I love, love, LOVE this video!
Thanks to Fiona for telling me about it!
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Happy Belated Anniversary!
Thursday was the eighth anniversary of the legalization of Same Sex Marriage in Massachusetts. I missed it. I'm embarrassed I forgot. But I am also reassured. I wasn't holding my breath until we crossed another annual milestone. No, life was pretty humdrum here in the Bay State.
Happily, despite repeated attacks, equal marriage has remained the law of the Commonwealth. All those specious arguments; all those dire predictions about how so called “traditional marriage” would be undermined, yet here we all are. The sky did not fall.
And, now, our President agrees.
Happily, despite repeated attacks, equal marriage has remained the law of the Commonwealth. All those specious arguments; all those dire predictions about how so called “traditional marriage” would be undermined, yet here we all are. The sky did not fall.
And, now, our President agrees.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Life’s Path
“March on, and fear not the thorns, or the sharp stones on life's path.” - Kahlil Gibran
Today is Roo’s birthday. It’s also Jake’s birthday. Thursday is Sue’s (Jake’s Mom) birthday. Saturday is Wendy’s birthday. My birthday is Friday. I’ll be 54. And this year I am grateful for every minute; every new gray hair.
”Happy Birthday to us,
Happy Birthday to us,
Happy Birthday dear all of us
Happy Birthday to us -
and many more!
Wheeeeeee!!!”
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Time
It still seems impossible that my sister Karen is gone. I know that it has been little more than two weeks since she died. I know there will always be a empty place in my heart. But I keep thinking of her in the present. After we Skyped on Saturday with my sister Gail, I thought “I wonder if we could do this with Karen?”.
One friend told me: “Apparently time heals all wounds, but it sure doesn't feel like it at the time of the wounding”.
Another told me: “Time is a friend in dealing with loss. It doesn't hurt less as time goes on, but it does give us a chance to catch our breath and deal with the pain.”
Wise women both.
Kind as well.
I’ll try to be patient as I grieve and breathe...
One friend told me: “Apparently time heals all wounds, but it sure doesn't feel like it at the time of the wounding”.
Another told me: “Time is a friend in dealing with loss. It doesn't hurt less as time goes on, but it does give us a chance to catch our breath and deal with the pain.”
Wise women both.
Kind as well.
I’ll try to be patient as I grieve and breathe...
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Today...
Today would have been my sister Karen's 65th birthday.
Tonight, I stood in the town Karen called home for many years. This photo of the rising “Super” Full Moon (in perigee) is for her.
Tonight, I stood in the town Karen called home for many years. This photo of the rising “Super” Full Moon (in perigee) is for her.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Ralph’s Best Side
(By the way, Blogger has “updated” their platform leaving carriage returns and paragraph breaks non-functional. I’m looking forward to them sorting that out ASAP!)
Photos and layout by LMR/Pink Granite. Fonts: Jayne Print, Helvetica . Software: Apple iPhoto ’09 and Adobe Photoshop CS5 for Mac.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Aaahhhh....
(For those of you outside New England, “Maine ~ The Way Life Should Be” is posted on signs as you enter the state. As for the bottle in the photo, well, family and friends will appreciate that!)
Photo and layout by LMR/Pink Granite. Font: Hans Hand. Software: Apple iPhoto ’09 and Adobe Photoshop CS5 for Mac.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Welcome Back
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
One House
The house at the end of our street was torn down. We heard a few different versions of how the lovely, mid-nineteenth century farmhouse had been abandoned or maybe the folks had moved away because of work or perhaps the wife had gotten sick or, well, it didn’t really matter. Gradually, the house fell into disrepair.
A silly woman called it haunted which was disrespectful of a house that was simply full of memories and sounds (laughter; tears; muddy boots stomped on the porch; mice scurrying in the walls) and smells (strong coffee; wet wool, roast turkey; lilacs) and seasons upon seasons of children and pets and young couples and widows and widowers.
Even after people and animals stopped living there, our neighbor and friend continued to hay the fields every summer. He plowed the driveway in the winters until the shed, that doubled as the garage, slowly gave in to the snow load on its punctuated roof.
Word went round town that the house would finally be sold. We heard it was part of an estate and we felt a sadness at the distant loss. Our friend and neighbor made an offer, then another. But a fellow from out of town swept in, made his case and met the price. Before the truth of it all could even circulate, the man had a crew in who wrapped the place up in yellow caution tape; harvested the gold in the form of mouldings and chestnut beams; stripped it bare he did.
Then the chug of a tractor in the field was replaced with the sound of more fearsome equipment, as the big machines pushed and pulled; strained, shattered and finally felled the once fine old home. The sound was terrible; rending in its truest form; a kind of keening that wrenched your heart. Bricks crumbled; joists snapped; horsehair plaster and lath rained down and the dust rose up in clouds. Smoke from the funeral pyre and all the sounds and smells and memories from a century and a half of living went with it.
The corner is empty now. They filled the cellar hole and smoothed it over in a sort of slap-dash way so you can still see the ruts the big treaded tires made. Spring came early after a worrisomely warm and dry winter. A plucky little forsythia burst open in a yellow cascade at the foot of what was once the front walk. I’m hoping the lilac near where the old shed stood does the same in a few weeks; flowers at the grave of an old friend.
A silly woman called it haunted which was disrespectful of a house that was simply full of memories and sounds (laughter; tears; muddy boots stomped on the porch; mice scurrying in the walls) and smells (strong coffee; wet wool, roast turkey; lilacs) and seasons upon seasons of children and pets and young couples and widows and widowers.
Even after people and animals stopped living there, our neighbor and friend continued to hay the fields every summer. He plowed the driveway in the winters until the shed, that doubled as the garage, slowly gave in to the snow load on its punctuated roof.
Word went round town that the house would finally be sold. We heard it was part of an estate and we felt a sadness at the distant loss. Our friend and neighbor made an offer, then another. But a fellow from out of town swept in, made his case and met the price. Before the truth of it all could even circulate, the man had a crew in who wrapped the place up in yellow caution tape; harvested the gold in the form of mouldings and chestnut beams; stripped it bare he did.
Then the chug of a tractor in the field was replaced with the sound of more fearsome equipment, as the big machines pushed and pulled; strained, shattered and finally felled the once fine old home. The sound was terrible; rending in its truest form; a kind of keening that wrenched your heart. Bricks crumbled; joists snapped; horsehair plaster and lath rained down and the dust rose up in clouds. Smoke from the funeral pyre and all the sounds and smells and memories from a century and a half of living went with it.
The corner is empty now. They filled the cellar hole and smoothed it over in a sort of slap-dash way so you can still see the ruts the big treaded tires made. Spring came early after a worrisomely warm and dry winter. A plucky little forsythia burst open in a yellow cascade at the foot of what was once the front walk. I’m hoping the lilac near where the old shed stood does the same in a few weeks; flowers at the grave of an old friend.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Digging
Seamus Heaney is brilliant. This clever video presents Seamus reading his poem “Digging” in a marvelous and engaging way. If you are tempted to move on because poetry isn’t your cup of tea, please don’t. Take just one minute and thirty-seven seconds to enjoy every word, every image.
Happy Poetry Month!
Happy Poetry Month!
Sunday, April 1, 2012
How Doctors Die
“How Doctors Die - It’s Not Like the Rest of Us But It Should Be”
That’s the title of an article our niece Carrie sent us a link to shortly before Chuck’s Tanta died. Written by Ken Murray, MD, it was timely then and, most likely, will be timely many more times during our lives.
One of the things which required the most explanation as we began telling family and friends why Chuck’s Tanta was entering hospice care, was that she was not going to have a biopsy and there would be no treatment for her cancer.
Tanta had the same primary care physician for decades. His colleague had been her mother’s doctor back in the 1980s. Tanta and we met with each doctor about a week apart. At the second appointment her primary confirmed the diagnosis of liver cancer. He explained that the size of the mass and the progression of the disease was quite clear from the CT-Scan. He told us that they had seen nodules on both of her lungs, which they believed was likely a recurrence of the lung cancer Tanta had beaten successfully many years before. Now it seemed that the lung cancer had metastasized to the the liver. But even if it were an intrahepatic cholangiocarcinoma the options and outcome would be the same. A biopsy was not necessary because it didn’t matter which kind of cancer it was. It was untreatable.
We live in a time when treatment, often aggressive treatment, is the norm. The CT-Scan had been done in Boston at one of the finest hospitals around. Both of Tanta’s doctors were affiliated with that hospital. We all went into those appointments expecting to come away with a treatment plan. Instead, two experienced, compassionate doctors were very frank and honest with Tanta, while also being gentle and respectful. Initially the news that there was no treatment which would not do more harm than good was startling. But in short order we all came to understand the wisdom of their advice.
Tanta was given the truth. It was a gift. Tanta also gave us a gift long ago by spelling out, in no uncertain terms, her desire to spend her final days at home. Because of both of these gifts she did not spend her last weeks being shuttled to doctors and hospitals for unnecessary treatments. Instead she stayed in her own home where family, friends, neighbors and rabbis from her temple could stop in for a visit. She had round the clock care and, as she put it, she didn’t have to wait twenty minutes after she rang a bell for someone to respond to her needs. And the brilliant hospice staff was in regularly to tend to her physical, emotional and spiritual needs - but always on her terms, not theirs. Tanta died peacefully and, most importantly, she died with dignity.
Not everyone is able to die this way. Dr. Murray’s article spells out very clearly why we all need to think ahead and understand all of our options. The resources and options are increasing - not just for treatment of disease but for hospice and palliative care. We have choices.
That’s the title of an article our niece Carrie sent us a link to shortly before Chuck’s Tanta died. Written by Ken Murray, MD, it was timely then and, most likely, will be timely many more times during our lives.
One of the things which required the most explanation as we began telling family and friends why Chuck’s Tanta was entering hospice care, was that she was not going to have a biopsy and there would be no treatment for her cancer.
Tanta had the same primary care physician for decades. His colleague had been her mother’s doctor back in the 1980s. Tanta and we met with each doctor about a week apart. At the second appointment her primary confirmed the diagnosis of liver cancer. He explained that the size of the mass and the progression of the disease was quite clear from the CT-Scan. He told us that they had seen nodules on both of her lungs, which they believed was likely a recurrence of the lung cancer Tanta had beaten successfully many years before. Now it seemed that the lung cancer had metastasized to the the liver. But even if it were an intrahepatic cholangiocarcinoma the options and outcome would be the same. A biopsy was not necessary because it didn’t matter which kind of cancer it was. It was untreatable.
We live in a time when treatment, often aggressive treatment, is the norm. The CT-Scan had been done in Boston at one of the finest hospitals around. Both of Tanta’s doctors were affiliated with that hospital. We all went into those appointments expecting to come away with a treatment plan. Instead, two experienced, compassionate doctors were very frank and honest with Tanta, while also being gentle and respectful. Initially the news that there was no treatment which would not do more harm than good was startling. But in short order we all came to understand the wisdom of their advice.
Tanta was given the truth. It was a gift. Tanta also gave us a gift long ago by spelling out, in no uncertain terms, her desire to spend her final days at home. Because of both of these gifts she did not spend her last weeks being shuttled to doctors and hospitals for unnecessary treatments. Instead she stayed in her own home where family, friends, neighbors and rabbis from her temple could stop in for a visit. She had round the clock care and, as she put it, she didn’t have to wait twenty minutes after she rang a bell for someone to respond to her needs. And the brilliant hospice staff was in regularly to tend to her physical, emotional and spiritual needs - but always on her terms, not theirs. Tanta died peacefully and, most importantly, she died with dignity.
Not everyone is able to die this way. Dr. Murray’s article spells out very clearly why we all need to think ahead and understand all of our options. The resources and options are increasing - not just for treatment of disease but for hospice and palliative care. We have choices.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Ticks
To be clear, I HATE ticks.
By all accounts this is going to be a very rough season. By season I mean spring, summer and autumn. An incredibly mild winter has been the common wisdom for the high number of ticks. But Dr. Richard S. Ostfeld has another explanation: acorns and white footed mice. The article in Science Daily is a quick and interesting read. Regardless of the precipitating factors, ticks are dangerous.
Part of why I hate ticks a great deal right now is because one latched onto Chuck this weekend. He wasn’t out doing yard work without protection. As far as we can tell he was just walking to the compost pile and back. Frankly, most of the joy of gardening has disappeared into the sea of haz-mat level gear, bug spray on clothing, body checks and loads of laundry that need to be done after every outdoor foray.
I followed the tick removal guidelines as best I could - patience is key. I cleansed the area and applied triple antibiotic ointment under the bandage. But every time this happens we worry about Lyme Disease. How can we not?
By all accounts this is going to be a very rough season. By season I mean spring, summer and autumn. An incredibly mild winter has been the common wisdom for the high number of ticks. But Dr. Richard S. Ostfeld has another explanation: acorns and white footed mice. The article in Science Daily is a quick and interesting read. Regardless of the precipitating factors, ticks are dangerous.
Part of why I hate ticks a great deal right now is because one latched onto Chuck this weekend. He wasn’t out doing yard work without protection. As far as we can tell he was just walking to the compost pile and back. Frankly, most of the joy of gardening has disappeared into the sea of haz-mat level gear, bug spray on clothing, body checks and loads of laundry that need to be done after every outdoor foray.
I followed the tick removal guidelines as best I could - patience is key. I cleansed the area and applied triple antibiotic ointment under the bandage. But every time this happens we worry about Lyme Disease. How can we not?
Friday, March 16, 2012
Happy Birthday Chuck!
”Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday dear Chuck
Happy Birthday to you -
and many more!
Wheeeeeee!!!”
He is the bee’s knees; my hero and my heart. He has a fierce intellect and the patience of a saint. He makes me laugh every day. And he always, always has my back.
I love you Sweetie!
Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday dear Chuck
Happy Birthday to you -
and many more!
Wheeeeeee!!!”
He is the bee’s knees; my hero and my heart. He has a fierce intellect and the patience of a saint. He makes me laugh every day. And he always, always has my back.
I love you Sweetie!
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Shemira
Similar to the Irish tradition of remaining with the body of a loved one until burial, Shemira is the Jewish ritual of attending or guarding the body. The difference is that the Shomer or Shomeret usually sits and prays alone and may never have known the deceased in life. The Irish tradition is one of family and friends being with the recently departed. Although when Tanta died Chuck and I did go to the funeral home and spent a few moments with her and with the Shomer who was attending her at that time.
It was a comfort to us to know that from the moment we escorted Tanta’s body to the funeral van, throughout the process of taharah and until we helped bury her body next to her parents and her brother, that she would always be accompanied. It was especially comforting to the caregivers who had been with Tanta around the clock in her final months to know that she would never be alone. For them it meant that their work would be carried on.
Growing up, my Dad would often tell us that when his time came he wanted to be laid out in the living room. He thought the sofa where he would stretch out to watch the eleven o’clock news followed by “The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson” would be just the right spot. Dad was of Irish and Scottish descent but even his Scottish side had come from Ireland originally, so the roots ran deep. I wish we could have honored his wish. But by the time his parents passed away decades before him we were already bringing our dearly departed to funeral homes or funeral parlors - named with a nod to the time when families were at the heart of the process - and that’s where they “went out of”.
The first funeral I remember was of my Dad’s mother. I was just eight. There was some discussion in the extended family that I was too young to attend the open casketed wake. My parents disagreed and I attended. I’m so glad I did. I could see Grandma, kneel down and say a little prayer and begin to understand the rituals of death and burial.
Today is my Dad’s yahrzeit. As I write this, his memorial candle burns brightly. Twenty-four years ago today Dad died. He had been surrounded by his wife and three daughters all day. Late in the evening my mother sent us home from the hospital. While I was driving home in the cold and dark from Massachusetts to Connecticut, Dad breathed his last; his wife of nearly forty-two years by his side. I wondered about so many things that night. What I never questioned was that Dad’s death was a release and a relief for him. He had been so very ill for so very long. The Alzheimer’s Disease had cruelly robbed him and all of us of the warm, intelligent, funny man who worked hard, sang beautifully, told a great story, and loved his family above all else. At times in his life Dad struggled - as do we all - but his love for all of us never wavered.
Dad wasn’t laid out in our living room. He and Mom had sold that big old house a few years before and Mom was living alone in a condominium. Dad went out of the funeral home his father-in-law had gone out of. There was no Shomer in that tradition, but we did have an open casketed wake in the front parlor of the funeral home and his children and grandchildren were there to visit and attend. We said our goodbyes, had a proper funeral mass in the church Dad helped bring to fruition and buried him next to his parents and brothers.
Zichrono liveracha ~ His memory is a blessing.
And it always shall be...
You can read the story behind how a Catholic daughter came to light a Jewish yahrzeit candle for her father by clicking here. My poem, “Your Yahrzeit” can also be found there.
It was a comfort to us to know that from the moment we escorted Tanta’s body to the funeral van, throughout the process of taharah and until we helped bury her body next to her parents and her brother, that she would always be accompanied. It was especially comforting to the caregivers who had been with Tanta around the clock in her final months to know that she would never be alone. For them it meant that their work would be carried on.
Growing up, my Dad would often tell us that when his time came he wanted to be laid out in the living room. He thought the sofa where he would stretch out to watch the eleven o’clock news followed by “The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson” would be just the right spot. Dad was of Irish and Scottish descent but even his Scottish side had come from Ireland originally, so the roots ran deep. I wish we could have honored his wish. But by the time his parents passed away decades before him we were already bringing our dearly departed to funeral homes or funeral parlors - named with a nod to the time when families were at the heart of the process - and that’s where they “went out of”.
The first funeral I remember was of my Dad’s mother. I was just eight. There was some discussion in the extended family that I was too young to attend the open casketed wake. My parents disagreed and I attended. I’m so glad I did. I could see Grandma, kneel down and say a little prayer and begin to understand the rituals of death and burial.
Today is my Dad’s yahrzeit. As I write this, his memorial candle burns brightly. Twenty-four years ago today Dad died. He had been surrounded by his wife and three daughters all day. Late in the evening my mother sent us home from the hospital. While I was driving home in the cold and dark from Massachusetts to Connecticut, Dad breathed his last; his wife of nearly forty-two years by his side. I wondered about so many things that night. What I never questioned was that Dad’s death was a release and a relief for him. He had been so very ill for so very long. The Alzheimer’s Disease had cruelly robbed him and all of us of the warm, intelligent, funny man who worked hard, sang beautifully, told a great story, and loved his family above all else. At times in his life Dad struggled - as do we all - but his love for all of us never wavered.
Dad wasn’t laid out in our living room. He and Mom had sold that big old house a few years before and Mom was living alone in a condominium. Dad went out of the funeral home his father-in-law had gone out of. There was no Shomer in that tradition, but we did have an open casketed wake in the front parlor of the funeral home and his children and grandchildren were there to visit and attend. We said our goodbyes, had a proper funeral mass in the church Dad helped bring to fruition and buried him next to his parents and brothers.
Zichrono liveracha ~ His memory is a blessing.
And it always shall be...
You can read the story behind how a Catholic daughter came to light a Jewish yahrzeit candle for her father by clicking here. My poem, “Your Yahrzeit” can also be found there.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Joy and Sorrow
Thursday, February 9, 2012, we spent the afternoon with Chuck’s Tanta. Age 89 and in hospice care with liver cancer, she was clearly in her final days. I sat by her bedside and talked to her. I named every family member that had been in touch with us and passed their love onto her. Then I began reviewing the bidding. I recounted all the ways she had been a good woman: a daughter, a sister, a sister-in-law, a friend, an aunt, a great aunt, a member of her community. I let a cascade of names and good memories wash over her. In the living room, one of Tanta’s caregivers, “A” could hear me over the baby monitor we had set up. She asked Chuck if Tanta was talking to me. He said no, but that we believed she could hear or, at the very least, sense, what was being said to her. “A” nodded quietly in agreement.
The next morning, just after 6:00 a.m., the phone rang. Our niece Carrie was calling with the news that her sister Kate's water had broken. With that call we were off on the Kate, Phil and Baby Finn adventure! We arrived at Beth Israel Deaconess at Noon. We have been to Beth Israel with Tanta more times than we can count. This was the first time we had ever been to Beth Israel for a joyous occasion and we have to say we thoroughly enjoyed it!
When the news of Kate's impending C-section came to "Team Finn" sometime after midnight, we all had to make decisions. The predicted snowstorm and distance between hospital and homes were factors. While the rest of the family needed to leave, we stayed. We felt that we had all planted the Baby Finn Family Flag in the lobby and that our circumstances allowed us to remain and hold down the fort.
We rearranged our camp in the lobby and dozed on and off until Phil brought us the very good news of Finn's arrival: 9 pounds, 5 ounces (4.22 kilograms), 21 inches long! He also told us the equally good news that Kate was well! After that, Chuck took to the floor and got about two hours of sleep. I followed suit across two chairs. Soon Phil came and escorted us upstairs. After the delight of being able to see Kate, to know she really was well, to meet the fabulous Finn and to see the newly expanded family settled in their room, we took our leave.
As we headed home out of Boston we thought about stopping in Brookline to visit Tanta, but because it was so early and we needed to get some solid sleep in our own bed we decided to head home. Driving along the Mass Pike and then Route 9 we felt lucky that the predicted snow was just a dusting and that the roads weren't bad at all. Just before the Shrewsbury-Worcester line the cell phone rang. It was one of Chuck’s Tanta's caregivers calling to tell us she had died peacefully in her sleep.
We found ourselves at another decision point. Home would have to wait. We began making phone calls, grabbed a quick breakfast at Blanchard’s 101 Diner in Worcester and headed back from Worcester for Brookline. We were able to be with Tanta for a bit and said our final good byes by singing the Bedtime Shema. We also witnessed a very dignified transition performed by two gracious young women from the funeral home. Then we escorted her body downstairs to the vehicle.
The rest of the day was spent making phone calls, working out details with the funeral home about Tuesday's service and tending to things at her condo. We finally arrived home about 9:30 p.m. Saturday night, fed three justifiably disgruntled cats and at long last headed for bed.
We were in touch with everyone on Chuck's side of the family on Saturday, but we chose not to share the news with anyone on little Finn’s side until the next day. While none of them were close to Tanta, we did not want any mention of death to be part of such a joyful day.
We are saddened by Tanta’s passing. Yet we know we did everything to fulfill her wishes including her deep desire to die at home in her own bed, just as her own mother had in 1989, with her youngest daughter, our Tanta, by her side.
For Tanta:
Zichrona liveracha ~ Her memory is a blessing.
For Finn and for all of us:
L’chaim! ~ To life!
The next morning, just after 6:00 a.m., the phone rang. Our niece Carrie was calling with the news that her sister Kate's water had broken. With that call we were off on the Kate, Phil and Baby Finn adventure! We arrived at Beth Israel Deaconess at Noon. We have been to Beth Israel with Tanta more times than we can count. This was the first time we had ever been to Beth Israel for a joyous occasion and we have to say we thoroughly enjoyed it!
When the news of Kate's impending C-section came to "Team Finn" sometime after midnight, we all had to make decisions. The predicted snowstorm and distance between hospital and homes were factors. While the rest of the family needed to leave, we stayed. We felt that we had all planted the Baby Finn Family Flag in the lobby and that our circumstances allowed us to remain and hold down the fort.
We rearranged our camp in the lobby and dozed on and off until Phil brought us the very good news of Finn's arrival: 9 pounds, 5 ounces (4.22 kilograms), 21 inches long! He also told us the equally good news that Kate was well! After that, Chuck took to the floor and got about two hours of sleep. I followed suit across two chairs. Soon Phil came and escorted us upstairs. After the delight of being able to see Kate, to know she really was well, to meet the fabulous Finn and to see the newly expanded family settled in their room, we took our leave.
As we headed home out of Boston we thought about stopping in Brookline to visit Tanta, but because it was so early and we needed to get some solid sleep in our own bed we decided to head home. Driving along the Mass Pike and then Route 9 we felt lucky that the predicted snow was just a dusting and that the roads weren't bad at all. Just before the Shrewsbury-Worcester line the cell phone rang. It was one of Chuck’s Tanta's caregivers calling to tell us she had died peacefully in her sleep.
We found ourselves at another decision point. Home would have to wait. We began making phone calls, grabbed a quick breakfast at Blanchard’s 101 Diner in Worcester and headed back from Worcester for Brookline. We were able to be with Tanta for a bit and said our final good byes by singing the Bedtime Shema. We also witnessed a very dignified transition performed by two gracious young women from the funeral home. Then we escorted her body downstairs to the vehicle.
The rest of the day was spent making phone calls, working out details with the funeral home about Tuesday's service and tending to things at her condo. We finally arrived home about 9:30 p.m. Saturday night, fed three justifiably disgruntled cats and at long last headed for bed.
We were in touch with everyone on Chuck's side of the family on Saturday, but we chose not to share the news with anyone on little Finn’s side until the next day. While none of them were close to Tanta, we did not want any mention of death to be part of such a joyful day.
We are saddened by Tanta’s passing. Yet we know we did everything to fulfill her wishes including her deep desire to die at home in her own bed, just as her own mother had in 1989, with her youngest daughter, our Tanta, by her side.
For Tanta:
Zichrona liveracha ~ Her memory is a blessing.
For Finn and for all of us:
L’chaim! ~ To life!
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Moyers On Alinsky & Gingrich
Bill Moyers has a fierce intellect coupled with a calm and dignified manner. Bill Moyers also has a way with words: "the malignant narcissism of duplicitous politicians". Oh how I wish I had written that!
In this brief video Moyers provides a biography of patriot Saul Alinsky, and why Newt Gingrich has chosen to demonize him.
In this brief video Moyers provides a biography of patriot Saul Alinsky, and why Newt Gingrich has chosen to demonize him.
Bill Moyers Essay: Newt's Obesession with Saul Alinsky from BillMoyers.com on Vimeo.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Romney’s Reasoning
Willard Mitt Romney, one of the Republican presidential candidates, may have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he regularly swaps it out for a platinum foot.
Read the New York Times collection by Ashley Parker of some of Mitt’s best, oddest, most out of touch statements.
And rest assured there will be endless sequels.
Read the New York Times collection by Ashley Parker of some of Mitt’s best, oddest, most out of touch statements.
And rest assured there will be endless sequels.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
SoundHound
SoundHound works. It kicks Shazam to the corner and back. Not only does it identify the music quickly and accurately, it is content rich - including lyrics. And it’s free!
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