After a prophylactic double mastectomy- didn’t save the nipples -getting rid of old library cards and who needs more than one cake cutter – is a piece of cake. Run on sentence- and such is Life.

Gardening situates you in a different kind of time, the antithesis of the agitating present of social media. Time becomes circular, not chronological; minutes stretch into hours; some actions don’t bear fruit for decades. The gardener is not immune to attrition and loss, but is daily confronted by the ongoing good news of fecundity. A peony returns, alien pink shoots thrusting from bare soil. The fennel self-seeds; there is an abundance of cosmos out of nowhere. Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers.

My eyes have told the story of 72 years of living life.

The beauty and the glory-the trauma and the strife.

From the views of new born babies, to the heavy hearted woes.
My eyes have told the story of a lifetime I behold.

With a new venue in our picture.
An horizon flooded with change.
A little nip and tuck-to welcome in the new terrain.
An astigmatism of the future.
The bar set with numbers strong.
We are widening our scope, focusing on the straight and on the long.
We will tap into our moxie.
Our eyes upon the prize.
Let’s usher in this chapter called “Smarter Laced with Wise.”

Mangiare e Bene

We sit down at the table, pass around the basket of bread.

Our menu in our hands, ordering we do dread.

Pasta, pasta everywhere, but not a drop to eat.

We love to see our peeps, we eat and then repeat -AGAIN?

With a stroll to 84th Street, a brisk walk round Central Park lake.

Another fettuccine bolognese we really cannot take.

Our pants are getting tighter, as the buttons they do pop.

And then we order dessert and pull out all the stops.

Four forks around the key lime.

Or a spoon for creme brûlée.

A holy moley to the cannoli.

Decaf cappuccino on the side.

We glance into the mirror, as it really tells no lies.

Our girlish, curvy figure, so very far away.

When we get up in the morning we start a brand new day.

A scoop of some plain yogurt- add a banana to the bowl.

We have yet to stand on the scale.

The Veal Milanese has taken its toll.

As we dress for one more table and another group of friends.

The caring and conversation we trust will never end.

If we eliminate the bread, skip the pasta page indeed.

Perhaps some broiled salmon, is exactly what we need.

Let’s do it Tuesday.

Step out, step out of the sun, if you keep getting burned. —Evan Hansen.
Ok listen up, what’s it going to take?
Adages galore bout repeating mistakes.
First toast to health and good luck along the way.
Stay with me this time, cause it will juxtapose naysay.
As time marches on with challenges stockpiling.
We fuss and we muss with the “not importants” all the whiling.
“Elementary dear Watson,”
It’s easier said than done.
We’re turning our cheek, as we’re coming undone.
We try flipping the negatives.
Counting one by one.
Will they like us and invite us to come back?
The hard on ourselves, try cutting some slack.
Hit the ground running.
It’s medicinal indeed.
Give it a chance.
Plant a new seed.
The news on the daily, breathtaking for sure.
Like a minute under water, open a new door.
Dr. Seuss and I quote.
“I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games too. Games you can’t win cause you’ll play against you.”
Give yourself a good Monday.

A Side of Gypsy! 🎼

Have some nova, Mr. Goldstone.
Have a bagel, have a schmear.
Have a latke Mr. Goldstone.
Any spare that I can spare I’ll be glad to share!
Take a dish, have a pickle, have a knish, here’s a fork.
Put your feet up. Feel at home.
Have a coke, something corked?

Would you like to hear a joke?
G-d forbid a smoke.
Have a decaf mit your babka.
Mr. Goldstone come sit by us.
Come Daven by the river, meet us on East End and 84th.
Finish up Mr. Goldstone, you’re already on your fourth (course.)
Have some flanken, cooked with care.
Everybody give a bissel cheer.

We sat you-next to Murray.
Go sit in that Big green chair.
Have a Goldstone, Mr. Bialy.
Tell me any little thing that I can do.
Have some liver, chopped on a cracker.
Have a cookie, have a few.
What’s the matter, Mr. G?
How bout another pot of tea?
Good Shabbos-Mr. Goldstone.
Raise a stoli, maybe two.
Keep your senses- helps stability.
Mr. Goldstone we love you. 🎼

Neil Simon Penned One Long Love Story. Valentines Day!!

In 1997 he wrote the screenplay Proposals. The take away thought about what he loved in a character he developed is ” her humor is different. Her take on life is different.”
“Never Underestimate the Stimulation of Eccentricity.”

Homage to Neil Simon-. We binged your movies to help ward off “The Biloxi Blues.”

Whether we were “Barefoot in the Park, while “Lost in Yonkers” or hitching a ride home from “Brighton Beach,” we waited to hear Jonathan Schwartz “Playing our Song,” on WQXR American Standard Radio. Marvin Hamlisch played Carole Bayer Sager’s lyrics to his music with his particular Zip-a-dee-doo-dah enthusiasm. We swayed along and knew all the words. Your collaborations with Mike Nicols and Gene Zaks prolifically chronicled our youth. Oh Neil, we got hooked when we read your name amongst the credits as we watched Sgt. Bilko, played with such guile on The Phil Silvers show. We waited to hear your interviews with Joan Hamburg on 77 WABC to learn what play was next to be “Broadway Bound.” Her interviews typically came at the end of her show after the bargain shopping and food segments. There was often a reference to Shelly Fireman, our forever friend and his spin on delicious Italian fare.)

When we spatzered around our favorite thrift shops we heard your familiar very New Yawkish sounding voice broadcasted live. When Joan interviewed you, the two of you had a repartee we so enjoyed, although we considered you quite the “Odd Couple.”

We marveled at the big city duplex apartments with sunken living rooms, and gilded cage appeal that set the stage for many of your playbooks. Was Willy’s (Walter Matthau) apartment at the Beaux Arts Ansonia really that big? We thought it could possibly the best pad ever to play hide and go seek. Did Jane Fonda actually run around “Barefoot in the Park” as she pleaded with Robert Redford to try again to save their marriage? We wanted to live in her apartment as soon as we moved to the Village. We knew we didn’t want to live uptown and become a “Prisoner on Second Avenue.”
We weren’t sure you could top the episode when Felix Unger walked into Oscar Madison’s cluttered apartment to try to get back together with Gloria. You certainly did when you portrayed the classic “Northeast distributor of Guilt,” and had Molly Picon threaten to keep her head in the oven over the troubles with her bachelor sons. Oh, Frankie.

Our take away quote of yours is “if you can go through life without experiencing pain you probably haven’t been born yet.” Neil Simon- we trust you’ve be filling them with laughter in Suite 203-04 during your “Chapter Two.”

And so the story goes…Swing easy!

G
O
L
F
When Birdie met Bogey in the old neighborhood they were pretty much hook(ed). They (fore) warned their parents that they believed strongly this was their (stroke) of good luck. They knew there might be (rough) days ahead, but their attraction proved to be (out of bounds.) With no (mulligans) in sight and no red (flags) in view they would plunge ahead, not let sleepy dogs (lie.) They would disregard an (albatross) as an impasse and call it three strokes in their favor.
Perhaps there would be (hazards) along the (Fairway) but for now they were in the (Green.) They vowed to (bunker) down together, knowing all the while as long as the (Eagle) has landed they would invite everyone to the 19th hole to raise a glass as they celebrated their ( hole in one.)
See you on the Tee box- off to drive a few buckets. Reeking with enthusiasm. Minchen by you.

Papa Can You Hear Me? With a “single secret tear.”

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 an Observant 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 in Brooklyn. In the late 50’s, early 60’s it was a predominantly Jewish and Italian 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 sitting on the counter next to the cash register. Wonderful memories indeed.

 In our early days growing up we were traditionally observant. Our 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, pots and pans and utensils. She lined the refrigerator and cabinet shelves with “oak tag.“ 

The food strictly kosher for Passover. Matzoh Brei our favorite, was our comfort food. One thing we knew was that the dishes were not as pretty as our every other day dishes. Green glass was just not our style.

Our remembrances are of very long Seders where we were so hungry that eggs dipped in salt water tasted so good. We cherish those days. Silent prayers strong.

And then it all changed. Our taste of orthodoxy, our world as we knew it was different. 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 and he radically decided to join a reformed temple. Our lives would change forever in how we observed Judaism. Somehow we followed his lead.

We all stayed enamored by tradition. Holidays and their loveliness have resonated throughout our lives. We come together for dinners, we worship and practice our faith in a different format.

What is the “chosen” people in G-d’s eyes? We sing and we pray to him in our own hearts, but not in a different way.

As fate unfolded I am blessed to share 8 grandchildren. They are orthodox and 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 our 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 “our” counter. We wish this on everyone. Bh