Rainey Blogs on Some Days

The day I realized the chin up bars had been removed from the Mount Vernon City Park was one that broke my heart. You might not think removing a couple of old, weathered chin-up bars was a big deal, but those bars and I had a long-term relationship. Each year we went home to Mount Vernon for a visit over the last twenty-five years, I would trudge off into the park to do my chin ups. The bars were directly across from my grandparents house on 24th Street, so I often managed to do chin ups and visit them at the same time. Sometimes I visited the chin-up bars more than I visited them. The bars were on two rectangular wooden structures. One was about 6 ½ feet high. I could reach up and grab it from a standing position, but when I was doing chin ups I would have to fold my legs under me on the downward motion. The other bar was about 8 feet high, but it required me to jump up, grab on, and then maneuver my hands into the right position. When I was in my twenties, I could do sets of pull u

I sometimes like to go for a lunchtime walk at Ramapo Valley County Reservation in Mahwah. It makes me think of what Walden Pond must have been like, except at Ramapo Reservation you have walking paths worn from too many suburbanites walking their dogs and carrying the poop around in bags. Some are even wearing flip-flops while they do this! This is why no one writes a book about a place like Walden Pond or Ramapo Reservation anymore. You can't have your mind ascend to literary heights when you are carrying, or surrounded by people who are carrying, bags of dog doo-doo and wearing flip-flops. Besides that little difference, Ramapo Reservation is probably quite similar to Walden Pond. Well, then there's another thing I just thought of. Maybe the signage that prohibits horses, guns, swimming, etc. is another important difference. I think I'd like to take it back. Maybe it's not like Walden Pond after all. Maybe the progress of civilization from traversing amidst raw,

This is the story of a friend who became an Episcopalian priest due to a medical condition he did not know he had. I have written it as he told it to me while we were sitting at the Jackson Hole Diner in Englewood, New Jersey. I never thought my Greek studies in seminary would prepare me to understand the illness that my doctor recently diagnosed--agoraphobia. The Greek word agora means “marketplace.” The Greek word phobos means “fear.” Put them together and you end up with "fear of the marketplace," or crowds. It wasn't a problem early in my ministry because I pastored small churches of 20 or 30 people. I dealt with the Saturday anxiety leading up to a Sunday as best I could, figuring it was just normal, especially because I never had my sermons done by Saturday and the thought of stepping into the pulpit unprepared made me nervous. But then I started finishing my sermons earlier in the week and I realized my anxiety was still there, so it must be something else.

I finally had to get rid of my 2001 Ford Focus with manual windows after driving it 144,000 miles, which from the Book of Revelation seems to be some sort of number of completion. I always had to grab the handle and crank the windows down because it did not have automatic windows. I used to wonder to myself, “Are we Americans so lazy that we need to have automatic windows where we just push the button down and the window rolls down?” Some cars only require a tap on the button and the window goes all the way down by itself. How will we ever win another war with a citizenry of people who grow up with automatic windows? And forgive this digression, but have you noticed what's happening in the airports of this great nation? Do people use the stairs? No, they ride on an escalator. And they do not even walk up or down the escalator while it is moving. They step on and stand there, riding without effort. And many people who do this are even wearing flip-flops! Is it any wonder we are

I feel grown up when I wear hoop earrings, like my body is maturing to the point where my ear lobes can take the weight of those big hoops. People seem to pay more attention to me when I wear those big hoops, dangling, jangling, spinning around. And they are dangerous. You could easily get your hoop caught in something and—oooh!—that would be bad. It’s like having a couple of big hula hoops hanging off of your ears. Sometimes I like danger, though. It’s exciting, thrilling. Like riding a rollercoaster only it doesn’t make your stomach sick. But for some reason, when I put on those hoops I want to do wrong things. Listen to music I shouldn’t. Wear clothes that I shouldn’t. Use words that I shouldn’t. I don’t even want to go to church when I wear my big hoops. I don’t understand why having a couple of big circles hanging from my ears makes me feel this way. But it does. And I wear a lot more makeup when I wear the big hoops. It doesn’t make sense to wear those big hoops and not hav

On this year's vacation in Jamaica, I read a book by fellow Leonian John Zeaman called Dog Walks Man: A Six-Legged Odyssey . Much of it takes place in Leonia, but it gets interesting when he starts walking the dog in the Meadowlands. Reading the book almost  made me want to get a dog.

On our vacation to Jamaica in August at Beaches Boscobel, I tried to stay true to the craft of writing, taking the early morning just after the sun came up to journal on my steno pad. (Of course, most of the time, I just sat there and looked at the beautiful view while drinking my coffee.) Like the crippled man in the Bible who kept returning to the Pool of Bethesda each day in hopes that he would be able to get in the water when it stirred and be healed, I keep showing up with a pad hoping for something meaningful to end up on the page. Most of the time it doesn't. But when it does, it is wonderful.

The Hawthorne Gospel Church has this sign posted by the access road into the church just off Route 208 for their "Kid's Klub." However, the placement of the apostrophe indicates the club is only for one child. Who will be the first to sign up?

I am spending my birthday this year getting an oil change. I do not need a TV in the waiting room at the Chrysler dealership while I am waiting for my car to be serviced. I would prefer silence with all of us just sitting here looking at each other every now and then, imagining what the other person's life is like. For example, a woman is sitting across from me who looks like a young Woody Allen and I'm just thinking to myself, “What are the chances on my birthday of seeing a woman who looks like Woody Allen?” Just when I was having doubts about getting an oil change and tire rotation on my birthday, this unexpected gift comes to me. I also do not need the psycho reality TV shows yelling and screaming in the background. I can sit and read a book or write a few paragraphs on my steno pad while I wait. Same thing for the airport. I don't need a TV or laptop or iPad to babysit for me while my flight is delayed. I can use the time to think, to ponder the meaning of li

After over a decade of living in this community often referred to as an “artists' colony,” I finally attended Leonia Reads , an annual event of the The Players Guild of Leonia  held  at the Civil War Drill Hall Theater,  where Leonia writers read pieces they have written. I have often thought of attending several times leading up to the previous 13 readings—even envisioned getting up and reading one of my pieces myself—but I thought there was probably some sort of “writer's etiquette” that says you don't just show up your first time to a reading and expect to read yourself (although I learned from my friend Ann Piccirrillo , who also read one of her writings, that she has only been two times and has done readings both times. But she grew up on the East Coast and has hutzpah while I'm a shy Midwesterner ). Besides, I had this fear that I would get up and read something and people would think, “How did he get in here? Don't they check on these people?” So I drove

My first video, a montage posted on You Tube.

I cannot believe my life has come to this: The thing I enjoy more than anything else in the world right now is my afternoon break. I did not dream of this while I was growing up, yet I get excited come time to get my $1.34 medium cup of coffee with two sugars and half-and-half. On Fridays, I splurge and let myself live large and have three sugars! I find a secluded table all by myself, take out my steno pad, and sit quietly and wait for words to come like the lame man in the Bible who went to the pool of Bethesda each day and waited for the healing waters to stir. Finally, thoughts of something I had seen a few days earlier appear: a Rastafarian driving a silver Chrysler PT Cruiser on Route 4 going toward New York City. This was the only thing I got: the image of a wild eyed, dreadlock drenched Jamaican driving a Chrysler PT Cruiser. This unlikely image—a ganja guy in a retro remake vehicle—languishes in my head, a heavy, illogical thought. I look out on the manicured lawn of t

On a recent trip to my hometown in Mount Vernon, Illinois , I saw this sign and remembered one of the nice things about living in the country was the acceptance of guns and the availability of ad hoc target practice locations. Why go to the trouble of driving all the way to a shooting range somewhere (like the one I drive by on the way to work every morning) and paying money when, as you can see, it is not uncommon to pull over beside the road, whip out the old six-shooter, and take target practice against a random, roadside sign when you get the urge? As far as I know, no one has been injured doing this, and the holes actually make the sign less likely to blow away in a windstorm or tornado. 

My first book,  Touching Other Worlds: A Collection of Poems , has now been published. This collection of poems was primarily inspired by my visits to Flat Rock Brook Nature Center in Englewood, New Jersey and a two-month special assignment for UPS commuting to New York City. (You can get a lot of writing done while riding a bus to and from New York City.) It is available online through Amazon and Barnes and Noble.  Click here to print version of Touching Other Worlds on Amazon Click here to Amazon Kindle version of Touching Other Worlds on Amazon Click here to see Touching Other Worlds at Barnes and Noble Click here to LIKE Touching Other Worlds on Facebook

This is a picture of the sign in front of the Walgreens in my hometown in Mount Vernon, Illinois . What strikes me is that they are selling bacon at a pharmacy. However, this is consistent with the Midwestern view that bacon is underrated and is actually good for you. Besides, eating bacon also benefits the local economy and the hog farmers appreciate it.  So get yourself a pound of bacon, fry it up in a pan, and experience the healing properties of bacon!

The Tree of Life is Terrence Malick's critically acclaimed, highly-rated movie starring Brad Pitt and Sean Penn that " contemplates human existence from the standpoint of eternity " (New York Times) while at the same time being quirky, odd, and brilliant. Marcia and I went to see it on Saturday night, and I have never watched a movie that caused me to ponder its meaning in its aftermath in the ensuing days. On the flip side, though, I have also never been to a movie where so many people walked out before the end of the movie. The movie begins with a quotation of Job 38:4-5 against a black background: Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?Tell me, if you understand. Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!Who stretched a measuring line across it? This, I think, is the key to understanding the movie. None of the people who walked out seemed to get it, and no one in any of the reviews I looked up mentioned it either. But it seems to me that the story i

An Empty Station Park, Leonia, New Jersey (June 2011) I drove by Station Park the other day. She was freshly mowed but the dew did not arrive on this sweltering, late spring day. I’ve always thought the park gets lonely about this time of year, when softball season ends with a loss for every team except the champion and little girls in sparkling softball uniforms no longer come to the field because suburban life has called them on to the swim club or early soccer practices. Station Park used to get two glorious months a year of softball, but now not enough girls in Leonia sign up to have their own league. So they play their games in New Milford , and Station Park only gets a few boys’ teams’ practices or starter league games. The girls are there no more. It is the saddest thing in the world to see a field grow lonely. You expect winter’s frigid air and snow to let the field rest and renew in winter’s solitude, but when spring and summer only bring a few ball games and some sol

When you know it is your last day on earth, what is one supposed to do? Here's how I spent my (supposed) last day on Saturday, May 21, 2011. 8:30 a.m.—Got up three hours later than usual today. Should have gotten up early since it is supposed to be my last day on earth. What was I thinking, wasting all of that time sleeping? 9:45 a.m.—Ate Honey Nut Chex cereal for breakfast. Wanted waffles, but my wife wanted me to help her get out the patio furniture for the summer. I acquiesce, even though it is our last day on earth and we should let someone else worry about the furniture. We end up working over an hour, with my wife then using my saw to prune the bushes like a mad woman. (She tried to take out the chainsaw, but I didn't want her to do something risky and not make it to 6:00 p.m.) Some last day together. 11:00 a.m.—Rode my bicycle to the hardware store for WD-40 lubricant to help fix the grill. Thought I might sneak in one last cheeseburger before 6:00 p.m. hits

The Obama Administration has come up with new guidelines for the treatment of enemy combatants and detainees after stumbling across an unusual method that has proved quite effecting in eliciting confessions from prisoners. The method: prolonged exposure to contemporary Christian worship music. After the various methods used at Abu Ghraib gained public attention followed by the purported use of “enhanced interrogation techniques” that lead to the killing of Osama Bin Laden, the Department of Defense researched kinder, gentler alternative approaches to replace highly effective methods such as waterboarding, electric shocks, and sleep deprivation. Preliminary results with Christian worship music have been encouraging. A Department of Defense official who spoke on the condition of anonymity said the U.S. is pleased with the new method because it is considered humane, yet 90% of detainees offer full confessions within a few hours of the new form of “torture.” “Most of the techniques in the

To the tune of Purple Rain by Prince I never meant to cause you any sorrow I never meant to cause you any pain I only wanted to one time see you eating I only wanted to see you eating a big Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe I only wanted to see you with a big old Sloppy Joe I never wanted to be your weekend sandwich I wanted you each day with some kind of fries Baby I could never choose to eat another It's such a shame my cholesterol had to rise Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe I only wanted to see you eating a big Sloppy Joe Honey I know, I know, I know times are changing It's time we all reach out for something new That means you too You say you’re thinking vegan But you can't seem to make up your mind I think you better close it And let me guide you to a Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe Sloppy Joe If you know what I'm singing about up here C'mon

My daughter dictated this little essay to me just before her second birthday based on her experiences being a third child. I’m almost two now, but I’ve already learned a thing or two. Like I don’t like to sleep alone. Yeah, parents nowadays try to break children but mine couldn’t break me. Started out with my own crib as most babies do, but that was really more like being in prison. Those wooden slats--of course my parents were too cheap to get me my own new crib, so I had to use my sisters' old, dangerous drop-side crib--were just like prison bars to me, keeping Mommy and Daddy beyond my reach. So as soon as I could, I showed them I could climb out. Of course, when you’re less than one year old, you’d think a parent would be there to catch you. Boy, was I ever wrong. My Mommy and Daddy were both in the room, yet I managed to do a half flip and land on the back of my head. My Daddy, who was closest, just stood there and watched. It was then that I realized my first big lesson in l

Anton Chekhov , the great Russian playwright, said, "Any idiot can face a crisis; it is this day-to-day living that wears you out." A couple of years ago, my oldest daughter took her written driving test at the Lodi Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) after a harrowing trip from our house to get there. We left home at 7:25am. Our goal was to leave at 7:15am. It was my fault because even the slightest variation to my daily routine completely throws me off, even though we were planning to leave even later than I normally do when I go to work. We were still OK leaving a little late because we needed to meet the driving instructor at 7:45am, but the trip to Lodi from Leonia should have only taken about 20 minutes on a normal day. But when we got on Route 46 West not far from our house, we immediately ran into a complete closure near the Pathmark in Fort Lee. I managed to get to the shoulder, exit into the Pathmark parking lot and hurry through sides streets in Pal Park so we cou

Ash Wednesday . I got up in the morning and decided to fast until dinner after reading that this was the practice of earlier Christians. Since I'm quite conscious of Muslims now and know they fast for Ramadan from sunrise to sundown, I figured it was the least I could do for Ash Wednesday was to fast for one day. On the way to work, in the spirit of the practice I did know about Lent —giving up something during those forty days as a form of self-sacrifice—I randomly decided to give up listening to the radio on my commute to work in the morning. This would mostly knock out National Public Radio . (How was I supposed to know the Japanese earthquake and tsunami would hit right after and the temptation to find out what was happening would be too great to overcome?) But on that first Wednesday, I completed the readings and prayer of repentance. On the way to work I listed to a tape—yes, that's an actual tape. My car has a tape player!--of the Bible and thought about going to an As

News reports the other day indicated that Gabrielle Giffords spoke for the first time since the shooting and asked for toast. I am happy for her, but this news is also upsetting to me. These amazing recoveries make me think about my mom's head injury and the choices I made on her behalf. Choices that did not lead to a miraculous recovery, but ended in her death on her fifth day in neuro ICU at Barnes-Jewish Hospital in St. Louis just over ten years ago. She had gotten knocked to the pavement accidentally getting out of a friend's car to go to work at the Sally's Beauty Supply in my hometown. She was air-lifted to St. Louis while they were trying to reach me at work. But I had gone at lunchtime to a public library, where I was writing an introduction to a lesson about the book of Job. One moment is was writing about Job . The next moment I was Job, wondering why life had sucker-punched me. With my mom's non-recovery, I find it often bothers me when people do recover, p

I finally found a use for an old script I had written one year not long after my wife returned from a trip to see her family. She discovered while she was away that I had gone shopping and bought myself a bright Tommy Hilfiger orange shirt. The orange in the shirt was so bright it was almost criminal. The shirt inspired this little sketch. http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/11155784/ I still have the shirt somewhere, I think, although she may have thrown it away.

A recent reading presented a striking phrase. Moses was preparing the Israelites to go into Canaan, and he referred to “your children who do not know good from bad” ( Deuteronomy 1:39 ). Lots of people throughout history have tried to define this idea of when a child knows good from bad. Jews have bar mitzvahs for boys at age 13 and bat mitzvahs for girls at age 12  to announce that the child is now a son or daughter of the Torah. Some Christians have Confirmation classes about the same age in some traditions, while Roman Catholics confirm at the age of discretion, about age seven. Our church tradition is more of a sliding scale “age of accountability,” where each child is on more of a self-paced Montessori -like exploration until one day they awaken and know right from wrong. When this actually happens is not so apparent; well, at least until you take your children to the playground . Over the years, we often took our girls to playgrounds, and they never failed to go running toward

Three thirty flight. Didn't check departure terminal. Web site said A was for Continental Express . It is now two fifteen. Marcia lets me off at curb of Newark airport . Walk in and see line for check-in is all through the maze and down the corridor. Can't find self-service check-in kiosk. Gotta go to the bathroom BAD. Sign points downstairs. Can't think straight with full bladder. Ride down escalator and follow signs. Bathroom is farther away than expected. Go back upstairs at different escalator and see self-service check in. Get my boarding pass. Says "Gate C136." That's Terminal C. Yikes. Confirm with flight attendant. "Go downstairs to AirTrain and take it to Terminal C," she says. Of course I'm at wrong terminal. Two-thirty. Up the escalator with suitcase. Wait five minutes. AirTrain arrives. Get on with a chatty woman. "Don't your feet get cold wearing those shoes without socks?" she says to the young man with gray deck shoes

After several successive quarters of modest losses, Kingdom of Darkness (NYSE:KOD) Chairman and CEO Bill Z. Bub announced a two major new initiatives instituted across the enterprise aimed at increasing shareholder value. First, Bub announced the job title “manager” was reclassified from a salaried position to a combination salary and commission position. “Even though we had all of our managers read The Purpose Driven Life last year, we found that we still had to do something to fight the tendency of our middle management to be bloated and beaureaucratic, particular in the customer-facing portions of our business. By making sure they have some skin in the game with part of their salaries tied to performance, we believe our managers will become more productive. If not, we may have to bring in a consulting firm to help us streamine our processes.” Next, to make KOD more customer and family friendly, Bub indicated that they were eliminating the “demon” job title in favor of the friend