What's next?

This book is one thing that's next. But I'm jumping ahead without telling you about the situation making my book possible. I suspect some readers yearn for or already know that situation.

This book comes after I arrive at a big waystation in life. The freedom I now enjoy is bigger than every other time except birth. I am, at last, free to do what I want when I want. Regarding what's next? It's all up to me to decide.

When that reality sinks in, I imagine myself perched securely on a cool summit where I draw in slow deep breaths. My eyes descend down along the long, winding path just traveled. The vast all of everything else—patches of fertile brown and lush green—stretches out below in every direction as far as my eyes can see. But above, the limitless blue sky—that's what releases my mind to imagine the possibilities.

From here on, no need to work. No longer on a clock. Hell, not even on a calendar, often forgetting—and not caring—what day of the week it is.

At first, a wrist without a watch requires some adjustment. But that old need, like a Dali timepiece, softens and slips away. Soon, my emancipation is a treasured possession, never to be relinquished. Even infrequent appointments are resented as unwelcome reminders of a past I left behind—with pleasure and without looking back.

So, when convinced my extrication—my liberty and independence—is real, the issue of what's next clamps on like a Jersey blue-claw crab. That's the question I keep asking myself. At first, no answers come. I hit the road.

After successful careers while living in other states and abroad, I eventually return home to New Jersey for a visit. As it did every few years, the place pulls me back. But this time it holds me here as if a velvet glove. Soon, I learn Jersey isn't done with me—nor I with it.

Now is like those summers as a small boy, before Little League, with no scheduled activities. Each day unfolds with unpredictable possibilities. I'm amused by how these similar periods of freedom, separated by decades, bookend my life.

Going back becomes a journey of rediscovery. Of where I grew up, of an old friend—DP Ski—and of myself. Realizing that a true friend has eluded me for decades, I've come to experience again what one is. So, I discover I can go home again—and I thrive when I do. For me, going back is moving forward.

I've discovered anew the character of the place I used to call home. Reminded again of its outstanding everyday food—Italian-influenced and passionately prepared. People in Jersey take this food for granted until they move elsewhere, forced to eat the same offerings from the same chains found in every town. But my most surprising and entertaining find? The character of Jersey people—their idiosyncrasies and passions.

Coming home furnishes me with the right place to write stories about my past and present. I stretch my visit to an extended stay. Many stories blend events and old friends that have replayed in my mind over decades—things that just won't let go. While fictional, the stories contain many events that I experienced in whole or in part.

Many of the dialog-driven stories take place in the comfortable confines of a couple of bars. As a former bartender, I remain fascinated by how people behave and interact in bars. That's where some people can relax and raise deeper questions—issues they hesitate to bring up in other settings—about life, God, what has value.

My stories are short and get to the point. Many are funny, sprinkled with humorous Jersey sarcasm, involving unusual characters demonstrating eccentricities that I prize so much—behavior that has added immeasurably to the richness of my life. My stories may bring a smile as they ponder and probe what in life has brought joy and meaning.

I wrote REPLAYS now because events remain vivid, the clock goes tick-tock—and I lost both my dad and older brother to Alzheimer's. So, yes, on occasion that damn clock still sways my behavior.

The book also comes now because the passing years have provided perspective. (I'm still aspiring toward wisdom.) Aging has brought me an appreciation for the life I have been lucky enough to live, along with the ability to articulate what has mattered most and why.

Little joys—ordinary things that make much of our everyday lives—have taken their rightful place among those blessings in life that have brought much happiness.

As I love repeating, I would not trade where and when I grew up with anyone on the planet.

So, join DP Ski and me on the next page—and on the journey beyond. 

Gary Hawthorn (aka Hawth)
Cape May, New Jersey (Exit 0, Garden State Parkway)