The Luna Park Gazette

What more can you say at this point? I don’t know how many times I’ve written about mass shootings over the years. There have been so many of these atrocities over the years that the details tend to blur. Earlier this month I wrote about the supermarket slaughter in Buffalo, NY and then—just 10 days later—we had another one on May 24 at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas. Once again, a heavily armed, emotionally damaged young man unloaded his rage into a group of innocent people with weapons that no civilian should be able to purchase. The shooter, who bought two AR-15s for his 18th birthday, killed 19 children and two adults. The details coming out of Uvalde have been horrific: one child smeared the blood of her classmate on herself and pretended to be a corpse. A teacher died using her body to shield her students. A short time after learning of his wife’s murder, the teacher’s husband died of a heart attack, leaving behind four children. Of course, none of tha

"I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.’ -- Emily Dickinson There’s nothing quite so sad as a discarded toy. In the last week I’ve come across several toys piled up outside of people’s homes waiting for the sanitation trucks to haul them away. The list includes a stuffed unicorn, a Little Tikes Cozy Coupe, a jeep for child-sized drivers and a kid’s desk. All of them were once loved so dearly, but now they’ve outlived their usefulness as their owners continue the one-way march toward adulthood. It’s only natural, of course; there comes a time to put away childish things, but it still depresses the hell out of me. I’m going to be 65 years old on Tuesday. I don’t believe it, and I certainly don’t like it, but that is the reality. I am eligible for Medicare as well as discounts at a slew of chain restaurants that don’t particularly appeal to me. And I’m planning for retirement, though that’s still a couple of years away. The AARP marked my entry into the Sen

It was an almost perfect day. After a two-year Covid-imposed layoff, my sister, auntie and I made a triumphant return to the theater on Saturday, and it was a smashing success. We had gone to see “Hangman,” Martin McDonough’s brilliant and rather bizarre play, and as we walked through Times Square for the first time in ages, I found myself thinking of “It’s Great to Back to Broadway,” the rousing opening number from “Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol.” We’re a family of theater-goers and we had not been to a play since we saw Charles Busch’s “Confession of Lilly Dare” at the Cherry Lane Theater in March 2020. I must confess that it felt strange and a little intimidating to be back in the Times Square groove. After the lengthy hiatus, we weren’t accustomed to the noise, crowds and madness that all come together at the Crossroads of the World. I couldn’t wait to get into the theater. I greeted all the ushers like they were long-lost relatives and it felt so nice to hold a Pl

“Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children.”—William Makepeace Thackery Whenever my mother saw that I was down or upset she would always smile and say “Up, up, up!" Her voice took on a musical quality as she tried to lift my spirits and today on Mother’s Day I can't help but think of that little phrase and her beautiful smile. She always looking out for me and my siblings. If she saw a newspaper article that she thought we would find helpful she got out the scissors and started snipping away. There was no emailing URLs back in those days. One time she bought a book for me called “Overcoming Regret: Lessons from the Road Not Taken” because she saw that I was struggling with the choices I had made in my life. I know I had read that book, but it’s been so long I don’t remember a word. Since regret is once again muscling its way into my life as my 65th birthday approaches, I thought it might be a good idea to reread this 1992 volume. All I

Last week I reconnected with two men who helped mold my mind. Henry and Fred are two therapists I’ve worked with for many years. Both men helped me get through some of the worst times in my life. I met Henry in the mid-Eighties when I was falling apart physically, emotionally and professionally. I’d never worked with a shrink before, and it took everything I had to keep from running out of the waiting room on my first visit. Fortunately, I didn’t give into my fears. Henry used to catch me whenever I talked down about myself and ask me a very simple question: “Whose work are you doing?” He explained that there were people in my past who used to make me feel like crap and I’m now pinch-hitting for them. It took me a long time to understand when Henry was trying to tell me, but I’m finally starting to get it. I worked with Henry off and on and for many years, in person at first and when by phone when I lived in Pennsylvania and Connecticut. I learned very quickly