Health, relationship, career and life advice at ProLong Magazine » Robert Ottaviani

24 Hours In A Dreamer’s Life

Staff — Thu, 30 Dec 2010 02:54:56 +0000

By Robert J. Ottaviani

Just Me

I awoke this particular morning like I had several other mornings, to the sound of complete silence. I have learned to really appreciate this segment of time when I am afforded total solitude. I am alone with my thoughts just watching the rays of the sun pouring through my windowpane. There is a certain power in serenity that is both comforting and empowering. I take as much time as I need to center myself because I know in time the phone will start ringing, the texts will start showing up on the cell and soon I will have to interact with the populace. My time will shortly no longer just be my time. It’s not a question of being anti social because I’m not but I do realize that those moments are a precious commodity these days given the world we live in. Satisfied I had started my day of my own choice I headed for the kitchen to make a pot of java and then out to fetch the morning paper from the mailbox.

Playing The Game

At first blush when I read the article my first reaction was to snicker at the foolishness of the situation. The story detailed how alumni football players from the two neighboring local schools were practicing to play a game against one another. I thought to myself that this was a typical case of grown men wanting to be boys again. Then I read the quotes from a handful players participating in the game and repeatedly the theme that surfaced was one of passion and love for a game they played as young men. They admitted to their advanced age (ranging from 26-55) and how they would move at a slower pace but never losing their zest for a game they loved. For one Saturday afternoon they would reconvene on a playing field to live out a special time in their lives years ago, which apparently had never completely left their memories and still burned brightly in their hearts. My feelings changed as I read from skepticism … to daydreaming of the possibilities and playing a game of what if.

A Gift Worth Giving

What if we were given an opportunity to travel back in time and play whatever game or activity we loved as a young person, a one-time shot per say for a full 24 hour period. Not only that but also our mind would be young and unencumbered by goals, deadlines and stress related commitments and worries. We would also be afforded young, strong bodies without the many years of wear and tear and the brash attitude a teenager could only exude. We would awake that morning with only one thing to consider …what would I like to do all day? Would you go swimming at the creek on a hot summer’s day and then flip some baseball cards or maybe a game of baseball and then playing “release” where you just ran all day never getting winded or tired. Some might want to go sled riding, the snow and wind pelting your face while you laughed with glee the whole way down the hill and then trek back up again for another downhill run. Others may want to reconnect with a loved one or mend a friendship that had never got resolved. It could be as simple as waking up to cartoons all morning to spending the entire day with someone you lost without getting to know them like you wanted to. Maybe your day would be just spending time in that special place you were so fond of as a child. The possibilities are endless.

To Dream Or Live In The Moment

In actuality we all know this isn’t possible but the bigger question is whether you would or not take a chance at an opportunity like that. Do you dare to be a dreamer or are you perfectly content having lived your life with no regrets and no remorse. A do over with a chance to rectify a wrong or at the very least a day to have unadulterated fun like you haven’t had since you were young. The decision for me is an easy one. I would be on my blue schwinn stingray poppin wheelies and rollin down the street, the wind blowin through my hair on a hot summer day and then heading for Rocco’s corner store to pick out my favorite candy while listening to the wooden floors creak under my feet while getting closer to the glass window candy displays. Then I’d eat a quick supper and back out to play some whiffle ball and then burn the base and release after it got dark. I’m sure I would also find time for a trip to the brickyard; I can still vividly remember all the paths we would take past the ponds and the caves winding all through the woods to the creek. Even though several years have passed since I experienced these moments as a child the thoughts are in my shirt pocket close to my heart for me to pull out and enjoy as memories that stay preserved forever. Our mind allows us the capacity to remember facts, places, occurrences while our heart validates the passion and emotion we experienced and felt while doing so. And so I ask you … what would you do?

Robert J. Ottaviani (Bert) is a cusp born Aries the ram who has lived through summer of love in the late sixties and the hippie culture that bled into the seventies. He has a passion for music, gardening and all things nature … and laffy taffy. He is freakishly aware of music trivia to absurd levels. Most days you can find him playing his guitar or jotting down lyrics. He was so impacted from the moment he first heard the Beatles that he has Beatle manianized his life, been to Liverpool, England and remains convinced he is the fifth Beatle. He is married to a gentle and lovely vibe of a woman with three wonderful children. He currently lives and resides in strawberry fields forever.

In Tune With The Universe

Staff — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 18:44:38 +0000

Don’t Allow Anything To Change Your World

By Robert J. Ottaviani

Jai guru deva … ommmm … nothing’s gonna change my world … so penned the indisputable John Lennon in 1968 after crafting the song “Across The Universe” following The Beatles experience with transcendental meditation in 1967 and beyond.
The inspiration came from then-wife Cynthia going on and on about something and Lennon arising in the middle of the night, the words ringing loudly in his head moving him to write a cosmic like chant about it in a positive manner as opposed to his initial negative feelings that emanated from the rant. Lennon has said the words were purely inspirational and were given to him, that he didn’t own them but that they just “came through”. Let’s explore what John was experiencing at that moment.

In Touch With One’s Self

We are always in quest of it whether it’s done subconsciously or by design. It is the proverbial search for the holy grail, the never-ending highway of life with many untraveled roads to go down, many a turn to consider and unquestioned
detours to take . It is the eternal and internal journey we take a day at a time, a decision at a time, a life at a time. But, how to achieve it? Do we sometimes find ourselves there by accident? Surely! Do we arrive at our destination by intentional motive? Certainly! What I am talking about is inner peace, balance, harmony, chi, nirvana, feng shui, just feeling like ourselves. What I am also talking about is the ability to avoid all the negative elements that surround us and threaten to take our lives off course on our journey.

Beware Of The Intruder

Maintaining your balance can at times be difficult given all the extraneous activities that pull at you, challenging you by moving you off your center of inner sanctitude. We have all experienced those days when we just don’t feel like ourselves. It can be both frustrating and unnerving because we are hard pressed to explain why we feel that way. Are we victims or do we victimize ourselves? I believe we need to take the wheel and steer the ship . We control our destiny to a large extent. There will always be work, family, health, time restraints that we need to ingratiate in our lives and handle in a positive manner. The key is to mix the right ingredients to the right levels enabling our final product to be pleasing.

K Is For Karma

I am a big believer in Karma. We are basically responsible for our own happiness as well as our own misery.
Most of our resulting quality of life is because of past actions and current and present decisions, which formulate who we are today.
We create the persona of who we wish to be. If we so choose to perpetuate a negative vibe about ourselves that we can be expected to be perceived in a similar light. You’ve probably heard the expression … expect great things so great things can actually happen to you. We are truly the builders of our own fate. Do not let genetics or excuses mold your actions and subsequent reactions .

Celebrate You

There is only one human on the planet that is you. Think about the magnitude of that statement. Celebrate your oneness, your unique abilities that make you the very special person in God’s eye that he created unlike any other. Take whatever gifts you were given and utilize them so you and others will prosper. Rejoice in the blessings you have been bestowed. Once you find your place in line, your niche, your rhythm of life, you can express your inspirations and concerns knowing they will be received in an earnest manner because they will have come from a place that’s both sincere and honest to your heart. Jai guru deva … ommmmm … nothings gonna change my world.

500 Million Reasons To Become An Addict

Staff — Sat, 02 Oct 2010 16:39:55 +0000

HOOKED ON FACEBOOK

I entered the rehab center willingly, walking slowly past the long dank corridor to the long flight of stairs leading up to the next level, slowing occasionally to look at the Lindsay Lohan and Robert Downey Jr. signed 8×10′s hanging crookedly on the wall. A freeze frame of their time spent here was still dangling on the old shredded wallpaper that needed an update. I had spent the last several days convincing myself I could quit my own personal demon anytime I wanted but the addiction was way too strong. Repeatedly, I gave in to its allure, to its comfort that it extended, to the intrigue that it always promised but never produced. I couldn’t live without it in my life and consequently revisited it every day, every hour. My appetite for it was immense and at times it seemed insatiable. It consumed me.

The Confessional Room

The strong smell of failure permeated the hallways and gave promise of a future prominent spot on the wall of shame . The confessional room I had heard so much about lay straight ahead and so with a bounce in my step I straddled the old syringes that were strewn on the floor and cast aside. The empty 40 oz. bottles crammed into crevices of the wall still reeked of stale beer.

The tall yellow tin sign read as follows “BEYOND THIS DOOR IS YOUR FUTURE … LEAVE YOUR BAGGAGE BEHIND YOU”.

I took a deep breath and reached up to ring the bell for entrance. The nine inch nails song ‘hurt” seemed like a curious choice of music but that’s what was straining out of the iPod of the attendant who greeted me at the door. “Hi. I’m Jeremy … you must be Robert”. “How did you know my name?” I asked. “You called us, remember?” Obviously, my rampant paranoia mechanism was in full operational mode. I sat down and waited for the resident expert on staff to conduct his pre-interview with me. In the moments before his arrival I gazed at the sheepskins hanging on the wall trumpeting Dr. Brew Sinsky’s achievements.

In Walks The Doctor

He bounded into the room looking like my old English professor and proclaiming I had just taken the first step toward total recovery. I looked at him warily deducing his suit coat was purchased at goodwill and his bowtie a camera. He wore a tarnished oval pin on his lapel, which said … fear is when you can’t place your trust in someone. “Welcome to Backslides Rehab Center” he bellowed to me in a voice that reminded me of part carnival barker, part hawker of medicinal elixirs guaranteed to cure whatever ails you. “Think of this as a class of your peers” Dr. Brew said as Jeremy barged into the room mumbling something about Steve, a past addict, wanting a definitive and absolute last chance to redeem himself. I smiled wryly to myself thinking of the delicious irony of the moment … Jeremy spoke in class today … I decided not to share that private moment with anyone else.

Group Therapy

I stood uneasily at the front of the confessional room about to address my peers, my classmates, and my fellow addicts. I looked out at the crowd of miscreants, which totaled nine other than myself and were sitting in a semi circle on hard wooden chairs. “Hi, my name is Robert and I have an addiction, I’m addicted to … FACEBOOK”. ” Hi Robert … welcome” came the response from the largely disinterested and dysfunctional group of misfits. Surprisingly, I heard no snickers, no guffaws after I expounded on my weakness for the website. After mingling with the crowd I discovered Paige Turner, Cher A. Post and Anita Moorefrends were fellow Facebook fiends … Al Kohol and Will Power were liquor challenged … Mary Jane, Chase N. Ahiey and Ben Zedrine were all in a state of drug induced haze. All that was left was a singular conspicuous looking dude whose name was “Flash” but had earned the nickname “Flesh” from the group because of his obvious inability to overcome his sex addiction. I had overcome my fear of public speaking by adhering to the age-old adage of imagining everyone in their underwear. I didn’t have to pretend in Flesh’s case because he actually was. Everyone seemed so encouraging, so supportive. “You are gonna be fine, trust us, it’s gonna be okay”. They all seemed so sure of themselves while I had reasonable doubt about my direction I was heading. Dr. Brew Sinsky received a call and announced to the group of ten that he had to leave shortly and would be back momentarily.

Our Relapse

The group all smiled in unison. The door had just closed behind him when our faction scattered as if a grenade landed in the middle of us all. Paige, Cher and Anita headed for the doctor’s office where the only p.c. in the building existed.
Entry was gained by sliding an expired credit card through the lock and they had the dell up and running in short order. We were on Facebook in no time at all stalking people, exchanging opinions on applications and all of us weirdly fascinated by our “friends” everyday mundane activities. Al and Will were lifting a ceiling tile where they had planted a couple of flasks with the hooch of their choice. They pushed the swill into their mouths and were soon mumbling in an almost inaudible language that only the two of them understood. Meanwhile, Mary, Chase and Ben were huddled in the corner huffing Dr. Brew’s glue that was kept for the sole purpose of adhering his interview paper results together, or so he thought. They were right … I was gonna be fine … I would be okay. After all this I’m thinking I don’t even have a problem because with over 500 million active Facebook users that would make me part of the main stream and infinitely ordinary with nine new friends on my Facebook list. I’m not sure which is worse.

Finding The Fountain of Youth: My Personal Beatlemania

Staff — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 17:36:49 +0000

By Robert J. Ottaviani

Beatlemania 1964
I’ve just seen THE BEATLES. I’ve just seen THE BEATLES. I watched them stride on stage one-by-one sporting their trademark dark pegged pants tucked neatly inside their Beatle boots while a neatly tailored buttoned suit coat with a nehru collar framed their slender shoulders while wagging their mopped haired heads. They walked out with a dash of confidence and armed with their quirky sense of British humor. They tapped their Beatle boots on the floor to count down the rhythm to start the song … one, two, three, four. Two and one half minute little jewels of musical virtuosities ensued, each one brimming with beautiful melodies that you sang along to and a beat you could tap your feet to. Beatlemania was alive and well and performing for a United States audience at the Ed Sullivan theatre.
It was 1964 and I was an overly anxious fan waiting for this very moment My affection for them was such that I truly felt they were singing only to me and obliviously since 73 MILLION people witnessed this historic musical event, I may have been wrong.
Maybe that was part of their charm and magic. Even to this day I am hard pressed to explain this huge fascination I have with the group, an almost zen like connection from the very first moment I heard them. They spoke to me in a way no other group had and still hasn’t today.

Giving In
I was basically a traditionalist, a purist who would only see them as a foursome intact. Since THE BEATLES came over to the states in 1964 and until they disbanded in 1970, I was still too young to see them live. The following years to come would test my resolve as John would be assassinated and George would eventually succumb to cancer. With each passing year I realized my opportunity to experience any part of my musical idols was lessening. I could go to a Ringo Starr concert but his was more of a self promotional venue and he had very little song writing background when compared to the other three. Not that Ringo wasn’t a sweetheart of a guy, because I’ve heard other musicians testify to that very fact. So Paul became my focus, one half of the greatest song writing team that ever lived. I knew his show would pay a huge tribute to his roots … THE BEATLES. In addition, I knew his interpretation of the songs would be true to their roots, why alter with original brilliance of the compositions, right? I heard the news that Paul was interested in opening the Console Energy Center in Pittsburgh, PA and decided that my stubbornness be put aside. Paul was 68 years young and quite possibly playing Pittsburgh for the last time. Tickets went on sale and the 18,000 seat facility was sold out in two minutes. A second show was added and also sold out in less than three minutes. Beatlemania indeed! Paul’s allure was as strong as ever and apparently his 40-year hiatus from the mega group did nothing to wane his popularity.

All photographs courtesy and copyright of Shawn Plassmeyer.

Wednesday August 18th … SHOW ONE
We arrive at the Center at 6p.m., the scheduled time the gates are to open for the 7:30 start. I notice the crowd is represented by every age group in anticipation of seeing the rock icon. An announcement is made that Paul’s plane has been delayed and the show will be late in starting. This little two-hour glitch pales in comparison to my 40-year wait to see Macca as I hear others fuss around me. The fact that I can hear his sound check as I wait in line actually heightens my zeal for his show to begin. The line is suddenly moving and we shortly are in our seats, which are in the first section above the floor and across the arena from the stage. Two large screens flank the stage and are showing the boys in their early years both individually and collectively as Beatle music is played and all things that relate to the fab four are highlighted throughout. There is an incredible buzz in the air that’s seems to be building to a frenzy and then … out walks Sir James Paul McCartney. He is nattily attired in a long dark suit coat looking young beyond his years and svelte in stature. One, two, three, four, they launch into a Wings number to kick off the show, which would last three hours and feature 35 songs, 22 from the Beatles library of music. He has obviously found the fountain of youth as he delivers a high energy act that leaves you dumbfounded as to how he can maintain this vibe after so many shows, so many years. It occurs to me that the answer is … love. He loves what he does for a living. You can see the passion he has for his craft and how he is totally comfortable in the spotlight. The night swells into moments when you are sure that you have reached a musical zenith, when it can’t possibly get any better … and then it does, again and again. I leave totally satisfied convinced I have witnessed one of the greatest moments in my life, and then …

Thursday August 19th SHOW NUMBER TWO
I flash my ticket to the first attendant on the floor who tells me to keep walking toward the stage. Eventually, I am seated SIX rows back from stage almost directly dead center. I immediately sense the enormity of this circumstance as I am practically about to share a stage with “the greatest composer of the millennium” according to online readers. Although I have paid dearly for my seat, I never use it for I, as well as everyone around me stand to pay homage to the “cute Beatle”.
The house lights go down and Sir Paul leads his band on stage wasting no time picking up his trademark hofner violin bass and launching into ALL MY LOVING and THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD, soon to be followed with I’M LOOKING THROUGH YOU and BLACKBIRD. After mixing in some Wings classics like JET and BAND ON THE RUN he returned to his BEATLES roots with ELEANOR RIGBY and OB-LA-DI,OB-LA-DA. He moved adroitly from bass guitar to acoustic guitar to electric guitar to piano and mandolin with equal dexterity. He made it a point to pay tribute to his ex wife Linda (MY LOVE), to John (GIVE PEACE A CHANCE) and To George (Something). He made sure the crowd acknowledged their contributions. He had constant interplay with the crowd, regaling us with jokes and anecdotes of Hendrix and Clapton. He had the crowd totally eating out of his hands, enough to make Jim Jones jealous. We were all drinking the cool aid and thirsting for more. The crowd stood throughout the evening singing the words and cheering wildly after every song.

In one of the quieter moments between songs he stood back and read all the signs that were made. Ours mentioned the fact that our grandson McCARTNEY ROBERT was his namesake. He slowly read the words, made eye contact with us and tapped his fist over his heart in appreciation. What a moment!

A short time later he had the entire crowd singing the chorus from HEY JUDE and then LET IT BE and A DAY IN THE LIFE were played. Wave after wave of emotion flooded my body with each song selection. I’ve just seen THE BEATLES … I’ve just seen THE BEATLES. No, in the purest sense of truth I hadn’t. But you didn’t need much of an imagination after listening to Paul carrying on that wonderful legacy from yesteryear and taking people on the musical journey of their lives. It’s been days since the concerts have ended but I’m having trouble getting the songs out of my head. I find myself singing them throughout the day, like they’ve been burned into my psyche. I suspect many others are experiencing similar symptoms. From these nights I carry home pictures, t-shirts and my ticket stub but more importantly a treasure chest full of memories in my head and in my heart.

Life Lessons Via Bert

Staff — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 02:07:00 +0000

By Robert J. Ottaviani

Parents are not like free refills. You have one set, drink them slowly

You may love, be loved, and be in love but you will never fully understand love. It is far too complex, mercurial and has layer after layer of depth. It is both vast and infinite and forever challenging.

Products cannot be both “new and improved”. If it’s improved it’s not new.

If you had to sacrifice one sense, would it be sight or hearing? Think about it.

One of the best and least expensive ways to improve your demeanor is a good haircut.

If the sky was green and the trees blue would we be living in a better world?

Hard work doesn’t always guarantee the best result but the alternative never will.

What is it about a new set of clothes that puts a little extra zip in you step?

Preparation is the best way to exude confidence at a meeting, interview or seminar. Put in the work before hand so you’re not selling as much as you are enhancing.

Was it a simpler life in simpler times or was it just because we were younger?

Remember when a guy wore his hair long he was considered a “bad element”. The length of one’s hair doesn’t determine his nature, his heart does!

A hard storm complete with lightning and thunder beats a fireworks display every day of the week.

If you live long enough you will see fashion trends, decor and accessories come back into vogue. They may be tagged vintage or retro but they were used decades ago and are experiencing a second life.

Do reality shows devalue the professional actor when “regular” people are the stars?

The mullet was a hairstyle that caused quite a stir when it surfaced and remains somewhat of a cultural phenomenon. Business in the front … party in the back.

Tattoos are no longer edgy, everybody has them.

I’d pay a king’s ransom to find the original creamsicle, not this popsicle sized generic imitation they sell today. I hate when they alter perfection.

Stress is not some new condition that only recently appeared. It’s been part of the world for long, long time. Its previous name was yelling, screaming and behaving badly.

Why does night time give you more apprehension than day time in the same exact environment?

Random acts of kindness still remain one of life’s little jewels.

Sports used to be a predominantly watched venue by males. Those days are changed forever.

Sometimes the best vacations have very little planning, they just unfold magically.

As much as the world has changed and it has evolved greatly, a first date has not. It still involves dinner and a movie more often than not.

Has Webster’s dictionary been rendered completely useless now that the internet is available?

A good friend is like your favorite blanket … warm, comforting and always there when you reach for it.

If you wake up in the morning contemplating how to get through the day … believe it or not you win again … if only because you’ve awoken.

Do they still have summer playground for kids? Those were some fond memories that I still carry with me whether it was table hockey or making lanterns.

Never let your guard down and be someone you are not … people are watching you whether they announce it or not.

The older I get the more I want to be a kid again … The years go by quicker now.

Death and taxes are NOT the only two certainties, prejudice will be here till the earth calls it quits.

I want the energy of a 10 year old, the looks of a 20 year old, the ambition of a 30 year old, the confidence of a 40 year old and the wisdom of a 50 year old and I want it all when I’m 25.

Traditional shopping malls are the last true dinosaurs inhabiting our earth.

What’s more important to you … winning or learning how to win?

Make a selection from the following: Health … Wealth … Peace of Mind.

Quitting cigarettes was the hardest thing I’ve done … that is if you don’t count relinquishing the remote to my spouse.

Robert J. Ottaviani (Bert) is a cusp born Aries the ram who has lived through summer of love in the late sixties and the hippie culture that bled into the seventies. He has a passion for music, gardening and all things nature … and laffy taffy. He is freakishly aware of music trivia to absurd levels. Most days you can find him playing his guitar or jotting down lyrics. He was so impacted from the moment he first heard the Beatles that he has Beatle manianized his life, been to Liverpool, England and remains convinced he is the fifth Beatle . He is married to a gentle and lovely vibe of a woman with three wonderful children. He currently lives and resides in strawberry fields forever.

6 Types of People

Staff — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 00:09:39 +0000

Which Are You?

By Robert J. Ottaviani

I believe that there are six types of people who interact with each other on this earth. They are as follows:

THE ONE UPPERS:

We have all encountered these types along the way. Your telling a story and when you are finished with your story it pales in comparison to the story the “ONE UPPER” is about to regale you with. Their stories are always much bolder, way longer and far more interesting and they’re only too smug to tell you so. That is, when they even allow you to even finish your story … because of their belief that everyone wants to listen to only them. ‘ONE UPPERS” crave the spotlight, need attention, and are genuinely not interested in your opinion. “ONE UPPERS” can leave you feeling uninteresting and largely inadequate and do not make you a better human being.

THE POLIANNA’S

Initially with these people you can succumb to their kindness. They are often referred to as being so nice. The poly’s allure is equal parts gentle persuasion, attentiveness and a complimentary nature. They are generally very upbeat and positive. They constantly look to find the silver lining even in times when there is simply none. Their garbage smells like potpourri and that stupid smiley face is their icon of choice. Their glass is always half full. But their shelf life is very short. They are constantly being overrun by aggressive people who exploit them and discover they’re fragile psyche. In a dog eat dog world they are the rawhide, chewed up constantly and spit out in the process.

THE WHACKS:

Per chance you have met them and probably quickly dismissed them because they don’t seem to fit into mainstream America but a closer look is warranted. They are the proverbial square peg in a round hole. The whacks don’t dress like you, don’t act like you and don’t live in the same world as you but interestingly enough are asked to interact with you. If you don’t invest a lot of emotional sacrifice and watch from a safe distance they are actually quite intriguing. Creativity, albeit misguided at times can be a central part of their journey through life. Genetically, they are not wired like you and therefore their theories and perceptions are really quite amusing. They are actually some of my favorite people because they can bring a smile to your face and break up the monotonous normalcy of everyday living. They are the car wreck you are freakishly fascinated by but glad you are not experiencing yourself.

THE 9 -5′ERS:

These groups need to exercise extreme caution, probably more so than most. Without much fanfare you will slip into a cyclical routine of boredom. Work, sleep, and wait for the weekend. Work, sleep, and wait for the weekend. Picture yourself on a treadmill with the off button just out of reach. Sometimes we just need to jump off. 9-5′ers generally have structure in their lives, are well organized and have little or no retail background. Social outings and events are usually planned well in advance and impromptu soirees are kept to a minimum. Friday night it’s a movie or a ballgame, Saturday a little work around the house, by Sunday you’re already thinking about work Monday morning so you shut it down early. If it’s a six sided box you’re living in be sure to open the lid and get some fresh air.

THE DOWNERS:

I’m handing out free samples of patience if you have these types in your life on a constant basis. Your constitution had better be very strong because as the saying goes … misery loves company. Let’s see, how does it work? Oh yea … You get that new job you always wanted BUT … now you have to get a new wardrobe. You buy your dream house BUT … now you have a mortgage. You win the lottery BUT now you have to pay the taxes. These folks have a bad case of the blues and I ain’t talkin B.B.KING. They are a weight, an albatross, and a cross to bear. If you are not a strong minded person it can bring you down to a level where it’s a long climb back up. Beware of the woe for it is a dropped anchor around your neck.

THE SALTS:

The salt of the earth. The solid reliable person you go to in any situation. They are unwavering, give solid advice after listening and always seem to have a feel for what you need to do. They are the person everyone seems to lean on and yet never seem overburdened by it all. Never frenetic in nature they are the calm reassuring voice you need to hear and they seldom ask for anything in return. When the world gives us a little more than we can handle these people are golden. You are lucky to have one in your life and blessed if you have more. The salts lighten your emotional load, pick up your spirits and set you back on the right path again. Their work is priceless.

Robert J. Ottaviani (Bert) is a cusp born Aries the ram who has lived through summer of love in the late sixties and the hippie culture that bled into the seventies. He has a passion for music, gardening and all things nature … and laffy taffy. He is freakishly aware of music trivia to absurd levels. Most days you can find him playing his guitar or jotting down lyrics. He was so impacted from the moment he first heard the Beatles that he has Beatle manianized his life, been to Liverpool, England and remains convinced he is the fifth Beatle . He is married to a gentle and lovely vibe of a woman with three wonderful children. He currently lives and resides in strawberry fields forever.

Are You Listening

Staff — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 02:37:08 +0000

The Lost Art of Opening Your Ears

By Robert J. Ottaviani

The bald eagle, the bog turtle, the African elephant, the blue whales, the gorillas, the lynx, the snow leopard, the giant panda, the black rhino, the whooping crane and the rarest of all sightings … the listener. All of the these aforementioned items share a common trait. They are all on the endangered species list, the listener having just been nominated by this author for special consideration. If we don’t act fast we could lose one of our greatest resources we have been given … listening.

When I was a child growing up my parents used to take me to their friends homes to visit. Visiting was a big social event back then with the grown ups gathering for coffee, confections, and exchanging pleasantries. Before our trip got under way I was always given two choices and I quote … “you are to been seen and not heard” and “don’t open your mouth and people won’t know how stupid you are”. I know by today’s standard I could turn them in to CASA (The National Committee For Prevention Of Child Abuse) or some organization looking to champion kid’s rights. But back then that’s not exactly how it worked. Kids today have no idea how good they have it.

So given my two choices I chose to adhere to both of them. In actuality my parents were probably right on both counts. Given my lack of experience in almost all facets of life at such a young age I could have blurted something less than brilliant. Secondly and most importantly, it gave me the opportunity to learn a valued life lesson … how to listen. Something that appears so simple to do and yet so hard for many to enact nowadays.

“Everybody’s talkng at me … I don’t hear a word they’re saying … only the echoes of my mind.” Unfortunately Freddie Neil, who authored this song is not alone.

Everyone’s talking these days. Everyone has something to say. Everyone has a point to make … but who’s listening? The lost art of listening is in imminent danger. If you haven’t noticed maybe it’s because you haven’t listened. Take note of some conversations that you encounter and see if you can spot that member of the endangered species.

Let me end by saying the following … listening restores a certain dignity to the spoken word by showing restraint and a level of interest in what others are saying. Listening allows one to exploit the virtue of patience. Listening makes for a more well rounded individual. As long as we are talking we only know what we know and think … but by listening we know what others know as well as ourselves. Are you listening?

Robert J. Ottaviani (Bert) is a cusp born Aries the ram who has lived through summer of love in the late sixties and the hippie culture that bled into the seventies. He has a passion for music, gardening and all things nature … and laffy taffy. He is freakishly aware of music trivia to absurd levels. Most days you can find him playing his guitar or jotting down lyrics. He was so impacted from the moment he first heard the Beatles that he has Beatle manianized his life, been to Liverpool, England and remains convinced he is the fifth Beatle . He is married to a gentle and lovely vibe of a woman with three wonderful children. He currently lives and resides in strawberry fields forever.

Choose Your Words and More Importantly Your “Type” Wisely

Staff — Sat, 29 May 2010 03:44:58 +0000

Robert J. Ottaviani

We should all be serving a sentence for committing a heinous crime on the English language. We have blatantly over used, over exaggerated and over indulged ourselves with a misappropriation of words, phrases, and slang. We are guilty as charged. All of us! Let’s take a look at some misguided verbiage we have come to accept as normal repartee.

ROFL … Rollin on the floor laughing … I don’t know about the rest of you but maybe once in my lifetime I have seen people Rollin on the floor laughing and the combination of alcohol and a wicked sense of humor were directly involved. The fact that it is written and nausea points out the fact that it is entirely out of text. There’s no one on the floor and quite frankly there’s a good chance of a lack of laughter also. I’m thinking the person authoring that text is probably just smiling. So maybe next time try something more appropriate like … SAL (smiling a lot).

LMAO … laughing my ass off … Again with the laughter. ROFL ‘s little cousin but not as severe or intense. First of all nobody is laughing their ass off and if they did they can only do it once. It doesn’t grow back or regenerate so once it’s off it’s off for good. A word of caution for all you LMAO ers . If I were you I would take precaution with what you give away so freely. You may eventually find yourself ROFL and you’ll wish you hadn’t laughed it off.

TALK TO THE HAND … I don’t why, where or when this little catch phrase started but I knew immediately I didn’t like it. Thankfully it’s popularity has waned greatly but in it’s heyday it was a force to be reckoned with. The most alarming aspect of it all was the fact that a vast majority of adults were using it as well. It was dismissive and abrupt. IT was really FU wrapped in a cuddly blanket. I know this much,if I had used it on my dad the only person I’d be talking to would be Jesus asking him to take the pain away.

TOO BUSY … I know your thinking this isn’t slang and you would be entirely right but it is used often in the wrong context. There are seven days a week,twenty four hours a day and three hundred and sixty five days in a year. Let’s be honest with ourselves, what we are really saying is I don’t want to take the time to call or see or do what it is were avoiding. We always seem to make time for what we truly want. Hopefully were not TOO BUSY when that special person really needs us.

BABY MOMMY/BABY DADDY … When did we become blithering idiots that allowed this vernacular to be part of our social fabric. Apparently perpetuating booty calls,DNA tests and absent parenting is good business. Just because Jerry Springer and Maury Povich are sell-in doesn’t mean we have to be buy-in. Hearing these words makes me grind my teeth and they sound as silly as the person saying them. I got a word for you,even two … Mom/Dad … it never gets old.

“DO I LOOK FAT IN THIS *****?” … Proceed with extreme caution. This is strictly a rhetorical question and does not,repeat does not require an answer. Quickly and gently steer the conversation to a safer subject like politics or religion. Do not smile, do not offer an opinion even in a positive manner as all things could be misconstrued at this particular time. An answer or response is not what is being sought here. Treat as a crime scene, see the police tape and give a lot of room.

WHATEVER … Quite possibly the phrase that rankles me the most and challenges my blood pressure levels as well. This one word interjection brings your conversation to a screeching halt. It is usually said with a bit of a lilt and a dash of attitude. Indifference be thy name. Kick my dog, track mud through my house, downsize my job just refrain from using that eight letter word with me.

Robert J. Ottaviani (Bert) is a cusp born Aries the ram who has lived through summer of love in the late sixties and the hippie culture that bled into the seventies. He has a passion for music, gardening and all things nature … and laffy taffy. He is freakishly aware of music trivia to absurd levels. Most days you can find him playing his guitar or jotting down lyrics. He was so impacted from the moment he first heard the Beatles that he has Beatle manianized his life, been to Liverpool, England and remains convinced he is the fifth Beatle . He is married to a gentle and lovely vibe of a woman with three wonderful children. He currently lives and resides in strawberry fields forever.

The Elements

Staff — Fri, 09 Apr 2010 03:01:01 +0000

By Robert J. Ottaviani

The Greyness
And we awoke again under a cold, grey brooding sky that gave no promise of better days. The tree’s remained leafless and colorless with no indication of the possibility of ever bearing fruit again. Birds chose to stay flightless and clung to branches with no motivation to soar free in flight,they’re enthusiasm dampened by the foreboding elements around them. The rains continued for days and pelted the landscape saturating the very grounds we chose to walk on. The chill that was in your bones was the same chill that was there two weeks ago as it was six weeks ago. We looked skyward in anticipation of a promise we were given of his yearly return. And still there was no sign of “The One” that everyone was anxiously anticipating the arrival of.

Ice And Snow
Hope had given way to frustration and helplessness was the coat that covered our once indomitable spirit. For the heavy rains were only the next scourge that followed the impossible amounts of snow that held us captive prisoners in our homes. We watched as the skies opened and blanketed our roads,our walkways,our energies. When the snows lessened the god of elements bestowed upon us another great affliction….The Ice Age. At first it came as a small,inconspicuous visitor just barely tapping on our doors and announcing his presence. Then nigh-time came and the following morning no longer gave us faint glimpse of the glacial prison we were sentenced to. It was everywhere! It crystallized trees,encapsulated telephone lines and held us immobile and isolated. Again, the “Great Hope” was no where to be found and in fact seemed further away than ever.

The Winds
The winds blew into town like an unwelcome guest without a reservation. They heaved and gusted,flexing they’re considerable muscle in an apparent attempt to inflict humility. Spewing cold torrents of air, it stripped us of our comfort levels and exposed us for who we were. We were cold,we were damp,we were barren. It swirled about us,whistling loudly and pushing us around like the playground bully once did. It conjured up one final blast of air stream sending lesser adversaries hurling out of the way and challenging our resolve. In that moment when we could have blinked at the sign of adversity we never faltered. We faced bravado and persevered. We dreamed of that feeling again and stayed patient for his return. We kept ourselves going by remembering how good it was when we last felt “His Presence”.

The Rains
Then slowly after what seemed like we endured the Jurassic Era it happened. The glaciers moved away. The stalactites turned to water. The stalagmites dripped into oblivion. The icicles melted into nothingness. Snowflakes transformed into liquid condensation before touching the ground. The hail which once flocked the house like a newChristmas ornament was reduced to a puddle. The solar ice caps grew weary of they’re location and left for the sea. The skies opened and water poured from the ever generous clouds. Rain was so tired of being water it tried to change occupations but it only knew how to be rain so it continued to descend. Suddenly, everything wanted to be water and so it was. Finally,there came word that we may be close to experiencing “The Feeling”.

El Sol
I rose from my chair because I thought I had heard it. Indeed the first harbinger of spring was flying through the air chirping loudly and spiritedly at anyone who would listen. The once bleak landscape had added color to it’s palette as blue and green met at the horizon under a crimson orange umbrella. He had returned as promised. Many of us gathered outside or wandered aimlessly so we could feel his comfort. “THE SUN” shone down on us stirring our soul and allowing us to put several weeks of darkness immediately behind us. We felt his warm embrace and realized we were moving with a purpose again. We made grandiose plans half of which we knew would never be realized. But,it didn’t matter. Everything felt better under “THE SUN”. Indeed,it had been a long,hard winter!

Robert J. Ottaviani (Bert) is a cusp born Aries the ram who has lived through summer of love in the late sixties and the hippie culture that bled into the seventies. He has a passion for music, gardening and all things nature … and laffy taffy. He is freakishly aware of music trivia to absurd levels. Most days you can find him playing his guitar or jotting down lyrics. He was so impacted from the moment he first heard the Beatles that he has Beatlemanianized his life, been to Liverpool, England and remains convinced he is the fifth Beatle. He is married to a gentle and lovely vibe of a woman with three wonderful children. He currently lives and resides in strawberry fields forever.

The Easier Ride

Staff — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 20:53:29 +0000

By Robert J. Ottaviani

“All aboard, Pittsburgh to New York this way please.”

The train guard stood tall and dapper dressed up in his navy blue uniform with cap while directing the boarding traffic. We rolled our baggage on the loading platform past several cars until we decided which car we wanted to enter. “Let me help you with those bags” he offered to those who struggled to lift their belongings up three steps to enter the train. Once inside we stored our bags overhead our seats, which were not designated and of our choice.

A Long Mind Wondering Journey
And so our 444 mile, nine-hour journey aboard the Pennsylvanian was about to begin. We depart “Penn Station” in Pittsburgh exactly at 7:10 a.m. as scheduled as the big wheels start to turn rolling us down the track. Clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack – the steel wheels sing against the steel rails. We are soon up to speed pouring past city neighborhoods and working our way through winding creeks at the foot of mountains and beautiful countryside. These scenic views become a staple of our trip as seemingly every time we look outside similar settings are to be enjoyed.
Inside the train we notice immediate comforts such as the extreme leg room with foot rests and leg rests. There’s also a button to release your seatback down to a tilt-back level, a drop down tray and a close by outlet to plug in your electronic goodies. None of these are state of the art concepts but rather well thought out ideas put in place years ago. Tickets are not checked upon boarding but rather a few miles up the track lending itself to the total laid back attitude. It’s as if you are taking a trip not to a city but to a time long ago when railways were a big part of American folklore.

Traveling Back in Time
It was easy to imagine being ambushed by the Butch Cassidy and the Wild Bunch or Jesse James and the James Gang, as we passed through some isolated terrain. Trains were much slower in the Wild West and cars were usually made of wood. These outlaws would ride up on horses eventually catching up with the train and unleash the designated car from the engine. A couple of sticks of dynamite later and all the gold and payroll was theirs for the taking. All that was left was the dust kicked up from their horses as they rode off and disappeared behind the rocks. My wife drew her double barreled derringer and I readied my Wyatt Earp revolver when we realized it was only some rider-less horses rustling in a nearby field. I pulled my renegade Dillinger hat back down over my eyes convinced we were safe for the moment and went back to dreaming.

A Quiet Ride
Whoot whoot, whoot, whoot the train horn delivered a deep drone of a warning that we were rambling across more countryside. On and on it went with an occasional whistle blown or bells clanged to signify specific communications and warnings. The one constant was a gentle humming sound of the train rolling along. I was pleasantly surprised at the overall quietness of the ride. All the sounds were in unison and never alarmingly loud or unsettling. We moved about the train whenever we wanted visiting the dining car for a drink and some lunch. We listened to a table of grizzled, experienced train riders swap stories of train travel, one eager to outdo the other. We made occasional stops where we could get out and stretch our legs a short while. We read, we listened to music, we slept, we scoured the Internet on our Netbook, and we re-connected with each other because we had the time.

We pulled into New York Penn Station exiting the Pennsylvanian number 42 right on schedule at 5:20 p.m. We grabbed our baggage at our leisure and listened as further assistance was offered to those who needed it. The ride was totally devoid of angst and worry and the nine hour venture hardly seemed that long. I’ve had work shifts that seemed excruciatingly longer. If it seems like I’m romanticizing the train experience in part I am but only because of my contempt for the alternative. Air travel!

Flying the Unfriendly Skies
I loathe it! From the time we book our flight I’m a mess. I just don’t like the experience. Arrive several hours early. WAIT, take your shoes off, WAIT, and pass your bags through, WAIT. “You’ve been chosen by said airline for special attention, move over to the side for a pat down and WAIT”. “Okay you can proceed to your gate now and WAIT”.”Attention, we are seating rows d through f now” like its some big privilege for me. It’s certainly not “all aboard”, is it? So I enter the big tin cigar holder, find my seat and realize my knees are holding up my chin because there’s no room. My drop down tray also serves as my napkin as it literally sits on my lap. And now for something different … I get to WAIT for clearance for take-off. The stale unvented air has me considering pulling down the oxygen mask and I haven’t left the ground yet. We are finally airborne and I have to use the facilities but WAIT the light is on meaning I have to stay in my seat. Well, at least I get some lunch, oh no you say you just have peanuts and juice. There’s no calming humming noise, no gentle whistles, no soothing horns but a rather disturbing rattling sound from the cabin, which sounds like it’s going to split the aircraft in half. Well at least I have turbulence to look forward to, there’s nothing like that dropped out of the sky feeling. And to think I get to repeat the process when I return including the WAIT for the luggage and hope it’s on my flight. I’m starting to think all of the missing luggage has boarded a train as I would have given the chance. You must admit arriving on the 909 at midnight pulling into the station is a far more romantic notion than having to catch the red eye because you were bumped due to overbooking! As soon as I figure out how to get a train through water I’m leaving the friendly skies forever!

Robert J. Ottaviani (Bert) is a cusp born Aries the ram who has lived through summer of love in the late sixties and the hippie culture that bled into the seventies. He has a passion for music, gardening and all things nature … and laffy taffy. He is freakishly aware of music trivia to absurd levels. Most days you can find him playing his guitar or jotting down lyrics. He was so impacted from the moment he first heard the Beatles that he has Beatlemanianized his life, been to Liverpool, England and remains convinced he is the fifth Beatle. He is married to a gentle and lovely vibe of a woman with three wonderful children. He currently lives and resides in strawberry fields forever.