Judy Gomberg puts a funny, heartfelt and humorous spin on being a boomer. She beautifully captures the songs of our lives as our memories grow longer, deeper and stronger.
We walked into our building the other day and one of our doormen, whose name happens to be David, called us over to let us know he has been meaning to tell us something. We listened as he proudly shared the wonderful news that his son Eric had recently become a Bar Mitzvah. He told us we could watch the service on You Tube and the theme for the party was all Baseball. We stopped in our tracks, wished him a big Mazel Tov and went upstairs to our apt.
We were thrilled for him and confused as we didn’t know he had children or much else about him. He always greeted us with a smile and we exchanged pleasantries as he handed us our Amazon packages.
Schools have opened up, the streets are bustling with children walking with super sized back packs and after school snack money in their pockets. Things feel re-booted, still left of center but closer to a familiar time, pre pandemic.
Back to several days ago when David called up to let us know our sushi dinner, that we ordered was here. Ah, the Bar Mitzvah. So we ate dinner and sat down to watch David’s son Eric become a Bar Mitzvah. Can’t make the names up for those in the know. We kvelled as Eric read from the Torah, sang along, silently prayed and sent a shout out upon request from the Rabbi to Hashem for our forever ago friend Rommy Revson who passed away yesterday. Baruch dayan emet. Oh, Rom.
We listened as David’s wife spoke about their son and we cried for their pride in him.
Moral of story -bottom line-it, grab moments of pleasure, now more ever especially in these precarious days with so much uncertainty.
So we got some paper, wrote a mazel message, put some gelt into an envelope for Eric and went downstairs to have a “Minchin by you Moment.”This time the blessing in disguise came with a shout out in the lobby from a very familiar face, albeit in concept a stranger. Make it a schepp nachas for no longer a stranger kind of day. We are all a community and hashtag stronger together. It’s a reach out to someone dear kind of day. Bh
Repost on an end of summertime day! When the leaves were orange and the living was easy. What does the tooth fairy do with all the teeth? Why do the people in the front of the picture appear so much larger than the people toward the back? Out of the mouths…when life was oh so mellow.
We bought our first pair of silk stockings which were to be held up by a stretchy pink and white striped garter belt. We felt so mature. Oh the days of Ozzie and Harriet, Susan Lucci, Soupy Sales and Wally and The Beav. We had “One Life to Live.”
We re-dialed, after our friends line was busy the first time and screeched with excitement, Conrad Birdie style, over our anticipated coed- girl/boy party that evening in Daren Scott’s basement. We will always miss Daren. After we sat under a hot dryer with beer can sized rollers in our hair we brushed away the fumes from our eyes left by Aqua Spray. The decision to curl our hair rather than iron it straight was a good one, our hair came out just right. Getting ready “Was” the excitement. Our new madras blouse and alpaca sweater hung prominently in the front of our closet right above our shiny, new cordovan colored weejuns. Bright, new Penny, dated 1969 heads up in place.
A touch of revlon blush, a glimmer of “coffee bean” lipstick proceeded a spritz of Shalimar and we were on our way. With dejavu on our breath we can still recall euphorically how it felt when we unbuttoned the wooden clasps that kept our new Pea Coat in tact. The boys gathered on one side of the room, as the girls sifted through the 45’s on the other. At this point there was no bottle to spin in sight. Would the Angels sing tonight as our soldier boys danced under the Blue Moon? Wah a Watusi. It’s the dance made for a romance.
The specialty years of pre-teening encapsulated so many of our trial and error moments. Being in a click helped dissipate the error parts, we were all in it together. We made room for our daydreams laced with Johnny Mathis lyrics and we did get Misty. Our Barbie and Ken’s were repositioned and left to fetch for themselves in the back row of our minds. In the “still of the night” we hold tight to the memories that Jay and the Americans knew were those Magic Moments. Make it a fun Sunday.
“The radio and the telephone and the movies that we know may just be passing fancies and in time may go – but oh my dear our love is here to stay.”If we could clone “Grandpa Ira,” every grandchild from near and far would be inoculated with a locked in love and a fail proof, safe haven. Side effects -Prodigious Proportions of sharing, caring and lingering on the sunny side of street.
One day we woke up and the miasmic film like filter that shrouds the cataracts of life was gone. Our foresight replaced hindsight allowing us to see the forest in spite of the trees. I wish this on everyone.
We would run into their home always overflowing with the smells of Shabbos on the stove, cookies in the oven and ripped toilet paper in a box, next to the toilet bowl. Symbolic of a Jewish Home on the week-ends. Zada sat on his over-stuffed chair surrounded by prayer books. We would fall into his smile, his warmth. He particularly cuddled my sister Roberta. She was the youngest and so curly haired adorable. We watched him read, we observed him in prayer. Our backs were covered as G-d had to be listening, he did it so well. Rabbi Irving Gottlieb presided over a congregation in a shul in the Canarsie section of Brooklyn. In the 50’s, early 60’s it was a predominantly Jewish and Italian “good” neighborhood. He also owned a rabbinical artifacts shop on Rivington Street on The Lower Eastside. We would visit him on Sundays and once again was greeted with a big smile. He couldn’t wait to hand us a hard candy from a dish he had on the counter. What fun we had. In our early days growing up we were traditionally observant. My mother kept a kosher home. Her father was a kosher butcher. We were frum, Devout and pious Jewish people. On Passover mom koshered the kitchen from head to toe. She changed the dishes and utensils. She lined the refrigerator and cabinet shelves with oak tag. The food strictly kosher for Passover. Matzoh Brei our favorite, our biggest request. All we knew is that the dishes were not as pretty as our every other day dishes. Green glass was just not our taste. Our memories are of very long Seders where we were so hungry that eggs dipped in salt water tasted so good. I cherish those days. Then it all changed. Our taste of orthodoxy, our world as we knew it was over. We moved from Brooklyn to New Jersey and our affiliation to strong observation paled. My father was the only son of an orthodox Rabbi. He had 5 sisters.We moved from our solid roots when he radically decided to join a reformed temple. Our lives would change forever in how we observed Judaism. Somehow we followed his lead, as we respected our father. We all stayed strong to tradition. Holidays and their loveliness have resonated throughout our lives. We came together for dinners, we worshipped and practiced our faith in a different format.What is the “chosen” people in G-d’s eyes? We sang and we prayed to him in our own hearts, albeit in a different format but not in a different way. As fate unfolded I am blessed to have 8 grandchildren through marriage. They are orthodox and very observant. I have moved much closer to my very observant roots now. We live life sequentially. Fate brings us to situations at different times in our lives. There are no coincidences. I strongly believe in G-d and a divine order. I feel my faith so intensely thru the blessings of grandchildren who run into my house threaded with familiar smells and traditions. They fall into our smiles, our warmth – as I did on Rabbi Gottlieb’s lap in 1958. Zada, I smile big as I hand them candy sitting prominently on my counter. I wish this on everyone. Hashtag Blessed.
Staying connected to our souls as the Thursday-end of summer goal. With adventures displayed daily through the eye of photo shop on social media, i.e. Instagram and Facebook, we travel guide through the elaborate display of someone else’s life. As the carpe diem magnet stares back at us from our refrigerator door we put down our electronics, pick up our latest book and go on a new journey. Daily pictures of summer trips to Portugal, the latest sneaker fashion trend, what your friends Aunt did on her 98th (bh) b-day, and a stranger’s newly painted front door-become as routine as the morning paper and orange juice. The flowers in Lady X’s garden or the smile on Mr. B’s grandchildrens (no visiting day) faces have replaced “All My Children” and our voyeuristic interest in Erica’s choice for an eighth husband. So when your grandchildren return from a summer trip and come over for Legos and Lunch, listen carefully when you hear- “I love being here so much, it feels like I never left.” Take defining moments like these to log out of anyone elses newly painted front door and walk through your own with your head high and your Lucky smile. Grass greener seekers need not apply. Make someone else’s day -get to Rye Play-land when the gates open wide.
arosebyanyothername2016 