Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Mermaid Parade



On Saturday we all went to see the Mermaid Parade in Coney Island. Some years it seemed rather short, over almost as soon as it began. But this year, perhaps because Coney Island is under siege and likely to be radically changed by real estate developers, the mermaids and other "denizens of the deep" came out in record numbers. The parade went on for 2.5 hours and was the usual visual treat, only moreso.

First came the antique cars. This isn't my cup of tea but car aficionados must love it. After that the real parade started. I heard around 1,000 people marched this year and I believe it. Just about all of them had colorful, clever, and often risque costumes they created themselves. Many of the mermaids wore pasties or even went bare breasted but with some sort of body paint partially disguising their nudity.

All sorts of groups were represented, most notably the Cyclones, Brooklyn's minor league baseball team, the Polar Bear Club (those brave and crazed souls who swim at Coney Island every New Year's Day), and quite a few others. There were Mermaids for Peace, mermaids in Scottish garb, and a variety of sea horses, sharks, sea jellies (the new name for jellyfish, according to Jason), pirates and even two Elvis impersonators (what they have to do with the ocean, I don't know, but one of them kissed my hand, how charmante! and the other one carried a guitar that read, "A hunka hunka burnin' lard!"

Union organizers protested against Starbucks (one of the developers looking to destroy historic Coney Island), and another group carried placards that read, "Save Coney Island; Keep It Weird!"

The color silver was a dominant theme this year since this was the 25th annual Mermaid Parade. There was some concern about it being the last one but the parade organizers are insisting they will keep marching year after year even after the developers have their way. I hope that is true because I look forward to this summer solstice event every June. It's Brooklyn's answer to Mardi Gras, Halloween in June, and it's a wild and wacky event that should continue as long as the organizers still want to put it on.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Free At Last

Jason had his last high school exam, the Physics Regents, today. That's it. It' s over and I won't have to hang around watching to see that he does his homework anymore. I can go out evenings any time I want. I can get a job. I can do all kinds of things I have put on hold for almost 18 years.

As usual when something long anticipated happens I don't feel the elation I expected to feel. Instead it's just a flat feeling, almost a nonacceptance of this new situation. It's been so long and I have been used to building what I do around him. Now, one doesn't stop being a parent, but the level of responsibility has just dropped back quite a lot.

Now I have to decide what I'm doing with the rest of my life. Once I know where I stand as far as a job I'll be thinking about some volunteer activities. Chances are Bruce and I will want to get involved with the UU church in Brooklyn. It's time to stop trying to contribute where we are not wanted, and start contributing our efforts where they will be valued.

It's on to graduation and then summertime. Jason will be working and I hope I will too. I'm keeping my fingers crossed!

Sunday, June 17, 2007

James Mason Biography

Not long ago I received a copy of James Mason, A Personal Biography, by Diane De Rosso, from a fan in the Netherlands who was unloading a lot of her collectibles.

De Rosso was Mason's sister-in-law, being the half sister of his first wife Pamela. As such she was a close friend of James Mason and had the opportunity to know the inner man -- at least, as much as he was willing to reveal. He didn't reveal that much of himself to many people, from what she writes.

The book is well written and balanced. De Rosso does not spare either Pamela or James when discussing their shortcomings as a couple. However she is discreet and does not reveal the names of lovers even though that would have made some very juicy gossip! She tells some very funny stories such as the pooch that "spent a penny" on the floor while being introduced to some gentleman. But there isn't a lot of humor because as a younger person Mason seems to have been somewhat insecure and lacking in confidence even though his acting ability was amazing. His marriage to Pamela was a loving one at first and she took on the managerial role, becoming quite the dominant wife/agent. Later, though, it fell apart and became quite nasty, and Mason seems to have been unable to defend himself. The man who was such a powerfully sexual presence onscreen was in fact vulnerable and lonely once Pam deserted him.

I was happy to read, though, that he found his true love in the last 15 years or so of his life and lived happily ever after with her until the day he died. He was a person who was driven to perfect his craft and be as professional and excellent as possible, and he deserved happiness. I'll be writing to Maria again to thank her for sending me this book.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Nine More Days

In nine more days, my life will change forever. Jason will graduate high school, and I won't have to supervise homework ever again. Freedom is just around the corner but it feels like it will be a million years before that happens. First we have to get through him studying for the Physics Regents, which is on the 21st.

I have so many plans popping in my head about what I'll do when he's done with school and heading to college in the fall. I hope I won't disappoint myself. Other times, I have. There were summers when he went to day camp and I had most of the day free. I used to promise myself I would get out to museums, meet with friends and do all sorts of things while he was out. But instead too often I wound up sitting at home in front of the computer or walking the same few blocks in my neighborhood, bored with the same old stores.

I don't want that to happen again. I'm looking for a job and this time around I think I'll find one. I would like to find a part time job but that seems to be much harder than full time. It's bit perverse because you would think companies could save a bit of money that way. But most jobs are full time and even more than full time.

Another plan is to attend more of the free events in the city. Unfortunately I had a good source of information on a website but it has been under construction for so long that I don't know whether it is going to be reconstructed or not. Too bad! But I can still go to the outdoor concerts and so on. Not street fairs, because the food is not on my diet plan and it's way too tempting when there is another food concession every 20 feet. But concerts and maybe free outdoor movies would be a lot of fun.

I'm also looking for some organizations where I can get involved and make a difference. Obviously BSEC is not going to be that place. I am thinking about rejoining Amnesty International, or finding another organization to volunteer for. Maybe I'll even decide to join a board. I'd like to get my book, "How to Kill a Church," published, too.

Also this summer we're taking part in the Power Up! business plan competition. I have not worked on my business plan at all but will have to start doing so. I don't expect to win the contest but I'd like to work with Jason and put together a plan so he can use it and set up a pet sitting business when he's done with his veterinary technology training.

So I have plenty of plans and I'm counting the days until I'm freed up from supervising studying, which has seemed to be necessary right up to the last minute. June 21st will be the first day of the rest of my life. I know it's a dreadful cliche but it is also true.

Friday, June 08, 2007

A Victory for Democracy

Last night at the BSEC Board meeting there was finally a small victory for democracy. After a discussion, the Board came to the realization (with perhaps one dissenter) that even a person who is the subject of a forensic audit which has not yet been completed and released has every right to run for the Board, and that it is up to the membership to decide, once informed of this fact, whether they want him on the Board.

It's about time such a decision was made since the President has been saying things for quite some time about not wanting to let certain people who are "out of favor" in some way or another run for the Board. That's really not up to the President!

I got a chance to speak my piece and I said there's been an ongoing fear of letting the membership make its own decisions about whom to vote for, and this goes back nearly two years already. If it can't be orchestrated so that they always win, the people in power now don't want to play. I also said that the "dirt" on this person (so far, completely unproven) has been known to the membership already for at least a year due to a telephone smear campaign that not only cast aspersions on him but on anyone associated with him.

The Treasurer kept trying to interrupt me but I raised my voice slightly and told her, "I don't want to hear from you right now -- I'm talking so you be quiet!" This gave me immense satisfaction. For once the meeting was run by a person who is evenhanded and fair, and who came down equally on both "sides" when they got out of line. Good for her: that's what our organization should be. Too bad that will all be reversed when the Prez gets back from her out of town trip.

Now on to the membership meeting and the elections. Bruce and I don't expect to be elected but we'd be pleasantly surprised if that happened. However we'll make our statements and that's that. Most likely, it will be on to better things.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

"From This Moment On"

I've just finished reading From This Moment On by Lynn Kurland, thanks to cousin Ivy who sent me a boxful of her novels a few months ago. This one is set in medieval France and England and concerns the adventures of Alienore and Colin. Alienore, betrothed without her consent (not necessary in those days) to Colin, who is known far and wide as a merciless warrior, takes refuge by stealing her brother's armor and running away disguised as a young knight.

Ironically she ends up being assigned to protect a young airhead, er woman, named Sybil, who is the next one betrothed to the infamous "Butcher of Berkhamshire." Sybil is so terrified of Colin that she continually faints every time she meets him face to face, and locks herself in the solar with her maids in waiting and a huge amount of food. (Sybil also appears to be a likely candidate for Overeaters Anonymous if it had existed in the thirteenth century).

Perceiving Alienore as a young man, passing herself off as Sir Henri, Colin decides to teach the lad to be a sword fighter, since it is clear that this young knight's training has been less than sufficient. In the course of training together an attraction grows, much to the consternation of both of them. Alienore can't understand why she is attracted to so terrifying a man, and Colin is disturbed at the thought that he may be attracted to a young man.

Several people learn Alienore's secret, most of them supportive of her, but of course there is an obligatory villain who uses it against her. Her own stepmother is also a villainess in her own right and Alienore is endangered again when brought to her homestead in, ironically, a search for herself!

Of course, being it is a romance novel, all's well that ends well, and it does. I found this an entertaining and amusing story even though the events recounted were so improbable. Apparently in order to keep historical romance fresh it is necessary to invent convoluted and improbable scenarios so that readers will not become bored with the usual plots of abduction by a sexy pirate or forced marriage to the man of her dreams.

It's a fun book and I recommend it.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Patagonia Olive Oil

Coming soon to supermarket and gourmet stores; watch for it on the shelves. Wednesday night I attended a focus group where we discussed an unknown brand of olive oil, which we'd picked up in unmarked sample bottles and taste-tested for about a week.

I loved it. I loved the golden color. Later, when we saw it in the "real" bottles, it had more of a green tinge to it. But in the small sample plastic bottle, it looked pure gold to me, liquid gold. It said sunshine and luxury, and I could imagine being gently massaged with this oil.

I had never tasted extra virgin olive oil and the stronger taste delighted me. I felt as if I could just slightly taste the olives. Yet the taste didn't linger, and I found myself pouring more and more onto my salads as I ate them. Sure, it's high calorie, but at least olive oil is healthy, so I didn't feel too guilty about eating a lot of it.

The focus group amused me. I was one of those bridge and tunnel people in with the "real" Manhattanites. They are a whole different breed. These people talked about shopping in the overpriced gourmet stores like Dean & DeLuca, where you could pay $3 for an avocado that I can get at a fruit stand for $1.29. These were women who went home after a day's work and made bruschetta, or grilled fish and shrimp. They tried frying chicken in this oil and other types of cooking. All I did, unimaginative little me, was to put it on salad and mop it up with bread (after sprinkling pepper on the oil as it spread across a plate).

The others were much more upscale and conscious of the need to impress their friends. They wouldn't use plastic bottles partly because plastic is bad for the environment, but also because it looks tacky. Only glass bottles for them! I was the one person in favor of plastic because it doesn't break as easily and I live in a family of clutzes who drop bottles with alarming regularity.

They knew what extra virgin and "cold press" or "first press" meant. Listening to this was an education but to some extent I found it an education in food snobbery. Only extra virgin was worth buying. Lesser brands were all right in an ordinary supermarket, but the better brands belonged in a D'Agostino's or in the very trendy gourmet boutiques. People agreed that this unknown brand should be in the gourmet boutiques and named some outrageously high prices for a standard sized bottle.

We learned that the brand is Patagonia and that it is going to be marketed as an ecologically friendly olive oil, coming from unspoiled Patagonia. But one woman whom I found particularly snooty didn't like the slogan: said it was "too easy." They showed us two labels. I liked the blue label better but many other women there preferred the plainish offwhite label that looked boring to me. It was also practically illegible. Also, European foods were much better than American; Americans have no real standards about how food is prepared.

Right, that's why the foreign imports of flu vaccine were found to be ineffective because of bad handling and I had to get a second flu shot this past winter. The American system of monitoring food and drugs is flawed, but so is the European, but I guess these snobs would rather think that America is bad and all things foreign are much better.

I had a fun time discussing the olive oil and I certainly was quite happy to collect my $125 at the end of the session. It was also very amusing watching the trendy crowd, the upscale types who really would discuss Hemingway at a wine and cheese (and olive oil) party do their thing. I went home happy that I am not in that crowd and that I am down to earth enough to simply eat what I like without worrying about what people think of me for my food choices or the type of packaging those food choices come in.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Spirit of the Law

In a few days I will be running for the Board of an organization that has sadly lost its way. I have watched and protested every way I know how, while democracy and fair treatment have been ignored. I have protested when reputations were destroyed by false rumors, and when employees were mistreated. I have protested when a small group of Board members excluded the rest of the Board from meaningful and informed decision making, taking the power to themselves and leaving the rest of the Board unable to do its fiduciary duty.

My protests have been expressed in emails, in a blog I took down not long ago, called "Brooklyn Ethics," and in the media. I've complained in every situation possible that this organization has stopped doing its mission and has stopped honoring its core values. But unfortunately, these protests have had no effect and have simply resulted in my own demonization.

I don't expect to get on the Board, but as a last gesture before I wipe the dust of this place off my feet, I am giving them one more chance.

They won't take it. The die is already cast. I am the only person running with the blessing of the nominating committee but "without Board endorsement." They have a slick lawyer assisting them pro bono, who has made mincemeat of our constitution, attributing powers to the President and to the Executive Committee that were never intended. Of all people, an attorney should recognize that there is not simply the letter of the law, but a spirit of the law that must be honored as well.

The founders of this organization surely never intended the President to be a dictator. As a nonprofit organization, it is supposed to be ruled by the entire Board. As a membership organization, it is supposed to be informed by the membership and follow their wishes. Members are supposed to have access to information. Instead they have been spoon fed only what the ruling cadre wants them to know.

When the President is given the powers to make unilateral decisions, and when the Executive Committee is allowed to take over the functions of the full board, the spirit of the law lies mortally wounded. If the membership is content with this, they are no better than the contented cud-chewers who are more interested in American Idol than in dealing with the loss of civil liberties that has been imposed on America by the present administration. The analogy works completely.

I am prepared to leave if the tide goes against us, because there will be nothing meaningful we can accomplish there any more. There are other similar organizations where good works can be done, and I am already beginning to set my sights on those.

Monday, May 28, 2007

"Odd Man Out" by Sheridan Morley

I have just finished reading "Odd Man Out" by Sheridan Morley, a biography of James Mason. It's an interesting book and gets into some depth in his career and personal struggles. I agree with people who've read the book before me that Morley seemed to have a jaundiced view of Mason and put all of his actions into the worst possible light.

Yet, Mason wasn't a spoiled superstar, by any means. He never achieved that status, even though he deserved it. His pacifism during WWII and his antagonism to first the British and then the American establishment film industries made him less popular than he should have been. I see him as being ahead of his time, a man who wanted to have some choice and control over his acting career, at a time when this wasn't really done. He refused to sign with a studio and that certainly hurt him. It may have been foolish in those days but he was also a courageous nonconformist.

And I have always admired courageous nonconformists.

There were some very funny lines, such as what he supposedly said about his three year old daughter: that he and his first wife decided to let little Portland smoke a cigarette and let her cough and hate the taste, so that she would not smoke later on in life. Someone asked how that worked out and apparently Mason answered, "Not so well, she's now smoking two packs a day!"

I'm sure that was nonsense but what a great witty remark!

I was glad to read that Mason finally found happiness in his last years, with his second wife. He was an excellent and professional actor, always showing up on time and taking his work very seriously. (Even though he called it a silly profession). He deserves the recognition he is getting from fans today and into the future.

Soon I'll be receiving his autobiography. That should be most interesting also. A different slant and hopefully a less melancholy one.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

One Day to Relive Forever

This morning Bruce and I went to services at the Unitarian Universalist Church in Brooklyn. The sermon was about "A Day to Live," and a question the minister posed was, if you had to choose one day in your life to relive for all eternity, what day would you choose?

I was reminded of the segment in "Our Town" where the deceased Emily begs for one more day on earth and picks her twelfth birthday because she advised to choose a very ordinary day. Of course she is disappointed and heartbroken as she tries to alert her family that she is really grown up now and has died, and tries to get them to really see her one last time. But to everyone else it is her twelfth birthday, it is business as usual, and no one really sees her.

So in the end she is disappointed because she realizes how we all rush through life with our minds on other things and hardly ever stop to see the person inside, even the people we love the most.

If I had to pick a day to relive forever I don't know that I could do it. Even the most perfect day ever would get incredibly boring after a while. It probably wouldn't even take the first year, and then I'd be stuck with it millennium after millennium, forever? Somehow I don't find that an appetizing thought. I hope the Japanese are wrong and that is not what the afterlife is like at all!

I could probably compile a list of best experiences that I would want to relive, but even so I doubt they would hold up if I had to repeat them eternally. It almost sounds like a variation on "No Exit" to me, except that initially it would be pleasant, even delightful. Maybe if I only had to relive them once a month, or once a year, they would be something to look forward to.

But in the afterlife, I hope there are new things to learn and experience. I hope there are new spirits to meet and possibilities for spiritual growth. I hope there are opportunities to help those still on this side of the veil. What I would like for eternity is the feeling of love, acceptance, and positive challenges that change but offer the chance to make a difference, even when we are no longer equipped with a body. And of course I do believe there is reincarnation and I would like to pick a new lifetime that will be different and exciting to me.

But even the most perfect day, over and over like a broken record? No thanks!

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

BSEC Peace Site Day

On Sunday Jason and I went to attend the Peace Site awards at the Brooklyn Society for Ethical Culture.

The place was packed (attendance at Platform has been way down this year) in a way it hasn't been in ages. If you didn't know about the rotten underbelly, the fascistic way the Board is now being run, it would seem to be a wonderful place. It seemed almost like the old days, before we had a coup and before the band of marauders took over the Board and twisted ethics, law and democracy out of recognition.

But it isn't the old days, and despite the fact that people were all smiley, the knives were underneath those smiles. Someone praised the work of the Constitution task force, which I was on, and said she didn't know we had such great common ground in that we provided for the assets to go to the AEU upon dissolution of the Society.

When we set up that clause, we selected the AEU not because we love them, but because we knew that would make it the most palatable choice, and because we wanted to prevent the members of the coup from grabbing the assets to themselves (illegally) or else pouring them into some new and unrecognizable organization that they are plotting to start up when they have driven all of us away.

The Peace Site award went to IVAW, Iraq Veterans Against the War, and was accepted by Demond Mullins. Demond is a handsome young man of color and he spoke directly from his heart. He did not wish to accept that he was any kind of hero or that he deserved to accept the award on behalf of IVAW. He called himself a coward and said he went to Iraq because he was too afraid to resist and end up in jail. He said he joined IVAW not because he cared about the Iraqis we are killing or about the other recruits who will die there, but because of his own guilt about things he did in the war.

Well, he is still a hero in my eyes even if he did join the antiwar movement because of his guilt. That shows he wasn't brainwashed by the military into believing that everything he did was right because it was for America. He kept his own mind and his own conscience even if he did wrong things and his conscience tormented him.

We had music by Jacqui DuPree and Ben Silver, singing sixties songs of antiwar protest. They made me cry. After all we went through with Vietnam, here we are again in a crazy, stupid war, and here we are again with people saying we "can't just pull out." Well, why not, it's high time the Iraqis took over and dealt with their own problem. We got rid of Saddam Hussein for them, now let them create democracy. Leave our kids out of it.

All I know is, this war is wrong, it is based on a lie, and so many of our kids have died already for this lie. I don't want them restoring a draft and I don't want Jason sucked into it. I'll support him going to jail or anything he needs to do, not to be sucked into that, because I know he isn't a soldier type and he would not do well in a war. And even if you ARE a soldier type, you can still be blown to bits by a car bomb.

Anyhow it was an excellent program. Maureen gets most of the credit since she organized it and did all the background work, with some assistance from the Ethical Action committee.

One weird note was that people from the LaRouche committee were outside the building soliciting signatures to impeach Cheney. I almost signed their petition but then I read it and saw where they were from, and handed it back to them. I tried to warn several people about what was going on. The LaRoucher's came into the building and sat in our row, and I warned Lisel about them. She went to them and got them to leave, but there was another woman I didn't know about who stayed.

Anyhow, it was a gorgeous day and the program was excellent. It's going to be hard to walk away from BSEC knowing the potential it used to have for good. But it has lost that potential because of the present governance. Sad, very sad, that it will have to end, for us and for the Society as a whole, because they have put their feet on a road that has a dead end not too far in the future.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

Writer's Block Day

I wonder if we have an official "Writer's Block Day" on the calendar. There are so many outlandish little holidays that we very well might. That would be a great day to sit down at the keyboard with no particular idea in mind, just like I am doing now, and simply type until some idea, no matter how absurd, pops into our minds.

Writer's Digest offers writing prompts in its e-newsletter. Maybe we would all be required to use one of them. In any case we would have to write until we produced something that made some form of sense.

What's the opinion out there, would people like to start a brand new holiday? How would we celebrate it? Google would turn the two "o's" into tiny computer monitors. Or maybe into the letter "o" as it used to appear on a typewriter key. That would be fascinating and creative.

Maybe we could look up a psychology site and examine Rorschach or TAT tests, a new one each year, and write our impressions. Of course, some clever psychologist could analyze our stories and figure out all our secret obsessions, but it would be fun writing our fantasy stories based on the tests.

I had nothing in mind for a post today but the idea of a Writer's Block Day seems like a good holiday. Maybe people could hold parties that day where each person would write a paragraph of a round robin story. The next day, millions of these stories could be uploaded to the web and readers would vote for the best one.

How about it, shall we apply for a particular date? How about Shakespeare's birthday?

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Freedom's Coming

It's May 15th, and on June 27th, my life will change forever. Jason will graduate high school. Yes, he'll still be my responsibility in a lot of ways, but I will never again have to concern myself with supervising homework. I won't stay home nights to make sure he's studying for his tests. With any luck he will find a summer job (he is still looking) but whether he does or not, I'm going to be freed from the bondage of sitting home, forever.

At the end of August he'll go away to college and we'll have an instantly empty nest. That's a drawback to having only one child, but we can't change that now. I'll miss him terribly but already my mind is jumping around and I'm planning all the things I'll be able to do that I've had to put on hold for 18 years.

I can get a job. I'd prefer to work three days a week so that I can also do other projects. I'd like to publish my book, "How to Kill a Church." If it gets published I would have to publicize it to increase sales, because publishers themselves don't do an adequate job of that. I'd like to get the business plan completed for a pet sitting business with Jason as our star pet sitter. That will take time and I'd like at least two free days a week so that I can work on these other projects.

But we also can use some more money to fund college, so a job, even a part time job, would be a big help.

I've been reading some business oriented books along with my usual fiction, and I'll review them here also when I am done with them.

In addition I'd like to do more volunteer work. I'm investigating organizations where I can use my skills and make a positive contribution that will actually make a difference in the world beyond the organization's walls.

So I am investigating rejoining a local Amnesty International chapter and I'm thinking about volunteering with the AARP. I'm also volunteering to work with the Association of Fundraising Professionals so that I can become better known in the field.

I'm going to take more advantage of free programs in Manhattan so that I can continue learning about writing, fundraising and other subjects of interest.

I know I'll miss Jason and I'm sure I will worry about him when he's upstate in college. But I feel freedom looming on the horizon, a freedom I haven't had in so many years. It's time to pursue my own interests now. It's only six weeks, but already I'm just about jumping up and down with impatience, wanting it to begin.

Monday, May 14, 2007

"Five Fingers" and "Botany Bay"

This past weekend I got to see two James Mason films, "Five Fingers" and "Botany Bay." They were both excellent. In "Five Fingers" Mason played a spy, an Englishman who so resented being a valet that he betrayed his country to the Nazis by selling them photos of top secret documents. He almost got away with it but got his just desserts at the end. However the tension and suspense became so strong that I found myself hoping he would not get caught, even though he was playing a miserable excuse for a human being and deserved to be caught and shot.

Botany Bay was filmed in color and James Mason was again the bad guy, playing a sea captain transporting British prisoners to the Australian penal colony at Botany Bay. His compassion and basic humanity in that role were about the same as Captain Bligh's in "Mutiny on the Bounty."

He was a thoroughly rotten character, mistreating the prisoners, locking up a little boy until he died of the cold during a storm, using punishments like keelhauling that hadn't been used in many years. He was also ruthless with women, attempting to seduce a young actress on the ship as his "payment" for treating her well. Finally he does get his comeuppance but it was too bad that it came from an aborigine and not from one of the people he treated like dirt.

James Mason was gorgeous in both roles, gorgeous and a rat. He was, truly, the "man people loved to hate." It takes a certain talent to play a good villain, and in many of his roles, Mason played that villain.

Sunday, May 06, 2007

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls, published in 1940, has a lot in common with A Farewell to Arms. This is another tragic love story set against the backdrop of war. Only this time, the war is much more immediate for the main character, Robert Jordan, than the war was for Frederick Henry until later in A Farewell to Arms. Once again we have an American fighting a battle that was not America's, at least not yet. Robert Jordan is fighting on the side of the Republic in the Spanish Civil War, trying to prevent the rise of fascism in Spain. He was a professor of Spanish in Montana but he believes in the cause of liberty and in justice for the poor so he has volunteered to work as a dynamiter with the Republican Army.

At the beginning of the book Jordan is completely devoted to the cause. He receives orders to blow up a certain bridge at the time of an attack on the fascist posts, and he knows that because of the timing it is going to be a dangerous and probably fatal mission. Although he knows he is probably going to die he accepts his orders and goes into the mountains behind the fascist lines to carry them out. His guide is an elderly man, Anselmo, who believes in the cause but states openly that he likes to hunt animals but hates killing men. Jordan is the opposite: he does not like to kill animals but he is resigned to killing men when it is needed in a war situation.

Right away when he meets up with the small band of guerrillas whom he needs to aid him in his mission, he realizes that their leader Pablo is going to be trouble. Their first meeting is not very pleasant. Pablo is against blowing up the bridge. He cares more about the small group of people he is with than about winning the war on the side of freedom. Jordan senses that Pablo is afraid of death and is very likely to do something to betray the mission.

When he meets the other guerrillas he meets the beautiful Maria and falls in love immediately. Maria's parents were executed by the fascists and she and other girls were raped and abused. Her head was shaved by the fascists and it is just starting to grow back in. Jordan finds her very attractive but he wants her to grow her hair longer so that she will look more feminine.

He spends a little under three days with her. At night they make love and also once during the day. It is a new experience for Jordan because he has been with women but he has never been deeply in love before. Maria wants to be the ideal woman for him and keeps telling him that Pilar, Pablo's wife, has been instructing her on how to please a husband. She is very concerned with her duties as a wife, and indeed they declare to each other that they are already married although they plan to marry once the bridge is blown up and the attack is over. This is similar to Catherine Barkley's attitude to Henry, that she must obey him in every way and be exactly what he wants her to be. Once again I think Hemingway had very old-fashioned ideas about women even though he did not care if they were virgins and he saw nothing wrong about a woman sleeping with a man she loved before or even without getting married. I think he would be shocked today at the way women are not brought up to think they have to cater to men and obey them all the time.

Pablo continues to give Jordan trouble. Sometimes he is friendly. At other times, such as when he is drunk, he becomes very insulting. Several people, the gypsy and even Pablo's wife Pilar, encourage Jordan to kill Pablo because they fear he has become a useless coward and will betray them. Pablo tries to attack Jordan's manhood by asking if in America men wear skirts (even though he knows it is Scotland where men wear kilts). Jordan does not let his temper get away from him and he lets Pablo live.

But on the third night while Jordan is sleeping with Maria, Pablo slits open the backpacks full of dynamite and steals Jordan's exploder and some of the dynamite. This, plus the snowstorm the day before that allows the fascists to track the horse of one of their slain officers, is a terrible setback and now Jordan knows it is not going to be possible to blow up the bridge from far away. It has to be done at close range using grenades and that means loss of life.

Pablo returns, says he threw away the exploder but that he has thought better of it and has brought more men and horses. So Jordan is somewhat willing to forgive him, at least, he doesn't kill Pablo for his treachery. He tells Maria to stay with the horses and he goes with the others to blow up the bridge and attack the two fascist posts.

The bridge is blown up as planned but Anselmo is killed in the explosion. Jordan is miraculously unhurt and there is actually a chance for escape. Pablo comes back from an attack on the fascist post and a small tank has followed him. The group of guerrillas and Jordan try to flee but Jordan's pack horse is shot and falls on him, breaking his leg. He knows he can't escape.

He speaks to Maria for the last time and tells her that he will be with her always. He's not sure if he really believes in an afterlife although at times during the book he speaks about communicating with his grandfather who fought in the Civil War. So he tells her he will be with her wherever she goes and that he is part of her. Then he stays and waits, trying not to pass out, because he plans to take a few more of the fascists with him before he dies. He thinks about all he has learned in the past few days about life and love, and wishes he could pass it along to someone else. He thinks about death and that it is nothing, but he realizes now that dying is a hard thing to do. He scolds himself that he is not doing it well but then he realizes that no one "does it well." And then the fascist troop arrives. We don't see the moment of Jordan's death. The book ends with him just about to shoot the fascist lieutenant and then shoot himself before he can be captured and tortured. So we don't know what might happen. He might succeed or he might pass out and miss his shot and wake up in a fascist prison to be tortured and then killed. All we know is that he has made his peace with death.

The title, For Whom the Bell Tolls, refers to a poem by John Donne that says, "And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee." Church bells toll when someone dies and we can tell from the title alone that there will be death in this book, probably the main character's as well as other people. Hemingway shows that Jordan is a hero and a "real man" because even though he knows that he is probably going to die carrying out his mission he persists and does not try to run away from it. He considers himself of no individual importance and his own death does not matter if the cause is served. This is different from Henry who cares only about his small group of ambulance drivers. But Jordan does make an emotional connection with the group of guerrillas that take him in and he does feel regrets about having to give them orders and put them in danger as if they were soldiers he did not know or care about. Still, he does his duty.

Just as in A Farewell to Arms, Jordan's death is foreshadowed several times in the book. Pilar reads his palm and then will not tell him what she sees but later Maria tells him that the reading told Pilar that they would all be killed. His job is to meet it bravely. He does not believe in palm reading or other superstitions just as he does not believe in God (and in fact several people in the book say they do not have God any more because they are now Communists) but it still disturbs him that Pilar predicted his death.

Jordan also enjoys his food and his woman even in the face of impending death. Hemingway shows us that "real men" enjoy what is here and now because death is the end of it all. Jordan is very self-disciplined and carries out his orders without any superior officer needing to stand over him with a gun, and he is focused in his thinking. He relies on his clear, cold head. He shows also that he is very competent and is able to think of an alternate way to blow up the bridge after Pablo steals the exploder.

Hemingway's heroes are able to kill when it is needed but they are not heartless brutes. Pilar describes a terrible scene in a small town where the movement arose and Pablo was the leader of the fight against the fascists. After they were captured the fascists were made to run a sort of gauntlet. Pablo's original intention was to make all the villagers share in the responsibility for these killings but it got out of hand and the villagers became an angry mob that cruelly slaughtered the fascists, whether or not they had done anything wrong personally. This is not clean killing and Hemingway would not be proud of Pablo's actions as he is of Jordan's clean and quick shootings of the fascist sentry.

What I see in this book is that Hemingway is showing us what he feels a real man will do when faced with war, danger, love, and death. It is the way a man lives his life and dies his own particular death that makes him a hero or a coward, and not what others think of him.

Saturday, May 05, 2007

A Farewell to Arms

As a byproduct of a completely insane school assignment Jason has received through his online Freshman Composition course, I am frantically reading three of Hemingway's works in order to help him produce a final paper that was assigned when the students had only a week to produce it. Personally I very much resent the fact that the professor chose to give the students a difficult and complicated task in so short a time. Yes, I know it was a truncated course being completed in only seven weeks instead of a full semester, but in that case I think it behooves the instructor to recognize this fact and not give out an assignment that is nearly impossible for students who after all have other things going on in their lives to complete.

So, I am lending a major hand this time around, and I have just finished reading A Farewell to Arms. For me, not Jason, this assignment may be a blessing in disguise, because I never read this book before. I seem to recall reading something by Hemingway years ago but now I have the opportunity to read three Hemingway novels at breakneck speed.

I did see the movie a few years ago but it did not convey Hemingway's writing style, nor did it give me the opportunity to see behind the words. I have to say I am immensely grateful to Hemingway for forever changing the style in which American (and I daresay international as well) novels are written. I find the novels of the nineteenth century going backwards in time to be cumbersome, overwritten and flowery to the point of being nauseating, with a few exceptions. Hemingway introduced the stripped-down modern lean and mean writing that is so much easier to read and read quickly. In fact, his style is a great help in making it through these novels in so ridiculously short a time.

A Farewell to Arms is a tragic love story set during World War I, in Italy and later in Switzerland. Against the backdrop of the war on the Italian front, the lovers Frederick Henry and Catherine Barkley meet and begin their doomed love affair. At first Henry is a man without direction, and without love for any human being on the planet. He spends his leave time getting drunk and playing with prostitutes in the officers' brothel. He knows this is not a worthy pursuit, and he longs for a more disciplined life. He's different from the other men in that he does not taunt the priest with dirty jokes making reference to the priest's celibacy, but instead admires the part of the country that the priest comes from.

When he first meets Catherine he simply sees her as a better alternative to the prostitutes and tries pretty quickly to seduce her, but she slaps his face. Then she apologizes. So he knows he may get somewhere with his seduction as she does not stay outraged at him for making a pass. At this time Catherine is missing her dead fiance who was killed in the war, and for a short while she engages Henry in a brief fantasy of being that lost love. The first time they declare love to each other they both know they are lying, but it seems to satisfy something in her heart.

For a while Henry has thought that the war "has nothing to do with him" and that he will never be killed in it. He is in charge of a group of ambulance drivers and has not faced much danger yet. That abruptly changes as he is sitting in a dugout enjoying macaroni and cheese and rusty tasting wine with his companions. Before his eyes, one is killed by a shell, and Henry himself is gravely wounded. He's brought to the hospital and Catherine is an assistant nurse so she is able to visit him on the night shift.

Henry realizes he is falling for her and she seems to sense his change in attitude also because she takes to making love with him in his hospital bed. Others at the hospital cover up for her so she won't be found out and dismissed. Henry is sent to Milan for his recuperation and he has a bit of an idyllic time with Catherine, staying up all night to eat, talk and make love, and then sleeping into the morning.

We don't learn much about the history of either of them. Hemingway writes his novel with very spare prose, very spare dialogue. He gives us few details about their former lives other than that Catherine had a fiance who was killed. Henry has relatives in the States but they are apparently not important enough to him to warrant his writing to them on a regular basis. Hemingway's writing is very much attuned to the five senses, showing his audience exactly what they would experience if they were on the scene. His style appears to have come from his background as a journalist. He gives the reader who, what, when, where and how, but he often does not spell out why. Only a few of Henry's internal thoughts and emotions make it to the printed page; we are often left to decide what he must be feeling, even when Catherine dies and he says saying goodbye to her was like saying goodbye to a statue.

Henry returns to the front when his leg wounds have healed but by then the war on the Italian front has taken a turn for the worse. The Italian army is in retreat and his little group of ambulance drivers is broken up by death and by the confusion of the retreat. Loyalty does not extend beyond each unit's little group, which is shown when the engineer sergeant refuses to cut brush so the ambulance can move forward, saying that Henry is not his superior officer and he doesn't have to obey him. Instead he runs and Henry shoots him down without any emotion, and leaves the body behind as he and his men move on. This same callousness comes back to haunt him when he is arrested by the battle police for having become separated from his men, and is almost shot as a "deserter" from his officer's post because he has lost them in the confusion of the retreat. The battle police are just as callous toward the officers they are shooting as he was toward the engineer sergeant he shoots down.

Henry escapes from his captors and runs away to find Catherine. She agrees to go away with him and after one night of lovemaking they learn he is about to be arrested, so they flee by boat to Switzerland. Henry has known for some time that Catherine is pregnant by him, and in fact Catherine's friend, nurse Ferguson, is quite angry at Henry for getting her pregnant. But Catherine is unconventional and plays by her own rules, and she does not care that she is having a child out of wedlock, nor does she press Henry to marry her. In fact at first when he says he wants to marry her she does not wish to, saying she is already his wife (in her own mind). The only time she seems to care is later, near to her delivery time, when she agrees to marry Henry but says she will not marry him while her pregnancy is showing but will wait until after the child is delivered.

In Switzerland they enjoy a happy life together until Catherine's labor begins. Then it all falls apart. She is not able to deliver the baby by natural means and is in such pain that the doctors have supplied her with a gas mask to ease the pangs. A Caesarian is performed and the child is a large, robust-looking male, but he is stillborn. Henry does not seem to even realize this at first but when he learns his son never even took a first breath he seems pretty much unaffected. His only fear is that Catherine may die. And in fact she does.

Although Henry has to be heartbroken, Hemingway keeps the final pages of his book in a strictly realistic and sensory tone. Henry describes his last look at his dead lover as being like saying goodbye to a statue. He doesn't talk to her or openly grieve. Probably he is in shock and is not able to fully react to his loss yet.

Catherine's death is foreshadowed in several places. Ferguson, or Fergy, Catherine's friend, says that people don't get married, they fight or die. She warns Henry that he'd better not get Catherine in trouble and give her a "war baby." Catherine has an irrational fear of the rain and when pressed for her explanation, says that sometimes she sees herself dead in it, or sees her beloved Henry dead. She also mentions to Henry that the doctor has told her to keep the baby small (by not drinking too much beer) because her hips are narrow. When she does die, and Henry leaves the hospital, it is indeed raining.

Death hangs over everyone in this book even as it hangs over all living things. Even though Henry is the most obvious target because he is in the army as an ambulance driver and could easily be killed, it is ironically Catherine who dies in childbirth, in Switzerland where the couple fled in order to be "safe" from the war. But death is everywhere and there is no safe place to escape from death. All people can do is to meet it bravely, and Catherine does. While she is afraid of the rain, when she is really about to die she doesn't cry or get hysterical. She doesn't complain or mourn for what could have been. All she says is that it is a dirty trick.

Hemingway shows some of his own opinions through various personalities in the book. Henry is searching for something better than drunkenness and running around with prostitutes. He admires people who have self-discipline and are brave. He admires competence, doctors and anyone else who knows his job and does it well. He shows that Henry and Catherine do not have much religious feeling even though Catherine gives Henry a St. Anthony medal as he leaves to return to the front, and even though at the last when Catherine is dying Henry prays for her. Instead Catherine worships Henry and says he is her religion. This is similar to Juliet, who was also a doomed lover, saying that Romeo was the "god of her idolatry."

Both Henry and Catherine do not care about abstract ideals. They care about the people who matter to them; Catherine for Henry, and Henry for Catherine as well as his small group of ambulance drivers. Henry isn't a patriot and he doesn't even seem to know why he joined the Italian army (especially since he is American). As soon as his group is destroyed and scattered he has no more loyalty to the army anymore and he runs away to save himself from an unjust execution.

Hemingway was considered to be a part of the "Lost Generation," young people who lost their idealism as a result of the war. So he shows his characters as not caring much about conventional morality or religion but seeking some other set of "clean" values they can make their own. Probably his own experiences in the war, getting badly wounded and also being an ambulance driver in Italy, shaped some of the episodes in A Farewell to Arms.

Hemingway's attitudes to women were probably pretty standard at the time, however. He makes Catherine appear to be the ideal woman. She is beautiful, loving, sensual and heroic. She also puts her man at the center of her universe and promises to be and do whatever he wishes. Several times in the book she refers to herself as a "good girl" when she serves Henry or does as he desires. While Hemingway broke with tradition in a number of ways I think he would be pretty surprised by modern women and their independence.

As for men, Hemingway's manly ideal does what we would call "guy stuff" today. He hunts, fishes, fights, struggles to survive in a difficult world. A number of years ago there was a book written by the title, Real Men Don't Eat Quiche. Hemingway would have related to this. His characters, even Catherine for the most part, say very little about their emotions. There is almost no drawing on their psychological past. This is in keeping with the notion that men do not enjoy talking about their emotions or about relationships, but Hemingway considered this a good thing while today men are criticized by women for "not being in touch with their feelings."

Because of Hemingway's streamlined writing style I was able to read this in one day, but I recommend that the reader take his or her time and appreciate it more slowly than I did.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

"Reason for Hope"

I have just finished reading Jane Goodall's spiritual autobiography, Reason for Hope. I began reading it before we went to see her and hoped to finish it by that time, but I hadn't.

The book reaffirms my feeling that Jane Goodall is a modern saint. Surely Saint Francis of Assisi would be proud of her, and indeed she chronicles an episode where she spoke on his Saint's Day at the annual Blessing of the Animals. What an experience that must have been for the people who brought their pets to be blessed that day!

Her core message is:

Every individual matters
Every individual has a role to play
Every individual makes a difference.

She told many stories in her book, of personal experiences both joyful and painful, that have formed her spiritual core and her relationship to God. But in addition there is something difficult to explain: a compassion that God planted in her heart, that was there long, long before she went to the Gombe to study the chimpanzees.

At the very end of the book she recounts an experience that happened when she was only a year old, yet she can remember it. This in itself is pretty amazing considering that many people cannot remember much of their early lives even up until pre-adolescence. Jane recounted an episode where she was told that a dragonfly could sting and that it had a stinger as big as its tail. This of course terrified the baby girl. So when she was out in her pram and a dragonfly began hovering around her she was frightened and screamed. Someone, thinking to protect her, killed that dragonfly.

Instead of being relieved, Jane Goodall screamed all the way home. She screamed out of horror that this living being was killed, killed on her behalf, which even in her baby mind seemed to make her share in the guilt. She feared that it had died in terrible pain.

This experience seems to have set the course for her whole life. But in fact the sensitivity and the ability to feel compassion even for a frightening insect, was something God put into her heart and it did not grow out of her experience. Rather, her experience was defined by it, where most children would have been relieved that the dragonfly was no longer a threat, and would have completely forgotten what to most would be a trivial experience.

Under that same belief, that dragonflies have a stinger as long as their tails, I once killed a dragonfly. I never felt guilty about it; instead I felt proud of myself. Does that make me lacking in compassion? Should I now stop killing the cockroaches that have invaded my apartment and seem to stick their antennae up and taunt me everywhere?

Well, I am not going to stop stomping the cockroaches, because I do not believe humans can peacefully coexist with them in our houses. They spread disease and contribute to asthma attacks with their droppings. So I am not going to expand my compassion to include the suffering of cockroaches, even though they happen to be fascinating beings that will inhabit the earth long after humans are gone.

However Jane Goodall has inspired me and I want to do something positive in the world with whatever time I have left. I have squandered too much time and energy in a battle that is not improving anyone's lot, not even my own or my family's. I'm going to take down my "Brooklyn Ethics" blog and turn my energies to this one. I'm going to be that one person who makes a difference. Jane Goodall's shadow is a huge one, and she has made a difference that a very few people make in their lifetimes. But as she mentions in her book, it is the unsung heroes who make a great deal of difference as well, just by being who they are and working for good.

So that's my decision for today. Maybe some friends who have enjoyed my blog will be sorry to see it go, but it is not serving my life purpose. It is a distraction and a trip into negativity that hasn't done any good. It's time for it to go. Jane Goodall has reason for hope, and so even in that very disturbing situation at BSEC, I will find a reason for hope. But I will turn my attention elsewhere and I will find a better outlet for my own particular talents.

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Jane Goodall in Danbury

Last night we went to Danbury, Connecticut to visit Gerry, Nancy and Jeremy and hear Dr. Jane Goodall speak at the Western Connecticut campus. Jeremy met us at the train station. We haven't been out there in four years and probably haven't seen him in at least three. What a change. He and Jason are really young men now. Jeremy drove us back to the house, where we were greeted by an excited white furball named Balto. Balto was smaller when we met him four years ago but he's still an adorable dog and very friendly.


Nancy made chicken, popcorn cauliflower, salad and corn on the cob for dinner. Everything was delicious. Gerry was working so we drove over to Eckerd's and Jeremy ran in with a plate of food for him; apparently Gerry doesn't get much of a dinner break. Then we headed over to the college campus.

We went into the gym the back way and no one stopped us at the door to take our tickets. Considering that Jane Goodall is world famous, I would have thought security would be tighter, but they were very laid back. We sought someone out and gave in our tickets but we could have gotten away without paying a cent.

Because we arrived a bit late we had to sit way in the back, and I could barely see her. This was too bad because I was hoping to take some decent pictures. My camera does have a zoom lens but it is better for taking pictures of scenery. Anyhow Jane started off with a story about an eagle soaring high, and then a little wren hiding in its feathers takes off and flies even higher than the eagle. She named four beings who helped her to soar so high: her mother (Vanne), Dr. Louis Leakey, David Graybeard (the chimp) and her dog Rusty.

Then she gave a chimp pant-hoot to say "hello." She imitates it so well that you would think there was a chimpanzee on the podium! Her talk was about the chimps of course, but also about the environment and how environmental pollution and overuse impacts on people as well as animals. She told us stories about chimps helping people and people helping chimps, under dangerous conditions. Although we do some awful things, she pointed out that we do care about others and that it is amazing and wonderful that we do. She sees hope in that and hope in the young people who work on these issues through her organization, Roots and Shoots.

Chimps are the ambassadors of the animal world, she told us, because they are so very similar to us that they bridge the gap between animals and humans, and lead us to care also about the other animals as well.

There was more, much more, only I can't recall all of it, naturally. When her talk was over, she signed autographs. We stood on line for an hour and a half for her autograph. Jason and I kept trying to photograph her but the pictures mostly came out blurred. I don't understand that. But when we did get up front they took a photo of us with Jane. I gave her a note and a letter from Bruce's co-worker, and told her that when I had cancer I put seeing her in person on my "must do" list. She said, "Isn't that lovely!"

Afterwards we went back to Gerry and Nancy's and spent the night. In the morning Nancy took us to North Salem where there was a dirt road to walk on with all sorts of great scenery and animals, horses, dogs, roosters, etc. After lunch Jeremy took us to a store called American Trash that sold used CD's, clothes and books. It was a nice hippie-dippie place, too bad it is going out of business in a few days.


We caught the 3:10 train back to New York and got home about 5:30. Most of the photos we took of Dr. Goodall came out blurry but I did get some good shots of the scenery on that dirt road. It was a great visit and seeing Jane Goodall was one of those experiences of a lifetime!

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Going to See Jane Goodall

On Friday afternoon we will hear Jane Goodall, the world famous primatologist, speak. I'm excited over this in a way I have not been for years. Jane Goodall has been an idol of mine since I was eleven years old. I remember watching the special about her and about the chimps she studied on PBS in 1966. Our TV was black and white; we didn't get a color set until sometime in the seventies. I was so impressed with the details of Jane's life and her discoveries. Back at that time, she had discovered that chimpanzees made and used tools by stripping twigs of their leaves and then poking them down the openings of termite nests. The termites would cling to the twigs and the chimp could then enjoy a tasty snack. (I assume termites tasted good to them since they went to all this trouble to get a snack that could not have provided that much of a calorie intake).

I read her first book, "In the Shadow of Man," and later on when she discovered that chimps have a dark side and engage in war, murder and cannibalism, I read with fascination her book about that. Now, before we go to see her, I am trying to finish reading her spiritual autobiography, "Reason for Hope." She has been in other television specials over the years and I recorded at least one of them but it is on VHS and we no longer have a TV. So unless I convert it onto DVD I will not get to watch it again.

Friday night will be quite exciting. I would love to get close enough to say a word or two to her and I would love a photograph but who knows if that will happen. In any case it will be exciting to hear what she has to say. It is a thrill for me; seeing her in person was one of the things I listed on my "To Do Before I Die" list when I had cancer and was afraid the end was near. In fact, back then, she spoke locally and I didn't go to see her, and I had a profound sense of regret that I missed that speaking engagement. I was so afraid that I had missed my chance to see her in person, forever.

But thank God, I am here nine years later and I am going to see her on Friday. Jason and Bruce are looking forward to seeing her too. This should be a great outing!

Monday, April 23, 2007

Captive of My Desires

I've just finished reading Captive of My Desires by Johanna Lindsey. Lindsey is one of my favorite romance writers, and she certainly creates lush settings, exciting heroes and heroines, and sultry erotic scenes. But although I went through this book quickly, I found the plot so improbable as to be preposterous.

Who would believe that a young Englishwoman on her way to the Caribbean to seek out her father after her mother's death would be captured by "benevolent and honorable" pirates who only seek to hold her for ransom? Who would believe that she would discover that her own father is one of these honorable pirates, and instead of suffering at the hands of her captors, she would be ransomed by him immediately and taken to live at his lovely Caribbean home?

Who would then believe that he would send her back to England to find a husband, and she would end up pirating the ship belonging to the very man she is in love with, in order to rescue her father from the "bad pirates" who have captured him with HER as the ransom?

This time Lindsey goes too far and weaves a tale that strains credulity. I had fun reading it but the situations were so absurd that I couldn't feel much sympathy for the characters and their problems. This is not one of Lindsey's best, though the heat is there and the lushness is there. She needs to rein in her imagination enough to make the situation believable.

Still, if one wants a beach book that is amusing and cotton candy for the mind, this is the one to take along, get sand between the pages, and scan the horizon for ships sporting the Jolly Roger.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

The Treasure Chest

Today the chain on my penny necklace broke. That penny means a lot to me. It's a sign from the other side, a gift from my friend Richard, delivered 11 months after he died. I've worn that penny around my neck for eight years, ever since I received it on Good Friday in 1999.

So I went searching through my jewelry box to try and find another chain to hold the penny. It wasn't easy. I don't have that many necklaces on chains. I suppose I could create a special beaded necklace for it but I don't have the ambition for it. Besides, colorful beads would detract attention from this worn out 1936 wheat penny that means so much to me.

I finally found a shorter, very thin chain. It might even be 14 karat gold, though there wasn't a little tag telling me this. I slipped the penny on it and fastened it around my neck. It is too short to pull on and off over my head, so I'm going to leave it on permanently, even in the shower. I guess I'll have to take a chance that it won't come off in the swimming pool at the Y, or else I will have to find a much longer chain again. I would feel terrible if I lost that penny. I feel as though when I wear it, Richard's spirit is with me, protecting me. Without it, after wearing it every day for eight years, I would be bereft.

My search through the jewelry box, which is a jumble of costume jewelry I never wear anymore, uncovered a treasure chest. Yes, a genuine one! It is a tiny plastic red box, shaped just like a pirate's treasure chest. It doesn't close perfectly so when I disturbed it rooting around for another chain, it opened up and spilled its forgotten treasure into the bottom drawer of the jewelry box (which is shaped like a miniature chest of drawers).

The treasure is a collection of Jason's baby teeth. Not all of 20 of them, but four or five little teeth, shrunken even more by time and dehydration, I suppose. If there's anything left of them by the time I die, perhaps Jason will find them and keep them. Marilyn told me she found her mother's collection of her baby teeth but when she opened the envelope so many years later, there was nothing but dust.

But now I am reminded of my treasure chest and the treasure inside, the memory of my young man as a little boy. Maybe that's why the chain broke today, so that I could find that little treasure chest and savor the memories it brought back to me. Thank you, Richard.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Liviu Librescu & other heroes

Last night I fell asleep thinking about the 76 year old professor, Liviu Librescu, who held the gunman off at the door to his classroom so some of the students could jump out the window and escape with their lives. Of course, he paid with his.

It occurred to me to wonder whether he had been in the Holocaust as a teenager, since the papers said he was born in Romania but then moved to Israel. This morning I read a bit more about him, and yes, he was a Holocaust survivor and ironically died on Holocaust Remembrance Day, protecting the young people in his temporary charge.

I also wondered whether back then, someone older might have sacrificed himself or herself to save the young Mr. Librescu. Maybe on Monday he remembered that, as he stood there knowing he was going to die so that others would live. I'm proud of him. Not because he was a Jew, but because he was a member of the human race.

I wondered too, whether he wasn't saved for a reason. Maybe he survived the Holocaust so that sixty years later he could lay down his life to save other innocent young people. It's a tragedy for all but he was someone who stood by his values.

There were other heroes too. O'Dell, and the other students who barricaded the door to the classroom. Some of them were already sporting bullet wounds yet they acted decisively to keep the gunman out of their classroom. Kudos to them as well, although at the time they probably felt scared as hell and believed they were just protecting themselves.

It doesn't help the grieving families of the victims but I am glad that even in the face of these tragedies, some heroes always do emerge. Just like the people who went back upstairs on 9/11 to rescue a friend or even some stranger, Prof. Librescu and perhaps other unknown heroes acted in accordance with the deepest and best values humanity has to offer.

May they all, living and dead, receive the praise they deserve, and may we remember their courage in our own time of need.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Depression Over VA Tech

Yesterday a parent's worst nightmare broke out at Virginia Tech. A student gone berserk came in packing guns, killed two people at 7:15 AM and then burst into a classroom and shot up the place two hours later, killing another thirty. I'm thankful that the gunman was killed, but what a tragedy for everyone concerned, even his own parents who now have to live with his death plus the horror of his crimes.

Nowhere is safe, and maybe the first shootings couldn't have been reasonably prevented. When you have 25,000 students on a campus on any given day you can't possibly search everyone or make everyone go through metal detectors. You can't stop and search every car that comes onto the campus. It's physically impossible. And this young man had a valid student ID, apparently, so he would have been let onto the campus in any case.

But why didn't the university go into an immediate lockdown right after the first shootings? Yes, they sent some Resident Advisors around to knock on doors and warn students to stay in their rooms. That didn't help the commuters who came in for 9 o'clock classes and never came home. There should have been a response right away: a radio broadcast cancelling classes until the campus was fully secured, and an immediate email to the students to warn them to stay at home. Instead the lame excuse was that the university felt they would be safest in their classrooms. Well, they weren't.

I predict that the esteemed Virginia Tech is going to close its doors. First of all, the parents of the murdered students, particularly the 30 who died in the second attack, will most likely sue the administration's collective ass off, and they will win. Secondly, if I were a student there I would now know that I was not living in a safe situation and that those who run the university would not act quickly and decisively enough to save my life. I predict that most students will transfer out of there en masse. Some may not even finish up the semester. What's a few lost credits as compared with a funeral and the end of all a young person's dreams?

This is a horror and my heart goes out to all those affected directly by this tragedy. But I am also angry that better precautions aren't taken when lives are at stake. If something happens, lock the school down post haste and broadcast to the commuters to stay at home. That's the sane way to handle a situation like this one. VA Tech was the subject of a shooting attack last summer too, so what have they learned about beefing up security? Doesn't look like they learned enough.

My prayers to the families of the fallen. We don't know what we have lost as a nation. Did the gunman shoot because he was a social pariah? Had he failed an exam? I knew a young man who was class valedictorian in my high school. He committed suicide at Harvard because he failed a class. What else did we lose, was one of the murdered students the one who was going to discover a cure for cancer, or AIDS? We'll never know. We'll be left with dreams unfinished and only grief and anger.

Craziness and unexpected violence happens. But it doesn't have to happen twice in the same morning at the same place, unless someone isn't watching the store. I believe the university has much to answer for.

Friday, April 13, 2007

Friday the Thirteenth

Today is Friday, the 13th. As a child, I wasn't superstitious about it at all. It seemed of no more significance than Monday the 13th or Tuesday the 13th or any other day of the week. But apparently enough people dread Friday the 13th for it to be a major superstition and the topic of a series of horror movies.

Mom was superstitious but not about Friday the 13th. She had superstitions imported from Greece, brought by her mother to the new world. Nona, as we called my maternal grandmother, believed in the power of dreams, and had all sorts of interpretations at the ready. By contrast, my grandfather, Papoo, scoffed at this and said that if you had vivid dreams it meant you must have kicked off the blankets and slept with your buttocks uncovered.

Mom learned the superstition that cats were ghosts. She had a few bad experiences with cats anyhow, so she feared them and it was difficult for her to warm up to a cat. She also learned that if you said too much good about a person, you would give them a "Kinohorah" which meant the evil eye. So it was better to say modest and even negative things about a person so as not to attract the jealousy and malice of the evil eye. If you did have to compliment someone, you followed it with, "Poo, poo, poo," in order to drive the evil eye away.

Mom, although highly intelligent and well-read, retained other superstitions from her childhood as well. She believed in witches and we were not allowed to throw hair or finger and toenail clippings into the garbage, in case a witch found them and put a spell on us. Instead, all clippings from the human body had to be flushed down the toilet, to keep them safely away from witches. I guess Mom did not believe in the Sea Witch who aided "The Little Mermaid" in her quest to become human and marry her prince, or else we might have had to burn our nail clippings instead.

Another superstition that I ended up retaining was that you never handed another person a sharp object. Now as a safety measure we are all taught to hand it over with the handle facing the other person so that they will not grasp the blade and get cut. But Mom's superstition dictated that if you handed a sharp object to a person at all, it would cause a fight between you (the relationship would be "cut"). So if we needed to pass a knife or a pair of scissors we had to lay it down on a surface near the person who needed it, and let them pick it up on their own. I still do this today because I have a mental image of Mom scolding me if I don't observe this one. Also when giving a gift of knives to a newlywed couple, it was important to scatter a few pennies into the box with the knives so as to avoid a falling out with them.

But with all these other superstitions, I never learned to dread Friday the 13th until I lost the only two jobs I have been terminated from in my life, and both times it happened on a Friday the 13th. The first time, I was working at Matthew Bender, writing on family and matrimonial law. We had a new person take over our floor, and unfortunately I made the mistake of engaging in negative gossip about her to a tattletale who ran right to her with this information. Back then I was a good worker but knew very little about office politics. Today, I'm a lot better at keeping my mouth shut.

This didn't lead directly to my firing but it set the groundwork. The new manager of our floor set out to clean out the "third floor bolsheviks" who had protested holding our Christmas party at a private club that had a history of excluding blacks and Jews. I was one of the people who signed that petition; therefore I was targeted. She also cut out some of the abuses going on on our floor, with practicing attorneys running their own side business on company time and having clients up to see them when they were supposed to be working on publications. I can't fault her for that one. Third, she targeted people who'd been with the company a while and had risen to a reasonably high salary, in order to push us out and bring in law school graduates who would be happy to work for $17,000 a year instead of commanding salaries in the mid-30's.

So with all this going on, she built a case against me and had me dismissed, supposedly for poor work. As the man in the unemployment office laughed, "It took them five years to figure out you couldn't do your job? Ha!" I knew it was coming sometime but in June of 1984 Luke Skywalker was depicted on my Star Wars calendar. When I turned the page at the start of July and saw that there was a photo of Darth Vader and a Friday the 13th in the month, I knew that my time was short. Sure enough, I was let go on Friday the 13th.

The second firing took place a little over a year later. I found a legal editor position with a firm called Brownstone Publishers. At that time, the two owners of the company interviewed potential employees by hiring them. In the six months I worked there, there was a great deal of turnover for such a small company. Instead of supporting and guiding new hires, we were thrown into the fray and expected to come up with a brilliant newsletter on unfamiliar areas of law. I made a valiant stab at learning co-op and condominium law in order to write my assigned newsletter, but soon my superiors found fault with it, and after six months they let me go with only one warning and no attempt to help me do better.

Mom particularly resented this firing because not only did it take place on Friday, September 13, 1985, but it occurred right on Erev Rosh Hashonah (the eve of the Jewish New Year). Mom was incensed that one of the partners, a Jewish man, would fire a Jewish employee right at the start of the New Year. I didn't particularly care about that but this second episode on a Friday the 13th solidified my feeling that Friday the 13th was a day to dread.

Over the years this feeling has dissipated somewhat as nothing else too dramatically bad has happened on a Friday the 13th for me or my family. So now I view it two ways. In a sense it was bad luck to get fired twice on two separate Fridays the 13th. But as they say, one door closes and another door opens. If I hadn't been let go twice from legal publishing positions I would not have moved into the development field where I have done better and enjoyed my work much more. So maybe Friday the 13th is a lucky day after all.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Writer's Block Day?

Today I don't think I have a specific topic so I'll just ramble and see where I end up. I had the fourth, and I hope final, periodontal surgery this morning. It was raining hard and the wind was strong when I left the house. For a few moments I thought I would have to turn back and call car service in order to get there. But then the wind eased off slightly and I made it to the subway station. The streets were a graveyard for mutilated umbrellas, with five or six of them outside the subway entrance alone.

Today the surgery seemed harder than the other times. It seems more difficult for anesthesia to take on the left side of my mouth. Could that be because I'm left handed? Is the right side of my brain more sensitive and less susceptible to drugs to numb it out? I wonder.

Now that it is over I can't go to the gym for a week, and I have to eat soft foods until the stitches come out next Thursday. Already I miss the gym. Who would have thought that a computer potato like myself would turn into a gym rat? We will have to see whether it holds up after a few months.

Bruce also got his machine to help him with his sleep apnea. With the tube and mask, he looks like a space alien come to visit my bedroom. It will probably be uncomfortable for him to sleep in at first, but I hope he can get used to it quickly. We're both feeling old as a result of all this medical stuff, and need to do something for rejuvenation. But what? I haven't thought that one out yet.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Dormitory Pranks

In the late 70's, I attended law school at SUNY Buffalo and lived in the dormitories on the Amherst campus for most of the three years I was there. One term I lived on the Main Street campus but found it irritating to have to commute back and forth by bus when I could just as easily live right on the same campus as the school.

We played some strange practical jokes on each other. Once, we filled a condom halfway with Jergens lotion and hung it on someone's door. There was so much fluid in it that the prankee opened the door, spotted the condom, and enquired of the jokesters, "What did you do, take up a collection?"

Once I was taking a shower and my roommate stole my clothes out of the bathroom, locked them up in our room, and took a walk with her boyfriend. So there I was in the shower, dripping wet, stark naked, and no clothing. I wasn't going to wait around for her to come back and give me my keys, so that I could dash across the hall and hope no one saw me.

I took the shower curtain off its hooks, wrapped it around me (clinging to my wet body in interesting places) and dripped my way down the hall, knocking on doors. I knocked on all the women's doors first but naturally, no one answered. So I had no choice but to knock on the first men's door I came to.

The fellow who opened the door, Barry something, stood there with his lower jaw on his chest while I nonchalantly explained that someone had taken my clothes, and asked if he had a bathrobe I could borrow. He muttered, "Yeah, sure," handed me a terrycloth bathrobe, and I thanked him and sloshed off. As soon as he shut the door I heard him and his friends exploding with mirth. It was embarrassing but at least with the bathrobe I could dry off and wait for my roommate to come back and let me into the room. After that, I took the keys with me and put them on the far side of the tub when I got into the shower. That way, at worst she could snitch my clothes, but she couldn't lock me out of the room!

Sunday, April 08, 2007

"Along Came Polly"

We recently viewed "Along Came Polly," which we didn't see when it was in the theaters. I found it somewhat gross but very funny. The main character was a risk analyst for an insurance company and he did the safe thing, married a nice Jewish girl, had the traditional wedding complete with being picked up in the chairs (did I mention that Bruce fell out of the chair at our wedding, because of his rowdy friends?). But on their honeymoon, they met a devastatingly sexy Frenchman who approached them on the beach, stark naked, and invited them to take scuba lessons. Our hero foolishly backed out of it and allowed his bride to go alone. Not surprisingly, when he got to the boat a few hours later, he found Claude and his bride of one day in bed together, so passionate that they had forgotten to remove their flippers (but she had managed to remove her bathing suit, which would have been logistically impossible).

Our hero returned to New York and ran into a young woman who went to middle school with him. Polly is the exact opposite of our straitlaced hero, a gal who lives on the edge and is totally spontaneous. She finds it difficult to even commit to going out to dinner with him. Even though our hero suffers from IBS which is exacerbated by eating the spicy foods Polly enjoys, and she leads him a merry chase through a world he's never encountered before (learning dirty salsa dancing from a gay Cuban), Polly wins his heart.

I especially enjoyed the scene where his prodigal bride returns and he works up the guts to call her a heartless bitch and throws her out. Good for him!

Bruce and Jason's hearts were stolen by Polly's blind ferret Rudolfo who continually runs into stationary objects.

A fun movie, even with some very stomach turning moments (let's not dwell on a certain hairy, sweaty chest!). I recommend it.

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Seder Memories

Passover has always been my favorite Jewish holiday. I like the ritual of the Seder, which means "order." Everything in the Seder is said or eaten in a particular order and has a particular meaning.

I remember some Seders at my parents' apartment in the Bronx. One year we had the Kraut side of the family in attendance. My Grandma was there, and it was the last Passover she would see. I didn't understand at the time, but she was growing somewhat senile.

Grandma drank the four cups of wine. They were small cups, barely more than a shot, but she managed to get a little giddy. She wiped her mouth with a loose page that fell out of her Haggadah (the booklet that lays out the ritual and prayers). Grandma was quite religious and she would have been horrified if she had realized what she was doing. She also took a large swig from Elijah's cup, the cup that sits on the table and is supposed to be there for the Prophet Elijah when his spirit visits each home. Must get pretty looped, what with all those cups of wine waiting for him, but I guess spirits don't have to worry about driving drunk.

Anyhow, Grandma drank from Elijah's cup, which you aren't supposed to do, and she launched into a tirade about the inadequacy of our Seder. "Lukelah," she said to my father (this was her nickname for him, his name was Louis), "you call this a Seder? Feh! I was at Hesch's Seder last night and that was something to see!"

I didn't comprehend, at ten years old, but the rest of the family was squirming. It was the first night of Passover, and "Hesch," as Grandma called my Uncle Harry, was not religious and had never made a Seder in his life. Afterwards I thought of it as a humorous episode but I'm sure no one else did because it was obvious to them that Grandma's mental faculties were slipping, and before the next Passover she was gone.

There was an annual tradition of a Passover Seder with the Calamar side of the family. Many of these took place at my cousin Sarita's apartment complex in Queens. She had the use of the basement for a big family Seder. My memories of these are vague but I do recall crawling under the table and trying to find the Afikomen. If you found the Afikomen you won a prize. I thought this had some religious significance but it was most likely thought up by someone who wanted to make sure the kids didn't get bored and cause a ruckus.

As I got older I explored Seders with other groups of people. One year I joined a small group that celebrated Shabbos together and they invited me to a Seder. We met in an apartment in Manhattan. The hosts were a gay couple who were quite observant and had koshered their kitchen. This was way beyond any level of observance I ever intended to reach but it was interesting to hear how they had gone about it.

What I remember most from that Seder is that they served a special matzoh that was hand-baked in Israel. It was round instead of square and irregular in appearance, rather than the mass produced ones I was used to. It also seemed a bit more flavorful. We also sang some nontraditional songs about freedom, and I suggested, "Oh, Freedom," with the line, "before I'll be a slave, I'll be buried in my grave, and go home to my Lord and be free."

My most memorable Seder is the one I gave the night after I met Bruce. I got a copy of the "Rainbow Seders" by Arthur Waskow, and put together a vegetarian meal. For the shank bone, I bought a doggie squeak toy shaped like a lambchop! This resulted in much laughter. I don't remember what the main dish was but I made the Charoset (imitation mortar) out of dates, sweet potato and pine nuts. It was a far cry from the traditional apples and walnuts I grew up on but it was delicious nonetheless. This was a great Seder because the ritual included some modern issues such as the environment and nuclear disarmament, and it was a model Seder attended by many of my friends.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

My Halloween Wedding

Bruce and I got married on Halloween, 1987. I picked the date because it fell on a Saturday night, we’d always have a party to go to, and he’d have no excuse to forget our anniversary. All those black cats and skeletons and grinning jack o’lanterns would serve as a reminder.

Arranging the wedding was almost like holding a second full time job. We actually paid for about a third of it while the rest was picked up by my Mom, who held to the old-fashioned view that the bride’s family pays the lion’s share. Bruce and I took care of all the arrangements, because Mom was already slipping downhill with the onset of Parkinson’s disease.

We chose a local pool club and catering hall for our wedding, the Palm Shores Club in Sheepshead Bay. It’s out of business now, but at the time it had two party rooms. We chose the smaller one and decided to limit our guest list to approximately sixty people. We also chose the Palm Shores Club because they served kosher food, but that wasn’t good enough for my brother’s ultra-strict father-in-law, who refused to eat a single bite because the club was open on Saturdays.

Limiting the guest list meant cutting out first cousins. We invited only immediate family, friends, a select few work colleagues, and the aunts and uncles. One first cousin was invited because his mother was frail and needed assistance in getting around.

This set off a huge brouhaha with Bruce’s sister. In order to start the wedding after Shabbos was over, we were forced into having the smorgasbord right before the dinner. This wasn’t ideal but it was the only way to go. It also meant that it would turn into a late night wedding, beginning at 8:30 PM and with the reception ending around 1:30 in the morning.

Bruce’s sister had twin daughters who were just over three years old. They were adorable little girls but they were far from well behaved. In fact, they were rambunctious little imps. The image of having them at a late night wedding was not a pretty one. I pictured food fights, screaming tantrums at tender moments, the two of them tearing around the hall being ineffectually chased by Bruce’s sister and brother in law, and then enthusiastically hugging Aunt Celeste and wrecking the white gown with their grubby little hands. So we drew the line: No children under 21 years of age, and this meant the twins, too.

Bruce’s sister took it as a personal insult, and refused to come to the wedding. She was neurotic about babysitters, considering everyone but close family members unfit to watch the twins. There was no persuading her. She threw her own adult-sized tantrum, accused Bruce of not loving his little nieces, and stayed home.

I wanted to decorate in the spirit of Halloween. The Club disappointed me because they did not have orange tablecloths. The closest they could come was peach, so I chose peach. I found some black candles and put them on the tables to sneak in at least some of a Halloween theme. We also requested that the band play the theme from “Ghostbusters,” but they forgot.

The night of the wedding, we took a taxi to the catering hall. A limousine was expensive and we were afraid it might get egged, being it was Halloween. When I tried to change into my gown I discovered that I’d lost a bit of weight since the final fitting a few weeks earlier, and now the gown dragged a bit on the floor when I walked. “What am I going to do?” I wailed. I’m going to trip over it!”

While I was freaking out, the rabbi came in and distracted me long enough to get me to sign the ketubah (marriage contract). Then it was time to go downstairs to the ceremony. We took the elevator down one flight but I had to walk down the last set of stairs. The elevator door opened into the larger party room, where employees of a local hospital were enjoying a costume party. When they saw me, they must have thought I was in costume, because quite a few people laughed and applauded. I shouted out, “Happy Halloween!”

I was nervous walking down the aisle, but made it without tripping over the slightly long gown. My mother and brother walked with me, as my father was deceased. I barely remember the ceremony but I remember the rabbi saying that getting married brings peace to one’s life, even though that seems like a contradiction in terms what with trying to coexist with another person and offspring making a cacophony during their formative years. Bruce stomped on the glass, kissed me, and we were wed.

Next came the smorgasbord, followed by the reception. I’d warned all our friends that I didn’t want anyone clinking on their wine glasses to force us to kiss. A few people did anyhow and we obliged, but fortunately it didn’t go on constantly as in some weddings. We danced our first dance to Kenny Rogers’ “Lady.” In honor of Mom’s Greek ancestry, the band played the “Miserlu.” There was also a special song honoring parents when they married off their last remaining children. Since Bruce and I both were the last children in our families to get married, Mom, Bruce’s Dad, and his stepmother sat in the center as everyone did a circle dance around them.

It’s customary at a Jewish wedding for some of the guests to pick up the bride and groom seated in their chairs and dance around with them. First they picked me up. As they hoisted me up, terrified and clinging to the chair with both hands, my brother quipped, “Boy, Celeste, what have you been eating?” I was so relieved when they finally put me down. Bruce wasn’t as lucky. His friends Jeff and Norman got a little rowdy when they picked him up, and Bruce actually slipped off the chair and fell. I was horrified, seeing him lying on his side on the dance floor, thinking this was our wedding and he might be injured. Fortunately he was all right but a bit shook up. Jeff and Norman also got into a wild dance, holding each other’s hands and whirling around so fast that other dancers had to scoot out of their way. I wondered whether they were expressing some hidden envy that Bruce was the first of their crowd to get married.

Inside our hall we could almost forget it was Halloween, but when I went out to use the ladies’ room I was accosted by a man dressed as the Cowardly Lion, who asked me if I was a real bride. Bruce reported later that when he was pacing back and forth nervously before the wedding, some other costumed characters spotted him and speculated on whether he was a real bridegroom. They concluded he was, based on his obvious tension level. He even tied his bow tie so tightly that it left a red butterfly-shaped mark on his neck. It was a wonder he was able to breathe!

At my family’s table, my aunts and uncles were taking gentlemen’s bets on whether Bruce was wearing a toupee. (He wasn’t). My Aunt Hilda invited Cousin Jeffrey to crash the wedding uninvited. Ever since Jeffrey was a little boy, Hilda dragged him to parties and adult gatherings where children weren’t welcome, and insisted that he be served a meal. I don’t think he got a place setting but probably Hilda fed him off of her plate. Because of her spoiling, Jeffrey at forty-something was an over-aged hippie who’d never taken adult responsibility or held down a job for more than a short time. I resented his presence at my wedding but there wasn’t much we could do about it without it escalating into an ugly fight. So we looked the other way and let him party.

The reception broke up early. We had the room until 1:30 or 2 AM but everyone left by around 1 AM. Bruce and I changed back into our jeans, packed up the gown and tuxedo, and headed back home, again taking a taxi to avoid Halloween celebrants armed with eggs, toilet paper and shaving cream. Our wedding was a simple affair that cost less than $10,000 but it was an evening to never forget.