”

And that was all he said. Three words, followed by a drink and a round of applause. That was it. Next on to me.

I recall leaning over to the person next to me and saying, “that’s it?” to which she laughed. With all of the pomp and circumstance that I experienced in the short week I was in Belfast, this paled in comparison to it. But that’s all it was, and if anything, it saved room for my toast which I was told was a tad longer than what is standard.

As across the pond from me the life of Queen Elizabeth II is being celebrated along with all the drama of her heirs accompanying it, I raise the cup of dark roast coffee with whole milk I am drinking as I write this, thinking about my time in her kingdom, and say a humble, “to the Queen!”

---

This is from The Hot Iron, a journal on business and technology by Mike Maddaloni.

---

Did you enjoy this? Subscribe to The Hot Iron by RSS/XML feed or Read by Email

Diversions • (0) Comments • Permalink

It’s that time of year when young girls around the country go door-to-door and setup tables at supermarkets to sell to the masses what they have been longing for – Girl Scouts Cookies. Only that this year, who will be answering their door to strangers or congregating in the entrances of public markets?

The show – or sales – must go on, and my daughter is taking to where everyone else buys things, the Internet, to sell cookies. You now have the opportunity to buy Thin Mints, Caramel deLites, Peanut Butter Sandwiches, Caramel Chocolate Chip, Peanut Butter Patties, Shortbreads, Lemonades, Girl Scout S’mores and the new ones – Toast-Yay. Some are even gluten free and vegan. All can be shipped directly to the comfort of your own home.

To buy cookies, simply click on the bug red button below:

If the link doesn’t work, click here to Buy Girl Scout Cookies Now!

My daughter thanks you in advance for the dozens of cookies you will be buying! The proceeds of the sales that go to her Girl Scouts troop will help subsidize the virtual activities and badges they are earning throughout the school year as well as Girl Scouts summer camps, which are planned to reopen in some fashion this summer.

---

This is from The Hot Iron, a journal on business and technology by Mike Maddaloni.

---

Did you enjoy this? Subscribe to The Hot Iron by RSS/XML feed or Read by Email

Diversions • (0) Comments • Permalink