Sarah invited someone for dinner.
I knew it wasn’t’ one of her fellow students. That is because she is petrified that they will be horrified by the naked people hanging on our walls.
Of course, Joseph doesn’t’ count, since he has lived here and is used to the naked people.
But she didn’t invite him.
She invited a teacher.
This is because he wants to see her brother’s comic book collection.
Well, he also said he wants to see mine, but mine is transportable.
Aaron’s , if Sarah brought it to school, would get her suspended.
Have you seen any graphic novels lately?
One of his favorites has this panel where the woman who was previous raped by this guy has him tied up and has nailed his penis to the floor. Nicely drawn in.
So, the option was to invite him over.
I am not sure what happened next but he made some comment about loving Jewish culture cooking. That doesn’t’ sound right in English, but it actually works in sign language.
Hmmmm, how can I better translate it?
“ Ethnic Jewish cooking.”
So, Sarah invited him.
I stared at her in horror, when I heard this.
Okay, I saw it, since she was signing.
But I definitely started in horror.
I said, “But, Sarah, all I cook is boxed and frozen food!”
”But the rice pilaf is really good!”
Okay, so I will make boxed pilaf.
What frozen item goes really well with that?
Do you think I can pass frozen pizza off as ethnic Jewish cooking?
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Story of the Day 9/22/2008
Aaron is having angst.
It is very Jewish to have angst.
It is also very Margolis-Greenbaum.
Generations of practice have gone into making him the angst ridden young man he is today.
His current angst is college-related.
Where will he go?
Will he get scholarship money?
Will he like it?
Will he find a girlfriend?
Things like that.
He emailed ball State to ask how many Jewish students they have.We know it is less than IU and Columbia, and we figure that if he divides the umber by two, he will have an estimate of the potential pool of females for him to date.
100 is an acceptable number. He thinks he could find someone compatible in that number.
10 is bad.
1,000 is a candy store.
It doesn’t’ guarantee success, but the odds look real good.
And he is worried about getting a job.
He reads articles about people who have to wait tables and work at clothing stores because they couldn’t get a job.
Of course, after OLAB, studying business as a dial major was dropped, but he keeps playing with eth idea of a dual major- or getting some other skill so he doesn’t’ have to go back to working at the Center Café, after college.
Tonight, at dinner, he said, “I could study ASL, and ten I could be an interpreter. They do all right per hour.”
I wasn’t sure what to answer.
“And I would have an advantage because I already know some sign language.”
I am even less sure what to answer.
I can almost see him doing it.
Except that Sarah told him that the ASL department at Ball State is lousy.
It is very Jewish to have angst.
It is also very Margolis-Greenbaum.
Generations of practice have gone into making him the angst ridden young man he is today.
His current angst is college-related.
Where will he go?
Will he get scholarship money?
Will he like it?
Will he find a girlfriend?
Things like that.
He emailed ball State to ask how many Jewish students they have.We know it is less than IU and Columbia, and we figure that if he divides the umber by two, he will have an estimate of the potential pool of females for him to date.
100 is an acceptable number. He thinks he could find someone compatible in that number.
10 is bad.
1,000 is a candy store.
It doesn’t’ guarantee success, but the odds look real good.
And he is worried about getting a job.
He reads articles about people who have to wait tables and work at clothing stores because they couldn’t get a job.
Of course, after OLAB, studying business as a dial major was dropped, but he keeps playing with eth idea of a dual major- or getting some other skill so he doesn’t’ have to go back to working at the Center Café, after college.
Tonight, at dinner, he said, “I could study ASL, and ten I could be an interpreter. They do all right per hour.”
I wasn’t sure what to answer.
“And I would have an advantage because I already know some sign language.”
I am even less sure what to answer.
I can almost see him doing it.
Except that Sarah told him that the ASL department at Ball State is lousy.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Story of the Day 9/21/2008
My husband answered the phone.
It wasn’t for him.
The woman on the other end of the line asked to speak wit Aaron.
“Is she in?””Aaron is a he”And Larry got him.
The woman was calling from MoveOn.org. That is an Obama campaign organization.
She asked him, “Would you be able to help us out by volunteering , this week?”
The following is the Aaron end of the conversation, as reported to me by Larry.
“Um, what time?”
“Is that 6 in the morning or 6 in the evening?”
“Dad, what is PM?”“Um, sorry but I am a Libertarian.”
It wasn’t for him.
The woman on the other end of the line asked to speak wit Aaron.
“Is she in?””Aaron is a he”And Larry got him.
The woman was calling from MoveOn.org. That is an Obama campaign organization.
She asked him, “Would you be able to help us out by volunteering , this week?”
The following is the Aaron end of the conversation, as reported to me by Larry.
“Um, what time?”
“Is that 6 in the morning or 6 in the evening?”
“Dad, what is PM?”“Um, sorry but I am a Libertarian.”
Story of the Evening 9/19/2008
Sarah was very impressed.
At dinner, she tells me that Jeff King asked a boy in eth Middle School if he had 12 chocolate bars.
The boy answered, “I have ten.”
It was one of our favorite chocolate brands.
Years ago, when it first came out It was kosher- but then it lost its hekshur. That is the certification that tells us it is kosher.
For the next several years, I would pick up the bags of it, and look carefully over them hoping the symbol of kosher certification had somehow miraculously reappeared on it.
At friends’ homes, I would cheat and eat a piece.
But I really wanted t buy a few bags and bring them home.
Finally, and it must have been after about 5 years, that wonderful little symbol started appearing on the bags and bars –and we could enjoy it, at home.
Recently, there was a sale on it, and I bought 3 bags and two bars- which is a lot.
But 10 bars.
Which is why I pulled a bag of it out, at the end of the meal, to serve along with the cake I had made.
But then, Sarah got a very serious- a concerned look on her face.
“Mom , what is “D-O-V-E ?”
“Well, it is this brand of chocolate that we like. Or it is a kind of bird .”
A stunned look.
“Oh, I thought he meant chocolate.”
Jeff King had asked the student if he had 12 D-O-V-E-S.
At dinner, she tells me that Jeff King asked a boy in eth Middle School if he had 12 chocolate bars.
The boy answered, “I have ten.”
It was one of our favorite chocolate brands.
Years ago, when it first came out It was kosher- but then it lost its hekshur. That is the certification that tells us it is kosher.
For the next several years, I would pick up the bags of it, and look carefully over them hoping the symbol of kosher certification had somehow miraculously reappeared on it.
At friends’ homes, I would cheat and eat a piece.
But I really wanted t buy a few bags and bring them home.
Finally, and it must have been after about 5 years, that wonderful little symbol started appearing on the bags and bars –and we could enjoy it, at home.
Recently, there was a sale on it, and I bought 3 bags and two bars- which is a lot.
But 10 bars.
Which is why I pulled a bag of it out, at the end of the meal, to serve along with the cake I had made.
But then, Sarah got a very serious- a concerned look on her face.
“Mom , what is “D-O-V-E ?”
“Well, it is this brand of chocolate that we like. Or it is a kind of bird .”
A stunned look.
“Oh, I thought he meant chocolate.”
Jeff King had asked the student if he had 12 D-O-V-E-S.
Story of the Day 9/19/2008
The bus ride home.
Sarah rides a bus provided by Washington Township.
At the end of eth school day, numerous buses lien up at the various buildings at ISD and await the release of the students.
These buses come from al over. Although, for the further school districts, some fo which are two hours or more away, pick up is only on Friday, because the students only have an option of dorming at the school- as opposed to being given a daily ride home.
Some school systems only have one or two children, so they only go to that building. Other districts have many kids, and make a circuit- first preschool, then Elementary, and finally a pickup at the building housing Middle School and High School.
And a very few have so many students that they have more than one bus.
Our township has two buses.
There really are not so many students as to require two buses, but our township is shaped like a long piece of pasta- and one bus takes hours to drop them all off.
So, the two buses are divided into an east side route and a west side route.
Normally, Sarah is home by 3:50 PM. This is having been let out at 3:15. This is good. During some of the years when the re was one bus with a long route, and Sarah was a lot younger, she couldn’t last the ride because of needing to go to the bathroom. And , no, there is no bathroom on the bus.
But, yesterday, which was a half day, she didn’t get home. School, on a half day, lets out at 12:30 or 12:15. And I do mean or. I have no idea why, but the half days seem to vary more than the full days.
So, I expect her home , at the latest, a little after 1. Well, 1 came and went. 1:15 came and went.
I thought “traffic must be heavy.”
1:30 came and went.
1:45….and , of course, there is no one picking up the phone a transportation.
Finally, about 4 minutes before 2, Sarah arrives home.
Confused and upset.
So, she tells me the story.
The bus picked her up.
It drove past our street.
It went to drop off a girl.
No one was home.
The driver spoke on the radio.
Sarah assumes he was asking transportation to contact the parents.
They waited.
The bus drove back past our street.
The bus drove back to the Deaf School.
It dropped off the girl.
It waited there.
Finally, it drove Sarah home. (not just Sarah…but also Aries, as they were the last two on the bus.)
Of course, if Sarah could hear, or if the bus driver could sign, we might know a little bit more.
Sarah was very upset he didn’t’ just drop her off, since he drove past our block.
This is why she is both confused and upset.
Okay, so I am also confused.
But I am also happy I am not the parents of that little girl- I suspect her story is the real Story of the Day.
Because, since dropping her back at the Deaf School was the priority, she was obviously never supposed to have been put on the bus……
Sarah rides a bus provided by Washington Township.
At the end of eth school day, numerous buses lien up at the various buildings at ISD and await the release of the students.
These buses come from al over. Although, for the further school districts, some fo which are two hours or more away, pick up is only on Friday, because the students only have an option of dorming at the school- as opposed to being given a daily ride home.
Some school systems only have one or two children, so they only go to that building. Other districts have many kids, and make a circuit- first preschool, then Elementary, and finally a pickup at the building housing Middle School and High School.
And a very few have so many students that they have more than one bus.
Our township has two buses.
There really are not so many students as to require two buses, but our township is shaped like a long piece of pasta- and one bus takes hours to drop them all off.
So, the two buses are divided into an east side route and a west side route.
Normally, Sarah is home by 3:50 PM. This is having been let out at 3:15. This is good. During some of the years when the re was one bus with a long route, and Sarah was a lot younger, she couldn’t last the ride because of needing to go to the bathroom. And , no, there is no bathroom on the bus.
But, yesterday, which was a half day, she didn’t get home. School, on a half day, lets out at 12:30 or 12:15. And I do mean or. I have no idea why, but the half days seem to vary more than the full days.
So, I expect her home , at the latest, a little after 1. Well, 1 came and went. 1:15 came and went.
I thought “traffic must be heavy.”
1:30 came and went.
1:45….and , of course, there is no one picking up the phone a transportation.
Finally, about 4 minutes before 2, Sarah arrives home.
Confused and upset.
So, she tells me the story.
The bus picked her up.
It drove past our street.
It went to drop off a girl.
No one was home.
The driver spoke on the radio.
Sarah assumes he was asking transportation to contact the parents.
They waited.
The bus drove back past our street.
The bus drove back to the Deaf School.
It dropped off the girl.
It waited there.
Finally, it drove Sarah home. (not just Sarah…but also Aries, as they were the last two on the bus.)
Of course, if Sarah could hear, or if the bus driver could sign, we might know a little bit more.
Sarah was very upset he didn’t’ just drop her off, since he drove past our block.
This is why she is both confused and upset.
Okay, so I am also confused.
But I am also happy I am not the parents of that little girl- I suspect her story is the real Story of the Day.
Because, since dropping her back at the Deaf School was the priority, she was obviously never supposed to have been put on the bus……
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Last Friday- Larry's additions:
My husband emailed me to add some points to the Story of last Friday and the parking lot drama:
The parking lot is used after hours for events at the field house for $3, but during business hours it is used by commuters to several large office buildings. There was no attendant in the entrance and exit booth, and apparently people that use the lot during the day have key cards. Todd and I couldn't pull in, so we had to park on the service road leading up to the entrance to the lot.
Each of the socket wells in the carrying case filled up with water several times over. The rain was running off Todd's nose and chin like we were in a 'B' movie. I got wet even under my rain coat ... I'm still not sure how that happened. My shoes were still wet 24 hours later...
(no ticket for Todd, and no dead battery for Todd...I was worried about that too).
I would have paid or asked for help, but there was no one in the booth. The arm of the exit gate was down, and to the right there were two metal upright posts to prevent creative driving on the sidewalk. I pulled up very slowly, with the silly hope that the black car was small enough to drive under the arm of the exit gate, sort of like driving under the big roller brushes of the car wash. The black car was too tall for that (a convertible with a midget, might have had a better chance in that regard), but by driving at a 45 degree angle, I hoped I could squeeze between the end of the arm of the gate, and the two posts. As I inched forward, I saw that I'd be able to drive out with at least a foot to spare on the driver's side. It was fun !
It was fun?? My husband is scaring me.
The parking lot is used after hours for events at the field house for $3, but during business hours it is used by commuters to several large office buildings. There was no attendant in the entrance and exit booth, and apparently people that use the lot during the day have key cards. Todd and I couldn't pull in, so we had to park on the service road leading up to the entrance to the lot.
Each of the socket wells in the carrying case filled up with water several times over. The rain was running off Todd's nose and chin like we were in a 'B' movie. I got wet even under my rain coat ... I'm still not sure how that happened. My shoes were still wet 24 hours later...
(no ticket for Todd, and no dead battery for Todd...I was worried about that too).
I would have paid or asked for help, but there was no one in the booth. The arm of the exit gate was down, and to the right there were two metal upright posts to prevent creative driving on the sidewalk. I pulled up very slowly, with the silly hope that the black car was small enough to drive under the arm of the exit gate, sort of like driving under the big roller brushes of the car wash. The black car was too tall for that (a convertible with a midget, might have had a better chance in that regard), but by driving at a 45 degree angle, I hoped I could squeeze between the end of the arm of the gate, and the two posts. As I inched forward, I saw that I'd be able to drive out with at least a foot to spare on the driver's side. It was fun !
It was fun?? My husband is scaring me.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Story of teh Day- from last friday
Story of the day last Friday 9/12/2008
I wasn’t’ there. So I don’t’ really know what happened.
But I have been hearing about it.
It was raining.
Well, they also couldn’t’ get in.
To the car.Well, they had the key, they could get into the car- they just couldn’t’ get into the lot.
You see, the parking lot- the $3 parking lot where I managed to kill the car is locked, during business hours. Locked to anyone who doesn’t’ have a fancy key card.
The metal gates go down and the car carrying my husband and my friend’s husband, whom she had gallantly volunteered for this labor, was locked out.
And our little black car was locked in.
Well, for two guys on foot- toting a wrench set and a battery, the gates weren’t’ a problem.
It was however, going to be interesting getting out.
Todd, my friend’s husband- and you should all now pity him- because his wife is the best shopper I have ever met in my lifetime.
Okay, that is not why you should pity him.
You should pity him because I know it, which is why I called her to ask what tow company was the cheapest- which is how he found himself downtown breaking into a parking lot on a rainy Friday toting a rather heavy car battery.
Oh yeah, and the battery was one of the ones that doesn’t’ have a handle.
So, the guys snuck in, past the metal gates, and proceeded to change the car battery for the dead one that was in the car.
Of course, especially since it was a Friday afternoon and the time is ticking away until Shabbat starts, and especially because it was raining, this wasn’t’ allowed to go smoothly.
First of all, the Honda battery was connected via bolts that had never heard of the American measuring system.
They refused to conform to any of the wrenches that Todd had brought with him- each nicely set in its own little slot.
And, second, they were also nicely corroded. Of course, that is to be expected, after all rust, corrosion, dirt- these things go along with old, dead car batteries. Kind of like cake and icing.
Maybe even more so.
And third, it was a rainy Friday.
Rainy.
As in very rainy.
Yes, there were moments that it didn’t’ rain all that hard- but none of those moments happened to correspond to the moments those guys were out there changing the battery.
They were both soaked inside of their waterproof coats- the types with hoods. Soaked as in the water was rolling up and down their sleeves- the insides of the sleeves.
Soaked as in Todd had to pour the water out of the wrench sets box three times, because it had filled up.
Rainy as in Todd will probably have our phone number blocked, from now on……
And where was Todd’s car?Well, obviously, it was outside the parking lot- parked in a no-parking area- with the blinkers on.
The one thing that went well was that it didn’t’ get a ticket.
I hope.
I hope I don’t’ hear, later, in an added detail, that it did……
Finally, the new battery is installed.
The old one is in the hatchback .
And the car…starts.
Except it is locked in.
Well, remember how the two guys got past the gates?There was a narrow area that the gates didn’t’ close off, and my husband, feeling very wet, and a little crazy- and believe me, this is not normally him - decides to see if he can squeeze the car through there.
Between the posts.
Through the hole.
And, he does.
I wasn’t’ there. So I don’t’ really know what happened.
But I have been hearing about it.
It was raining.
Well, they also couldn’t’ get in.
To the car.Well, they had the key, they could get into the car- they just couldn’t’ get into the lot.
You see, the parking lot- the $3 parking lot where I managed to kill the car is locked, during business hours. Locked to anyone who doesn’t’ have a fancy key card.
The metal gates go down and the car carrying my husband and my friend’s husband, whom she had gallantly volunteered for this labor, was locked out.
And our little black car was locked in.
Well, for two guys on foot- toting a wrench set and a battery, the gates weren’t’ a problem.
It was however, going to be interesting getting out.
Todd, my friend’s husband- and you should all now pity him- because his wife is the best shopper I have ever met in my lifetime.
Okay, that is not why you should pity him.
You should pity him because I know it, which is why I called her to ask what tow company was the cheapest- which is how he found himself downtown breaking into a parking lot on a rainy Friday toting a rather heavy car battery.
Oh yeah, and the battery was one of the ones that doesn’t’ have a handle.
So, the guys snuck in, past the metal gates, and proceeded to change the car battery for the dead one that was in the car.
Of course, especially since it was a Friday afternoon and the time is ticking away until Shabbat starts, and especially because it was raining, this wasn’t’ allowed to go smoothly.
First of all, the Honda battery was connected via bolts that had never heard of the American measuring system.
They refused to conform to any of the wrenches that Todd had brought with him- each nicely set in its own little slot.
And, second, they were also nicely corroded. Of course, that is to be expected, after all rust, corrosion, dirt- these things go along with old, dead car batteries. Kind of like cake and icing.
Maybe even more so.
And third, it was a rainy Friday.
Rainy.
As in very rainy.
Yes, there were moments that it didn’t’ rain all that hard- but none of those moments happened to correspond to the moments those guys were out there changing the battery.
They were both soaked inside of their waterproof coats- the types with hoods. Soaked as in the water was rolling up and down their sleeves- the insides of the sleeves.
Soaked as in Todd had to pour the water out of the wrench sets box three times, because it had filled up.
Rainy as in Todd will probably have our phone number blocked, from now on……
And where was Todd’s car?Well, obviously, it was outside the parking lot- parked in a no-parking area- with the blinkers on.
The one thing that went well was that it didn’t’ get a ticket.
I hope.
I hope I don’t’ hear, later, in an added detail, that it did……
Finally, the new battery is installed.
The old one is in the hatchback .
And the car…starts.
Except it is locked in.
Well, remember how the two guys got past the gates?There was a narrow area that the gates didn’t’ close off, and my husband, feeling very wet, and a little crazy- and believe me, this is not normally him - decides to see if he can squeeze the car through there.
Between the posts.
Through the hole.
And, he does.
Story of the Day 9/15/2008
I am the recipient of precious notes.
I receive them often.
Sometimes, in expected places and about anticipated things, and sometimes unexpectedly.
I save them, too.
Okay, not all of them.
If I did, there would be no place in our house to sit. But I do save plenty.
They document the history of our family.
The need to be woken up in a certain way. “Don’t’ shake my shoulder. It is sore”
Or to buy important things. “I need index cards. Lots. Maybe 300.”
But the main reason that I treasure them is that they usually come with messages of love. “I love you mommy, forever” is a recurrent one.
How could I throw something like that away?
Also, sometimes the ones from Ms. Esther make me laugh for days.
The one that was left for me, last night had no such endearments attached to it.
On the other hand, it wasn’t specifically for me.
It was a note from Sarah to Sarah, but I was also supposed to be aware of it.
It had to do with breakfast.
It says:
Eat Foods Breakfast for ISTEP
1.Eggs
2.One waffle
3. cutted strawberries mix with blueberries
4. Milk with coffee and nestle chocolate syrup.
Need get well sleep and foods for
ISTEP.
You might see a recurrent theme.
ISTEP.
ISTEP is the statewide assessment testing that began, today, at Sarah’s school.
The administration has stressed to the students at Sarah’s school the importance of a good night’s sleep and a good breakfast.
And Sarah has, in typical Sarah fashion, taken the advice very much to heart.
She know that she needs protein to keep her blood sugar stable, so se doesn’t’ fatigue- so the eggs are good. The waffle provides carbs, and the fruits she requested are god for your memory. She read an article about it in the newspaper.
Oh, yes, and I think a magazine article about the benefits of some caffeine when performing thinking tasks. But, since she isn't much of a coffee, drinker, she has a spoon of instant in her glass of slightly chocolate milk.
And, of course, in this household, milk is must- calcium.
But this is perhaps too much of a good thing.
We were sitting in the living room awaiting the arrival of Sarah’s bus, and Sarah said, “I don’t’ feel too good. I think I ate too much.”A few minutes later, she adds, “I hope I don’t’ throw up on the bus.”
Which means, I expect a new note on the breakfast table, tonight.
I receive them often.
Sometimes, in expected places and about anticipated things, and sometimes unexpectedly.
I save them, too.
Okay, not all of them.
If I did, there would be no place in our house to sit. But I do save plenty.
They document the history of our family.
The need to be woken up in a certain way. “Don’t’ shake my shoulder. It is sore”
Or to buy important things. “I need index cards. Lots. Maybe 300.”
But the main reason that I treasure them is that they usually come with messages of love. “I love you mommy, forever” is a recurrent one.
How could I throw something like that away?
Also, sometimes the ones from Ms. Esther make me laugh for days.
The one that was left for me, last night had no such endearments attached to it.
On the other hand, it wasn’t specifically for me.
It was a note from Sarah to Sarah, but I was also supposed to be aware of it.
It had to do with breakfast.
It says:
Eat Foods Breakfast for ISTEP
1.Eggs
2.One waffle
3. cutted strawberries mix with blueberries
4. Milk with coffee and nestle chocolate syrup.
Need get well sleep and foods for
ISTEP.
You might see a recurrent theme.
ISTEP.
ISTEP is the statewide assessment testing that began, today, at Sarah’s school.
The administration has stressed to the students at Sarah’s school the importance of a good night’s sleep and a good breakfast.
And Sarah has, in typical Sarah fashion, taken the advice very much to heart.
She know that she needs protein to keep her blood sugar stable, so se doesn’t’ fatigue- so the eggs are good. The waffle provides carbs, and the fruits she requested are god for your memory. She read an article about it in the newspaper.
Oh, yes, and I think a magazine article about the benefits of some caffeine when performing thinking tasks. But, since she isn't much of a coffee, drinker, she has a spoon of instant in her glass of slightly chocolate milk.
And, of course, in this household, milk is must- calcium.
But this is perhaps too much of a good thing.
We were sitting in the living room awaiting the arrival of Sarah’s bus, and Sarah said, “I don’t’ feel too good. I think I ate too much.”A few minutes later, she adds, “I hope I don’t’ throw up on the bus.”
Which means, I expect a new note on the breakfast table, tonight.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Story of the Day 9/12/2008
My husband has gone off to rescue me.
This is a little it of a change, for us. Normally, he comes to rescue me.
That is what he did, last night.
At 5:15 PM, when Sarah and I were heading downtown to the Fever game, it was drizzling. Lightly. I had the wipers on intermittent, and the lights on.
About 2/3rds of the way there, the rain stopped and I turned off the wipers.
I parked at our favorite $3 lot.
We also have a favorite $2 lot, but, since we would be getting out after dark, I opted for the one that costs a dollar more and feels slightly more secure.
Sarah feels up to tackling muggers, but I don’t.
After the game and the post-game program- where Sarah got to touch Tamika Catchings’ Olympic gold medal…. And, of course, I goofed up and didn’t’ get a picture of that- we went out to the car.
It wouldn’t’ start.
I had forgotten to turn off the lights.
We let it sit. It seemed like it might almost start, the next time I tried it, but it didn’t.
I called Larry.
We went to stand inside the Fieldhouse, as a safety thing- but it was locked up.
We went back to the car and waited in it.
Larry came and jump –started the car.
In his pajamas.
In case you weren’t sure, that is sign of true love.
You see, unlike our children, people of our age don’t’ go to school, work or the mal in our pajama pants.
But kind hearted husbands do drag themselves out of bed and downtown to rescue their wives.
But , despite this, the car wouldn’t’ start.
This poor car has had it’s lights left on several times in the past year and a half- and it finally just said, ”No” to being jump-started.
Nancy Regan might have been proud of it, but I was just stressed.
I left a note on eth windshield- explaining that it wouldn’t’ start, we would be back, tomorrow or have it towed, and that I would pay for the extra day of parking- and with my phone number.
Today, a kind neighbor volunteered her husband to change the battery.
So, I ran out to Wal-Mart, after dropping Vandra at the Art Center, and got one to install, and then, when I was done at the Art Center, came home to make Challah and to wait for when eh was free.
In the interim, my husband came home.
And insisted he would go with our friend-
to save me the hassle.
How many wives can say their husband rescued them twice in less than 24 hours?
And not even in Texas during a hurricane???
This is a little it of a change, for us. Normally, he comes to rescue me.
That is what he did, last night.
At 5:15 PM, when Sarah and I were heading downtown to the Fever game, it was drizzling. Lightly. I had the wipers on intermittent, and the lights on.
About 2/3rds of the way there, the rain stopped and I turned off the wipers.
I parked at our favorite $3 lot.
We also have a favorite $2 lot, but, since we would be getting out after dark, I opted for the one that costs a dollar more and feels slightly more secure.
Sarah feels up to tackling muggers, but I don’t.
After the game and the post-game program- where Sarah got to touch Tamika Catchings’ Olympic gold medal…. And, of course, I goofed up and didn’t’ get a picture of that- we went out to the car.
It wouldn’t’ start.
I had forgotten to turn off the lights.
We let it sit. It seemed like it might almost start, the next time I tried it, but it didn’t.
I called Larry.
We went to stand inside the Fieldhouse, as a safety thing- but it was locked up.
We went back to the car and waited in it.
Larry came and jump –started the car.
In his pajamas.
In case you weren’t sure, that is sign of true love.
You see, unlike our children, people of our age don’t’ go to school, work or the mal in our pajama pants.
But kind hearted husbands do drag themselves out of bed and downtown to rescue their wives.
But , despite this, the car wouldn’t’ start.
This poor car has had it’s lights left on several times in the past year and a half- and it finally just said, ”No” to being jump-started.
Nancy Regan might have been proud of it, but I was just stressed.
I left a note on eth windshield- explaining that it wouldn’t’ start, we would be back, tomorrow or have it towed, and that I would pay for the extra day of parking- and with my phone number.
Today, a kind neighbor volunteered her husband to change the battery.
So, I ran out to Wal-Mart, after dropping Vandra at the Art Center, and got one to install, and then, when I was done at the Art Center, came home to make Challah and to wait for when eh was free.
In the interim, my husband came home.
And insisted he would go with our friend-
to save me the hassle.
How many wives can say their husband rescued them twice in less than 24 hours?
And not even in Texas during a hurricane???
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Story of teh Day 9/10/2008
One of my relatives has job making stickers.
I didn’t know that until today.
It has to be, because I noticed that a family tradition has now been firmly affixed to a banana I bought.
Okay, not al that firmly, since I pried it off and stuck it on a postcard to send to Ms. Esther, at college.
I figure this was done covertly. In the middle of the night. By altering something at the sticker factory.
Of course, I could be wrong. It could have been a banana-packer.
Okay, probably not. It was probably a relative working in the produce department of the local grocery store. But a girl can dream…….
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Story of the Day 9/9/2008
The older I get, the more I realize how weird I am.
I don’t mean that I am getting weirder and weirder, although that is also true, I mean that I get these brief glimpses of my behavior and I realize that it is out-of-sync with “normal” behavior. Normal being what other people do.
For example, I have to have a minimum of ten perfectly sharpened pencils to draw.
If there are less than ten and they aren’t perfectly sharpened, I am somewhat frozen.
Perfectly sharp means I carry my own pencil sharpener- heavy-duty electric, with me to all places I might draw. The Art Center, Herron, Starbucks.
Pencils that other people consider to be sharp are not sharp enough for me.
Some of the other artists tease me about this, so, obviously, it isn’t subtle.
And paper.
I only draw on Stonehenge.
I am “uncomfortable” with other paper.
Occasionally, someone gives a piece of paper that they think I will like.
Occasionally, I even buy a piece of something different because I have been lulled by it’s beauty to think I will like it.
Well, those pieces are all up in the studio in a stack.
Untouched, except to occasionally drag out and look at.
It is worse than this. About 20 years ago, I was using a different drawing paper. And they stopped making it. I was traumatized for about 4 months until I settled on Stonehenge.
And pencils. I used to use “specials”, and they don’t’ make them anymore.
That was traumatic.
To prevent such a trauma from happening, again, I, on purpose, have three almost the same drawing pencils that I use at all times, so I am not depending on just one of them feeling familiar.
But that is all just drawing.
There is cooking.
I made dinner, tonight.
Of course making dinner doesn’t’ necessarily mean cooking.
There are sandwiches.
There are salads.
But most of the time, in our house, it means cooking.
I get around this by investing heavily in frozen foods.
Of course I vary it a bit with the boxed and canned foods, also.
I thank G-d for inventing frozen food. It can almost pass for something I have made from scratch.Almost.
Not quite because it is usually better than anything I would make.
This is because most frozen food can be microwaved, which protects it from what usually happens when I am cooking.
I walk away from eth kitchen and forget about the food.
Which is one of the reasons that G-d made smoke detectors.
And then there are recipes.
I usually find my recipes when I am reading the newspaper.
Of course, many recipes don’t attract me.
Especially in Indiana, where pulled pork is considered a delicacy.
So, a lot of the recipes printed I the paper feature it, and similar gourmet versions of treyfe.
On occasion, I find a recipe in a magazine.
If this is a magazine I own, that is good, if not, a lot of things can go wrong when I copy the recipe from the magazine in eth dentist’s office onto a scrap of paper I have begged from eth receptionist. Especially since decoding my handwriting leads to some interesting permutations.
But, tonight, I cooked using a recipe I had cut from eth newspaper that featured zucchini, instead of pork. So, I was not depending on deciphering my handwriting.
Of course since I couldn’t find the recipe, it did affect the purchase of the ingredients, and the decision of exactly how much and what to throw in.
It also didn’t help that I hadn’t actually read the recipe,
I had read the name of it, and looked at the picture- so I had this memory to go one.
Anyhow, it only needs to taste like the picture, right?
Oh yes, and I don’t’ have a photographic memory, either.
Luckily, I did find the recipe about 35 minutes after I had started cooking, and about 5 minutes before I finished. And, I was pleased to see that there were several similarities between what the recipe said and what I made.
Even better, I didn’t burn anything.
So, it wasn’t just another dinnertime at the Margolis-Greenbaum house.
It was better than normal!
I don’t mean that I am getting weirder and weirder, although that is also true, I mean that I get these brief glimpses of my behavior and I realize that it is out-of-sync with “normal” behavior. Normal being what other people do.
For example, I have to have a minimum of ten perfectly sharpened pencils to draw.
If there are less than ten and they aren’t perfectly sharpened, I am somewhat frozen.
Perfectly sharp means I carry my own pencil sharpener- heavy-duty electric, with me to all places I might draw. The Art Center, Herron, Starbucks.
Pencils that other people consider to be sharp are not sharp enough for me.
Some of the other artists tease me about this, so, obviously, it isn’t subtle.
And paper.
I only draw on Stonehenge.
I am “uncomfortable” with other paper.
Occasionally, someone gives a piece of paper that they think I will like.
Occasionally, I even buy a piece of something different because I have been lulled by it’s beauty to think I will like it.
Well, those pieces are all up in the studio in a stack.
Untouched, except to occasionally drag out and look at.
It is worse than this. About 20 years ago, I was using a different drawing paper. And they stopped making it. I was traumatized for about 4 months until I settled on Stonehenge.
And pencils. I used to use “specials”, and they don’t’ make them anymore.
That was traumatic.
To prevent such a trauma from happening, again, I, on purpose, have three almost the same drawing pencils that I use at all times, so I am not depending on just one of them feeling familiar.
But that is all just drawing.
There is cooking.
I made dinner, tonight.
Of course making dinner doesn’t’ necessarily mean cooking.
There are sandwiches.
There are salads.
But most of the time, in our house, it means cooking.
I get around this by investing heavily in frozen foods.
Of course I vary it a bit with the boxed and canned foods, also.
I thank G-d for inventing frozen food. It can almost pass for something I have made from scratch.Almost.
Not quite because it is usually better than anything I would make.
This is because most frozen food can be microwaved, which protects it from what usually happens when I am cooking.
I walk away from eth kitchen and forget about the food.
Which is one of the reasons that G-d made smoke detectors.
And then there are recipes.
I usually find my recipes when I am reading the newspaper.
Of course, many recipes don’t attract me.
Especially in Indiana, where pulled pork is considered a delicacy.
So, a lot of the recipes printed I the paper feature it, and similar gourmet versions of treyfe.
On occasion, I find a recipe in a magazine.
If this is a magazine I own, that is good, if not, a lot of things can go wrong when I copy the recipe from the magazine in eth dentist’s office onto a scrap of paper I have begged from eth receptionist. Especially since decoding my handwriting leads to some interesting permutations.
But, tonight, I cooked using a recipe I had cut from eth newspaper that featured zucchini, instead of pork. So, I was not depending on deciphering my handwriting.
Of course since I couldn’t find the recipe, it did affect the purchase of the ingredients, and the decision of exactly how much and what to throw in.
It also didn’t help that I hadn’t actually read the recipe,
I had read the name of it, and looked at the picture- so I had this memory to go one.
Anyhow, it only needs to taste like the picture, right?
Oh yes, and I don’t’ have a photographic memory, either.
Luckily, I did find the recipe about 35 minutes after I had started cooking, and about 5 minutes before I finished. And, I was pleased to see that there were several similarities between what the recipe said and what I made.
Even better, I didn’t burn anything.
So, it wasn’t just another dinnertime at the Margolis-Greenbaum house.
It was better than normal!
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Story of The Day- Also not of today 9/7/2008
And then I got this message texted to me.
Another photo captioned, “ Guess what I did?”
Well, the last time he did this, I’d had surgery and couldn’t bend.
He cleaned the toilet.
I think I should probably go out of town more often…….
Story of teh Day- but not of Today 9/7/2008
This is one of the didn't get written Stories of teh day , I said I would write it, but it has taken me forever……
When Sarah and I were in New Jersey- yeah, a month ago- I got a couple of very sweet text messages from my husband.
Well, they weren’t exactly text messages- they were photos, but, if you read them right, you can read them……..
This one came with the message “ I miss u”
It is the toothbrush holder in our bathroom- but only his toothbrush is in it……
Hey, in my book this counts as romantic!
Story of the Day 9/7/2008
I was tucking Sarah into bed.
About 20 minutes before bedtime, she came to me and asked me if I had any sweatshirts. The kind that you pull over your head and have pockets.
She thinks I don’t’ know what a sweatshirt is……
I did tell her that they were actually invented BEFORE I was born.
I am not sure if she believed me or not,.
I told her I have one, It is green and zips up the front.
She gave me a look of utter disgust.
Yes, I am not very fashionable.
Also, I have no idea whose sweatshirt it was before it became mine.
It was someone’s .
They abandoned it,.
I saw it hanging in the closet and no one admitted to ever having had owned it.
So it became mine.
Okay, so I earned the look of disgust.
But it was free.
Then, a few minutes before bedtime, I see her handing Aaron’s nicest , newest , oddest ( he thinks it is fashionable) sweatshirt back to him.
She was going to borrow it?
And then she is trying on a brown one, that also belongs to him.
I think.
At any rate, it hasn’t been abandoned and disowned , yet, so it definitely isn'’ mine.
So, let’s get back to bed time.
It is bedtime, and I go in to tuck Sarah into bed
Yes, I do this every night.
When Esther is home, I do it to her.
I rarely do it to Aaron.
Of course he usually prefaces going to bed with, “Mom, whatever you do, don’t go in my room. I don’t’ want you to fall and hurt yourself.”
This is either a comment on the state of his floor, or the hidden reason behind why his floor looks that way…..
So, I was tucking Sarah into bed. And she has the brown sweatshirt lying on the end corner of her mattress.
And I said to her, “You know, most people hang up the clothes they have picked out, for the next day. You know, hang them up, or maybe lay them on a chair, or even on the door knob.
“They don’t’ sleep with them.”Sarah smiled at me.
She would rather sleep with it.
About 20 minutes before bedtime, she came to me and asked me if I had any sweatshirts. The kind that you pull over your head and have pockets.
She thinks I don’t’ know what a sweatshirt is……
I did tell her that they were actually invented BEFORE I was born.
I am not sure if she believed me or not,.
I told her I have one, It is green and zips up the front.
She gave me a look of utter disgust.
Yes, I am not very fashionable.
Also, I have no idea whose sweatshirt it was before it became mine.
It was someone’s .
They abandoned it,.
I saw it hanging in the closet and no one admitted to ever having had owned it.
So it became mine.
Okay, so I earned the look of disgust.
But it was free.
Then, a few minutes before bedtime, I see her handing Aaron’s nicest , newest , oddest ( he thinks it is fashionable) sweatshirt back to him.
She was going to borrow it?
And then she is trying on a brown one, that also belongs to him.
I think.
At any rate, it hasn’t been abandoned and disowned , yet, so it definitely isn'’ mine.
So, let’s get back to bed time.
It is bedtime, and I go in to tuck Sarah into bed
Yes, I do this every night.
When Esther is home, I do it to her.
I rarely do it to Aaron.
Of course he usually prefaces going to bed with, “Mom, whatever you do, don’t go in my room. I don’t’ want you to fall and hurt yourself.”
This is either a comment on the state of his floor, or the hidden reason behind why his floor looks that way…..
So, I was tucking Sarah into bed. And she has the brown sweatshirt lying on the end corner of her mattress.
And I said to her, “You know, most people hang up the clothes they have picked out, for the next day. You know, hang them up, or maybe lay them on a chair, or even on the door knob.
“They don’t’ sleep with them.”Sarah smiled at me.
She would rather sleep with it.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Story of teh Day 9/6/2008
Aaron had a birthday party to go to, after Shabbat.
The party started earlier, but he had to do the Jew-thing and go late.
He headed out of here in one of his interesting outfits, with a card and some really bad direction he’d gotten from mapquest.
Which is why he called, about 15 minutes later, lost.
That was a while ago.
It is now 11:10 PM, and Aaron had told me, before leaving, that he expected to be home a little after 11:30.
Since he is such a party animal, I figured that the call I got , a few minutes ago was him- telling me that he was partied out and on his way home.
Hopefully, not another, “I am lost” call.
Well, he was about done with the party, and called to let me know he would be heading home, soon, but he also wanted me to know that while he was driving to the party- after I had given him directions, there was a jeep in front of him.
And it braked suddenly.
And he braked really hard………..
And he is afraid he might have hurt the car.
And I am thinking, “Oh no, he hit the jeep!”
But he didn’t.
However, the tires made this terrible loud screeching noise when he braked.
And he knows it was terribly loud because he heard it.
And he knows you are not supposed to do fast braking because he heard that if you do that a lot you can damage the car. And very seriously, he is afraid that he has damaged the car for the tires or something.
I am trying very hard not to laugh.
Where did I buy him?
The party started earlier, but he had to do the Jew-thing and go late.
He headed out of here in one of his interesting outfits, with a card and some really bad direction he’d gotten from mapquest.
Which is why he called, about 15 minutes later, lost.
That was a while ago.
It is now 11:10 PM, and Aaron had told me, before leaving, that he expected to be home a little after 11:30.
Since he is such a party animal, I figured that the call I got , a few minutes ago was him- telling me that he was partied out and on his way home.
Hopefully, not another, “I am lost” call.
Well, he was about done with the party, and called to let me know he would be heading home, soon, but he also wanted me to know that while he was driving to the party- after I had given him directions, there was a jeep in front of him.
And it braked suddenly.
And he braked really hard………..
And he is afraid he might have hurt the car.
And I am thinking, “Oh no, he hit the jeep!”
But he didn’t.
However, the tires made this terrible loud screeching noise when he braked.
And he knows it was terribly loud because he heard it.
And he knows you are not supposed to do fast braking because he heard that if you do that a lot you can damage the car. And very seriously, he is afraid that he has damaged the car for the tires or something.
I am trying very hard not to laugh.
Where did I buy him?
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Story of the Day 9/1/2008
This time, Harriet was my partner in crime.
We signed Mary out, and then headed off to the bar.
Okay, mot true. First we went to the fabric store.
We had to. I tried to tell Mary that I wanted, for a treat, take her out for a drink- but she was sure it was too expensive (Starbucks- the original coffee bar that I suggested). I countered this by offering Dunkin Donuts/
According to Joe, their coffee is the best, anyhow.
But then, Mary insisted that it was an inconvenience to me.
Which is how we ended up at the fabric store.
You see, the fabric store is across the street from Dunkin Donuts, and I had to buy two yards of blue polar fleece fabric for Sarah’s sewing class project. I wasn’t even making this up. And , since I had to be right there anyhow…….
Hey, and I wasn’t even making this up!
So, Mary gave in- and we went to have coffee.
When Harriet and I picked her up, Mary insisted that she also wanted to stop at her house.
Harriet and I looked at each other. I haven’t’ discussed this wit Harriet, but I am pretty sure she was having the same thoughts that I was- concern over upsetting Mary.
But, since I told Mary we could do it after coffee, I think that Harriet was also hoping that Mary would have forgotten about it by then.
But after 2 yards of blue polar fleece, and a bagel and a cup of coffee, Mary still had it in her head that she wanted to stop at her house.
So, off we drove.
And I got honked at.Well, I was on the right street. I had just turned the corner onto her street.
Harriet and I have both been there, before, Harriet and I went, a few years ago, to hang framed pictures up, after Mary had the walls painted. And I had been back a few times, but it had been a while…. and, I was going rather slowly to make sure I didn’t’ drive right past the house. And then, I was stopped, not sure which of two driveways, the one before her house or after it, I was supposed to be driving into. And I was honked at.
A rather perturbed fellow in eth vehicle right behind me. I had a moment of “Well, why doesn’t’ he just go around me?” After al, this is Indianapolis and during rush hour, there is plenty of space to change lanes, and this weren’t’ no rush hour- nor even a normally busy street…but then I realize d that one of the two driveways I was considering- and which I was blocking- was his.
Whoops!!!
But, that gave me a clue, and I drove up and parked in the next driveway.
The 4th car parked in it.
Mary gets out of the car and looks and says, “well, that is my car, and that is D’s (her grandson), but whose car is this?”
I thought, for a moment, that her son had gotten in early, but this wasn’t a rental car.
Then Mary suggests, “It must be the neighbor's.”Makes sense. Maybe they had a lot of company for Labor Day, or were anticipating a lot. They certainly weren’t blocking anyone in, since Mary is at the nursing home.
So we went in.
Lights were on, and a lot of stuff was in the process of being packed up.
I was glad that someone had started doing that. Mary certainly wasn’t’ up to it.
But Mary and Harriet and I were all a little dismayed they’d gone and left the lights on.
My family, also, is always driving me nuts by leaving lights burning in rooms, after they have left.
All of the lectures I give them on greenhouse gasses and carbon footprints, and…….
Harriet and I are rather hoping this is going to be a short visit. But we are also, at this point feeling that Mary really needs some closure- since she is moving soon- out-of-state.
She has live din Indianapolis for over 50 years. Many of them were in this house. She certainly has a right to say goodbye t it.
I also know that the things that Mary is worried about are not the things that would necessarily mean much to other people. I suspect she is worried that those are not being packed up to move.
She goes into one of the back rooms, the room with her TV, and to eth pictures that are stacked up against the wall.
As she pulls them out, she has Harriet and me hold some of them, so that we can see them better. And she talks about them.
This one she made. Another one, her daughter, who is now deceased, made. They are petit point. Many, many hours went into each one.
And then there are the ones that she brought here wit her, from Europe.
One that hung in her parent’s home. It is about 200 years old; she is not sure which great-great grandmother did it. Another that her mother did, another…and the painting. She doesn’t’ know who did that one, but when things were taken from their home, during the war- that painting and the petit points were left on the walls. And when she and her sister returned, after Auschwitz, they came home to find tem still on the walls.
When Mary left, weeks later- having given up hope that other family had survived and was coming back to their town, she rolled up these pictures and carried them with her in a suitcase. Well, she had no clothes and no other belongings- and this was what she had left from her childhood. No parents, no community- just the needlework of the deceased and a painting.
And thee pictures went with her to Italy, where she spent years in a DP camp, and then with her to America…. and she is now making sure they will be following her …that she hasn’t lost this remnant. Even though, as she says, there will be no room for them, and she knows it in her new nursing home room.
And then she tries to give me one- a large on e made by her daughter.
And I refuse it. At least 4 times. Finally, because she is insisting, I say, “Thank you” and take it and lean it against a piece of furniture.
I figure that I will call her son, later, and have him come pick I up from me, when he is in town, or maybe I will get lucky and she will forget about t by the time we are ready to leave the house.
Her daughter’s son should have this. Not me. And I hope that in a few years, he will understand the value of this piece- something his mother worked on for hours- something he has left of his deceased mother- in the same way that Mary values these remnants of the family that she lost.
As we are going out, Mary sees keys on eth table. We figure they are an extra set. Who knows.
And a purse left on a chair. It looks like it was forgotten here.
Mary wants to know who has been here.
I think, "A lot of people could have been here.”Her daughter was buried not that long ago. Her grandson was here. His friends?
Her son came, and her other son, later. A wife? Someone who brought them a meal and forgot it? Who knows?
She shows us the table her aunt gave her- the two other marble topped tables a Sephardic woman gave her, when she first came, and had no furniture. I don’t know the name.
She mentions the apartment they lived in on the South side. She shows us more needlework she has done- this is needlepoint-covering chairs and stools. A piece that used to cover her daughter’s piano bench.
I never knew her daughter when she was still able to play the piano.
Finally, we leave.
Outside, we again see the neighbor who honked at me.
He has a beautiful little boy and girl- they are 2 and 3. Mary collects hugs and admires the little girls pink necklace and bracelet.
He and his wife speak with Mary.
They mention that a woman has been by packing up things.
Mary is upset.
She knew the things had been packed, but I think she thought her son had done it- although, how he would, from far away, I don’t’ know.
I figure she will forget this, soon. It isn’t important.
When I take her back to the nursing home, she enjoys telling a few people that we were out having drinks- at the bar.
This is typical Mary. She is enjoying it.
She is calm. Maybe not exactly happy, but resignedly talking about the move.
She tells me, “It will be okay.”
I hope she feels this way, tomorrow.
In the evening, her son calls.
He asks me, “Did you take my mother to the house?””Yes>” And I explain our rather odd outing.
He is hard to hear, he is at the airport, somewhere.
He moves to a quieter area and says, “I have something funny to tell you!”
Turns out, the woman he has packing up the house was there, when we went. We startled her, and she hid in the basement until we left.
When he told me, I didn’t think much of it, other than the fact of it.
Later, I started thinking ….Thank G-d, we didn’t lock her in the basement. Or, in our conservative manner of turning off all the lights, realized alight was on down there and turned it off on her. Or, had we gone downstairs, would we’ve had a heart attack, being startled by seeing her?
Worse, after we’d left the house, Mary went back inside, by herself, while Harriet and I continued to talk to the neighbor. It was only for a couple of minutes, but what if they had startled one-another then???
I have decided that I am too old for all of this excitement.
We signed Mary out, and then headed off to the bar.
Okay, mot true. First we went to the fabric store.
We had to. I tried to tell Mary that I wanted, for a treat, take her out for a drink- but she was sure it was too expensive (Starbucks- the original coffee bar that I suggested). I countered this by offering Dunkin Donuts/
According to Joe, their coffee is the best, anyhow.
But then, Mary insisted that it was an inconvenience to me.
Which is how we ended up at the fabric store.
You see, the fabric store is across the street from Dunkin Donuts, and I had to buy two yards of blue polar fleece fabric for Sarah’s sewing class project. I wasn’t even making this up. And , since I had to be right there anyhow…….
Hey, and I wasn’t even making this up!
So, Mary gave in- and we went to have coffee.
When Harriet and I picked her up, Mary insisted that she also wanted to stop at her house.
Harriet and I looked at each other. I haven’t’ discussed this wit Harriet, but I am pretty sure she was having the same thoughts that I was- concern over upsetting Mary.
But, since I told Mary we could do it after coffee, I think that Harriet was also hoping that Mary would have forgotten about it by then.
But after 2 yards of blue polar fleece, and a bagel and a cup of coffee, Mary still had it in her head that she wanted to stop at her house.
So, off we drove.
And I got honked at.Well, I was on the right street. I had just turned the corner onto her street.
Harriet and I have both been there, before, Harriet and I went, a few years ago, to hang framed pictures up, after Mary had the walls painted. And I had been back a few times, but it had been a while…. and, I was going rather slowly to make sure I didn’t’ drive right past the house. And then, I was stopped, not sure which of two driveways, the one before her house or after it, I was supposed to be driving into. And I was honked at.
A rather perturbed fellow in eth vehicle right behind me. I had a moment of “Well, why doesn’t’ he just go around me?” After al, this is Indianapolis and during rush hour, there is plenty of space to change lanes, and this weren’t’ no rush hour- nor even a normally busy street…but then I realize d that one of the two driveways I was considering- and which I was blocking- was his.
Whoops!!!
But, that gave me a clue, and I drove up and parked in the next driveway.
The 4th car parked in it.
Mary gets out of the car and looks and says, “well, that is my car, and that is D’s (her grandson), but whose car is this?”
I thought, for a moment, that her son had gotten in early, but this wasn’t a rental car.
Then Mary suggests, “It must be the neighbor's.”Makes sense. Maybe they had a lot of company for Labor Day, or were anticipating a lot. They certainly weren’t blocking anyone in, since Mary is at the nursing home.
So we went in.
Lights were on, and a lot of stuff was in the process of being packed up.
I was glad that someone had started doing that. Mary certainly wasn’t’ up to it.
But Mary and Harriet and I were all a little dismayed they’d gone and left the lights on.
My family, also, is always driving me nuts by leaving lights burning in rooms, after they have left.
All of the lectures I give them on greenhouse gasses and carbon footprints, and…….
Harriet and I are rather hoping this is going to be a short visit. But we are also, at this point feeling that Mary really needs some closure- since she is moving soon- out-of-state.
She has live din Indianapolis for over 50 years. Many of them were in this house. She certainly has a right to say goodbye t it.
I also know that the things that Mary is worried about are not the things that would necessarily mean much to other people. I suspect she is worried that those are not being packed up to move.
She goes into one of the back rooms, the room with her TV, and to eth pictures that are stacked up against the wall.
As she pulls them out, she has Harriet and me hold some of them, so that we can see them better. And she talks about them.
This one she made. Another one, her daughter, who is now deceased, made. They are petit point. Many, many hours went into each one.
And then there are the ones that she brought here wit her, from Europe.
One that hung in her parent’s home. It is about 200 years old; she is not sure which great-great grandmother did it. Another that her mother did, another…and the painting. She doesn’t’ know who did that one, but when things were taken from their home, during the war- that painting and the petit points were left on the walls. And when she and her sister returned, after Auschwitz, they came home to find tem still on the walls.
When Mary left, weeks later- having given up hope that other family had survived and was coming back to their town, she rolled up these pictures and carried them with her in a suitcase. Well, she had no clothes and no other belongings- and this was what she had left from her childhood. No parents, no community- just the needlework of the deceased and a painting.
And thee pictures went with her to Italy, where she spent years in a DP camp, and then with her to America…. and she is now making sure they will be following her …that she hasn’t lost this remnant. Even though, as she says, there will be no room for them, and she knows it in her new nursing home room.
And then she tries to give me one- a large on e made by her daughter.
And I refuse it. At least 4 times. Finally, because she is insisting, I say, “Thank you” and take it and lean it against a piece of furniture.
I figure that I will call her son, later, and have him come pick I up from me, when he is in town, or maybe I will get lucky and she will forget about t by the time we are ready to leave the house.
Her daughter’s son should have this. Not me. And I hope that in a few years, he will understand the value of this piece- something his mother worked on for hours- something he has left of his deceased mother- in the same way that Mary values these remnants of the family that she lost.
As we are going out, Mary sees keys on eth table. We figure they are an extra set. Who knows.
And a purse left on a chair. It looks like it was forgotten here.
Mary wants to know who has been here.
I think, "A lot of people could have been here.”Her daughter was buried not that long ago. Her grandson was here. His friends?
Her son came, and her other son, later. A wife? Someone who brought them a meal and forgot it? Who knows?
She shows us the table her aunt gave her- the two other marble topped tables a Sephardic woman gave her, when she first came, and had no furniture. I don’t know the name.
She mentions the apartment they lived in on the South side. She shows us more needlework she has done- this is needlepoint-covering chairs and stools. A piece that used to cover her daughter’s piano bench.
I never knew her daughter when she was still able to play the piano.
Finally, we leave.
Outside, we again see the neighbor who honked at me.
He has a beautiful little boy and girl- they are 2 and 3. Mary collects hugs and admires the little girls pink necklace and bracelet.
He and his wife speak with Mary.
They mention that a woman has been by packing up things.
Mary is upset.
She knew the things had been packed, but I think she thought her son had done it- although, how he would, from far away, I don’t’ know.
I figure she will forget this, soon. It isn’t important.
When I take her back to the nursing home, she enjoys telling a few people that we were out having drinks- at the bar.
This is typical Mary. She is enjoying it.
She is calm. Maybe not exactly happy, but resignedly talking about the move.
She tells me, “It will be okay.”
I hope she feels this way, tomorrow.
In the evening, her son calls.
He asks me, “Did you take my mother to the house?””Yes>” And I explain our rather odd outing.
He is hard to hear, he is at the airport, somewhere.
He moves to a quieter area and says, “I have something funny to tell you!”
Turns out, the woman he has packing up the house was there, when we went. We startled her, and she hid in the basement until we left.
When he told me, I didn’t think much of it, other than the fact of it.
Later, I started thinking ….Thank G-d, we didn’t lock her in the basement. Or, in our conservative manner of turning off all the lights, realized alight was on down there and turned it off on her. Or, had we gone downstairs, would we’ve had a heart attack, being startled by seeing her?
Worse, after we’d left the house, Mary went back inside, by herself, while Harriet and I continued to talk to the neighbor. It was only for a couple of minutes, but what if they had startled one-another then???
I have decided that I am too old for all of this excitement.
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