Typical Sunday

Posted on October 23, 2011 by 40andover

Another typical day on the road to Utopia . . . .

SOS (our son, source of sanity) has grown into a teenager (notwithstanding that he is only 9 years old) and his idea of Sunday cuddling is watching TV on the same bed as me, seemingly miles apart. As a Jewish mother in the true sense of the tradition, I am not happy unless I am holding a finger, a toe or a hair of my child. In truth, I am only happy when I have an iron grip about his mid-section to keep him close and away from the dangers in . . . um . . . er. . . our safe home. WhatEVER. There are wilds out there SOMEwhere.

He would really rather play that be smothered by his mother (hey, I put the “mother” in smother, I thank you to remember). Ok, that is healthy. To a point. Ok, it is healthy, but hard on a mother.

Still, I crave time with him. So, in preparation for family dinner where wine must be served, I say, “Dude, come with me to the wine store?” Because it is Sunday, the only open (and good) wine store is a half-mile away. “Can I take my scooter?” “Sure”. I put on my running shoes. He is going to scooter and even though he knows to stop at crosswalks, I must sprint after him. Yes, I am a prisoner of my tradition. Actually, I accept and revel in my tradition of over-protection. So, sue me. Or, rather, just know that I have provided for a therapy fund for SOS in our wills.

So, I am sprinting after my son as we go to the wine shop. THANK G-D for the crosswalks and red lights.

Thereafter, a lazy Sunday afternoon commences (not really: I am reading work-related documents and POB (partner of blogger) is cooking her guts out).

For dinner, the usual suspects come over plus POB’s father (FOPOB) who was enticed by the apple pie POB made (from the apples of the apple-picking extravaganza). You mean, FOPOB, you wouldn’t come otherwise? And you wonder why I wouldn’t let you have more than two helpings of the pie. No, no, no, no. Nothing is going home with you, bud, until you come here just for the sake of being with family.

DOB (Dad of blogger), SOB (sister of blogger), and HOSOB (husband of SOB) round out the dinner group. We talk about Occupy Wall Street, the GOP, Obama, Libya, Syria and whether Rick Perry “swings both ways”. As to the latter, if he weren’t so virulently right-wing (at least now) we would not even raise the issue of how he likes to have his fun. But, you do it, you live with it.

So, 3.5 wine drinkers, two bottles. Before dinner.

Thank G-d for food. And the apple pie. Food hath charms to soothe the socialist drunk. (No, HOSOB, I am not ONLY talking about you. I include DOB and me in that group.) Mostly because SOB kept lubricating the conversation with the Merlot.)

OH, Cousin Gentle!! OH, Cousin Birder?? We needed you.

And, there is a mess in the kitchen that I must clean. I love and hate POB’s cooking.

(G-d) Mother of the Brides

Posted on October 21, 2011 by 40andover

Our G-d-daughters are getting married next weekend. I am officiating.

I am scared. I am used to public speaking, even extemporaneous remarks that elicit the appropriate chuckles and kudos at the end.

This is different. They are my G-d-daughters not because their parents asked that POB (partner of blogger) and I watch over them, but because they chose us and we chose them. That they chose us is a Divine gift (apologies to the one of them who is Atheist).

There was a time, as with all children, when one of them depended on us as a financial cushion. That is what keeps parents secure that children, in their quasi-emancipation, will keep coming to dinner. The test of a relationship is when they don’t “need” you anymore and come over for dinner anyway. And they came, and continue to come, for Friday night dinner every other week. It is a tradition that POB, SOS (our son, source of sanity) and I treasure.

And they are a gift. And they remind us that love makes a family — nothing more and nothing less. And POB and I do love them so dearly. And we wouldn’t think twice about giving up a kidney or two (but not necessarily two from the same person).

And we are so honored that we are a part of their wedding. We get all teary-eyed when we think about it.

And I want to help make their special day wonderful. And I am scared that I am too ego-centric and that I won’t meet their expectations. And failing your children is like dying a slow death by 1000 butter knife cuts.

I have been thinking and dreaming about what I will say for months. I know that if it goes right, no one will remember; they will focus on the girls. And that will be a success.

Love means reining in your ego for so your children can shine. I hope I live up to my love for them.

Apple Picking

Posted on October 16, 2011 by 40andover

POB is SOS’s school class parent. Which means I have to show up to events. Not so terrible if these events are in the city.

But today, oy, today, we had to schlep to Warwick, New York to pick apples. We could have just gone to the supermarket and got apples. No, we had to go where THEY live and then kill them ourselves by picking them off the trees that are their life blood. Just what I wanted to do on a Sunday — go apple-killing with my son.

More to the point, going apple-killing meant that we had to drive (read, get lost) through the great, yet incomprehensible, state of New Jersey. The Neverlost Lady didn’t even try. We crossed the George Washington Bridge and she just rebooted and said, “Destination?” Really, Never-Lost Lady, can’t you even feel bad about leaving us to figure out how to get to Route 4 while we are driving at 60 mph? No hesitation or guilt in your voice? Even a “recalculating route” would have been gentler.

So, almost immediately inside the border of New Jersey, we were not only abandoned by Never-Lost Lady, but we were left with POB’s directions-from-hell coupled with her fierce determination to be right. SOS kept asking, “are we lost?” or sighing, “we should have never rented a car; we should have asked someone from the class to take us.” SOS was becoming the source of my INsanity. I say to SOS, “we are a team, Buddy!! And a team member never abandons the team when things don’t go as planned!” The smart-aleck that he is, he says, “what if you didn’t get to choose your team?” OK, KILL ME NOW. IT IS NOT EVEN 10:30AM.

We actually arrive on time. And then I am SOS’s hero. Almost everyone is late because of traffic or getting lost in New Jersey. (Really, I didn’t know New Jersey driving was so tricky?)

After everyone gathers, we go to pick Fujis and Macouns (which I kept calling Acuna Matata, from the Lion King). SOS is in charge of yelling and screaming and running around. POB is in charge of chit chat. I am in charge of picking the apples. Oh, cruel life.

AND, I have to carry that sack of apples all over the orchard. Just sayin’.

After the kids had screamed (I would like to think it was a joyful noise, but the ringing in my head thinks otherwise), we sat at picnic tables for lunch. One father, the uber-WASP who heretofore had shown no emotion, said in a relieved tone, “It is so good to see that other kids are just like mine!” Oh, dear man (with names that, but for the absence of “Cabot” or “Lodge”, are OLD LINE and formidable in that one can forget the order of the names, since no one name stands out as a first name), you can emote with us. We’re Jews. We emote over anything or at least tell you to stop complaining. But I digress.

I was soooooooo finished with the day that at 2:30pm. When POB said we could finally leave the picnic table where non-driving spouses were sucking down whatever fermented liquids were available, I ran to the car. “Hold it in!! We can find a restroom on the highway!!!!” I yelled helpfully. We were taking back one of SOS’s classmates and her mother. The only traffic? When we passed our house to drive to theirs. Of course. But it was sort of a captive play date. I learned about the appeal of Zac Efron to young girls. I learned that SOS is quite gallant; he told his friend to look away from the signs for the Hustler Club on 12th Avenue in the 40s.

When we got home, I remembered what one of the mothers whispered in my ear, knowing it was my first time at an apple picking outing, “make sure you have a full bottle of wine at home. At least.”

And the Best Daughter Award Goes to . . .

Posted on October 9, 2011 by 40andover

SOB (sister of blogger)!!!!!!!!!

Yes, SOB wins for endurance beyond the mortal realm.

[POB (partner of blogger), SOS (our son, source of sanity) and I were in various states of contagion and nursing various infections and maladies, so we really couldn’t risk getting DOB (dad of blogger and SOB) sick.]

Yesterday, SOB sat with DOB in synagogue for the last 3 hours of Yom Kippur, enduring his endless commentary while trying to shoosh him because he no longer whispers and has old-person-yell-in-quiet-places syndrome.

SOB even sat with DOB through Yizkor (the service remembering dead loved ones) as DOB flipped through the prayer book and pronounced the service (using his old-person-yell-in-quiet-places voice) “a bunch of crap”. (In truth, he mourns my mother every day and says Kaddish for his parents and brothers, so he doesn’t really need a special service to remember.)

I get DOB’s point. I can’t sit through Yizkor because it doesn’t reach my abiding pain. I am a little like DOB that way. Except I don’t go to the service and whisper at the top of my lungs.

After three hours of DOB containment, SOB, together with HOSOB (husband of SOB), took DOB out for Japanese food. He complained about the food and the service. In his later years, he has become even more impatient about service, and his previously polite manner has become rude when trying to get the attention of the waitstaff. SOB is the picture of calm in these moments, as I have witnessed in the past. I am not.

I know, I know, he is 91. But this is not his last glass of wine or piece of sushi. I have faith that he will be at SOS’s Bar Mitzvah in 4 years. And at the very least he will hang around for POB’s and my wedding in 2012.

How do I know all that happened yesterday? Because SOB and I spill our guts to each other and give each excruciating play-by-plays so that we have a collective memory.

But the real reason that SOB gets the Best Daughter Award? Even though she was pushed to the limit of sanity, she did not yell, “Ok, Dad, if you don’t like dinner or the service AT THE RESTAURANT YOU PICKED, either be quiet or stick a crow bar in your wallet and pay for it!”

And SOB had lunch with him today, too.

Yes, she is a saint.

Serenity and Renewal

Posted on October 4, 2011 by 40andover

My professional coach (not CAFOB) had sent me a New Year’s greeting card which I finally got around to opening at a computer (as opposed to a blackberry). It was warm and wonderful and direct. Wishing me the usual for the new year, but also renewal and serenity.

Eureka!!! (My coach is awesome, but not as awesome as CAFOB who is my friend for 30 years. If you need a coach, I can give you two people who are amazing.)

Renewal. Not a theme of the Jewish new year (which has more of a return to G-d and atone theme). More a Passover theme (spring time, rebirth and renewal of the covenant with G-d). Nevertheless, I have been feeling the weight of creating business generating opportunities in a terrible economy.

I was so exhausted in August that when it came time for our family week in Montauk, I told the COB (colleague of blogger) that I would not be checking my blackberry and that all calls had to go through POB (partner of blogger). Originally, POB told me there was no wifi where we were staying and only POB’s phone would work. As it turned out, there was wifi and my blackberry worked. If POB lied to me, well, then I love her more for realizing that I needed a blackberry-free zone. Only twice did work intrude on the week.

When the world is in chaos, it is still navigable but it takes so much more energy that I often feel — well — spent.

My family re-charges me. POB and SOS (our son, source of sanity) are my mainstays, but SOB (sister of blogger) and HOSOB (husband of SOB) and Cousin Gentle help hold me up. They are daily miracles in my life. Even DOB (father of blogger) with all his eccentricities grounds me. And CB (Cousin Birder) links me to my mother’s family and he is such a wonderful guy. (I wish that CB only realized how awesome he is. I lectured him about this on Rosh Ha-Shanah — of course I did.)

And there are my goddaughters. They don’t have to love me because of family connection. We created that connection together. These relationships are among the most important in my life.

By their presence in my life, all of these people feed my soul, lessen my burden and give meaning to life. They are my agents of emotional and psychological renewal. I hope that I provide for them even a fraction of what they provide for me.

Serenity. Acceptance. Roll-with-it. What will be, will be. Take it as it comes. Don’t worry forward. Be in the moment.

Discussion: compare and contrast blogger’s personality with the above themes. (Hint: no common ground, as in blogger is the antonym of each of these themes. Don’t believe me? Read Wikipedia (right after I send in my comments).)

Ok, clap your hands if you’ve heard this before: someone has business in this economy, someone is figuring it out, someone is benefiting from all the problems!

Ok, if you have heard this, clap if you heard: “An A minus? What’s wrong with an A? Did someone get an A?”

Whoa, I hear a round of applause throughout the blogo-sphere.

This serenity thing is a hard one. But I did laugh these last two days when I looked at the wild ride of the stock market and how our retirement is now effectively pushed out to age 113. I will be the dead, yet-propped up greeter at Walmart’s. The company will love me because it won’t have to pay overtime (how will I know? I’ll be dead), and I won’t mind being in the freezer section.

At least I laughed. Ok, gallows humor, but, hey, it IS a start. I am trying to focus on the things that renew me because they also provide the building blocks of serenity — love, constancy and laughter.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

But renewal and serenity are sooooooo much easier in a bull market and a roaring economy. Just sayin’.

My coach knows me well. This is the start of a journey for me — to allow time for renewal and to allow a sense of serenity in a chaotic world.

Really, email me if you want a lifeline (or two).

Rosh Ha-Shanah, 5772, Day One and Two

Posted on September 30, 2011 by 40andover

Too much contemplation Wednesday night left me with a pounding headache Thursday morning. Since I am an adult, no one can force me to go to synagogue services. And this, THIS, is the only advantage of adulthood. The rest of the time I am desperately trying to reverse time and go back to my days at Camp Wingate. But, being able to skip out on synagogue is a BIG advantage of adulthood and may even be worth having to earn a living. I think that says more about my feeling about going to synagogue than anything else.

I stayed back as POB (partner of blogger) and SOS (our son, source of sanity) went off for morning services and prepared the house for our traditional family luncheon. Attendees: FOPOB (father of POB), SOPOB (sister of POB), NOPOB (our nephew), DOB (Dad of Blogger), SOB (sister of blogger), HOSOB (husband of SOB), Cousin Gentle, CB (Cousin Birder), and Uncle Larry and Aunt Roz.

I knew that the world was different that day because Uncle Larry and Aunt Roz came early and DOB came late. Assuming that therefore DOB was dying in front of an ER somewhere in the city, I made SOB call DOB on his cell phone to make sure he was alive. SOB reminded me that if DOB didn’t answer, it could just be that he didn’t hear it. DOB has perfect hearing, he asserts, because his doctor hasn’t told him otherwise. I posit that DOB just doesn’t HEAR the doctor telling him he is deaf. You can see how this conversation continues in one of those endless loops that runs through every family gathering.

DOB arrived as SOB and I were having this crazy conversation, a sort of anxiety induced cocktail with a garnish of dark humor. So, we established that he was alive but we could not have a verdict on his deafness. Nevertheless, all were accounted for and we toasted each other and the world in all its wonder and goodness and hoped that these would triumph over the evil and despoliation. DOB liked the wine even though it was way more expensive than he would ever buy. He won’t admit it, but I know he does like our wine more than the $3.50 Trader Joe’s rot gut that he thinks is suchabargain (Jews say that phrase like it is one word).

We ate, we drank, we opined, we nodded off, we relaxed. NOPOB stayed over and I fell fast asleep in my clothes. POB had to deal with two rambunctious boys. The take-away is that the new year is one day old, I am already soooo in debt to POB.

Today we went to the Museum of Natural History because it was clear that our two young charges could not sit through a second day of services at synagogue. Ok, I couldn’t either. POB is strong, strong, and could do it. Really, she can. She could also crawl across a desert if necessary. But we have learned to decline certain invitations, including both Survivor: Sahara and Survivor: Synagogue.

I did feel guilty passing all the Yamikazes (pronounced like Kamikazes, the Japanese suicide pilots, except they are Jews who wear skull caps) — with their families on their way to synagogue, but I figured there were enough suffering Jews in the world and I didn’t need to be one of them, at least not today.

Still, the museum was no picnic. We needed to stay interested when all we wanted to do was nap during a movie at the Planetarium. But, nooooo, the boys wanted to see the permanent exhibits of the Planetarium, the Hall of Bio-Diversity, the Hall of the Ocean Life (with the ginormous whale), and the Gift Shop. At any point, I could have lied on the floor and created the “snoozing mammal” exhibit. They do need some modern soft sculpture there. Did you ever notice that there is never enough space given to the sloths and their species? Ok, sloths are boring, but they do nap in the craziest of places.

I nap in the craziest of places. I do the least I can do. And I move slowly (for a New Yorker). Aha!! I am the missing link between human and sloth. Rosh Ha-Shanah brings such break-throughs in personal growth and self-knowledge.

Wishing everyone a Yom Tov and — why not? — a Good Shabbas. . . .

~ Blogger

Erev Rosh Ha-Shanah 5772

Posted on September 28, 2011 by 40andover

SOS (our son, source of sanity) decided that he preferred his former blog “handle”, TLP (the little prince). I am worried.

But I was immediately distracted by how adorable he was in his blue blazer, tan slacks, penny loafers, and bow-tie and my heart melted. Just FYI: I keep suggesting “regular” ties, but SOS (or TLP) demurs. I think because he knows the bow-tie makes him irresistible to many women (not only his moms). He doesn’t want to chance missing out on the “boob crush” hugs he gets from all the lesbians in the synagogue (hey, breasts are breasts). When he gets taller and there is no boob bonus in the hugs, he’ll probably switch to regular ties. Just a guess.

SOS lasted nearly the whole service, which is quite extraordinary for an adult, let alone a child. “E-Mom, does every word end in “echa” in Hebrew?” Almost, buddy.

The service was a mixture of celebration, remembrance, solemnity and a little irreverence (we are after all, a gay, lesbian, bi-sexual, transgender, queer and intersex congregation).

The Torah portion we read tomorrow the binding of Isaac by his father Abraham. I have always hated this story. A crazy father, a submissive son, and a psychopathic deity. With a heritage like this, we should start therapy in utero.

What do we learn from that Biblical story, other than we shouldn’t read the Bible to our children, especially before bedtime?

I still don’t get why Abraham was so willing to kill Isaac that the angel twice had to tell Abraham to stop before Abraham put down the knife.

I don’t understand why it is part of our liturgy except for us to be horrified by it. Our rabbi noted that the story seems to defy the requirements elsewhere in Torah for us, as a community, to teach, love and shelter all of our children. Abraham, the parent generation, is so invested in his belief that he is willing to kill Isaac, the child generation, regardless of whether Isaac has the same commitment.

I never thought of it quite that way — we say we love our children but we send them to battle the wars we decide to wage. It is as true then and it is today in Iraq and Afghanistan, and in countless other places where wars have been waged so long that no one remembers peace. We are horrified at the ghastly stories of child abuse here and yet we barely remember that we have sent thousands of other people’s children to war this year alone.

Love your children.

Protect your children.

Teach your children.

Remember peace.

Days of Awe, 5772

Posted on September 25, 2011 by 40andover

Jews have a strange way of celebrating holidays. Take the New Year, for example. Most of the world celebrates a new year with parties, presents or hangovers. Not Jews. It’s all about death and destruction.

Our new year 5772 begins Wednesday at sunset with Rosh Ha-Shanah, the birthday of the world. (I always forget to ask if that is based on the first day or sixth day of creation).

Every new year, we begin by fighting for our mortal lives.

On Rosh Ha-Shanah, our ancient rabbis taught that our fates for the coming year are “penciled-in” and, ten days later, on Yom Kippur, they are sealed – for life or death, for health or sickness, happiness or sorrow, wealth or not-so-much wealth. And because Jews can be lugubrious at times, we go through the recitation of how many ways we could die — water, fire, disease, famine, war, etc. (The list goes on and on. Who knew that there were so many ways to die prior to modern warfare?)

During the 10 days, one can sway G-d from the harshest of punishments by our good acts, repentance and atonement for our sins committed during the prior year (here, 5771) and return to the principles of our faith. Nevertheless, it all pretty much puts a damper on any thoughts of parties with confetti, funny hats and noise makers.

We don’t even sing happy birthday to the world. If I were the maker of the world, there would be hell to pay (no scare tactics, there) if some massive number of earthly beings, sea creatures and plants didn’t start a rousing round of “G-d’s a jolly good fellow — um — non-corporal entity”.

Living year-to-year like this makes a person wonder why a Jew takes out a 30-year mortgage, or eats vegetables instead of ice cream. I guess I understand the 30-year mortgage — why buy something with cash if your fate the next Yom Kippur is shall-we-say “tentative”? Better to borrow money and leave more liquid assets to your heirs, should the fate have a negative prognosis. But vegetables? Well, I guess on a day-to-day, they are important to digestion, the specific details of which are somewhat of a preoccupation of our people.

It isn’t all sack cloth and ashes. We do gather for a meal together but we are focused on not talking about the tragic outfits at synagogue or the odd recombination of couples from last year, because it is not settled law whether for atonement purposes, these sins are included in last year’s sins or next year’s sins. And we act so sure that we will live another year, that we don’t start with dessert. The sheer hubris should get us deeper in trouble, even if we don’t have to account for it until 5773.

And then there are people like me, who think that G-d (if G-d even listens to the rituals we ascribed to Heavenly declaration) has billions of creatures to judge, so that’s why some of the good get caught up with bad and the some of the bad seem to get rewarded. Also, what a downer to have to note everyone’s sins 24/7 (ok, G-d rested on the Sabbath, so 24/6), and then have to remember all of them to give an initial prognosis on Rosh Ha-Shanah and then listen to 9 days of whining about why it wasn’t really stealing, gossip, adultery, pork or whatever. On the 10th day, I would flood the earth and start again. Wait, G-d did that once. (And by the looks of global warming, it is happening again.)

Still, I am looking forward to these ten days of awe. It is a religiously mandated time-out of the usual rhythms of life. At different times during these ten days, there is time for quiet, for chanting, for meditation, for family and for solitude.

Something in me needs space to think about my family and the world and my place in both. I have a visceral need to course-correct some aspects of my life and to resolve to do some things differently and do other things better. I think this need comes from my fears about the future of the world, our country, our economy and our humanity and their effects on my ability to provide for my family. And I need these Days of Awe to figure out how I can transform my fears into hope and action.

May this be a year of peace and other blessings for all of us, all over the world.

The Sum of our Lives

Posted on September 19, 2011 by 40andover

Don’t ask why I had reason today to meditate on the meaning of life and death, legacy and detritus. For the purposes of this entry, please just accept that I did.

Much of the meditation happened today on the Cross Island Expressway, the Long Island Express Way, the Throgs Neck, the Northern Parkway and any number of other main arteries in and out of New York City. Given the timing and the traffic, there was much time to ponder (and outrage that the tolls got to be so expensive). Another story for another day when I am musing about driving as a contact sport.

After the mourning, and the tearful yet loving remembrances, comes the task of disposing of a deceased person’s worldly possessions. Remember that bumper sticker, popular in 1980s or 90s, that adorned really expensive cars, “He who dies with the most toys, wins”? Did the people in those cars think that they would be buried with the stuff?

Actually if that kind of acreage weren’t so expensive in this part of the country, that would be a great idea and soooo much easier on the rest of us. No one would have the task of reducing it all to cash for the benefit of the heirs.

I don’t believe that “stuff” is the sum of our lives. But it does bog down the survivors in details that make us forget those we mourn and celebrate the lives they lived.

What I learned today:

If you believe that “stuff” is the sum of your life, just ask an auction house what you are worth and the answer will freak you out.
Things that carried enormous sentimental value or were mementos of wonderful experiences now become “stuff” to be sold off for distribution in accordance with a last will and testament.
If you want someone to have something when you die, give it to them in your lifetime, so you can see them enjoy it. That someone may not be alive when your executor tries to carry out your wishes.

If you love your family and friends you will have only two nickels to rub together at the end of your life, because you will have given the rest away during your life time. POB (partner of blogger) wants to time it just right, so we have EXACTLY two nickels, lest people say “they didn’t have TWO nickels to rub together!” (What would I do without my own personal reality check?)

Sunday Dinner

Posted on September 11, 2011 by 40andover

FOPOB (father of POB (partner of blogger)) is a hard guy to pin down. He doesn’t like to “commit” to coming over for Sunday night dinner when he is in the City (and not at his beach house). This weekend was no exception: he wasn’t able to say yes or no when asked again yesterday. He’d let us know. Ok.

In fact, he let us know by coming over at 3:15pm, unannounced. That’s so early even for MY dad who would come at 9am, if we let him. That’s ok. I couldn’t even emerge from the bedroom until 3:45pm. Then I felt guilty and let POB escape to the kitchen. At 4:15pm, FOPOB was itching to watch the Giants game. And in a slightly-passive-but-really-overly-aggressive move, I told SOS (our son, source of sanity) to keep FOPOB company, believing full well that SOS would get bored within 5 minutes and start trying to convince FOPOB to change to either Nature or Discovery channels. And it would drive FOPOB nuts.

You think that wow I can be awfully mean sometimes. Yes, yes, I can.

Somehow, despite my best-laid plans, SOS started to get into the game. (My son: the child who went from worrying about the euro crisis to watching people gratuitously concuss each other in 48 hours. I am having whiplash and I will remind him of this indignity until the day I die or the guilt kills him — whatever.) The Giants versus the Redskins. The Redskins? Really? Do we still have teams with humans (in this case, Native Americans) as mascots? Haven’t we progressed as a civilization? Oh, wait, that is my way left-of-center whine. I am a centrist now. I digress.

FOPOB was impatient at cocktail hour (6pm) because the Redskins (pause, take a deep breath) were beating the Giants. And, because HOSOB (husband of SOB (sister of blogger)) and CB (cousin birder) were talking about bird nerd things that even a loving and adoring sister-in-law and cousin could not possibly abide. SOB was seeking shelter in the kitchen with POB, leaving me to referee the “boys”.

So I threw out random things, like the blue inner feathers of a mallard and the way hummingbirds make their calls with their feathers, to bring the conversation within normal nerd parameters. Nothing doing. DOB (Dad of blogger) rather adeptly tried to steer the conversation away from what could have been mortal boredom (did I mention how much I adore HOSOB and CB?) by musing about the difference in conversations he had when he was our age 20 years ago. OK, DOB, that was 40 years ago when you were our age, but who is counting. Yes, it was just after the 60s and you were wearing mustard colored bell bottoms and Mom was wearing floral halter tops, “hostess” pants and Elvira the Vampiress make-up, but I am sure your politics had sound bases. Still, he had a good point.

FOPOB, who had a moment to shine, instead said flatly that the conversation was boring, he’d rather watch his team lose and did anyone realize that Casablanca was on TV tonight? I poured everyone more wine. DOB mentioned he liked it and I told him it was NOT Trader Joe’s $3.50 special Merlot. “Really?” DOB was genuinely surprised. I excused myself to the kitchen where POB was hiding out. I asked POB to kill me before SOS ever had to have this conversation with me.

Thank G-d Cousin Gentle arrived. And time to eat. FOPOB wanted to take dinner-to-go but we locked the door. SOB had to take a call from the hospital. SOS wanted to run back and forth from the dinner table to the TV in our room to watch the football game. I considered Crazy Glue to keep him in his chair but I settled on the Evil Eye of Doom and Despair that I inherited from my mother that kept us in line. It is amazing how a few moves of the facial muscles can subdue a child. It worked. Luckily, I also still have the brute strength in my arsenal, if necessary. But only for a little time more.

At the beginning of the meal, we toasted the many sides of the family that were present. We toasted our good fortune in being together. We remembered the victims of the attack on our Nation 10 years ago.

At some point in the conversation, we started talking about the different sources of the Bible and how women may have been writers. HOSOB asked what I knew about this. So, of course, I held forth, but with a caveat. I started with, “Unencumbered as I am with fact or knowledge about the subject matter . . . .” Cousin Gentle was impressed that I said this. I was shocked. I thought this was an implied caveat in any conversation in our family history because clearly Uncle Loud, Cousin Gentle’s father and DOB, would have otherwise been mute for most of their lives.

After that, someone complained that the chicken was salty. Someone wondered about having added marjoram (a spice I still don’t understand) to the quinoa dish. FOPOB wanted to take dessert to go (keep trying, dude) in order to watch Casablanca at home on his ginormous TV.

So, we were deep, we were shallow, we were loving, we were honest. . .and in so doing, we gave meaning to the statement:

WE ARE A FAMILY.

I love you all.

40 — oh wait, yikes!! 50 — andoverblog

Aging and living in urban US

Category Archives: family