Week was 37 miles, with 9 plus miles of walking. The week ending with me heading to China on Friday. There is the typical oddity of losing a day to the international date line and the jet lag that comes with those trips.
I posted probably five dozen pictures on IG.
Week 12 of the year ... 34 miles of running on the week - all very slow and labored. At least 12 miles of walking. No gym or weight work because I have lacked that discipline. Most of the runs were with me silently cursing the wind, but today's (Sunday) was a nice shift to sunny skies and temperatures in the 50s.
The knee remains a problem but I keep doing this dance of crunching it without killing it too much. I know that is a falsehood in the long term but I have resolved not to GAF.
I got word on the hyraulic acid shots. 450 bucks a shot after insurance. Frankly I am not sure I am going to go that route. I might get better results from buying more guitars and musical equipment.
Great band practice on Saturday. We worked through 20 tunes. First gig of the year is May 9 at Prost in Thornton.
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124 days without any alcohol. I don't want to use the term sober. I am not sure why but it doesn't seem appropriate for me. I do think I will drink again. I just don't know when. I think that actually will call for a different height of discipline from me than not drinking.
JZ has me reading the Red Rising series. I balked at fiction, especially this genre but I recognize it is good for my head. I punked out about halfway of book 3 on the Stormlight series - it was just dragging too much for me. Rising is a bit easier for me and I am on book 3, Morning Star. Additionally about halfway through Meditation for Mortals and have also started Dune. I am actually reading the print version of Morning Star and so it has become my evening go to before I go to sleep. Meditation and Dune have become listens on runs as I have dropped listening to many of the podcasts I previously listened to (I dunno, it gets a bit boring to hear about the same news shit all the time). I do listen to some of the Rick Beato interviews and some of his rants on how we all need to better hear pitch.
I head back to Asia at the end of this week.
Walked down to the HS yesterday and watched some of the track meet. It was fun to watch kids chase 2 min for the 800, or see a kid break 5 in the mile for the first time, but I certainly did not miss the grunt that came with a long day of being on your feet at the track in March winds.
Plugging along with about 30 miles of sloooow running each week, 10 miles of walking. Haven't done shite for other exercise. 122 days AF.
But I have been playing music.
3/4s of the group I am in, The Pinebox Sleepers played a short set at the Rails End open mic. It was a blast.
Rails End is where I really started playing live music in May of 2019. My first open mic was at Half Penny Brewing in Denver, but there were like 10 guys there then. They were all other musicians wanting to play, so it was a different vibe. Not bad - just more like a gym - everyone was there to lift.
I played Rails a few weeks later after that and it was outdoors at a packed house. Aaron and Jade decided to have the open mic be their wedding reception. There were probably 200 people there. I played "Maybe Its Time" as the first song, eyes closed, a bit terrified.
And since then, I have played there probably over fifty times. And played in other bars and back yards and venues another hundred. Out of it, I have moved from the acoustic solo thing to playing with other musicians I met there and now in this project. The music is a drug, a therapy, an outlet. The community there is a church of people who love music, the sharing of it, are encouraging, laugh with you, cry with you and give you a hug. The music is rock, folk, metal, pop, bands, solo acts, a mix of instruments. It is never on schedule. The sound system is chaotic. But it is wrapped in a love for the craft and each other.
Last night a guy got up after us and sang three songs acapella. That is a set of balls.
I am grateful I get to have this. I can see how much my music has moved over the years ... in my abilities, capabilities, my mind, my confidence. It has been a place of growth. I enjoy the place, the journey, the gift the people, the wood, the steel have given me.
I sorta knew that at my father's funeral service there would be a something that caught me off guard. I wasn't sure what it would be. I tried to imagine scenarios. Would a family member show up from Florida unexpectedly? Would someone be angry with me? What if no one actually showed up? I knew there would be a something that I would have to "roll with," simply because I couldn't know what it would be.
Nonetheless ...
... I was deeply surprised when my father's barber, Johnny Dagostino showed up. Johnny is 87, cut hair for over 60 years at his shop, cut my father's hair for 50 plus years, gave me my very first haircut. I had not seen him since I was probably 17. I didn't recognize him at first, but with his words ... I recognized the deeply accented Italian voice, and then the elfish gleam in his smile. It tapped into memories I didn't even know that were there.
The scripts run really fucking deep.
Most of the week was in CT bringing the affairs of my father's funeral to a close. TZ was solid in keeping me to getting out and getting some air. The space to walk, talk and then even get in some miles of running was key to keeping my head afloat.
I ran every day except Wednesday and ended up with just over 30 miles on the week. Special treat was that I got a run with KZ and JZ on Saturday night back in South Windsor. It has been a minute since I have been back there. About 15 miles of walking on top of that.
Thank you. Thank you all for coming as we remember George Ronald Zack. I am also George Zack, oldest son of George Ronald Zack.
I want to tell you a few stories about my dad. As you’d expect, I have no lack of stories about him. After all, he is the man I have known longer than anyone else in my life. But first, I’d like to invite anyone who would like to say anything or share anything about him to feel free to do so.
Thank you. About my father …
I could tell you stories about the things he loved.
He loved good food, like a good steak or baked stuffed shrimp. He would conjure up his own bar-b-que sauce for the things he grilled. He loved soft boiled eggs with cottage cheese with a hefty dose of Lawry’s seasoning salt. He loved foods I can’t understand still to this day – like stuffed cabbage – he called them gulumpkies or blind pigeons. He loved mint jelly on lamb chops or creamed corn. He loved Rein’s Deli in Vernon. He loved ice cream cakes from Carvel called “Fudgie the Whale.” He loved a good egg sandwich from Augie’s. He loved kielbasa with a good dollop of strong horseradish. He did not like cooked carrots for what it is worth.
He loved a good haircut – and went to the same barber – Johnny’s in East Hartford for over 50 years to clean up what little hair he had.
He loved to ride on his lawn mower in the yard, with a straw hat, and a Hawaiian shirt while enjoying a cigar.
He loved boxing back when it was on ABC Wide World of Sports.
He loved big gas guzzling American made cars like the Ford LTD or a Cadillac
He loved to read a newspaper in the chair – enough that he had two newspaper subscriptions: The Hartford Courant and the Journal Inquirer, even though he didn’t really like the Inquirer. He would call it the “Urinal Inquirer.”
He loved military history.
He loved to drive. He could drive anything. He drove a tank in the Army. He drove a pumper as a fireman. He drove buses. He drove commercial rigs. He loved to drive. I remember his left arm being a deep tan on his otherwise very white body as he always had it hanging out of the window when he drove.
He loved Hosmer Mountain Soda. He had a particular love for the Birch Beer and the Cream Soda from there.
He loved a good comedy – “Monty Python and The Holy Grail” for example, but also a good serious movie like “Patton” or “The Godfather.”
He loved good music and would listen to Pavarotti. It made for quite a mix of musical flavors after my mom had pumped Diana Ross hits from the 8-track on the big furniture stereo.
He loved the rescue and chase of the fire department. I grew up with a scanner radio right next to the kitchen table. It had the chips for the frequencies of SW PD and Fire, Hartford fire and a few other first responder channels. If an interesting call came in, he’d go and check it out even if wasn’t on duty. I’d joke with him that most people who are dealing with a burning building are trying to get out and get away. He wanted to go in. He loved the fire department.
He loved to talk. He could talk to anybody.
And he loved dogs. As far back as I can we remember we had dogs. We had cats too. But I think he was more of a dog person. I even know about a dog my parents had before I was born – “Corky” – because they spoke of her years after I arrived. But we had Manny, Monty, Pepper, Penny and countless others. In one of our last conversations, he asked about my family’s dog, and he smiled as I shared a video with him of our dog.
He loved a little Italian girl from Brooklyn he met when he was 17 named Liboria Giovelli more than anything else. Libby was my mom. She was his world.
I could also tell you the story of how his life was difficult.
His parents were killed in a car accident when he was an infant. He was separated from his biological sister in a subsequent adoption. His adoptive father was a man with a disciplinarian and one with a heavy hand and a belt in times when it was okay to raise kids that way. His adoptive mother passed away at a young age. George and Libby learned they couldn’t physically have their own children. One of his sons got their foot caught in a lawn mower in their backyard. He retired regretfully from the FD at an early age because of a work-related injury. His youngest son, my brother, took his own life at the age of 25. His wife, my mom, passed to poor health at 63. His oldest son, me, moved to the other side of the country. And so, he lived alone for the last two decades of his life.
So I think really his story was about how he was trying to live a life of pivoting to be better.
He married his high school sweetheart and together they navigated an incredible life of joy, challenges, pain, and laughter. He joined the Army at 19, went to Vietnam in the 60s.
He came back from Asia and achieved his greatest career dream of becoming a professional firefighter. He studied his ass off to do the best he could on the firefighter test so he could get that job. He became the seventh firefighter paramedic on all of CT when it was an uncommon achievement. Mom would iron his uniforms, starching the collar heavy when people used to do that.
He and my Mom adopted two boys, me and my brother John, to create a family. They made a point to move out of the city to make for a better place to be – near his work, near her parents, but a place with a yard, woods, a large garden, streets with kids playing in them, and good schools. We grew up in South Windsor on Ellington Road..
He started his own side hustle business “South Windsor Maintenance.” When he was forced to retire from the HFD due to an injury - He worked for Connecticut Transit for 23 years. I think he won a Safe Driver Achievement Pin every year he was there.
My brother John was troubled nearly all his life. My father and my mom did everything they could to make a better way for him. It didn’t work out the way that any of us wanted but they never gave up on John.
After my brother passed, my mother’s health began to decline quickly as well. With her passing he found a life of service and principle in the Masonic community.
I could tell you the story of things he taught or tried to teach me.
My dad always seemed to be trying to teach me things when I was young. Some things he was more successful at than others. For example, he taught me how to turn out of a snow skid in a car in an empty parking lot. In a different parking lot, he taught me to ride a bike. He tried to teach me how to throw and hit a baseball: he threw to me thousands of times but I never really got it – I was just too uncoordinated.
He taught me how to get a job, the importance of hard work and with that, how to keep a job.. “Be the first to show up and the last to leave.” He landed me my first real jobs – first delivering the Journal Inquirer on a bicycle after school and then later at the restaurant we’d get pizza from: Ellington Pizza.
He made sure my brother and I knew how to swim. In his job as a firefighter, he saw people, including kids, drown. He made sure we were good swimmers by getting us lessons and having us practice in our pool.
He was a kid raised in the city, but he introduced me to a love of the outdoors by taking us camping at Hidden Acres in Preston CT. As a child he had once spent a week at a camp and so he decided to send me. I ended up at YMCA Camp Woodstock – a place in later years I would meet my wife, Tracy.
He taught me about a good garden. I forgot how big it was until I looked at pictures of it with Tracy this week. It was big. Bigger than some folks yards with squash, tomatoes, corn, pumpkins, peppers, broccoli …
Of course, like any young man growing up, I always didn’t take well to some of his lessons. I spent a lot of time washing and rewashing and drying dishes to learn to do it right and with the hottest of water. He saw me playing air guitar to the local rock and roll station one time while drying the dishes and a week later there was a guitar in my hands. He wanted me to play like Johnny Cash or BB King. I wanted to play like Jimmy Page and Jimi Hendrix. I still play a bit of all of them still to this day.
Once when I did something stupid, I don’t know what it was now, but I am sure it was stupid, he asked me what I was thinking. Like any teenager, I said, I didn’t know. So, to have me think about it he had me roll pennies. He had a water jug from an office that he had filled about 2/3 of the way up. I must have rolled about a hundred dollars with pennies as he had me think about what I had done.
Another time my brother and I decided to dig a tunnel under the shed in the backyard and all the way back to the house and into the basement. I can only imagine what Dad was thinking as he saw us marching to behind the shed, 20 yards from the house, with shovels, rakes and other equipment. By the time he got to us we had a hole down about four feet. He told us we weren’t in trouble, but we had to fill the hole. But if he ever came back and the earth in the hole was lower than the earth around it, then we’d be in trouble.
Looking back, I can see he was trying to find a way to raise his sons in a way better than than he had been raised.
One lesson he taught me came with four words. “Do a square job.” He started South Windsor Maintenance in the 70s as a side hustle. He saw that he could make a few bucks cleaning the large front windows to South Windsor Pharmacy. He offered and somehow even got to marketing the business at the pharmacy with advertising on matchbooks there. His company’s slogan was “We do a square job.” He was specifically talking about the cleaning of windows, and that there would be no streaks and that they’d get into the corners of the window. The job was not done if it was not a square job. It mattered to him. The business grew for several years, doing various maintenance for business throughout South Windsor and Manchester. The slogan was applied if he was doing cleaning windows, doing landscaping.
Do a square job. I think of that every time I clean windows to this day.
My father and I had a talk on the phone in late January. I mentioned to him how I had now become the old guy at work. And that I was modeling to the people I worked with some of the same things he had taught me. Work hard. Stand up when you shake someone’s hand. Button your suit coat when you stand up. Your word is your bond. And do a square job.
I think he liked hearing that.
In that call, he also told me how he’d bid for a job for SW Maintenance for so many hours. He would then tell the small crew he had hired what he bid it for. If he said it was bid for 3 hours and they got it done in 2, he’d pay them for the 3.
If they had done a square job. If they messed up and cut corners and had to come back and do it again and it took them four, they would still get paid for 3. They had to do a square job. He was proud that his crew loved this philosophy, and they almost always got done ahead of time, happy and well paid.
My father’s life, like most of our lives, was a contradiction of difficulties and victories, dreams, and nightmares. He made good choices and bad choice, got a lot of things right and got some things wrong.
But he kept trying to do what he thought was a square job. Like all of us he sometimes came up short, but he kept trying.
We can all learn from that from his life. By living this way, he made for better lives – for my mom, for my brother, and for me. He created a better world for me, which in turn has been the foundation for better lives for his grandchildren. His grandchildren are both college graduates. His granddaughter, Kali, has lived in two countries for multiple years, Germany and Japan. His grandson, John, works in Colorado in cancer research.
My dad was a guy that had enough difficulty thrown at him that he could have understandably taken a different path. But he looked to do a square job and make things better for those around him.
And I think that is the story I want to remember him most by.
Thank you
I’d like to thank you all for coming and remembering my father. George Ronald Zack, with us. Thank you to the Ulhmar family for being such great neighbors to my father over the last three decades. Thank you to Sam Ranno, his DAV contact, who was a great friends and advocate for my father as a veteran. Special thank you to the Masons: being a Mason was such an important part of my father’s life in the last thirty years. In my conversations with Walt Grubbe, we agreed that in many ways the Mason’s saved my father’s life, particularly after the passing of my mother. It saved his life, because being a Mason was so much of his life.
There is a part of the table we have set up with pins, patches, and other things that we welcome you to take if you like. Most of these are Mason items but there are other items in there as well. Please, feel free to take it if you wish and leverage it however you like in. He would be happy to know it has moved on in memory of him.
Go and do a square job.
Thank you.
And thank you Dad.
First day back to daylight savings. Or is it back from it?
I ran six days this week, about five miles each time, all averaging between 9 and 10 minutes a mile. I can feel the knee feeling like garbage. I can feel the 15lbs I am heavier. I know I am not doing what is best for the knee but the stress on it feels manageable and with that, I take the benefit I get from the run over the stress it causes. More miles or significantly faster feel like they would be significantly more detrimental, so I am taking what I can get.
Got a few in with GW as well which is really nice.
I was in touch with my knee doc and am likely to start a series of hyraulic acid injections in a couple of weeks.
I am getting in some walks to - just shy of 15 miles on the week.
I haven't been doing strength anything.
I decided that I would bear something like 3-5 miles a day. My knee doesn't like it, but the lesser volume and the slower speeds make the whole affair tolerable. The six weeks or so off from running didn't change the state of it. I will need to figure out what is next with that but I expect that to be some sort of surgical intervention.
With more running (29 miles over the last seven days), the walking has dropped (19 miles) but I guess the overall bipedal volume is up a little bit.
The runs are SLOW. Typically 9:30 pace. Occasionally under 9. Some cases even over 10 minute. I wish I could say these are easy. It ain't hard but these do bump my HR to 150.
I saw a physician on Wednesday - first time since bimodal pulmonary emboli (3 years ago this summer? Maybe 4?). This was a routine checkup, so blah blah - do you drink, do you do drugs, do you wear sunscreen, do you have any questions. It so happened that on that day I had not had any alcohol in 99 days. But I was honest in giving myself failing marks on the sunscreen.
I am definitely one of those patients who is a non patient. "mmm hmm ... yeah your LDL is up a bit, so you should work on that." "hmm, your weight is up some, you should work on that." "your lungs sound fine and you seem in good shape. Nice job for not drinking." I mean I get it - I have no outright acute issues so I am an easy appointment other than having to hear me grumble about the slow decline of all the systems and ask what the heck I am supposed to do about LDL anyway.
