Sleep is long lost, and tomorrow is beginning shortly. What little will the world know of what happened at in the early AM.

-Dominick Santise

Reasons that make the week seem to fly by.

-Dominick Santise

Not much to behold, but what followed was everything that started here. —Dominick

Drawings from the subway
—Dominick

If you have ever traveled along then Hudson River in New York, particularly via Metro North Railroad which rides along the river, you may have witnessed an odd looking ship that seems out of place among all the tug boats and tankers that crowd the waters. That vessel may have been the Half Moon, a replica of the ship that Henry Hudson captained up the river that would later bear his name. The crew of the Half Moon took part in the Hudson-Fulton celebration in June, commemorating the 400th anniversary of Hudson’s voyage. The drawing is from the festivities as the ship pulled into port in Newburgh, NY.—Dominick

For no other reasons than to be reminded that we are not always in control, that we have to roll with mother nature, that an unexpected obstacle might block our path, let it snow. If that’s not good enough, fly south for the winter, it’s always warmer in Florida. —Dominick

Not what I had intended exactly, but I will follow up on my blog tomorrow. Just can’t help but feel like some people have their head in the sand.—Dominick

–Dominick

Sometimes the new year just pushes right in as if it always was. —Dominick

Every beginning has a day one. Here is to two day ones. Happy New Year! —Dominick

Thought this fitting for today. Merry Christmas to all.—Dominick

Last week I received an email from my cousin that included an article proposing the idea that we all put a little more thought and a little less money into our season of giving. Of course, when I need it, the email is nestled away on another computer, but as I scrambled yet again to find a drawing to post (I don’t make resolutions but if I did, this blog would be first on the list), I thought about why the email kept rattling in my head like the chains at Jacob Marley’s feet. I have already purchased two gifts this morning and I will likely find something else to help finish off the list by the end of the day, however I couldn’t help ponder the thought, what does Christmas mean to me? While I by no means hang my hat on the idea that I have to give or get a gift for Christmas, it just happens to be a standard of behavior. This year seems different as the general tightening of belts makes it easier to either a, get something useful and needed for friends and family, or b, get something that they would not get themselves. For me, it’s cookies. Christmas is all about the cookies. The more the better. That sounded greedy, but really I will share. And they must be home made. Preferably without nuts. My father hates nuts and passed that along to me. Put them in a tin can (preferably last years corporate popcorn gift tub—YES, TUB!), and I am the most jolly man south of the North Pole. So as I was drooling on my way down the street I wondered if it was for some childish need to relive the past that I hungered for some date raison cookies. The fact is though, it’s not. I have my moments that I know will one day not be there, a little jingle here and a little jingle there, and it makes me sad to think about, but the one thing that will always be there, is that Christmas only comes once a year. I had to have a very personal talk with my dearest Jewish friend to realize why that is important. You want it more, you long for it more, and you appreciate it more. In a few weeks it will all be over and the stockings will be put away and we will forget that we forgot to look up what sugarplums are once again, and slowly fading out of our I-can’t-wait-until-next-year state of mind, and get right back into daily responsibilities that do not include tinsel of any kind. Until then though, I will look at every powdered, dated, raisoned, chocolate chipped, and gingered cookie as a reminder that each bite is precious, will not last forever, and, if baked with love, warms the heart every December. Stay warm all. And if you can’t find them the right gift, just stay up late and bake them some cookies, even if you are the worst baker on the planet. Write them a little note while the cookies are in the oven and put a bow on it all. If they are not impressed, then send them to me, we’ll put them on the naughty list.

—Dominick

Or then again. Maybe next week will be the same ol’ story.

Counting down of course.

Some people just get me. Some people don’t.