Friday Night Fever

I received an email flier a while back from my pal betty who you met in past entries Before The House Comes Down and Odds, Ends and Friends.  The email invited us to a concert to benefit The Guild for Exceptional Children, a unique non-profit agency in Brooklyn that addresses the needs of developmentally disabled youngsters and adults.  betty, her brother, her husband, and two of their four children would be performing.  I RSVP’d to reserve one ticket for me since Husband was unavailable that evening.  Daughter responded by volunteering to assist, and in so doing would be in a position to sell me raffle tickets, which you may recall I find impossible to refuse.

The benefit was held at the Bay Ridge United Methodist Church in the heart of the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn with its spectacular views of the Verrazzano Bridge.  This area achieved pop-culture status with the release of a certain John Travolta movie in which he transformed the white suit from Good Humor to Sex Symbol.  The church was built in 1890 and is a beloved landmark with its sandstone clock tower and majestic presence.  It now needs repairs reaching to the million$ so the plan is to tear it down and rebuild it.  This past Friday night is probably the last time I will be graced in its current presence.

Sitting in the pew behind me, my friend Annie leaned over and said she had wanted to comment on the blog entry I’ll Be Seeing You in which Daughter’s LASIK surgery was recounted, but she couldn’t navigate to the comment page.  Annie, this is for you:  At the bottom of each entry you can click on Add Comment and that will get you there.  You can also go to the left sidebar and click on the entry you want and scroll down to Add Comment.  If the entry is no longer there, enter a key word like ‘lasik’ in the search box.  All entries containing that word will appear.  Choose the one you want and scroll to the bottom and click on Add Comment.  I’m waiting to respond.  No pressure.  In the meantime, to Gotham Lasik on West 56th Street:  Nicely done.

The concert featured both seasoned and upcoming musicians playing together for the first time and sounding like they’d been performing regularly.  They did everything from soulful ballads to foot-stomping anthems with people dancing in the aisles and joining in the chorus.  In addition to betty’s lovely voice, there was her husband’s mean guitar and the vocals of her brother, who out-Tom Petty’d Tom Petty.  He took the place apart.  I asked for his autograph, he was that good.  He said, “Cut it out.  Buy another raffle.”

But it was listening to the betty kids that brought me back to the basement.  betty’s son remains one of Daughter’s best friends since age 3 and Son still sees betty’s daughter at parties.  Watching them onstage twenty years later, their delicious harmony and quirky song lyrics reminded me of lazy afternoons chatting in betty’s living room while our six kids played a level below us.  The betty basement was a neighborhood urban legend.  It was so dense with toys and make-believe that the actual floor was not visible.  It was literally a minefield of entertainment.  Visiting playmates were warned not to remove their shoes in the betty basement or they may never be found.

One afternoon, the troop of them marched upstairs after a hard day of play and we all noticed that Son was wearing one sneaker.  We stood in a circle in the betty kitchen staring at Son’s three-year-old feet, one of which wore only a sock.  betty shook her head with concern.  Only the Ark of the Covenant had been looked for longer than missing footwear in the betty basement.

betty:  You’ll need to form search parties.  Divide yourselves up.

The six kids filed toward the steps with me behind them.  betty grabbed my sleeve.

betty:  Let them go.  You can’t go down there.

OSV:  Why?  Because I’m an adult?

betty:  No.  Because it’s a mess and you’re you.  You wouldn’t make it out.  You’d have to clean up.

OSV:  Well, what if they don’t find his shoe?

betty:  Can he hop?

Which was how we got home that day.  The shoe turned up a month later, like a prize in a Cracker Jack box.  The best friends we’ll ever have are the ones who know our quirks and love us anyway.  The history of a real friendship goes on forever.  Even when we no longer live just a hop apart.

Daughter brought her camera to the concert for all the Exceptional Children

friday 1 neil_guitar

friday 2 group_guild

friday 3 dylan_harps

friday 4 kelly_kids

friday 5 guitars

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Extra Super Sunday

Back in January, Husband was given complimentary tickets to a private showing down in the Village for an independent film with an original premise.  The film is called Praying with Lior, and it’s about a charismatic youngster with Down Syndrome preparing for his Bar Mitzvah.  How he accomplishes this and how it affects the tight knit community that both protects and is inspired by him cuts right to the heart of the meaning of spirituality.

When Husband told me way back when that he had these tickets and they were for a Sunday in February, I said terrific, let’s go.  Then last week we looked at them carefully and I said, “They’re for the 3rd.  Isn’t there something going on the 3rd?”  He looked at me in misery and said, “Do you mean maybe the Super Bowl?”  We did a few rounds of “No Way!” and then settled in to the fact that we were on the guest list already and it was invitation only and we were going.  Now we had to find friends to (drag along) share the extra tickets.

Everyone Husband called to invite laughed themselves silly so I called my buddy Caryn who I suspected wouldn’t be able to pick a football out of a police lineup.  It was a sure thing she’d be free and could convince her husband to join us.  She listened patiently to my sales pitch and then said, “THIS Sunday?  We’ll be at a Super Bowl party.”  I said, “Do you even know who’s playing?”  She said, “It’s the SUPER BOWL.  What’s wrong with you?”

Daughter answered her phone and said she’d heard of the movie and would love to see it but she’d call back when she found out when kickoff was.  Kickoff was 6:20 and the movie would be over at 6:30.  We could have her home by 6:50.  She was willing to go late to the party she was having at her own apartment.  We just had to stop for hot dog buns before we dropped her off.

Praying with Lior had lovely moments that lingered long after the closing credits.  In one scene, a young student in Lior’s class philosophized that God gives each of us a test.  Perhaps Down Syndrome is Lior’s test to see what he can do in the world, who he is in his heart.  And perhaps it’s everyone’s test as well, all the people who come into his life, to see how they treat him and who they are in their hearts.

It was simply said but an incredibly eloquent and spiritual thought for a 12-year-old boy to express.  Daughter and I exchanged a pained glance recalling her snake pit elementary school where kids were judged by their peers according to the clothing brands they wore.  I could see her thinking, “Oh yeah, I just might have heard anything like this on my 6th grade playground.  This kid would have been stoned to death with Calvin Klein beanie babies.”  The love and acceptance each member of Lior’s community had for him and for each other was so warm and natural it made us feel sorry not to be their neighbors.

We dropped Daughter and the hot dog buns off by 7:00 and she invited us up to watch.  We thanked her sincerely but going to college in Boston pixilated her loyalties and she would be cheering for the Patriots.  That I’d rather not see.  As it turns out though, their perfect season had one small problem.  The Giants.

To Support The Team, Daughter’s Fotos give us mostly New York and a little Boston

extra 1 gorgeous_window

gorgeous window

extra 2 dark_clouds_on_the_roof

dark clouds on the roof

extra 3 new_neighbors

new neighbors

extra 4 boston_street_art

bahston street aht

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Keep Moooving

To give a quick review, I enrolled in a two-year associate degree program a year ago.  It is a specialized school for learning a very complex language and the specific means of interpreting it (related entries are categorized under Skool Daze).  After learning the mechanics of the language, we work at becoming more proficient in its implementation and our progress is charted alphabetically – meaning we begin in Room D and move up to Room A by the end of the second year.  Yeah, I don’t think so.

I’ve just begun my second year and I’m still in D.  I began lamenting about this back in Get Out of the Room last semester.  At this point I know the language as well or better than most of the students in the building but I can’t seem to pass the proficiency speed tests as quickly as everyone else.  Sometimes I tell myself it’s because I’m in my fifties and they’re not, but whatever the reason, for the past three semesters I have observed the D students move up to C on schedule and new students arrive to surround me.  They are looking more and more like children.  Soon they will be the children of the people I started with.

Like most things in life, it’s a mind game.  If you want something badly enough, you find ways to keep yourself pumped.  At school we talk among ourselves about how we do this.  We practice our skills.  Some of us meditate.  We drill each other at lunchtime.  We share practice tips and study secrets.  We picture ourselves in our interesting, lucrative new careers in the near future.  As we approach the mid-point in the current semester, we review our individual goals which must be achieved in the next week or we will stay in the same room another session.  For me that would be D.  D.  D.  D.  D.

Husband gives me hugs and encouragement.  We go to dinner when I pass a big test and I drink more than one glass of wine.  He orders something big and chocolate from the dessert menu and we share it.  I’ve been needing more wine and chocolate lately and that tells me my mental attitude is off.  There are other signs.  At school I always enjoy my fellow students and celebrate their achievements along with my own.  When I pass groups of them in the hallway chatting I would always think ‘cute’, and walk around them.  Now I think ‘cattle’ and want them out of my way.  But it’s not them.  It’s me.  I need to get out of my way.

I have one more week to score but first there is tomorrow’s Super Bowl.  Last year, MVP Peyton Manning led the Colts to a victory over the Bears.  This year, New York is looking to his brother, Eli, to keep the fever as high as it was in the overtime Freeze Bowl Playoff and level the Patriots on Sunday.  I remember the first college game I ever watched, which was the first college football game ever nationally televised.  Archie Manning threw three touchdown passes for Ole Miss and rushed for over a hundred yards to a 33-32 loss to Alabama in the final seconds.  I recall my father and I being too excited to sit by the end of the game.  Tomorrow, Archie gets to look out onto another field from another booth and will see a job well done no matter what the outcome.  As a parent, I know the feeling.  Nice going, Archie.

Winter in New York is the subject of Daughter’s Featured Fotos

keep 1 bogart_street_icicles

bogart street icicles

keep 2 people_in_the_city_with_chrysler

street scene

keep 3 what_a_strange_way_to_write_two_hundred_twenty_two__i_guess_thats_just_the_upper_east_side_for_ya

what a strange way to write two hundred twenty two. that’s the upper east side for ya

keep 4 late_nite_shift

late night shift

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The Haunting

I sometimes hear from amused readers after a post where Son cracks wise like in the recent Cool Customers and earlier entries What You Get For What You’ve Got and That’s The Word On The Street.  Maybe people are reminded of their own kids or themselves or whoever, but I can say that having known Son for 23 years, he has always had this talent.

During the first winter after my divorce when Son was about fourteen, a snowstorm was predicted for overnight and I told him it was his responsibility to shovel the driveway in the morning so I could drive him to school.  Daughter walked to her high school but Son’s school required driving.  He nodded that he understood.

Running late the next morning, I threw open the front door and saw that nothing had been shoveled.  Nada.  Zippo.  I looked daggers at Son as we trudged through the snow to the car but he acted serenely oblivious.  Sitting together in the car as it warmed up, I chose to convey my anger with sarcasm as is too often my style.  “You know,” I began wistfully, staring out the front windshield, “I wish I’d had a son so the driveway would be shoveled right now.”  Looking straight ahead he responded just as wistfully, “Me, too.  I would have loved a brother.”

Husband and I met and married while the kids were still in their teens.  At the time we took our honeymoon cruise to the Mediterranean, Daughter was away at college in Boston and Son was a sophomore in high school.  We worked out a schedule where Son would stay at various friends’ homes and would only be alone in our house the weekend we returned.

We called him on the house phone the Saturday night before we came back and there was an unusual noise level in the background as we spoke.  He assured me it was the TV but I found that hard to swallow.  Then he said he thought we were losing the connection so he’d have to hang up.  He gave a quick goodbye and was gone.  I may have been born at night but not last night.

I scrutinized the house when we got home and found only the general disarray a teenager would wreak if alone for a weekend.  I asked him straight out if he’d had anyone over while we were gone.  He said absolutely not and added that he was hurt I was being so suspicious.  I felt badly for hounding him.

The next night I was talking on the kitchen phone and needed a pen so I reached over to the porcelain basket where we keep our miscellaneous stuff.  I couldn’t locate a pen right away so while still talking I grabbed the porcelain handle of the basket to pull it closer to me.  The entire handle came off in my hand.  It had been broken clean off and propped back on top.

Turning around, I saw Son getting a Snapple from the fridge and I waved the amputated handle in his face.

OSV:  Look at this!  What happened?!

He shrugged innocently.

SON:  I have no idea.  No one told me it broke.

OSV:  I thought you said no one was over.

SON:  That’s right.  So how could anyone have told me it broke?

He left the room shaking his head and his Snapple.  It’s like grabbing at sand.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos raise More Questions Than Answers

haunting 1 mr__truck

mr. truck

haunting 2 the_biggest_shoe_ever

the biggest shoe ever

haunting 3 living_in_the_subway

living in the subway

haunting 4 is_this_the_signal_for_the_green_lantern

is this the signal for the green lantern?

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Cool Customers

This past Monday was Martin Luther King Day so we weren’t back in school until Tuesday at which time we discovered that the school’s ancient furnace had malfunctioned over the weekend and it went unnoticed until the administration showed up that morning.  It was as cold in that building as the proverbial witch’s portal for nursing.  The administrative offices in the adjacent structure, however, were toasty warm.

Observing right away that I could see my breath during first period, I approached the instructor, a woman near my age bundled up like a print ad for Chapstick.

OSV:  You’ve noticed, of course, that there’s no heat in here.

INSTRUCTOR:  It goes without saying that we should all dress in layers.

OSV:  I’m wearing two shirts, corduroy jeans, gloves, a scarf, boots and a winter coat.

INSTRUCTOR:  Then you should be okay.

OSV:  For what?  Herding sheep in the Himalayas?  I have tests all day today.

INSTRUCTOR:  I’m sure they’re trying very hard to repair the furnace.

OSV:  Is that before or after they deposit the tuition check I just dropped off?

INSTRUCTOR:  I feel your pain.  Learning can be a challenge.

OSV:  (unresponsive with a body temp approaching dry ice)

The day was a write-off in every way imaginable and by the time we all trudged out at 2:30 we shared a nagging headache and a recurrent need to pee.  I went home to sit on a heating pad and brew some jasmine green tea.  After turning on the news, I discovered that while I was freezing, actor Heath Ledger was dying.  The rest of the hour was filled with on-air speculation as to the cause of his untimely death, endless babble about what might have happened.  Call me crazy but I remember when the news actually reported the news and not every passing thought of those delivering it in a grab for maximum airtime.

Son came over for dinner and because it’s his favorite and we like it too, I picked up Peruvian chicken and Jalea, a South American feast of assorted fried seafood with a kick-ass sauce.  Son walked in wearing a silky-soft brushed fleece Armani pullover that I wished I’d been wearing at my College of Siberia that afternoon.  Husband arrived home and told Son that he’d taken a phone call during the week from the out-of-state university Son graduated from last year.

HUSBAND:  Your alma mater called the other day asking for you.

SON:  Do they owe me money?

HUSBAND:  I don’t think so.  I believe they’re trying to get your current address so they can stay in touch with their alumni.

SON:  What did you tell them?

HUSBAND:  I told them you weren’t here.  What would you like me to tell them?

SON:  Tell them I’m updating my records and I need to know the best way to reach them.

HUSBAND:  In case they want to send you money.

SON:  Exactly.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos reveal Signs Among Us

cool 1 cleveland

cleveland

cool 2 israel_animal_crossing

israel

 

cool 3 not_on_sale

no sale

cool 4 girls_gone_wild

GGW crew

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I Sneeze, I Cough, I Spy

Before we left on our Christmas cruise, I came down with a really crappy cold as you may recall from Meet Me In The Clubhouse.  I felt almost recovered on our trip and I made a conscious effort not to complain to Husband, not because I’m particularly stoic but because whiny people are a pain in the ass to have a good time with.  We had a good time.

Shortly after we got home, Husband started feeling really crappy and whatever he had at first morphed into bronchitis.  I started my new semester at school and he spent his days dragging off to work and coming home early.  I tried to cover all the bases as wife, student and nurse and over the weekend I did lots of errands, asking Husband each time I left the house if he wanted anything while I was out.  He shook his head no repeatedly, not because he’s particularly stoic but because he didn’t want to be any trouble.

Saturday night as I was pulling on my pajamas he appeared in the doorway.

HUSBAND:  Were you going out later?

OSV:  Um, no, I wasn’t planning on it.  Why?

HUSBAND:  Do we have any Fritos?

OSV:  Fritos?  No.

Silence.

HUSBAND:  Fritos would make me feel better.

OSV:  Really.  (putting jeans back on)  Anything else besides the Fritos?  Something medicinal maybe?

HUSBAND:  No, just the Fritos.

I walked down the stairs with Husband’s voice calling after me, “If they don’t have Fritos get any kind but I really like the Fritos.”

The next morning, despite the prescription corn chips, Husband returned to the doctor with new symptoms.  He walked back into the house holding another bag from the pharmacy.

HUSBAND:  All the medication I was on for the bronchitis gave me something else.  I’ve never had this before.

OSV:  What is it?

HUSBAND:  Thrush.

OSV:  One of the kids had that as a baby.

HUSBAND:  It’s a fungus.

OSV:  I think it’s also the evil secret organization from Get Smart.

HUSBAND:  You’re thinking of KAOS.

OSV:  Then it’s the one from the Bond movies.

HUSBAND:  No.  THRUSH was the enemy in The Man From U.N.C.L.E.

OSV:  Now it’s your enemy.

HUSBAND:  I feel like shit.  I’m going to bed.

OSV:  Don’t worry.  If anything happens to you, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions.

HUSBAND:  That’s Impossible.

Looking at Daughter’s Featured Fotos can’t help but make you Feel Better

i sneeze 1 marshmallows_at_candy_factory

street art at the candy factory

i sneeze 2 bathtub_stoppers_unite

bathtub stoppers unite

i sneeze 3 naked_bikini

naked bikini

i sneeze 4 the_alley

the alley

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I’ll Be Seeing You

This past Friday I met Daughter in the city at her eye doctor’s office.  The day she had planned for, saved for, done research for and kept her contact lenses out for had arrived.  It was a day she had dreamed about for years.  LASIK day.

Thousands upon thousands of people have gotten LASIK eye surgery to date and I’m happy for all of them.  The fact remains that I didn’t give birth to any of them so I never gave their eyes a second thought.  The eyes that were sitting next to me in the waiting room on Friday were a different story.

The office protocol advised that patients bring someone to help them get home.  In addition to Daughter, Friday afternoon’s patients consisted of two young men and a young woman.  On her cell, the young woman promised her parents she would call after the procedure and assured them her boyfriend was picking her up.  This being Manhattan, the two young men piped up that their boyfriends were coming also.  The excitement level was intense.  In a matter of hours, there would be a bonfire of the eyeglasses.

The physician’s assistant distributed half a Valium to each patient to promote relaxation.  Daughter refused hers saying she wasn’t nervous and she doesn’t like pills.  The assistant gently urged her to reconsider saying that no one had ever refused.  Daughter insisted on refusing saying she wanted to meet the experience head on.  Her partially sedated fellow patients looked at her in muted disbelief.  I tried to make a grab for the Valium but it was gone.

Soon Daughter was, too.

She emerged a short while later in the trendy Ray Charles sunglasses the office provided along with a goody bag of eye drops, post-surgery instructions and an appointment for the next morning.  We headed out to the darkness and rain that was last Friday’s rush hour.  Holding my arm in the elevator to the lobby, Daughter said the surgery was insanely cool and proceeded to describe it in detail.  I smiled and nodded even though her eyes were closed.  She reported calmly that she had smelled her eyeball being cut by the laser.  I should have grabbed faster for that Valium.

She leaned against a street sign in her hoodie and dark glasses in the late afternoon rain while I failed to hail a cab on Sixth Avenue.  A private car service driver watching me and my vision impaired daughter called over to get in and he’d take us anywhere in the city for $20 including tip.  It took forty minutes to go thirty blocks.

Exhausted, Daughter fell into bed and was asleep in minutes.  On the other side of her studio apartment, I lay awake in the dark for hours listening to the sirens and street noise from the avenue below.  Before dawn, I opened my eyes to see Daughter standing by the window staring out with her hands pressed against the glass.  She turned to see me watching her.  A huge, wondrous smile spread across her face.  “I can read the store signs, Mom.  I can see them from here.”  I can’t think of a better way to start a day.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos give us Sights To Savor

i'll be seeing 1 chelsea1

chelsea

i'll be seeing 2 stormy_empire_state

a storm brewing

i'll be seeing 3 israel_sprawling

israel sprawling

i'll be seeing 4 bike_and_shadow

shadows

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Still Funny After All These Years

It’s the middle of January and I’m late passing these on but now that you’re settled in, here are George Carlin’s New Rules for 2008.  They were sent to me by correspondent Blondie and I’ve since seen them attributed to other comedians but they sound pretty Carlinesque to me.  If you find any of them offensive, I didn’t write them.  I did laugh though.

still funny 1 george_carlin

New Rule #1:  Stop giving me that pop-up ad for classmates.com! There’s a reason you don’t talk to people for 25 years. Because you don’t particularly like them!? Besides, I already know what the captain of the football team is doing these days — mowing my lawn.

New Rule #2:  Don’t eat anything that’s served to you out a window unless you’re a seagull. People are acting all shocked that a human finger was found in a bowl of Wendy’s chili. Hey, it cost less than a dollar. What did you expect it to contain?? Trout?

New Rule #3:  Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here’s how much men care about your eyebrows: Do you have two of them? Okay, we’re done.

New Rule #4:  There’s no such thing as flavored water. There’s a whole aisle of this crap at the supermarket; water, but without that watery taste. Sorry, but flavored water is called a soft drink. You want flavored water? Pour some scotch over ice and let it melt. That’s your flavored water.

New Rule #5:  Stop screwing with old people. Target is introducing a redesigned pill bottle that’s square, with a bigger label. And the top is now the bottom. And by the time grandpa figures out how to open it, his ass will be in the morgue. Congratulations, Target, you just solved the Social Security crisis.

New Rule #6:  The more complicated the Starbucks order, the bigger the asshole. If you walk into a Starbucks and order a “decaf grande half-soy, half-low fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino, extra dry, light ice, with one Sweet ‘n Low, and one NutraSweet,” ooh, you’re a huge asshole.

New Rule #7:  I’m not the cashier! By the time I look up from sliding my card, entering my PIN number, pressing “Enter,” verifying the amount, deciding no, I don’t want cash back, and pressing “Enter” again, the kid who is supposed to be ringing me up is standing there eating my Almond Joy.

New Rule #8:  Just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn’t make you spiritual. It’s right above the crack of your ass and it translates to “beef with broccoli.” The last time you did anything spiritual, you were praying to God you weren’t pregnant. You’re not spiritual. You’re just high.

New Rule #9:  Competitive eating isn’t a sport. It’s one of the seven deadly sins. ESPN recently televised the U.S. Open of Competitive Eating because watching those athletes at the poker table was just too damned exciting. What’s next, competitive farting??? Oh wait!? They’re already doing that. It’s called “The Howard Stern Show.”

New Rule #10:  I don’t need bigger, mega M&Ms. If I’m extra hungry for M&Ms, I’ll go nuts and eat two.

New Rule #11:  No more gift registries. You know, it used to be just for weddings. Now it’s for babies and new homes and graduations from rehab. Picking out the stuff you want and having other people buy it for you isn’t gift giving, it’s the white people version of looting.

New Rule #12:  When I ask how old your toddler is, I don’t need to know in months ( e.g. 27 Months.) “He’s two,” will do just fine. He’s not a cheese. And I didn’t really care in the first place.

New Rule #13:  If you ever hope to be a credible adult and want a job that pays better than minimum wage, then for God’s sake don’t pierce or tattoo every available piece of flesh. If so, then plan your future around saying, “Do you want fries with that?”

Staying in that Nostalgic But Current Groove, here are Fotos Daughter took of wallpaper from the seventies she encountered in a Cleveland closet

still funny 2 scuba_diver_in_shower

still funny 3 splash

still funny 4 hippie_lovers_in_hottub

still funny 5 bathtub_shark

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Comfort Zone

While Husband and I were on our Christmas cruise to Mexico, our twenty-something-year-old kids from my first marriage were back in the US of A doing whatever it is they do whether we’re in the same country as them or not.  That answer would be “Who knows because he never tells” where Son is concerned and “Say everything all at once without taking a breath” in the case of Daughter.  And where words fail there are always pictures, as in the ones I found posted on Daughter’s Fotosite capturing her holiday visit to friends in Ohio.

comfort 1 the_trio_pastrami,_corned_beef,_brisket

This trio of pastrami, corned beef and brisket is followed immediately by a photo of Daughter, a vegetarian undercover in Cleveland.

comfort 2 undercover_vegetarian

Madonna couldn’t disguise herself better from the paparazzi.  Even for a family with a history of childhood dining dyslexia such as ours (see Nothing Says Lovin’ Like Something from the Oven) there are Pavlovian responses to certain foods and that trio picture above rings all the bells for us.

Back in the 1970’s, my late father, who was a maverick entrepreneur, began a business that revolutionized the photo novelty industry.  One of the very first people he hired was Ms. M.  One of the very first things Ms. M did was thumbtack a picture of a deli sandwich to the wall above her desk.  I met her in my twenties when I moved back to New York from Colorado, and I asked her what the deal was with the pastrami photo.  She looked at me over her glasses and said, “We all need a reason to live.  And it’s corned beef.”  With that she became one of my favorite people.

The company thrived and moved several times over the next 25 years to larger quarters and each time it moved the corned beef sandwich went along.  Over time, the photo acquired a frame and then a larger frame with a mat but it was always the same image hung over the desk of Ms. M.  My kids visited their grandfather’s offices as they grew up and always gave Ms. M a hug hello and pointed to the picture smiling at each other.  It’s hard to look at a deli sandwich framed on the wall and not want to smile.

My father died, the company changed hands, and Ms. M departed after 30 years of dedicated service.  Over the years, I got to know many of my dad’s terrific staff both as co-workers and friends and some of them even read this blog.  I hope Ms. M is one of them.  And with any luck, I’ll hear from Son after he sees this entry.  Nothing brings ’em home like pastrami.  Sorry, corned beef.

Here are more of Daughter’s Featured Fotos telling ‘How I Spent My Christmas Vacation’

metal man at a cleveland scrapyard.  scrapyart?

metal man at a cleveland scrapyard. scrapyart?

surprisingly light on his feet for a big guy

surprisingly light on his feet for a big guy

new year's eve. party like it's 1999

new year’s eve. party like it’s 1999

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Beyond the Sea

Husband and I have taken a handful of cruises in the seven years we’ve been married and one of the highlights for us is always the people we meet at dinner.  We let the cruise line assign us to a table at the start of the trip and then we show up every evening in smiles and clean clothes with the premise that our dining companions will want to see us again.  Moderate alcohol doesn’t hurt.

When my kids were young, we went on a family cruise to Bermuda.  Son was about ten years old at the time and as I was packing a large suitcase for our trip he kept tossing in sporting equipment.  I chucked it out as fast as he threw it in because it was taking up crucial shoe space, but apparently a nerf football got by me and its presence on that ship made Son the most valuable person onboard.

There were about two thousand other passengers on the cruise but when we docked and hit the beach, Son was the only one to go ashore with a ball.  For the next several days, there were knocks on our stateroom door at all hours by passengers and crew alike looking to see if the blonde kid with the football wanted to come out and play.  Turkish cabin stewards, Filipino waiters, city firemen and college frat boys all knew Son by name.  He was escorted everywhere.  People charged his soft drinks to their cards.  Walking through the dining room in the evening he got more high-fives than Walter Payton.

Every cruise line has certain things they’re known for and one of the featured events on the ship we just sailed to the Western Caribbean is the Love and Marriage Game.  This spectacle unfolds one night in the ship’s main theater and just like on TV’s old Newlywed Game, three couples volunteer to be publicly humiliated and taped for endless replay on everyone’s stateroom television for the remainder of the cruise.

In front of a large audience, the three husbands were secluded elsewhere while the wives were asked to name one thing their husband does that bothers them.  Inevitably, one of the women answered ‘he passes gas’ and when her husband arrived back onstage and was asked what he thought his wife said, he answered ‘she hates that I never let anyone else pick up the check’.  The whole truth may be that when he’s reaching over to grab the check he rips out a giant fart.  So technically they could both be right.

Then the wives went off and the husbands were asked to name the most unusual place the couple ever made love and one guy said ‘the bathroom in a Manhattan restaurant’ and another guy thought about it a minute and said ‘the kitchen table’.  The wives came back and the Manhattan restaurant bathroom wife answered correctly drawing a huge round of applause as well as an interesting mental image.  The kitchen table wife guessed ‘Vermont’ and you could see her teenage daughter sitting in the front row cover her face like now there are two places she’ll never set foot in again:  the kitchen and New England.

We’re back on dry land now and wishing we had that stateroom tape to replay tonight for old times sake.  To our memorable and entertaining fellow diners at table 115, we hope you all got home safely:  to the Iowa farm; the corporate ladder in Baltimore; across the ocean to England; and for the Norwegian couple returning to their fjord, we hope the airline finds that piece of luggage they lost on your way over.  You looked terrific in your new clothes.  I have a great group picture of our table taken by the ship photographer and if anyone would like a copy just write me at the gmail address on this page and I will be happy to share.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos peek in All Around The Town

beyond 1 through_the_trees1

empire state through the trees

beyond 2 that_new_jeeves_building

that new jeeves building

beyond 3 crazy_bug_in_inwood_park

crazy bug in inwood park

beyond 4 dumbo_brooklyn_bridge

the brooklyn bridge

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