The Luna Park Gazette

I have to watch my step—literally. My left knee has become the latest part of my body to go the fritz, joining my lower back and my left shoulder. I’m starting to feel like a rundown old Buick. This most recent aggravation started a few weeks ago when I ran to catch a bus and apparently twisted my knee. The pain flared up a short time later and I immediately switched into denial mode, hoping the discomfort would magically disappear one morning without any effort on my part. This has been my standard approach to just about all my problems and, as usual, it didn’t work. I finally gave into reality and acknowledged the pain, which comes and goes without any apparent provocation. Since I’ve been going to physical therapy for the back and the shoulder for the last several weeks, I figured I’d add the bum knee to my list of woes. Cathy, my physical therapist, immediately diagnosed my problem. “You don’t walk right,” she said. “I noticed that when you first walked in here.” “I

The name Robert comes from Old High German word Hruodberht meaning “bright with glory.” I’m trying to focus on that little tidbit today as I mark my 56th birthday. I’m not feeling terribly bright and I’m a little short on glory right at the moment, but I’ve decided to enjoy this day nevertheless. I’m doing my best to banish all negative thoughts and self-criticism today. There’s plenty of time to be miserable some other day. I’m finally feeling better after suffering from some nasty cold for the last two weeks, but the weather has decided to crap out here in the Northeast with temperatures predicted to slip into the forties tonight. It’s been a relatively quite day. I went to work, enjoyed the good wishes of friends and loved ones, and went home. Tomorrow I’ll be having a birthday dinner with my dear sister and auntie. I can remember what a big deal my birthday used to be when I was kid, how my mother always put together these great parties. She made me feel like my birthda

It’s cold and rainy in Brooklyn today, but it’s bright and sunny in Colorado. Or so I’m told. I’m supposed to be in Denver right now—along with my sister and auntie—visiting my brother and his family. But we never left town because I got sick just days before we were scheduled to take off. And for the record, I still feel like five cents’ worth of God-Help-Us. My nose is bruised from all the honking and sneezing. I have no energy, no drive, no desire to do anything beyond picking up the remote and staring at whatever bilge floats across the TV screen. What would Bob Beamon say? In my New Year’s Day post I cited a 2013 horoscope that advised me to emulate the track and field athlete who shattered the world long jump record in the 1968 Olympics so decisively that it led to the coining of the word “Beamonesque.” I made a single resolution that day: to be more mindful. Now, with the New Year nearly half over, I’m sorry to say I’ve fallen abysmally short of that goal. My mind

Maybe next year I should just skip straight to June. Last May , I got some horrendous bug that refused to go away for the longest time. I figured that was just an aberration and that I couldn’t possibly get sick again at this lovely time of year. And certainly not two years in a row. I’m glad I didn't put money down on that bet because right now I’m suffering through a perfectly wicked cold. It started off yesterday afternoon as a little tickle in my throat, which I barely noticed but it quickly blossomed into a full-blown upper respiratory nightmare. I’m coughing, sneezing, and dragging myself around the house like an extra from The Walking Dead . I thought May was all about rebirth and new beginnings, but so far the only thing merry about the month of May is that it’s playing merry hell with my nerves. This is Mother’s Day and my sister’s birthday and instead of being out with my family, I’m home vegetating in front of the tube watching “Bar Rescue” and other, equally s

I’ve never been a particularly handy guy. Whenever any device or object I own breaks down my first thoughts are either “who do I call to fix it?” or “where can I get a new one?” I’ve never crawled under the sink to fix a pipe, lifted a car hood to tinker with the engine, or opened up the back of radio except to change the batteries. I don’t paint, plaster, spackle, varnish, scrape, file or saw. I don’t wear overalls, safety glasses, workman’s boots, or tool belts. Many people live for a do-it-yourself project, God bless them, and I’m sure they’re saving money and feeling pretty good about themselves for taking matters into their own hands. Me, I just reach for the phone. My last repair job was about a year ago when I glued the handle back on to a coffee mug my company had given out for Earth Day. I had managed to break the thing in under a month and while I don’t drink coffee, I do guzzle gallons of tea during the day, so going mugless was not an option. I could’ve asked fo