RESTING MY RUMINATIONS

With my first breath, my mind freely feels, 
There’s someone laying right next to me,  
Feeling my heart beat in sync with theirs.

I stare at the ceiling fan whirling, 
Absorbing my radiating heat, 
I lay still, as to not stir them awake,

It’s just about three in the morning, 
I am mentally not all present,  
Yet, my body is fully awake.

Still laying in bed, I shut my eyes 
Begging for just another hour, 
So, I won’t be robbed another night.

In one breath, I wish they joined my fight, 
Helping to slay my nightly demons, 
Winning back my lost hours of sleep.

By now they found their way to my mind,  
My nightly guest just won’t go away, 
Telling me, they were just passing through.

I fight my demon, insomnia, 
I ruminate today’s disaster, 
Playing in my mind, an endless loop. 

Feeling their heart beat and their next breath, 
Until my body’s madness succumbs, 
Into silent screams that fade away.

With my last breath, my mind is set free, 
Not even an ounce of energy, 
Until I finally fall asleep.

Ending my night’s tossing and turning, 
I manage a few hours of rest, 
Before the sun welcomes a new day.

It’s on the wings of hope and a dream, 
I start with a prayer of gratitude, 
For today’s better than yesterday. 

 

MY FINAL ONE LAST GOOD-BYE

With Labor Day passed, 
a northern breeze cools the air, 
with a whisper reminding 
foliage to transform themselves, 
into their varying autumn hues. 

The forest stirred with movement, 
as if the whisper reminded animals, 
start preparing and gathering 
for the cold winter ahead, 
coming sooner 
than later.

The trees replied, 
with many turning golden, 
some oranges and a few red, 
all the while white caps formed 
on the small waves of the lake 
as if they, too answered 
the wind’s whisper.

Animals of all colors and sizes, 
mindful of the whisper’s message, 
began to make arrangements.

Squirrels and racoons scurried, 
    collecting for their winter reserves, 
bears began eating their last big feast     
    before taking in for their long winter’s nap, 
geese prepared to take their long flight, 
    to their southern winter homes, 
while deer, moose and others took a gamble, 
    of not worrying about their tomorrows.

Yet, all dealt only with the stresses 
of just getting by today.

Cottagers answered, 
Mother Nature’s subtle call, 
much like their wildlife counterparts.

They begin closing their summer residences, 
    more of a winter’s slumber, than a winter’s hibernation.  
Packing the portable cooler with perishables, 
     for enjoyment in their winter home;  
placing winter dust skirts on the beds, 
     guaranteeing fresh linens underneath, 
washing one last round of dishes,     
     patiently waiting for return of festivities; 
rounding up the last collection of trash,     
    avoiding collection of rancid scents; 
storing away outdoor furniture and fixtures, 
     preserving their use for next season; 
putting away bird feeders, 
    once the last bird had its last season’s fill; 
boats pulled out of their water’s home, 
    leaving them on their trailer and covered; 
water pumps and plumbing pipes drained, 
    draining water, leaving basins and pipes dry; 
switching of the electric at the master breaker;     
     cutting the last life of the summer residence,

once done, 
then saying, 
one final good-bye to summer friends, 
even when one more, 
becomes more than just one good-bye.

With October’s second Monday near,
one more autumn holiday, 
celebrated in unison 
by both nations,
when again, 
the winds whisper, 
a firm reminder, 
to one and all, 
finalize preparations, 
for the winter’s season of 
shorter days and longer months, 
awaiting just around the corner.

Knowing there will be at least one, 
maybe more, one day visits 
checking in on the hibernating home, 
but until then, 
a final check, 
of last minute items 
with a double check off, 
the season’s end master to-do list, 
before the door is locked for the season, 
for one last time as if saying good-bye 
to another lifelong friend. 

Summer’s long gone, 
when autumn bids farewell, 
while winter’s bitter, 
blustery freezing gusts, 
reminding all, who is truly in charge, 
by leaving more than a dusting of snow, 
and a layer of ice with each squall's scream.

With each visit,
the caretakers’ pilgrimage, 
treading softly, as to not awaken, 
those choosing a winter’s deep sleep. 
Waddling through knee-deep snow, 
carefully crossing the fragile ice laden lake, 
with hopes it doesn’t shatter beneath them.

As seen in the not so close distance, 
with just minutes, before day’s light yields 
to swiftly approaching darkness of the day’s end, 
they eventually arrive, unlocking the door. 
Entering, they’re greeted by the darkness inside 
and hollowing winds bellowing through the rafters. 
A cold, dark, shadow is within their grasp, 
suddenly, a deep vacated voice, 
angered by being stirred 
and awoken too soon 
from hibernation. 

The caretaker comforts, 
gently igniting the fireplace, 
putting on the first pot of coffee, 
as light, warmth and comforts 
conquering the cold darkness, 
hearing an unspoken apology. 
Building a bond, rekindled peace 
by hushing winter’s once rage, 
with each arriving friend, 
resolving another 
voided space.

Where echoes of 
winter’s silence gathered, 
I watch the snow settle, 
like memories, holding its breath, 
beneath the thick sheet of ice. 
waiting to shatter and be told, 
as we once again gathered 
not just to warm the hearth, 
but to tend the flame of years past.

For each echoing laugh 
and silent tears shed, 
we inherit the season’s quiet vow, 
to return, to relive, to remember, 
and to keep the soul of summer alive, 
even in the winter’s longest night.

It’s then we are reminded, 
the value of lifelong friendships 
who, over decades of friendship 
became nothing less than family.

Bringing warmth, 
on the coldest winter days 
and 
cooling comforts, 
on the hottest summer days by 
sharing stories of cherished memories, 
and then telling tales of years past.

The hands of time 
keep moving forward, 
knowing there will be the day,
I am left to hand over the keys, 
to the next caretakers, 
with no turning back time 
except in my memory. 
Within their time, 
they will come 
together 
to tell tales, 
to share stories 
and make memories, 
and call it their very own, 
even when I know another 
summer is just around the corner, 
even after my final one last good-bye.

 

 

 

ROBERT, ROBB BUT NEVER BOB

I attended a social event this weekend, billed as a “meet and greet” for mainly retirees but open to anyone seeking connection and the need to expand their social circle. As an early retiree, I’ve come to realize how much of my social life was tethered to my career. It’s one of those things while you work you take for granted, the social aspect, morning catching up over a cup of coffee, having lunch together and afternoon hallway chats of shared deadlines. Let’s face it as we get less young, these social circles shrink, even harder to meet people and making new friends becomes increasingly challenging. 

 

Those of you who know me, are quite aware, especially if you travelled with me, I’d sooner be an hour early than a minute late. I arrive at the venue about twenty minutes, ok half hour before the event actually officially starts to allow myself time to account for traffic (there was none), should I need to stop for anything (a last-minute Jardiance run) and to allow myself enough time to calm my nerves down. This social introvert puts on a great show meeting new faces but unless you live my life you don’t realize the effort, I put in to be ready to mingle and at the end how much it drains me. About the Jardiance run - Google Jardiance side effects and then you will know. 

Within fifteen minutes more than two hands full of people already entered. So I proceed to enter the hall. Once entered there was a long card table serving both as the check-in and registration desk. I proceeded to the table and was immediately acknowledged by a woman my age who was too happy, perhaps she already had her maximum caffeine and/or sugar intake for the day. She proceeded to give me a lanyard and requested I find my name tag and put it on for the duration of the event. The name tags were printed in an easily readable bold large font in a cobalt blue color. Some name tags had a ribbon on the bottom of the name tag with their rank in the club. The colored ribbon perfectly aligned with the name tag itself shared various titles including club officers, some as guests from other chapters and some with years of service involvement with the sponsor club. 

 

All this flashed me back to high school extra-curricular activities for a brief moment. It only took a matter of seconds for me to find my own name tag.  I asked the polite yet overly happy woman at the desk if she had a spare blank name tag to correct my first name.
 

        “By any chance can I get a blank name tag, I found mine, it says Bob.
        Now, here’s the thing, I don’t go by Bob. I never have. My e-mail
        signature says Robert as do my professional documents. My closest
        friends may call me Robb. But Bob? That’s a name I never claimed
        to have ownership to." 
 

The smile turned into a frown as if I asked to borrow her last dollar to selfishly get a bottle of water in the middle of a desert. Without skipping a heartbeat, she said, 

        “No! The names were taken off the event’s pre-registration e-mails
        and I was specifically told by the club’s president to use the names
        from the e-mail and that’s what I did.”
 

I highly doubt she took my name from my e-mail as all my e-mail setups to e-mail signature always say, “Robert” not any deviation or abbreviation as I have gone by Robert in both academic and career all but one year. When my family moved to Toronto, for the start of my Grade 2 year. For whatever reason I was called “Bobby.” I digress. She refused to change and the frown started to look like more of anger as I tried to justify my case. I attempted to explain but it all fell on her deaf ears. 

        “Only my parents and a handful of a few very close family and
        friends who are nothing short of family who refuse to see me as
        anything but the little boy I once was still call me ‘Bobby’.”
 

Informally, I will accept Robb, my official signature is Robert W Kovacs, formal situations, Robert and lastly formal for certifications etc is Robert William Kovacs.
 

I digress. 

Upon not issuing me a new name tag, I politely thanked her for time and moved on into the main room for the introduction and opening keynote speaker. During the opening keynote, I kept ruminating on the situation in my head what gave them the right to rename me and assume my name is “Bob” as opposed to “Robert” or worst-case scenario, “Robb.” Another one of my quirks, I tend to ruminate over on trivial issues in an attempt to rectify or perhaps handle a similar situation better in the future. They divided the entire audience into four sections based loosely on the registration questionnaire. It was made clear several times when the speaker stated,
 

        “This is not a social event for dating or those looking for a possible
        romantic connection. This is a professional networking event for
        retirees to reengage into the social scene and make new friends.”
 

I already knew men traditionally have less friends and participate in less social activities outside of their workday or immediate family gatherings as they get older. It doesn’t get better for men, as we get older and retire from our careers, we become less social and to find it increasingly harder to meet and make new friends than our female counterparts. As an early retiree; I can concur on both as I didn’t realize how much of my social life revolved around my career and I didn’t really do much to expand my friendship circles since high school as I like to say, life gets in the way of living.

In addition to holding down a a full-time job and establishing my career, I provided respite care and assisted my Mom in caring for my Dad until his passing in 2016. After my Dad’s passing my Mom has been through several serious health issues which interrupted her independence. Even though she remains fiercely independent and blessed to be able to handle most things on her own. I do my best to help her with the physical demands of owning a house and the mental fortitude to make sense of the mountains of paperwork she receives from insurance following every medical appointment.

With that being said, during this time I saw most of my closest friends move on and out of South Florida for careers, marriages or a chance to try something new while I stayed within the same geographical area since Grade 8. I was blessed with a great career with the YMCA of South Florida for just over forty years and was exposed to a variety of positions and have a legacy I am very proud of. However, I missed out the chance to be exposed and network with new and different people, new companies, new cities, etc., I don’t regret the choices I made, I am just learning to adapt to my new journey. 

Ironically, the keynote speaker’s topic was quite along the same lines of stating to put our needs first after years of putting careers, families and other items before our own needs. 

The one takeaway resonated with me. 

        “Today is the gift of the present. Make it count as the day you do
        something for yourself first as tomorrow is never guaranteed.”
 

Later, after the keynote, we separated into the four breakout groups. I inferred the four groups were based broadly on our work experiences and loosely on our educational attainment and to even a lesser extent of other factors from the questionnaire. The groups varied from fifteen to twenty-five participants a facilitator. The group facilitator asked us to form a circle and face each other. Immediately, I felt as if the roles briefly swapped from my days of summer camp director. This time I was the new kid on the first day of summer camp. Much like them, we all started out as strangers and by end of camp became best friends. 

        “Once we make our circle, I need a volunteer to start the ball rolling.” 

The ball was tossed directly my way, I was left with no choice but be the first one catching the ball. You guessed it. As the facilitator threw the soft foam ball randomly, I became the first person to catch the ball and answer the facilitator’s questions of ourselves, 

        “State your name, what kind of career/job you had recently, a
        hobby/interest and something unique about you.” 

I fully accept being a social introvert and dislike being thrusted into being the center of attention but I was not prepared to be the first one to catch the ball and having to introduce myself. 

        “Hi! My name is Robert or you can call me Robb. Despite what
        my name tag says, please don’t call me Bob or any other derivatives
        off of Robert. I retired from being the payroll administrator for my
        organization for over 2000 employees for the last dozen or so years.
 

        In my spare time I am recreational writer/amateur blogger and
        like to catch up on useless tv shows I missed out while I worked
        and went to school full-time since 1988. 

 

        Something unique about me, I worked for the same non-profit 

        organization since I was 14 years-old in vastly different capacities 

        for my entire just over 40 year career with the YMCA of South Florida.“ 

The facilitator smiled and responded.
 

        “Thank you for sharing Bob.” 

Before I passed on the ball to the next random person, I gently yet quickly corrected the facilitator. I thought I’d made it clear and reminded him and the remainder of the group.
 

        “Robert, Robb but never Bob, please.” 

Laughter rippled through the ballroom. I felt as if everyone was laughing at me for being difficult not necessarily for my quick quip of the incorrect name tag and my correcting my what I preferred to be called. The facilitator then went on a mission to explain how we are introduced to others has a lot to do how others perceive us to be. I guess in this case I came across stern, rude, obtrusive and any other negative adjectives to describe me rather than more friendlier and neighborly sounding Bob or Bobby. 

After the laughter calmed down, Again, I explained firmly why I choose to be called Robert or Robb.
 

        “I call myself Robert, because that is the name I lived into and
        answered to everyone outside of my family. It’s the name
        I signed on every legal document, every greeting card and
        anything and everything else of prominence or not.
 

        It’s the name my parents chose for me and the one I chose to
        carry forward with intention. It may sound formal, yes, but
        it’s also my name and I wear it proudly.
 

        Bobby is reserved to very immediate family and takes me back
        to how people perceive me as the little boy they knew fifty
        plus years ago. Bob feels too casual and is someone else’s
        shorthand for who they think I am or might be. 

        The use of Robert is intentional and deliberate. It holds my
        life, my history and most importantly my voice.”
 

When I finished my few moments of a monologue, the room erupted in a roar of applause. My first thoughts, the participants were relieved I finally finished what seemed like a long drawn out speech rather than the few moments where I made my comments before we moved on to the next person. 

Shortly after I finished my comments, the person next to me, shared with me, how I gave him courage to stand up to their preferred name. It was than I recognized the magnitude of my comments may have freed up others to reclaim their own preferred names, their own history and story coming along with their name. 

After all is said and done, I am, Robert W Kovacs, I sealed both my academic history and my professional legacy with this name. My journey, my stories and my history will always be remembered by others as told by none other than Robert, Robb but never Bob.

 

 

 

WHEN YOUR CALLING DID CARRY ON IN MY JOURNEY

In high school, I was definitely reserved; ok, more shy and socially awkward than the social introvert I am today. I was a newbie, as most of my fellow classmates knew each other since elementary or at least middle school and here I came into their realm in Grade 8, where I really didn’t make many friends. By the time I began my freshman year of high school, I was already working part-time at the local YMCA after-school and really didn't get involved in extra-curricular activities that took place after-school.

Over the first few months, I made friends with a few classmates who I sat with at lunch.  A few were much like me and a couple were less socially awkward but by all means did not fit in the popular and cool kids cliche.  Out of this small niche, I am still touch with two of them.  I consider one of them my closest friends, almost like a brother, though he no longer lives in South Florida.  The other is a very close friend, though we don't talk as often, we pick up conversation as we didn't skip a beat.  She, too, no longer lives in South Florida.  

I don't recall who recruited me to be part of the class cabinet, a leadership club much like student council but on a grade level.  They said its were all the popular and cool kids hung out and I can begin to make more friends.  Even a few teachers steered me towards getting involved with the class cabinet or other extra-curricular activities to meet others.  Although my involvement was limited to activities held during the school day or weekends due to my job responsibilities.  I joined the class cabinet and it was here I was introduced to Mrs. Sandra Carrion. I was offered opportunities to participate and support the efforts of the class cabinet in ways I could with my limited time availability.

I never had Mrs Carrion as a Spanish teacher and only got to know her only as the class cabinet faculty sponsor.  As I recall, It was not until my junior year of Spanish, my teacher required her class to visit other “countries” (aka the other Spanish teachers) and have our “passports” stamped by having conversations in Spanish as part of a class grade requirements. I can barely handle speaking my native tongue of Hungarian let alone grasp Spanish.  This is when I got to know Mrs. Carrion on a more one-to-one level through our "passport" conversations . With her patience, prompting and perseverance, I passed my Spanish class as she made me want to do nothing but my best and ultimately I became more engaged in the class cabinet.

Cheers to you Mrs. Carrion, for the incredible human being touching not just my life but many of my friends and generations of others. Your sincere love for teaching and the students in a friendly yet no-nonsense approach left little room for any inappropriate behavior issues to arise.

It is with my honor, I present to my acrostic poem sharing my story of the difference she made in me.  With love from one of your forever grateful students, from the great class of 1988, South Broward High School!

 

=========   

 

Speaking Spanish was not my thing, nor had you as a teacher,
But I was part of the graduating class of eighty-eight,
Here I had the pleasure to get to know you and then you, me.

Seems like it was only yesterday when all of this happened,
Being in class cabinet, your impact left a streak in me,
Until recently, I never even gave it second thoughts.

Looking back on my legacy filled career, it all made sense,
Leadership, public speaking, teamwork, fundraising skills and more,
Developed many of the skills I needed for my career.

Our friendship of teacher and student grew over the years,
God blessed me with only the best to join me in my journey.
Since I still lived in the area, I tried to keep in touch.

Stopped by when I could, catching you up with my life’s happenings,
Even though visits were infrequent, brief and not quite enough.
Never felt anything less than welcomed, like close family.

Over the years, on campus visits became more difficult,
Reminiscing my high school days is all I thought I had left,
As offsite get togethers were difficult to coordinate.

Some of my darkest days, you helped me find my light once again,
Always available to lend me your compassionate ear,
Not knowing how much that meant, I can’t thank you enough today.

Dreading the days, I came to get my class “passport” stamped by you,
Rarely, I was able to carry a full conversation,
Albeit, patiently you helped me through those dreaded minutes.

Cheerfully, you greeted us with your warm welcoming smile,
Allowing us to come as we were and helped us find ourselves,
Reaching out, by offering a helping hand or a lifeline.

Real teachers knew it’s not always of classroom lessons learned,
Instead, it’s the knowledge gained to become better citizens,
Only those lives you touched know the difference you created.

Not knowing, when you answered the calling you heard long ago,
Those impacted yesterday, still speak fondly of you today.
You helped make my high school days not just easier but better.

Cherished memories of those days still bring smiles years later,
Once I realized you held a key piece of my life’s puzzle,
I had to express my gratitude and appreciation.

Perhaps the debt of gratitude I owe was paid back in full,
Besides passing on the calling to the next generation,
But remaining grateful for you being part of my journey. 

 

WHEN THE WINDS WHISPERED ME MY CALLING

I don’t
recall when
nor how early,
but my ears too,
heard the calling,
just as my mentors
did a generation earlier.

 
When I first heard the winds,
they whispered my name,
like a soothsayer,
reading my fortune,
through her crystal ball,
telling me my tale
for all my tomorrows.

 
She started sharing, 

“Your efforts, didn’t go wayside or go unnoticed.”

“You’ve been good with kids, of all ages and 

especially those with different abilities, pre-school and 

those like you, as demonstrated by your success 

working with them at your job. 

I believe you just found your own calling.”

In a sense,
without knowing,
albeit not in a classroom,
of an elementary school,
I, too became a teacher but
at the local YMCA and its
facility rich campus. 

This was the beginning
of what became my career.
of just over forty years,
my roles changed,
through varied
departments
and different
disciplines
and capacities.

I remained,
a teacher of
my own calling.
Whether
working in.
summer day camps
or
child care programs
or
in my
later years,
training the next generation,
in becoming part of this
international movement,
known simply, as the YMCA. 

Looking back,
my school days,
I coasted by many classes,
some just did enough for a pass,
even aced a few, where I favored either
a course or a teacher, or in a rare case, both. 

I remained lucky,
the hand I was dealt with,
resulted in a poker’s royal flush.
When it came to my teachers,
the greater than majority,
heard their calling early
and made learning fun
and taught in ways
beyond textbooks.

They answered without question,
dancing and singing to their joy,
knowing how to make that difference,
in teaching just one right lesson,
peaking a student’s interest,
who needs a helping hand,
finding their own way
with life’s struggle
not letting go of
their student’s
hand until
success
was met. 

My memory recalls, as I remember, always when asked,

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” 

Waving my hand to be the first one to say,
“I want to be a teacher!”
 

Just like them,
I wasn’t looking
for a short work day,
nor one with every holiday
then a full summer off with pay or,
sprinkled with more than a handful of
negotiated half days of work due to whatever.

I wanted to answer the calling,
heard by so many of my teachers,
so I can honor and thank them,
for their investment in me,
by my depositing my gift
on the next generation
of differently abled
learners whom
were just like
me in a way
or another. 

Each day,
I prayed and hoped
I was making a difference,
just like the ones did with me. 

I always wanted to be the one,
who sang my own song,
though I couldn’t sing a tune,
who danced my own dance,
though I own two left feet.
I always wanted to be the one,
cheering for the underdog,
reminding me, I was one too! 

I knew,
how to relate
and make the
connection
one student
at a time.

With the common denominators,
setting the stage for success,
uncovered hidden talents,
stayed present with me,
expanded my interests,
showed interest in me,
its only then they built
the foundation of
something larger
we created together. 

I still prayed and hoped,
in becoming a teacher,
then I was reminded,
I too, became a teacher
albeit not in school or
traditional classroom,
where a teacher’s desk
was replaced by a
playground and
outdoor field or
singing camp songs
on a bus to our next
summer camp trip.

When the day’s winds changed direction and felt warmer, 

the soothsayer returned, 

she shared her final words with me.
I leaned in,

listened to her whisper, 

once again, with an open ear.
 

With her final words, she thanked me and 

reflected on my yesterdays then reminded me, 

“Its time to take care of you, its time to reward yourself, 

its time for you to bring everything to a close. 

It’s time to pass the torch, 

just as it was done for you so many years earlier.”

I kept my promise,
I danced to my own song, with my two left feet.
Through my tear-soaked eyes,
seeing all the interest earned by my investments.
in the faces of many whose lives I impacted.

I left,
with them
laughing with me,
as they too,
chased their own calling,

as I heard them say in unison,
“Please don’t let Mr Robert sing!”
as I sang, my final and one last song.