I have a habit of tucking things away. Four generations (circa 2007) Not everything. I’m actually more of a read-it-and-throw-it-in-the-recycling-bin kind of person most of the time. But throughout my life, there have been certain things I saved anyway. Cards. Letters. Notes. A few newspaper clippings. Things I wasn’t attached to at the time, but trusted that I might be someday. So I stash them away. I think I write the same way, because I don’t spend much time thinking about who is reading the words right now. Once written, they go where they’re supposed to go. Maybe next week. Maybe ten years from now. Maybe never. But they were given a chance to. I’ve always trusted that kind of timing. If you missed Amy's other recent posts, you can find them here at Kitchen Table Conversations. And that’s how I found myself recently sitting on the floor surrounded by boxes of old photographs that had followed me through multiple moves and different versions of my life, looking for a picture from my college graduation. Thirty-one years later and I realized I couldn’t remember a single detail from that day anymore. Not the weather. Not who stood next to me. Not what I felt walking across the stage. I wanted photographic proof the day had actually happened. While searching, I found a card. White with a red heart on the front. It was from my grandmother. My maternal grandmother died a few years ago, and I miss her. She was an extraordinary woman in every way. But she was never the grandmother I associated most naturally with softness or sweetness (although she did make the best Christmas cookies). I had another grandmother who embodied that kind of love effortlessly. Warmth. Nurturing. Hugs. Comfort. Patience. This grandmother loved differently. Or at least that’s how I understood her for most of my life. She loved through action. Through doing. Through showing up. Through movement. She didn’t sit still for very long. Literally or figuratively. And when you know her story, it makes perfect sense. She grew up the eldest daughter of Wisconsin dairy farmers during the Depression, helping raise younger siblings and working the farm before becoming a teenage mother herself and eventually being kicked off the farm. By 32 she was divorced, raising five children alone while her ex-husband spiraled through alcoholism and all the instability and violence that came with it. And then, she built a life anyway. She worked factory jobs at all hours, often balancing survival and caregiving at the exact same time. She earned her GED at 40, became the first female foreman on the manufacturing floor at Kohler, bought property, and spent decades advocating for women and children living in poverty and survivors of domestic abuse. She had a way of showing up for people the way no one had shown up for her. And that’s why her memorial service was standing room only. Even her cards arrived with a kind of consistency I took for granted. Birthdays never passed without one (and it never arrived late). Usually typed. Even the checks tucked inside were typed once upon a time. Before arthritis changed her hands, she typed everything. I don’t remember exactly when that stopped. But the cards never did. Not even near the end. The card I found was from 1997. My grandma, newly married I’m sure I read the card when it arrived in 1997. Back then, it was mostly what seemed like ordinary communication. Plans for a visit. Excitement about things we might do together. A few years earlier I had moved east, and at least on paper, my life looked exciting. I was young, independent, and life was full of possibility. But I also remember feeling untethered and vulnerable during that time. A little disconnected from myself. Like I was floating through a life without having one. I would visit places like I was scoping them or checking them out so that someday, when I had a real life, I could come back and actually experience them. Weird, I know. So when my grandmother said she wanted to come visit and see a few things in the area, I remember genuinely looking forward to it. Inside the card she had typed out a list of things she hoped we could do together while she was there. More than anything, she wanted to go to Ellis Island. So we did. We took the train into the city from Connecticut into Grand Central, a place that had already started to feel routine to me by then. We caught a cab (this was in the days before Uber) and stood among tourists waiting to hop on to the ferry, the one that passes the Statue of Liberty, to arrive at Ellis Island. Once we arrived, I remember walking through the halls feeling like it was going to take forever because my grandmother stopped to read absolutely everything. But then again, she had waited a long time to get there. Don’t get me wrong, at 24 I thought Ellis Island was interesting. Now I think about what it must have felt like for my grandmother, pushing 70, finally seeing places she had only read about or seen on television. Because at 24, I was living on the East Coast, moving through New York City without thinking much about it. At 24, my grandmother was raising children in poverty with an abusive alcoholic husband and trying to survive. Places that felt accessible to me probably felt extraordinary to her, and only a generation or two separated us. And she loved history. So much so that we had a family tradition we called “cemetery hopping.” As kids, my cousins and I would get piled into her brown VW Rabbit and spend hot afternoons driving country roads from Waldo to Plymouth to Fond du Lac visiting the gravesites of our ancestors. She would talk excitedly about who they were, what spouse had died, children they had. Most were farmers with long German last names that barely fit across the stone. At the time, completely normal to me. But I’m guessing most people’s childhood memories don’t involve poking around cemeteries with grandma. And now, almost thirty years later, I’m holding that white card in my hands, the oversized red heart still bright against the front, and I suddenly understand why I had saved it all those years. I hadn’t saved it for the woman I was at 24. I saved it for now. I used to think my grandmother was better with action than affection. Now I think action was her affection. And that’s a strange thing about growing older yourself. Sometimes people keep revealing themselves to you long after they’re gone. In a way, your relationship with them hasn’t ended at all. And sitting there on the floor surrounded by boxes that had followed me across decades of my life, I knew the card had arrived exactly when it was supposed to.

Graduation is supposed to be about the graduate. And of course it is. But it also becomes something else entirely when you’re the parent. And maybe it’s okay to say that out loud. Graduation, Marquette University, 1995. Me and my mom. This weekend, we celebrated a milestone. My youngest daughter graduated from college, and we trekked up to Burlington, Vermont — one of the most beautiful places on earth — to watch her walk across that stage. There were ceremonies and inductions and honorary recognitions, all wonderful and well deserved, while at the same time we were moving years of life out of a downtown apartment near Church Street, remembering the hottest day of the year a few summers ago when we first moved her in. If you missed Amy's other recent posts, you can find them here at Kitchen Table Conversations. And this is where I have to say it. It’s amazing how time flies. It really does. Especially when you have children in your life who suddenly become adults, while somehow you still feel pretty much the same yourself. So I don’t know about you, but for me, their milestones have a way of pulling up your own stories. You know the ones. High school hallways. College campuses. The feeling of leaving home for the first time. First apartments with mismatched furniture. Late-night conversations with friends you were certain you’d know forever. First jobs. First heartbreaks. The combination of freedom, uncertainty, excitement, and fear that comes with so much of life still in front of you. And what hits hardest is realizing those memories don’t feel far away at all until suddenly they do. And you start doing the math over and over because it just can’t possibly have been that long ago. But somehow, it was. Throughout the weekend, I found myself thinking a lot about my own college graduation. And I mean really thinking about it, because oddly enough, I can barely touch an actual memory of it. Truly. I know I was there — there’s photographic evidence. One picture of me in a cap and gown standing next to my mom. But I have no memory of crossing the stage, hearing my name called, or really anything else that’s supposed to mark this rite of passage. I’m sure I did it. I must have. But it didn’t leave an imprint, or enough of an imprint to last thirty years, according to the over-and-over math. And I wonder now if my parents remember it more vividly than I do. I wonder if my mother felt all the things I’m feeling now, standing next to me in that picture, while I was already mentally halfway into whatever came next. Because I think that’s exactly where I was. My head was already gone from Wisconsin, thinking about the move, the job, the new city out east, the life waiting ahead of me. Too busy thinking about what was next to fully appreciate what was happening. Too unaware of how quickly these seasons pass. How fleeting these moments really are. And yet, watching my daughter graduate, I felt everything. Immense pride. Heart-swelling love. Admiration. Gratitude. Relief. Hopefulness. All of it. With an intensity that is anything but forgettable. And no, it isn’t about me. But it is, a little bit. Because yes, this is her moment. Her accomplishment. Her stage to cross. But this is also my experience as a parent. Maybe that’s what surprised me most this weekend. Not just how proud I was of her, but how deeply I felt the moment myself. More deeply than I think I felt my own graduation. Which makes me wonder if this is one of the strange gifts of getting older. Maybe we become more capable of understanding the importance of a moment once we’ve lived enough life to know how quickly it passes.

Cropped photo of my dad's business card. This is part 2 detailing my career. You can read about the first half of my career at Fortune 100 Career Journey Narrative Insights. While I was performing strategic planning sessions in Peru, Brazil and Argentina for Warner Lambert and eventually American Express, a young Arizona University college student named Marty Levine was majoring in business. Marty was from East Brunswick, New Jersey where he had a neighbor named Ron Garretson. Mr. Garretson had recently retired as the college bookstore manager for CCNY (City College of New York). He had come up with a business idea to give students a pocket planner that contained bookstore policies and a calendar. The cover had a picture of CCNY and there were pictures of bookstore employees. University of Colorado Bookstore entrance. Picture taken complements of my niece, Brinley, who is just finishing up her second year. The students were handed the planner twice a year when they purchased their books at the beginning of each semester. Garretson called the pocket planner Term Planner, and his new company was Term Planner Inc. He had 5,000 printed and was happy to learn that students thought them as helpful and used them to write important dates for exams and parties. Term Planner was free to students. Garretson passed the idea along to his colleagues at NYU, Fordham, St. Johns and Brooklyn College and soon he was reaching a circulation of 50,000 planners. He got the idea to go out and solicit advertisers who were willing to pay $1,000 to get their restaurants, hair salons and clothing stores to advertise in the planners. When Marty Levine came home for spring break he ran into Garretson who told him he had retired and had started the Term Planner business. Marty was intrigued and asked Garretson if he could work for him and get business at Arizona University in Tucson and some of the universities in Northern Arizona such as Arizona State in Tempe, Arizona. Garretson agreed and they worked out a commission structure. So, for four years Garretson and Marty built up a business that had a circulation of 500,000 students and a one-page advertisement of $12,000 per page or about $120,000 per issue — $240,000 per year. Garretson was 70 years old at this point and wanted to move to Florida. Marty said he would like to buy Term Planner Inc. from Garretson, and they worked out a price of $300,000 and a payout of $50,000 a year for 6 years. The planner was printed by a local East Brunswick printer named Jack McNeil. Marty and Jack became real good friends and Marty asked Jack if he would like to work for him. Jack agreed and the two of them built the business to $500,000 and it had an office on Summerhill Road in East Brunswick. If you missed Tony's other recent posts, you can find them here at Papa's Corner. Meanwhile, it was 1981 and Tony Fiore was searching for an elusive job. The country was in one of its worse recessions in history; companies were cutting employees; hiring freezes were prevalent and employees were hanging onto their jobs and not even considering moving on to a new company. The only difference between current times and 45 years ago is that AI has compounded the issue and the term "Job Huggers" has emerged. As I mentioned in Part I my search was concentrated on finding a smaller situation. Back then there were no emails, text messages or cell phones. Resumes and cover letters were sent by mail and rejection letters were received by mail. Usually on Sunday the newspapers posted job openings... mostly low level. I was surprised to see one that said Vice President Marketing, Term Planner, Inc. I sent my resume and cover letter to Martin D. Levine, President Term Planner Inc. I got a call from Marty who said he would like to interview me for the job. So I drove to East Brunswick and entered a building that had the names of two dental practices, a law firm and a realtor. There was also the name Term Planner Inc. on the directory. Product shelf at University of Colorado Bookstore. Back when Marty started distributing the Term Planner, these products were not available for sale in bookstores. I walked up the stairs and into a small office where I met Marty and Jack. They asked why someone who had big titles in big companies would be interested in such a small situation. I was honest and told them the market was very bad, and I was having a tough time even getting an interview. I told them I had a number of friends I had worked with or for that I had a shot at getting a job, but their companies had hiring freezes. I admitted it would be tough having a big office in New York with a view of the Statue of Liberty and New York Harbor and having a much smaller office with a view of a parking lot but I wanted a smaller situation. I asked Marty how big his company was and he said you are looking at it with Jack and I. "What are your plans to grow the business" I asked. Marty said the college market is much larger than people think — 3,000 colleges and universities with 7,000,000 students — all hard to reach through conventional advertising because they are in class, working part time jobs, playing sports and going to parties. They watch about 10% of the TV their counterparts who do not go to college watch. Jack and I are thinking of launching a college magazine to attract bigger advertisers such as P&G, IBM and Kraft. If you are interested in the job why don't you think about our college magazine idea and come back and we can talk more seriously about the job. I agreed and I went to the library and got a crash course on the college market. I got my information from magazines such as Advertising Age and Promo Magazine. I learned that the 7,000,000 full time students spend about $300 a month on non-book items, such as snacks, movies, apparel and sporting equipment. That translates to about 250 billion dollars in non-essential spending a year. Much larger than I thought. I decided to go to my biggest strength — strategic planning and I got down to the basics of for the MarketSource growth strategy. Existing products in an existing market New products in an existing market Existing products in a new market New products in a new market The highest probability of success is with an existing product in an existing market. What can be done to get more out of Term Planner. The answer was simple — increase circulation and increase the page rate. The idea of a college magazine is a much lower probability of success. First off there were 5 other college magazines targeting the college market. Second, the cost of a college magazine would be in the hundreds of thousands and unless there was a unique point of difference why would an advertiser be interested. I met Marty and Jack for a second time, and they were anxious to hear what I had to say about the college magazine. I told them I didn't think they would like what I had to say and it would probably cost me the job, but I had to say it and also show them my strategic plan for their business. The plan's main elements were as follows: Table the idea for the magazine Double the circulation of Term Planner Leverage the college bookstore by getting them to stock the advertised product thereby creating a unique point of difference Change the name of the company. Term Planner is too limiting Hire a college store specialist to recruit new stores to increase circulation Marty took the plan and said he would get back to me. He did and offered me the job but for half of what I had been making at American Express. He added one caveat and that was if I could get the company from $500,000 to $5,000,000 in revenue, he would give Jack and I equity in the company. That was enough for me to accept the job and the adventure began. The first step was to hire Chuck Kochan to recruit store managers to distribute Term Planners. Next, I went out with Jack and Marty on sales calls to solicit advertisers. I called on everyone I knew from the four large companies I had previously worked for and got amazing results. In six months, Chuck with Marty's help was able to double the Term Planner circulation and we were charging $30,000 a page. We were also successful in getting the stores to clear out some textbooks and make room for new distribution of General Foods International Coffee, Hershey Chocolate, Trident Gum and other products. My friends from my other companies came through since we had a good story to sell in that college students had money but were hard to reach and we could get their product in the college store — a new channel of distribution. Now we were ready for our next product launch. Step II: A new product in an existing market — but it wasn't a magazine — it was a box of samples called Campus Trial Pak. A box of samples is a win/win/win formula. We go to samplers such as Kellogg's, General Foods and Wrigley's Gum and sell them on putting a sample of their product and a coupon if they wish at a charge to us of 15 cents per sample and 3 cents per coupon. We hire an outside firm such as Burke Research to do a pre/post research study to determine upon receiving the sample how many students went to the store and purchased it. In mostly all our sampled products which became multi-multi millions over time it proved to be a payout for the manufacturer. This was an advertisement that was distributed within the R Treat box. It was stuck to the inside of the box when I had the box shipped to me. Product companies like Cheer would pay MarketSource to distribute the coupon to a targeted audience, in this case to parents at Toys R Us. So, chalk up a win for the Kellogg's of the world. It also proved to be a win for the retailer (in this case the college store) as it brought in incremental traffic to get a free sample box. It was a win for the student who got $10 worth of products and coupons free. And, we, as a byproduct of the program made roughly 50 cents a box and since we wound up distributing 2 million boxes, we had 2 million in revenue and 1 million in profit. In addition, we were able to get more and more college stores to carry the product adding a new distribution channel for the manufacturing samplers. Marty was really happy with the successes so far and he called Jack and I into his office and gave us both equity. He also gave us a nice raise. The incentive to grow the business was greater than ever. Enter Eric Weil. The cash flow enabled us to hire two new salespeople for Jack and two new college store account managers for Chuck. I hired a real gem in Eric Weil, a former product manager who worked 24/7. Eric was given the challenge of developing an idea Jack came up with. It became known as The Campus Source, and it was a 4 foot by 5-foot electronic unit that hung on the wall of the student union. It had three components — a backlit visual of upcoming events personalized for each school; an LED that could be programmed by a designated school administrator to update students on an important event or date and a 2ft by 3ft backlit advertisement of a Dell personal computer, for example. The units were free to the colleges, and we wound up installing 1,200. Advertisers paid $500 a month to put their ads on the board. We were always sold out, and it was bringing us $6 million a year in revenue. Eric was a dynamo — selling schools and advertisers. We also teamed up with Sports Illustrated and had campus events involving 3-point basketball shooting, golf putting, and baseball pitching. We teamed up with CBS and had a Young and Restless tour around campus. At this point we moved into a 50,000 square foot building at 10 Abeel Road, Cranbury, NJ. At this point in 1987 we were by far the leading college marketing company. A few years earlier we had changed our name to MarketSource Corporation. We defined ourselves as a college marketing company. We were doing over 30 million in revenue and had won a number of awards for innovation. Marty Levine was named Ernst and Young's Entrepreneur of the Year, and receive awards from the College Bookstore Association for helping make the stores into diversified retailers and helping their business grow exponentially. It was time to take Step III: Existing products into new markets. This is one of the Blockbuster Bonus boxes. This was a massive deal for consumers at the time. You can read more about the story from Dinosaur Dracula Our first was to take our sample box into Toys R Us and we distributed 5 million boxes twice a year in all 1,500 Toys R Us stores. It brought in traffic during off periods — March and August and we wound up doing this program for 15 years. (Learn more about the R Treat from Dinosaur Dracula). Next, we distributed 7 million boxes through Blockbuster video stores for 12 years. 3,000,000 boxes through Medicine Shoppe Pharmacies. Campus Source boards were placed in thousands of high schools and hundreds of military bases. Events were performed in large malls throughout the country. We were ready for Step IV – New Products in New Markets. Our first venture was The Golf Link – a wall board placed in private and public golf clubs throughout the country. It featured illustrated golf tips from our partner in the venture – Lee Trevino. And, it included advertising from car, liquor and technology companies. Lee Trevino was terrific. He gave a golf seminar a couple of times a year and won our clients over with his skill and humor. We had a big meeting planned in San Francisco at the site of the US Open where we were going to pitch a 3 year sponsorship to Toyota. Trevino was the national spokesperson for Toyota and had invited top executives to dinner at Ernie's Restaurant. I was excited to sell the program to Toyota but unfortunately Lee Trevino bailed out. For the first time in his pro career he failed to make the cut and he was so dejected he went home to San Diego and the dinner was cancelled. Toyota never signed on and Lee resigned from the program. It was our first failure. We wound up selling The Golf Link to a magazine called Golf Illustrated and basically broke even. However, the next venture with a new product into a new market proved to be a big winner. Apple was a big client of ours as an advertiser on The Campus Source. Since college stores were becoming an important retailer for them, they asked MarketSource to hire salespeople under the MarketSource name and work the college store. We would pay salary and benefits, and Apple would pay us a 20% markup, so it was a very nice venture to get into. Marty hired a former VP at IBM named Don Clifford and he wound up building an outsource sales force that serviced IBM, Hewlett Packard, AT&T and many other companies. In ten years, Clifford built the business into a $100 million dollars in revenue. So, by 2001, exactly 20 years after I joined the company it was a $200M revenue company and one of the largest in the country. We strongly considered going public but Marty took ill and we wound up selling the business to two buyers – Alloy Entertainment purchased the marketing services sector of MarketSource and Allegis Corporation purchased the outsource sales division of the company. Allegis is owned by Steve Bisciotti who owns the Baltimore Ravens NFL football team. Alloy was a public company known mostly for popular youth oriented television shows such as Gossip Girl, Pretty Little Liars and Vampire Diaries. I joined Alloy's Board of Directors in 2004 and served on it for 10 years. In 2014 Alloy was sold to Warner Brothers where it still exists. Over the past 20 years since Allegis took over MarketSource Outsource it has grown to become a worldwide success bringing in over 1.5 billion in annual revenue and is an integral part of Allegis 15-billion-dollar business. Marty Levine passed away in October of 2003. He will go down as one of the finest entrepreneurs ever. I was lucky to have found that ad in the Jersey newspaper and worked alongside him for over 20 years. Jack McNeil also passed away about 7 years ago. He was a great salesman and very creative. It has been fun reliving my past through my son Steve's web site. More stories to come.

My Uncle Ray, my dad's brother, was a really nice guy. When I was collecting pictures for this story, I reached out to my cousins, Liz and Maryann to find a few to add to this post. During that exchange, Maryann shared that she used to set up her Barbie house and cottage on my uncle's billiards (pool) table, where he would have been playing the game of 8 ball. Maryann mentioned the table's green felt was the grass for her house. As you will read below, as important as billiards was to my uncle, family was more important. If you missed Tony's other recent posts, you can find them here at Papa's Corner. ---------------------- Brother Ray My Uncle Ray, playing billiards at a local pool hall. There is an old saying that rings true now and forever. "You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your relatives". I was lucky to have a brother who had my back his entire life. Ray passed away a couple of years ago, but he remains alive in the hearts and minds of myself and his two daughters Liz and Maryann. Ray's last couple of years were tough and the devotion and dedication of Liz and Maryann gave him the strength to hold on as long as he could. The Rooted & Refined Living Expert Tip: "Playing games and sports is a great way to bring family and friends together." I would like to pay homage to my brother in this the fourth installment of my writings. I am 4 1/2 years older than Ray. This is not an approximation but as real as it gets. My birthday is April 1 and Ray's birthday was September 30... 6 months to the day. Ray (left) and my dad, Tony as kids. When Ray was 14, he took an interest in pool. He watched it on television and marveled at the skill of the players. At 16 years old he started going to the pool hall at the corner of Richmond Avenue and Richmond Terrace. My parents weren't thrilled with the idea since the characters that hung around there had questionable backgrounds. Mom and Dad came up with an idea. Why not give Ray a pool table as a Christmas present. A nice idea but it wasn't cheap since a regulation pool table cost about $800... a lot of money back then. It seemed important enough to make such a sacrifice, and they wound up buying an old fashion pool table with tunnels, not a net. The sound of pool balls rolling through the tunnels could be heard from the basement where it was placed throughout the house. Also, the idea of separating Ray from his questionable friends wasn't working since they found a new pool hall at 252 Van Pelt Avenue... the home of Lou and Flo Fiore. Game of 8 Ball Handwritten story from the first of 6 pages that my dad sent to me. Ray loved the pool table, and he would play from early morning to late night. He became good enough to enter tournaments and win his share. Ray became well known in Staten Island pool circles and he got to a point where he could run 10, 15, 20, 25 balls in a row. Few players wanted to play against Ray so he started to go to bars in Manhattan and Brooklyn and he became a skilled 8 ball player for $5 to $10 a game. The game of 8 ball involves hitting the white cue ball into a rack of 15 balls. Of the 15 balls set up in a rack eight are solids (1 to 7) and the others are stripes (9 to 15). Players must pocket all balls in their designated group (solids or stripes) before pocketing the 8 ball in a designated pocket to win. When Ray aimed the cue ball at the rack he almost always got either a stripe or solid ball in the pocket. Then he methodically ran the other balls and then made the 8 ball. Ray became so good at 8 ball that few wanted to challenge him. Until he met "Sailor Bill". Sailor Bill My Uncle Ray playing billiards. Sailor Bill was sitting at a Brooklyn bar one day watching Ray polish off one player after another. Bill was a retired Navy man who was about 70 when 18-year-old Ray Fiore met him. He approached Ray at the Brooklyn bar and said "I would like to challenge you." Ray said "I don't want to take your money old man." Sailor Bill said "I'll take that chance. How much do you want to play for?" Ray said "One game for $5 dollars." Sailor Bill said, "Come on if its only one game lets play for $20." Ray said "If you insist." Ray said... "You can break". The old sailor studied the board picked out a pool stick and then proceeded to clear the table in a couple of minutes. Ray didn't know what hit him. After two rematches Ray was out $60 without taking a shot. They sat at the bar and Bill bought Ray a drink. He said "Ray you have a lot of potential. I can teach you a lot if you are interested." Ray said sure and for the next couple of months Sailor Bill was a frequent visitor to the Fiore house. Where Ray was able to run 25 balls in a row, Sailor Bill could run 100. He was right out of the movie with Jackie Gleason playing Minnesota Fats. Ray just playing around. Sailor Bill told Ray he saw the pool table in geometric terms, triangles, rectangles and squares and he knew where the cue ball was going to land 5 shots from now. After Sailor Bills lessons, Ray became better than ever. Throughout his life he never stopped playing pool and won many more games than he lost. The Final Hustle At Ray's funeral I gave a eulogy which was about one of Ray's last pool games. Tony (left) and Ray as adults, January 2014 It was great that at the end of our work careers we wound up at the same company... MarketSource Corporation in Cranbury, New Jersey. We had a Christmas luncheon and after it was over Ray asked a few of us to join him at this new restaurant in Cranbury that had a pool table. So about 6 of us joined Ray at this place and we sat at a table having drinks and watching this hot shot named Mikey polish off one player after another in 8 ball. So Ray approaches Mikey and says wanna play. Mikey says, "I don't want to take your money old man". Ray says no problem... How much you want to play for?" "How about $20... You can break". I'm thinking bad move Mikey. Five games later, Mikey is out $100 and he has taken only a few shots. He can't believe what happened to him. Then I look over and in the corner of the bar Mikey and Ray are talking intently. Then I see Ray hand over the $100 he just won back to Mikey... who leaves the place. As Ray returns to our table, we ask him why he gave Mikey his money back. Ray says Mikey told him he has a couple of young kids and the money was for Christmas toys. Then a bar patron who heard Ray's story chimes in... "You got to be kidding... Is that what he told you". Ray said yes and he even gave him $20 of his own money. The bar patron says... well Mikey is not married and has no kids. In fact, he is a big playboy. Ray's smile turns into a laugh. "Well, I guess the hustler got hustled". That was Ray... as kind a person out there. A great brother, husband, father and grandfather. I am so lucky to have him as a brother.

This is the third installment of my dad's stories, which are quickly becoming fan favorites from my audience. I have pulled my dad out of retirement to find a new career as blogger! To catch you up, the first story, Family Storytelling Tradition With Papa Fiore, is worth reading to give some context to this 3rd story. The second story, Discovering Staten Island Roots Through Family Storytelling, gives a bit more color about growing up in Staten Island. --------------------- Family Storytelling As I mentioned in my first article a few weeks ago my grandkids got bored with me reading children's books to them and they asked me to make up stories hence the creation of Little Johnny stories. If you missed Tony's other recent posts, you can find them here at Papa's Corner. These stories weren't entirely made up. Little Johnny was a classmate of mine in Mrs. McCarthy's 5th grade class at Public School 44 (known as PS 44) located in Mariners Harbor, Staten Island. The cast of my stories centered on 4 characters: Little Johnny Mrs. McCarthy Bully George Little Papa Little Johnny: He was only in my 5th grade class for one year. He transferred to PS 44 from an elementary school in Manhattan and lived a few houses from me. His father was a cameraman who filmed commercials for a large New York agency called BBD+O. One of their larger clients was Campbell Soup and they became famous for their "Mmm Mmm Good" slogan that became an integral part of every TV, print and radio commercial for many years. My dad's rendering of Little Johnny So, one day Little Johnny's dad thought it would be fun to take Little Johnny to an actual commercial shoot for Campbell's Soup. The premise of the commercial was to show an average family at home waiting for dinner. There was Mom, Dad, big sister and little brother looking somber until Mom announces that they are going to have Campbell's chicken noodle soup for dinner then the frowns all turn to smiles that get bigger when the soup is actually served. A voiceover then says, "That's why Campbell Soup is Mmm Mmm Good." The young boy who has been cast to be in the commercial has taken ill and cannot make the shoot. The director in desperation asks Little Johnny's dad if he can take his place. His dad says Little Johnny has never acted before and the director says there is no dialogue, all he has to do is wear a frown until Mom announces dinner and then he smiles, tastes the soup and smiles wider joining a very happy family setting. Little Johnny's dad tells him what he has to do and he says "Dad, I don't like chicken noodle soup". Little Johnny's dad says you will be getting $50 an hour, most shoots take 5 hours that means you will be making $250. I guess you didn't realize how much you suddenly got to like chicken noodle soup. Little Johnny says, "Right on Dad". So Little Johnny became a quasi-celebrity at PS 44 as the Campbell's commercial he was in played countless times on television. He became a favorite of Mrs. McCarthy who never had a TV star in her class before. He also became a favorite of Bully George who kept asking Johnny to get him into commercials. The Rooted & Refined Living Expert Tip: "Even if it doesn't feel like it, there are always alternatives to difficult situations." As for me Little Papa I liked walking to school with him because he was fun and upbeat and he didn't let his instant fame go to his head. Mrs. McCarthy: My dad's rendering of Mrs. McCarthy Mrs. M was a typical old schoolteacher. She had a big sign on the wall that said: M Y O B Mrs. M also use to call her students out if they misbehaved. Her favorite line was: We have our General Eisenhower's and our General McArter's but you George are a general nuisance. Bully George had to repeat 5th grade because his grades were terrible. Mrs. McCarthy dreaded another year of him in her class, but her retirement was near and she figured she could tolerate him for a few more months. The rest of the class not so much. Bully George: My dad's rendering of Bully George His favorite saying was "If you don't do what I ask I'm going to deck you". He was about a year older than everyone else in the class, about a foot taller and about 40 pounds heavier. His frustration about getting left back made him take it out on the rest of the class especially the boys. He methodically singled out one boy a day to meet him after school and then before a decent crowd of onlookers would wrestle the boy down and make him say I give up. He never involved any girls. The only boys who were immune from this ordeal were Little Johnny because of his celebrity and George wanting to be on TV and Little Papa because I gave him my homework to copy, a small price to pay from having George sit on you. Little Papa: My dad's rendering of himself as a kid in his own stories In order not to confuse the grandkids, I kept the name Papa in all my stories. They only knew me by that name and to introduce Anthony or Tony (my real and nickname) would have created more confusion. So, in all the stories, I was Little Johnny's sidekick and I was "Little Papa". As I mentioned in my other stories, I lived in Mariners Harbor and went to PS 44 for 8 years. Ironically, many years after when I was in the business world, Campbell Soup became one of my company's biggest clients. More about that in future writings. Now that readers would be familiar with the cast after presenting their biographies, here is one of the grandkid's favorite Little Johnny stories. Bully George was getting bored with wrestling the boys in the class to the ground. Nobody even showed up to watch the show anymore. One day Bully George was walking to school with Little Johnny and I and he said I have an idea that could be profitable for me. "What's the idea" asked Little Johnny. Bully George proudly says I'm starting a company called Bully George Protection Company. As you know every day in the afternoon Mrs. McCarthy makes us take a 15-minute break to have a cookie and a container of milk. The cookie is free, but the milk money is 5 cents for a carton. We have 13 boys in the class. I will not include you Johnny or you Papa and of course myself, so that leaves 10 boys who will pay me 50¢ a day or $2.50 a week for protection. "That means they can't have milk with their cookies Bully George," said Little Johnny. I know Little Johnny, but it means they won't have to worry about being on the ground seeing my smiling face. So let me get this straight Bully George you are asking for money from the boys to protect them from you. If Mrs. McCarthy found out, she will march you to the principal's office and you might be spending another year in 5th grade. I know there is some risk but no risk no reward said George. So, George pursues this enterprising venture and is pleased to have all 10 boys participate. He doesn't feel sorry when their mouths are watering for milk to go along with their cookies. Mrs. McCarthy is clueless as to what is happening and thinks the boys might think the milk is sour. After a month, Bully George celebrates his 10 dollars by buying a fancy yo-yo and a Spalding ball. Little Johnny is not so amused by Bully George's business acumen, so he approaches the bully and details a plan for George to consider. He says George "Congrats on your business but if you want it to grow you are going to have to invest in it." "What do you mean Little Johnny" says George. Little Johnny says well you are going to need a salesman to get you new clients. I can do that job, but you will have to pay me 20¢ a day. Then you will need an accountant (Little Papa) to take care of your books and pay your taxes. And, you will need a marketing manager to develop an advertising campaign Bully George Protection Company. That will cost you another 20¢ each for Papa and the marketing manager (Little Sally). George says, "Great idea Little Johnny but I will be losing 10¢ a day". That's what happens to start-up companies George, but the investment will pay out over time. So, George follows Little Johnny's plan and in 5 months he is forced to declare bankruptcy. Little Johnny has outsmarted Bully George once again. Little Johnny and Little Papa returned all the money plus interest to the 10 classmate boys who had to contribute to George. Everyone in the class enjoyed their milk and cookie again- except Bully George who spent milk and cookie time in the principal's office.

This is the second story from my dad, Tony Fiore. If you missed the first one, Family Storytelling Tradition With Papa Fiore, it became a fan favorite. Below, my dad shares a bit about growing up in Staten Island along with his days in college. Staten Island Roots I would like to give a bit of a prelude, to my second story by telling about my family life growing up (Staten Island Roots). I was born and raised in Staten Island, New York. The smallest of the five boroughs of New York City, Staten Island is most known for its scenic ferry ride with views of the Statue of Liberty and the Manhattan skyline. Fiore Bros (you can see the name on the two pillars) circa 1950 maybe. If you have a relative from Staten Island that is older than 60, they will know of Fiore Brothers and the orange trucks. I was raised in a modest home in Mariners Harbor... known for its shipyards. My house on Van Pelt Avenue had more visitors than the local diner because my mom, Flo, always had something cooking that was homemade. If you missed Tony's other recent posts, you can find them here at Papa's Corner. My younger brother Ray was a great billiards player, and he and his friends headed to our basement where an old-fashioned pool table was located. The Rooted & Refined Living Expert Tip: "Sitting around the kitchen table, smelling the scents of home cooking and great conversations, can elevate the sensory experience." My dad, Louis, was known as Louie the Bookkeeper. He was one of five Louis Fiore’s, all with different nicknames to distinguish them from one another... Louie the Oilman, Louie the Salesman, Louie the Dispatcher and Louie the Bossman. All worked for Fiore Brothers Fuel Oil Company, a firm established in the 1920’s by my grandfather Anthony and his two brothers... Ferdinand and Michael. They also had a sister Rose who was not involved in the business. Rose's husband Frank drove an oil truck for Fiore Bros for 30 years. This was not an easy job as many of the roads in Staten Island are narrow, winding, and have lots of hills. Page 4 of 6 from my dad's handwritten story Fiore Brothers survived the Great Depression of the early 1930’s by becoming a barter company and eventually rose to be the largest fuel oil company on Staten Island with 12 large oil trucks, a few coal trucks and 40 employees, mostly family. Anyone who married into the Fiore family was guaranteed a job which was a testament to the family values of the company. My dad preferred to be called Louie the Accountant, but Bookkeeper stuck for his entire life. When Fiore Brothers customers received their oil deliveries, they usually preferred to pay the Fiore Brothers delivery man after the oil was pumped into their tank. Some preferred to pay at the company office in Elm Park. One of those people was a Mr. P. His son was a Big Man on Campus at the local Staten Island college called Wagner College. His son, Al, was captain of the football team and President of one of the larger fraternities—Alpha Sigma Phi. So one in the early summer of 1959 Mr. P came into Fiore Brothers to pay his bill and he and my dad started chatting. My dad told him that his son Tony had just graduated Port Richmond High School and was enrolled to go to Wagner College. "Great" said Mr. P, "I'll tell my son Al about him, and he will get him into his fraternity." Sounded good but unfortunately it doesn't work that way. Fraternities and sororities have membership drives the beginning of each semester and then the members vote on who should get a bid to join. The President cannot dictate who becomes a member, so I am sure that when Al was told about me, he let his father know the procedure. However, Al's father never said another word about it, and I walked onto campus thinking I was a lock for Alpha Sigma Phi brotherhood. Alpha was one of 7 campus fraternities and what distinguished it from the rest was that 90% of its members were on the Wagner football team—I was a baseball player. The Wagner College Experience The other fraternities, Phi Sigma Kappa was for the brainy guys; Delta Nu was our Animal House, etc. So Al, with the pressure of his dad, tried to sell me to the Alpha brotherhood. It wasn't easy but he didn't want his dad to have to face my dad and say "I'm sorry your son doesn't have what it takes to be Alpha Sig." Al took on the challenge and somehow persuaded the Alpha brotherhood of 70 members to vote me in. I proudly accepted my membership and made some lifelong friends because of it. More about my friends in future writings. This was the winning fraternity, Phi Sigma Kappa, which is not the one my dad joined. Even Delta Nu, which was considered the Animal House of the college fraternities, came in second place with barely any practice. The biggest day of the year for fraternities and sororities is Songfest... a big singing event that is held every May and it packs the Field House and is a worthy fundraiser for various Staten Island charities. Winning is a big, prestigious deal and I couldn't believe how many practices would be held before the big, nighttime event with an orchestra and spotlights. Each participating fraternity was assigned a professor from the music department to coach and mentor us. The song we chose was "Carolina in the Morning" originally sung by Al Jolson. It was a catchy upbeat song, and our fraternity was confident we could win with it. So we are having our first practice and the music professor assigned to us, a stern bespeckled man in his late 50's Mr. Denby, summons me to talk privately with him. He says, "Mr. Fiore I know this means a lot to you to sing at Songfest, but your singing is throwing others off. I am requesting you get up on stage with the rest of the group but please only mouth the words." I protest to no avail, and I sheepishly get back to practice, and lip sync this fun song. Mr. Denby, after a few weeks of practices feels we are ready to go and that we have a chance of winning. The night of Songfest arrives. I didn't have the heart to tell my parents who were attending that I was banished from letting a sound come from my mouth, so I put on my tuxedo and stuck my carnation in my lapel and went off to the big event. The crowd is at capacity, and the orchestra starts playing the prelude and all of a sudden, they start singing: "Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina in the morning. No one could be sweeter than my sweetie when I meet her in the morning." I can't take it. All of a sudden, I start singing the words and I see looks of dismay from my brothers next to me on stage. I can't believe I defiantly disobeyed our conductor's request. Neither can my fraternity brothers who look like they lost a football game on a last second pass. We wind up finishing 3rd and I became the scapegoat. For years after that at every fraternity reunion someone greets me and brings it up. "I can't believe you would do that Fiore. It is so unlike you. We hardly knew you existed until that night." Oh well, I'm not going to let a bunch of sore losers ruin what could have been a great singing career. Till the next episode, Childhood Lessons and Family Storytelling: A Papa Fiore Memory, which is now posted.

If you are following along with my family stories, I recently shared about how I helped Matthew and Michael start small businesses while they were in high school in a 2-part series (Part 1 and Part 2). Papa with Emma, Michael, and Matthew on a hike, October 2009. I share all this as a backdrop to my next topic, family storytelling, which is my dad, or as the kids call him, Papa. I have shared a few mentions of him in my stories, most recently, about our trip to California last week and the connection to us buying the most comfortable bed. If you missed Tony's other recent posts, you can find them here at Papa's Corner. During this visit, I was sharing with my dad some additional details about this website and his interest to learn more. On the plane ride home, I came up with the idea that he could be a guest writer on the site. My dad is a great storyteller, though it is sometimes hard to determine where the real story ends and the exaggeration begins. I also think that each time my dad tells a story, they have gotten a bit more exaggerated, always keeping us wondering how real or how imaginary his stories are. As I was pondering what angle I could have him share his stories, nestled in the Rooted & Refined Living lifestyle section, I initially thought his 60 and 70-year-old friendships that started in high school and college respectively could be a great starting point. The Rooted & Refined Living Expert Tip: "Don't worry about accuracy. Preserving family history through storytelling can be a great way to pass on memories and feelings of nostalgia to future generations." We bounced around a few ideas and within a few days, my dad shared his first story, and true to form, he wrote about an imaginary person that was born from real life events of his childhood. My kids heard these stories all the time and now they will be chronicled as a part of this website as my dad shares his stories growing up in Staten Island through his friendships today that have lasted 60 and 70 years. With no additional introduction, here is my dad's first story. There will be more to come. One last thing. My dad writes all of his stories on yellow legal pads and then takes pictures. I then use AI to convert it to text which is a huge time saver for both of us. Papa's handwritten notes. He also writes in all caps as you can see. I used Google Gemini to translate this photo to the text below. Papa's Introductory Story Hi, my name is Tony Fiore. I am Steve's Dad and I live in Orange County, California. Steve lives in a small town west of Boston. He recently came to visit me and enjoy some sunshine after enduring some very cold periods in the Northeast. His web site, Rooted & Refined Living, is doing very well and he asked if I would like to contribute some articles based on my life experiences. I agreed and this will be my first contribution. Steve and his wife Marybeth have 3 children... Matthew 23, a recent Bryant grad and currently employed in Human Resources. Michael, 21, a senior at Keene State College and Emma, 19, a sophomore at University of Connecticut. About 15 years ago, I was visiting Steve on a cold January day and the kids who were 6, 4 and 2 wanted me to tell them a story. So I made up a story about a young boy named Little Johnny. I introduce other characters who interacted with Little Johnny such as George, the school bully, and Mrs. McCarthy, his teacher. The stories became so popular with the kids that when I finished one they wanted another. I got a kick out of how much laughter they got out of these made up characters and stories. Little Johnny was always in trouble but somehow figured a way to come out on top at the end of the story. Then, on a cold wintery day as I was nearing the end of my visit, Marybeth said Matthew would like you to walk him to the school bus stop. I said sure and bundled myself up for the walk to the bus stop with little Matthew who was in first grade back then. When we got to the bus stop there were about 10 moms and dads and their sons and daughters waiting for the bus to arrive. I exchanged a few hellos and stood in line for the bus. At that moment Matthew in a clear, loud voice says "Papa (that was my grandfather name), my mom says 'All your friends are imaginary'." Everything went silent and I could see moms and dads yanking their kids hands and pulling them away from me. I'm thinking, OMG what must they be thinking? Should I try to explain that I have real friends? How the heck does a 6 year old know the word imaginary? When the heck is this bus coming? So I did nothing – just stood there looking guilty waiting what seemed like an eternity for the bus. Here is a visit to Lake Mead on our trip to Las Vegas. We flew out and my dad drove to meet us. Then, the bus came and as Matthew was boarding he said "Papa are you going to pick me up when I get out of school?". Before I could answer some woman with a scowl on her face says "I hope not". I'm sure those parents had a good chuckle at my expense. Anyway, that's my first contribution. I have a few others and maybe some of my imaginary friends will pop up. If you enjoyed Papa's first trip down memory lane, you can read his next story here: Discovering Staten Island Roots Through Family Storytelling Do you have a funny story that your parents or grandparents tell over Sunday dinners? If so, please share in the comments section below.

"Nothing About This Nest Is Empty" “Empty nester” is a phrase we use without thinking. Which is probably why no one stops to question what it actually implies. It’s a strange phrase when you really stop and look at it. Loaded with assumptions we rarely examine. The word “empty” doing most of the work—suggesting absence, loss, something finished. And more often than not, it lands squarely on her. Why her? Because the “nest,” whether we say it out loud or not, has always been hers. The one who kept it running, filled it, managed it, held it together. So when it’s “empty”…what exactly is that supposed to mean? That something is over? That something is missing? That she is? *** If you missed Amy's other recent posts, you can find them here at Kitchen Table Conversations. I’m speaking from experience. I’m the “her.” My nest has been empty for a few years now. I raised daughters, and like many families, we went through those in-between years—college, summers home, back and forth. A kind of emotional whiplash where they’re gone, then back, then gone again. And then one day, that chapter closes too. It’s bittersweet in a way that’s hard to fully explain—watching, knowing, feeling what it means to have launched two young women into their lives. Out of the proverbial nest. And like any transition, there’s a honeymoon phase. Instead of your days spent freezing on a soccer field, or your butt numb from sitting on bleachers, or mornings full of chaos, or those unexpected calls in the middle of the day—the broken bones, the colds, the heartbreaks, all of it… You now have, well…time. To do whatever. You. Please. Imagine that. It’s real. It’s energizing. And then, like anything, it settles. The novelty fades. Real life returns. And what you’re left with isn’t empty. It’s spacious. In a way that can feel wide. Open. And, at times, unfamiliar. And you might not know what to do with it. So I’m sharing this from that place—not as good or bad, just honest—some of what that spaciousness can hold. ________________________________________ There’s spaciousness in the relationships. What’s left is…well, you. And whoever you still live with. Probably the person you built this life with. And they’re navigating this “empty nest” too—in their own way. Their own shift in routine. Their own sense of freedom, or loss, or something in between. Things have changed. Even if you did all the “right” things along the way. Even if you had date nights. Even if you stayed connected. You can’t really prepare for this. Because for years—decades, really—your relationship existed inside something larger. A shared focus. A constant motion. A life being actively built and managed together. And now, that layer is gone. That phase of life is behind you, and the way you operate together changes. And what’s there now has more room. More visibility. Which can feel good. And unfamiliar. And, at times, a little exposing. Not because something is wrong. But because you’re both seeing things more clearly—without the buffer of everything that used to move between you. Don’t be surprised by that. But it doesn’t mean something is broken. It means something has shifted. And like anything that shifts, it asks something new of you. ________________________________________ There’s spaciousness in the house itself. Rooms that are still full—but no longer in use the same way. Closets, drawers, corners that hold more than just things. The high school sports gear. The art projects. The crafts. The stack of poster board you always kept on hand because someone, inevitably, needed something the night before. The swim goggles and cap from junior year. The ballet shoes still tucked into the pink bag you thought she might go back to. The jibbitz from the purple crocs she wore to Disneyland. All the Webkinz—some still with the tags on. And, of course, everything an American Girl could need, want, or imagine. You know they won’t need any of it anymore. But that doesn’t mean you can just throw it out. Because it’s not just stuff. It’s time. It’s memory. It’s entire seasons of your life—and theirs—sitting quietly on a shelf. Tangible, but holding something you can’t touch anymore. Versions of them—and of you—still there, but not accessible. Almost like little ghosts of a life that isn’t lived that way anymore. Not waiting, exactly. But not fully gone either. And you will be tempted to do one of two things. Or both. Clear it all out, or keep it all there. There’s no wrong answer. For me, there was something freeing about clearing space. And something unexpectedly hard about being the one who had to decide do it. ________________________________________ And then there’s the spaciousness that belongs to you. This one is big. If you’re like me, it might feel disorienting at first. Not bad. Not good. Just…different and unfamiliar. You’re still a mother. That doesn’t change. But you’re no longer needed in the same constant, immediate way. And that creates spaciousness—real spaciousness—for something else. And that “something” isn’t always clear. The questions start small. What do I want (like, for dinner)? And then, without warning, they get bigger. What do I actually want (like, for the rest of my life)? And you may not have an answer to either. That doesn’t mean something is wrong. It means something is opening. This is where you start to trust yourself. And actually listen. Because you’re not just adjusting to a quieter house, or a different rhythm, or even a different relationship. You’re face to face with a version of yourself that hasn’t had much room—until now. And just like any good relationship, there’s no shortcut for that. ________________________________________ So no, it’s not empty. And we should probably stop calling it that. Because this phase isn’t about what’s gone. It’s about what’s here now. Spacious. Open. Alive in a different way. And maybe that’s the point. Not to rush to fill it. Not to define it too quickly. But to let it be what it is— And see what has room to emerge.

"Paying Attention to Birds" Have birds changed or are we just noticing them? Because I’ve been fascinated with birds lately. Not in a “this is my new hobby” way. Just in the morning, with coffee, looking out the window, and somehow getting pulled into whatever is happening out there. There’s a feeder. It’s squirrel-proof, but there’s always a squirrel getting into it anyway. And then there are the robins, already out there doing whatever it is they do this time of year—which, apparently, is figuring out where to nest. Around here, that starts now, and by June there are hungry babies. None of that is new. So why does it feel like it is? ________________________________________ If you missed Amy's other recent posts, you can find them here at Kitchen Table Conversations. Maybe it’s just spring. This is when birds are the most active. That part is real. But the more you pay attention, the less random it sounds. What I used to think of as just background noise is actually more specific than that. Some of it is territorial—marking space. Some of it is about mating. And they don’t just have one sound—they change it depending on what they’re doing. When you sit and really listen, eyes closed, it’s obviously intelligent. Even the timing of it—early morning isn’t random. The air is quieter, the sound carries further. So what feels calm on our end is actually a lot happening on theirs. And then you realize you can actually figure some of it out. There are apps now that will listen and tell you what bird you’re hearing. You hold up your phone and suddenly it’s not just “a bird,” it’s a specific one, with its own patterns and habits. Which is a strange thing to find yourself doing. And once you know even a little of it, it’s hard to go back to not hearing it. ________________________________________ Or it’s something else entirely. There’s also the part people don’t always say out loud. That birds can start to feel… meaningful. Certain ones show up and it doesn’t quite feel random. A hawk circling overhead. A cardinal landing nearby. And then your brain goes a step further than it used to. You start to wonder if the hawk means something. If it’s someone. You think about your dog—gone a few years now—and then, there’s that cardinal again. Is that a coincidence? Only if you believe that it is. And maybe you do. Or maybe you don’t. And that’s new too. At the same time, there’s actual science behind the idea that they’re responding to things we don’t see. Magnetic fields. Air currents. Subtle shifts in the environment. They’re navigating with information we don’t consciously have. So they are, in a real sense, tuned into something else. Not in a way we need to define. Just… something we’re not part of in the same way. ________________________________________ Or maybe we’re just noticing. Maybe nothing changed. Maybe we’re just noticing. And there’s a part of that that’s easy to resist. Because paying attention to birds feels like something that belongs to a different category of person. People with time. People who aren’t in the middle of everything anymore. Not us. And yet. They are kind of incredible. And we’re standing there, watching them, having thoughts about them we probably wouldn’t have had before. So maybe the category was off. Maybe it was never about “old people liking birds.” Maybe it was about something else that comes with time. ________________________________________ Because this has all been happening the entire time. The same patterns. The same movement. The same songs, every spring. Generations of it, right outside, whether we were paying attention or not. The whole time. And our attention was somewhere else. On what was next. On what needed to get done. On everything that felt more immediate, more important. And now, for whatever reason, it isn’t. Or at least, not all of it is. Now there’s space to see this too. Not as a replacement for everything else. Just alongside it. The fact that there’s this constant layer of life happening—organized, active, repeating itself—right outside. And always has been. ________________________________________ So no, I don’t think birds have changed. But I do think it’s worth paying attention to the moment when you realize you have.

"Your Stuff Is Not Just Stuff" There’s a moment—usually when you’re not even looking for it—when your things stop feeling neutral. You pick something up, or even just look at it, and instead of seeing what it is, you feel what it carries. The memory. The association. The version of you it’s tied to. Because your environment is never neutral. It’s in constant conversation with your nervous system. And that’s when you realize—this was never just about stuff. ________________________________________ If you missed Amy's other recent posts, you can find them here at Kitchen Table Conversations. A lot of us grew up in a different kind of world. Buying wasn’t frictionless. You went to the store. You thought about it. You saved for it. Marketing was something you passed on a billboard, not something that followed you, studied you, and learned you. Now we can have almost anything within hours. And the people selling it to us often understand our desires—and our insecurities—better than we do. So we buy. We build lives that look full. Closets, kitchens, drawers, shelves—all filled with things that were supposed to make life better, easier, more complete. And for a while, it works. Until it doesn’t. It becomes too much. Not only because of how much we have—but because of how often we’re being affected by it. Every object is asking for something, even if it’s just a reaction. Overwhelmed. Overstimulated. Out of control. Tired. Not enough. ________________________________________ There was a dress I used to love. Black and white houndstooth. Tailored perfectly. The kind of dress that made me feel capable, prepared, pulled together. I wore it to an important business meeting. And that day became one of the worst professional moments I’ve ever experienced. The dress didn’t change. But what it holds did. Now when I see it, I don’t think about how it fits. It reminds me of that day. That moment. That version of myself. And I have to ask—why would I keep something that takes me right back there? Maybe you have something like that too. ________________________________________ Some things I’ve let go of in ways that might sound extreme. I’ve burned clothes. Clothes I wore on the days I had to say goodbye to my dogs. Days that held a kind of love and weight that doesn’t need explaining—if you’ve been there, you know. Those clothes carried it. Not just sadness—but the magnitude of that moment. And I knew I couldn’t wear them again. They weren’t meant to be worn anymore. Not because I wanted to forget—but because that kind of moment doesn’t belong in an ordinary Tuesday. ________________________________________ And then there are the things that show up differently. Not tied to one moment—but there, every day. The KitchenAid mixer. The one that reminds you of the person you think you should be—the one who bakes from scratch, who shows up with something homemade instead of something in a box. The jeans that technically fit—but only if you’re standing. Close, but not quite there. Exercise equipment you don’t use. Unread books. Recipes saved for someday. Or the things you keep because you spent too much money on them—quiet reminders that you got it wrong. You wasted money. You believed something you shouldn’t have. None of it demands your attention. But it’s always there. And every time you see it, something in you responds—even if you don’t consciously notice it. A slight tightening. Something in you bracing, just a little. And over time, that adds up. ________________________________________ We’re often told to ask, “Does it bring you joy?” But that question doesn’t always go far enough. A better question is: What does this make me feel? Not in theory—but when you actually see it, touch it, live with it. Because your body answers that question before your mind does. Because sometimes the answer is simple. Not enough. Not yet. You should be more. You got this wrong. And once you start noticing that, it’s hard to unsee. ________________________________________ Living intentionally, in a world of stuff, isn’t about having less for the sake of it. It’s more than just finding your keys, or the best closet organization system, or the right baskets and containers. It’s about creating a space that supports you. A space that reflects who you are now. That means keeping what feels like alignment, and letting go of what feels like pressure. It means paying attention to what in your space feels grounding—and what feels like it’s keeping score. It also changes how you bring things in—not from restriction, but from honesty. Do I actually want this? Or do I want what I think this says about me? ________________________________________ Because the way you live starts to change when you make decisions this way. You bring in less of what you don’t need. You hold onto fewer things out of guilt, cost, or expectation. And what’s left starts to feel different. Not empty. Not minimal for the sake of it. Just… intentional. A space that supports you. A space where the things around you feel like you—how you live, what you enjoy, what you reach for without thinking. Things you actually like. That you chose. That feel good to see, to use, to live with. Things that carry something positive. Or nothing at all. ________________________________________ And that changes the experience of being in your space. You’re not managing it. You’re not reacting to it. You’re just… in it. If you missed Amy's other recent posts, you can find them here at Kitchen Table Conversations.

Michael, in blue, guiding a group of young students in the Kennebec River, The Forks, Maine This past summer, with my son Michael, I embarked on an incredible sensory experience while we were traveling down the Kennebec River in The Forks, Maine white water rafting when I noticed something I wasn't expecting. It was the smell of pine. In the raft was a bunch of Massachusetts middle school students from an all-boys school who were on a school trip, chaperoned by one of their teachers. The teacher who also picked up the scent of the pine, shared with the boys to remember the sensory experience, especially as it was combined with the rushing water as we hit wave after wave. Of course, as you can imagine, the middle school boys just looked at him, with blank stares, but I assume his comments landed with at least one of the six boys. The other notable part to this story is Michael was also the white-water rafting guide. More on that in a bit. If you recall from my first post, Dick Taylor Craft Chocolate Review: The Intersection of Art and Flavor, I talked about Michael's love for trucks and watching the same Dirty Jobs episodes over and over again. When Michael was about 12 or 13, he asked for a camping tent for his birthday. I remember giggling because Mary Beth and I never took the kids camping. I only went once with friends just after college and remember feeling like a fish out of water. There was nothing natural or relaxing about camping to me. You will also read in a future post that we own Marriott timeshares down in Aruba. That is more my speed. A summer day at the Kennebec River, The Forks, Maine Michael's connection with nature was different, and one Mary Beth and I have learned to appreciate more as we got older, and a lot of that has to do with Michael. We did purchase the tent for him and set it up on our 3-season porch. We asked where Michael was going to camp and he stated in our yard and woods, which are directly behind the house. Over his high school years, Michael and his friends would camp in our yard and and as they got a little older, in the woods, having a great time. At some point during that time, we bought one of those outdoor firepits from one of the big hardware store chains only to have it fall apart after one season. With the help of a friend, we did buy one where we had to build it and Michael and his friends would build fires, camp, and just have fun. The Rooted & Refined Living Expert Tip: "Stacking multiple senses in a single experience will etch the positive experience into your long-term memory." Fast forward a few years, Michael is in his final semester at Keene State College in New Hampshire studying Sustainable Product Design and Innovation, where he gets to build things, primarily with wood. He wants to leverage that passion and become a high school wood shop teacher upon graduation. Michael's Registered Maine Guide Patch Towards the end of his second year, he signed up for an outdoor leadership class. It was a 5-day immersive class run by one of the Keene State professors, who was also a licensed Maine State White Water Rafting and Recreation Guide. She took Michael and 5 other students up to The Forks, Maine for a series of outdoor activities including white water rafting, hiking, rappelling, and rock climbing. Because of Michael's love of teaching, the professor suggested that Michael would be a great white-water rafting guide and he should look to apply the following year. The comment Michael made following his trip was that he "never felt more connected to a location than he did up at The Forks". Do you know how many times Michael went white-water rafting before this course...zero. Michael guiding. It does look harder and more dangerous than it actually is. Maine White Water Rafting Michael was going to go from never going rafting to being a guide. By the time he started his license training, he went 3 times beforehand. So, Michael, Mary Beth, and I started a quest of understanding what it took to be a guide, and through a few birthday and Christmas presents from us and family members, he amassed the gear he needed to guide. This is a similar concept of being a mechanic where you need to buy your own tools. Michael needed a helmet, paddle, life vest, rope, knife (to cut the rope), medical supplies, etc. At the end of his spring semester last year, Michael applied and was accepted to be a guide. He had one week of training last summer and then would become certified. As an aside, Maine is one of the few states that requires guides to be certified. Michael and some of his fellow guides on a fun run during an off day. It was mid-May when Michael and his peers took the training. The challenge with the week they took the training, it was unseasonably cold. Michael, and his peers, pushed through and ultimately became certified later that week. Following the training week, Michael started as a certified white-water rafting working for Adventure Bound. Adventure Bound specializes in bringing middle and high school age students on class trips or similar visits from local summer camps in the New England area. The students get to do all of the things Michael did when he was in his leadership class including the hiking, rappelling, and rock climbing. Michael is currently working to obtain his certified Maine recreation license as well this year. The Adventure Bound team, summer 2025 The sister company to Adventure Bound is Northern Outdoors. Northern Outdoors caters to adults and families. They offer all of the same summertime activities including the white-water rafting, plus ATVs. and even host weddings. During the winter, they offer snowmobiling. Northern Outdoors (which Michael has helped out and guided for from time to time), also has a great restaurant, bar, small gift shop, and accommodations. When we went to visit Michael a few times during the summer, we stayed at Northern Outdoors. The hospitality was fantastic. They also offer a variety of lodging options including the hotel in the main building (where we stayed), cabins for large parties, and a camping area where you can pitch your own tent and use the community showers in the main building. It really depends on your preference and budget. We went a few times to visit Michael. During each of those visits, we also stopped at the local food truck for breakfast, the Confluence Cafe, which I ate their Trailside Toast (avocado toast) on a bagel for each visit. There is always a line at the Confluence Cafe as it is in an area just off of the main highway where the logging trucks roll by. As a side note, the cafe is only open during the spring, summer, and early fall, most likely to align to the white-water rafting season. Their website references that they open in May this year. Michael, Mary Beth, and I went to Moxie Falls on one of our visits. This was a breathtaking waterfall. During our visit with Michael, we did a small easy hike to Moxie Falls, which was breathtaking, and even hiked Number 5 Mountain (yes, that is what it is called) which is about 45 minutes north of the Forks. Ice Dams at the Kennebec River this past winter. This summer, Michael will be guiding again, and we plan on making the 5-hour trip up to The Forks and having a great time once again. This time, we will try to get Mary Beth to join us for the rafting trip. If you are looking for an outdoor adventure, nestled in the pine trees of Maine, book a white-water rafting trip with your family and friends. You will be sure to have a great time. Hope to see you there. Frequently Asked Questions What are some unique things to do in The Forks? There is a natural spring at the side of the road to fill water. Many people who drive up for the week or weekend to their camp (small house with little to no running water) will stop at the spring to fill up massive jugs of water for the week. Michael and I stopped to fill our water bottles. Per my Google search, the location is situated just a short drive from where Lake Moxie Road intersects with US Route 201. As you head down Lake Moxie Road toward the Moxie Falls trailhead, keep an eye out for a small pull off area on the side of the road where the clear spring water flows out. What is your favorite part about The Forks? White-water rafting is by far the favorite thing to do and Moxie Falls is a very close second. How difficult is the hiking at Moxie Falls? It is a relatively easy hike in and out, probably about 1 mile in from the road. When you get to the falls, there is an easy viewing area with some steps but for the adventurous types, you can hike further down. What class rapids is the Kennebec? The Kennebec has rapids that are class II-IV. The upper gorge, where you get the smell of pine, has class III and IV while the lower gorge widens and makes for a more relaxing class II and III rapids. Start Your Own White-Wate Rapids Sensory Experience with Northern Outdoors If you are looking for the fun, adventure filled experience, Northern Outdoors is the way to go in The Forks, Maine. It will elevate your sensory experience and provide memories that will last a lifetime. Book today and let me know your thoughts in the comments! For Transparency: Some of the links in this post are affiliate links. If you purchase through them, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only recommend products and services I truly love and use myself. Also, as noted, while none of the companies listed are sponsoring this post, Michael does work for Adventure Bound and periodically, its sister company, Northern Outdoors.

Mary Beth and me on our most recent trip to Stowe, Vermont in front of one of the famous covered bridges that Vermont is known for. Last night, I met a woman, probably in her mid to late 20s who was going up to Stowe, Vermont with her boyfriend in a few weeks. It will be her first Stowe, Vermont getaway and she was so excited. Her anticipation of the hopefulness that there would still be snow on the ground in early March, coupled with the idea of getting a breakfast with real Vermont Maple Syrup, is a scene out of a Hallmark movie. The conversation quickly brought back some great memories of how much I love Stowe. Mary Beth and I have been there a few times, both just the two of us and with the kids. One of the many waterfalls we saw during our weekend trip. If I remember correctly, this was on our way up to Smugglers' Notch and was about a 20-minute easy hike into the waterfall. If you are not familiar with Stowe (3 hour drive north of Boston), it is known for so many family friendly attractions including skiing on Mount Mansfield and Spruce Peak mountains, experiencing the awe of multiple waterfalls, driving through and stopping within Smugglers' Notch (my favorite), as well as taking a tour and getting ice cream at the Ben & Jerry's factory, and walking or biking on the bike path that starts in downtown and winds its way through corn fields, rivers, and views of Mount Mansfield. When I think of Stowe, I think of two very special trips with Mary Beth. The first was for our first anniversary where we drove up from Stanford, CT where we were living at the time. We booked a stay at the Stone Hill Inn. I have some vivid memories of our first trip including walking the grounds and how beautiful the rooms were. We still have our Christmas ornament (which I dug through all of our Christmas boxes to find the ornament and take a picture). The Rooted & Refined Living Expert Tip: "A weekend getaway at your favorite home away from home can be just right to help relax, reset, and clear your mind." The second trip as a couple was for our 25th anniversary which we celebrated after our 26th anniversary. Stay with me here as this needs a bit more prelude. Our kids threw us a surprise anniversary party for our 25th. They even worked with Mary Beth's best friend to fly up from Georgia. So not only was the party a surprise, but the best friend's visit was a bigger surprise. We had a great time at our house celebrating with our friends and family. One of our 25 dates- Mary Beth and I on our visit to Stamford, CT. We visited where we used to live, walked around downtown, and took a stroll by the water on the Long Island Sound. Mary Beth's gift to me was a booklet of 25 dates. It was a bit easier now to do things as we had all three kids in college and we were quasi-empty nesters, at least for a few months each semester. The book was for us to do 2 dates a month for 12 months, culminating in a trip to Stowe, going back to the Stone Hill Inn. We did a lot of fun activities including glass blowing, a trip back to Stamford, bowling, visiting new restaurants, entertaining with friends, picnic in Boston followed by a visit to the Friends Experience. The gift, which was very creative on Mary Beth's part, allowed us to experience so many new things. I think glass blowing was my favorite. We made wavey bowls (mine was much wavier than Mary Beth's). We loved it so much, we took the kids back and make Christmas balls. Another one of our 25 dates- The Friends Experience in Boston. We watch Friends every night before bed. At the end of the 24 dates, we would celebrate our 25th anniversary with a weekend getaway. We also waited the year as we didn't have any kids left in the house. So, this is why we celebrated it following our 26th anniversary. Stowe Vermont getaway Date number 25 was to go back to where it all started and book a trip to Stowe and stay at the Stone Hill Inn. My memory of this trip is much clearer as it was only 16 months ago. We packed our bags and off we went. Smugglers' Notch area, Stowe, Vermont. I made sure the picture was big so you can feel the magnitude of the beauty of the location. As well, if you have been keeping track, I also shared a review and recommendation of a Smugglers' Notch Maple Works, a perfect pairing to remember your Stowe vacation. We left early in the morning to take advantage of the brisk fall day, shortly after the height of leaf peeping season with all of the fall colors. Our first stop was at Ranch Camp Stowe for lunch, which is a bike shop that has a fantastic restaurant. We visited a few shops and waterfalls up in the Smugglers' Notch area where we did some hiking as well. West Branch Little River nestled in the Smugglers' Notch area of Stowe. This was on one of our hikes. Following the hikes, we made our way to the Stone Hill Inn. The location is just off of the main road but not visible with the exception of the Inn's signage. You have to take a winding road up a few hundred feet and when you get to the top of the hill, the 9-room luxury Inn just appears nestled between a bunch of trees, including a small walking path for guests. The main attraction to the Stone Hill Inn is relaxation. Outside of the personal attention each guest receives upon check-in, the Inn excludes New England charm. Each room has a fireplace that sits between the bedroom and the bathroom which provides a sense of luxury (and warmth) in both rooms and ultra comfortable beds. The bathroom is spacious highlighted by a 2-person jacuzzi tub. All of the rooms are located on the main floor, with a walkout porch transporting you to the grounds. As we checked in, we were greeted by the Kristie and Todd Roling, the owners of Stone Hill Inn since December 2016. There was one person checking in before us, so I started looking around and noticed that Todd was an Emmy Award winning Cinematographer. Two of his Emmys were on display which was cool and unique to see. Mary Beth and I at Stowe Cider. Believe it or not, it was our first time trying cider. Kristie escorted us to our room which included a fireplace, and luxury bathroom. Mary Beth and I after a long day's trip got takeout from American Flatbread pizza, which holds up to my pizza snob standards! The next day we got to experience the first of two amazing Vermont home cooked breakfasts at the Inn and then headed off for a bike ride on the path in town followed by some shopping downtown and then a stop for some cider at Stowe Cider. We had a great dinner at Harrison's Restaurant, which was hosting a very intimate wedding party with just immediate family at the table next to us. The thing I remember most about the Stone Hill Inn is the small, easy, 1/4 mile or so walking path winding through the woods that I believe I remember Kristie and Todd sharing that they made themselves. Since it was the fall shortly after the leaves fell, I recall having fun kicking up the leaves and listening to the crunch of each step with the smell of the crisp fall air. Stone Hill Inn Breakfast. One of the things that makes the Stone Hill Inn such an amazing destination is the full and elegant breakfast that is provided. Our trip had to end the next day, but not before we had our second Vermont home cooked breakfast at the Inn, holding us over for our 4-hour trip home. If you are looking for a truly Stowe, Vermont based experience (adults only), I highly recommend the Stone Hill Inn. I know you will love it. Frequently Asked Questions What are some unique activities to do in Stowe? One of the more unique things is to visit the Smugglers' Notch Distillery where you can not only sample award winning vodka, gin, rum, and bourbon, but also a phenomenal maple syrup. What is your favorite part about Stowe? The winding walking/bike path is by far my favorite. It starts in the downtown area and extends for 6 miles with views crossing over the river and mountains. Depending on the time of year, we also road past farmers markets and a corn maze. How difficult is the hiking in Stowe? There is hiking trails for all ages and abilities. My wife and I are between beginner and intermediate levels and have seen some amazing waterfalls, some within only 1/4 mile from the start. Note: Since I started this website 18 months after our last trip to the Stone Hill Inn, I didn't have any pictures of the Inn itself. With permission from the owners, Todd and Kristie Roling, they allowed me to use a few of their corporate pictures including the breakfast photo and the 3 gallery photos below. Thank you. Start Your Own Stowe, Vermont Sensory Experience at the Stone Hill Inn If you are looking for the quintessential New England vacation, the Stone Hill Inn is the way to go in this Stowe, Vermont getaway. It will elevate your sensory experience and provide memories that will last a lifetime. Book today and let me know your thoughts in the comments! For Transparency: Some of the links in this post are affiliate links. If you purchase through them, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only recommend products I truly love and use myself.