I hope when I read this at 90, G-d willing, I am smiling. I pray that I used up whatever talents I had. I’ll then know my soul was soothed along the way by the things that gave me satisfaction. Whether it was a piece of writing, doing an art project or cooking a couple of great meals I will be happy knowing I did these things over and over again. Please let my loved ones outlive me. Biding adieu to the precious people who helped my heart skip beats would be treacherous. An octave of my music stopped every time I lost someone- the pain excruciating. Selfish, albeit protective. When my time with someone was up I hope I knew when to walk away. In turn, I hope I quickly saw their part in my journey was completed when they walked. Lingering wasted time- to be sad was not to be productive. Perhaps I learned a lesson, or just my share of bad luck. When given the chance to assist those who were less fortunate I would like to be reading that I paid it forward. Whether it was a hand me down of medical experience or protecting a beloved through a stormy moment; I hope I gave it with love and honesty. I hope my relationship with my sister’s ultimately became very good for longer than it wasn’t so good. I loved them indeed. I hope my husband got that I did my best as a refugee of lost wars emotionally. I hope he felt the love through my actions. I pray my nieces knew my love for them was fierce in every way. I can’t imagine our grandchildren won’t just know how much they helped make my life wonderful. As I am reading this fast forward- my desire is to see that I made people laugh. Perhaps not everyone got my humor or saw the funny as I did- but I loved to laugh and got a kick out of silly. I know it kept me healthier and happier then be-moaning a fate not loaned to me.

As far as jealousy, I hope I recognized how blessed I was. No one gets it all, but I believe I had a dose of great that propped up the not so great. If I hurt people’s feelings I hope they knew it was out of insecurity and with no malice or forethought. If I am reading that I became a fan of exercise, ate more vegetables and bettered impulse control I will be thrilled.

With all this said I hope that I found a place in my charity of choice where a good deal of who I was lingered. Giving was more rewarding than receiving. Carrying that thought with me allowed for the powerful self concept that kept me focused on the prize of my Life! And if I am unable to read this I hope one of you are reading it to me. I held you dear.

Eddie Redmayne won an academy award for portraying Stephen Hawking in The Theory of Everything in 2014. The movie, captivating in its portrayal of the brilliant and funny Stephen Hawking, the physicist who made landmark advances in physics and math. His career spanned 50 award winning years. Amongst the prestige of his awards was The Albert Einstein Medal in 1979 for his scientific findings. The keeper of odds beat his for 51 of his 76 years of a five star life. He was diagnosed at 21 years of age with ALS, an extreme deleterious motor neuron disease. His body and voice, although physically bound and compromised never got in the way of his mobility or his Voice. He never allowed his limitations to get in the way. He knew the thrill of discovery has no mate. This was his fate and he never bemoaned it. He finished the marathon of life even if it was after dark and amongst the last of the racers up first avenue.

On any given day finding an excuse to hang in bed, binge watch a  Netflix series and order in food is often too close at hand (not an easy feat for those in the know.) I can only imagine even Stephen Hawking couldn’t count the number of days he allowed himself one of those. A favorite and meaningful quote of his was “it would not be much of a universe if it wasn’t home to the people you love.”

So on Pi day we say good-bye Stephen. Wondered if he planned it that way or was it just the “odds.

Last night we followed Rabbi Lookstein down the rabbit hole. He has the Midas touch. His message came through loud and clear. In a world filled with massive chaos we need to work harder toward being less divided. Yes, Rabbi yes. Whatever our individual affiliation toward Judaism or Christianity is we are much more alike then divided in our prayer for peace.  We broke bread and shared a Friday Eve Shabbat dinner which was being shared in temples across America. Same time, different city.

We sat down with two dear friends and as we often do, raised a glass, toasted to health and dug in. More typical, our evenings shared could be called Pizzagate and we don’t eat pizza together.

Here we were at an across the country event in our own backyard. Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun hosted the evening. Foremost caterers served the delicious meal. This is where our eight grandchildren Davan and ultimately are educated. Ramaz, the school they attend is part of KJ.

The evening was laden with prayer, song and words of gratitude. We were sharing a rite of passage in a communal setting that spread across the country. This memory in the making brought back childhood memories and I wept inside. Papa can you hear me? My dear friend felt the flood too. We pushed aside our worries and counted our blessings one at a time. We all walked away with a gratitude list. There was no judgment on any faces, that in itself a blessing. Petty indifferences, mere misunderstandings and broken dinner dates were minimalized by what really matters and what sits in the forefront of our hearts. With lots on our plates we realized our plates are big enough to handle, come what may. At least for last night. Fingers crossed and pinky swears hopefully longer.

What a relief from the chaos of “cell phone dining.” As we looked around the room we observed the crowd and marveled at the cohesion. Singing, loud talking and the patter of children running out the door, in between courses replaced the sound of texts and emails coming in.

Oh wishing star I thank you for answering one more prayer, for one more day. As a realist, I woke up today knowing that as any encapsulated moment in time, our partaking in Shabbat Across America added another corner piece to our puzzle in the making. As long as love still wears a smile- we’re in.

“I heard the news today oh, boy!”- 2019 Woodstock 50th Reunion planned. So vividly remembering drudging thru the mud to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young swooning favorite tunes i.e.”Teach Your Children Well.” 50 years ago the number is unimaginable and yet the memories linger on. I am a sucker for nostalgia these days. Love my old pictures and debriefing the past with consistent frequency. I had friends then that I have now. Tonight I am sharing an evening with my Jill. We walked to school together everyday starting in Junior High. We will have a Vodka Grande and talk about how lucky we are that we stayed so good, for so long. Our catch ups, albeit infrequent, offer the run up and hug kind of times that I would run to save in case of fire. Our husbands will chat away, and after a quick catch up we will spend our time basking in the knowing of how special “WE” are.

Next month I am having

a very frequent lunch with The Julia’s-the acronym I penned for “just us ladies into aging.” A group of women whose only requirement for entry is feeling the love from yes, Junior High School thru the Woodstock years.

I followed the lead of a group of men I knew about who are called the Romeo’s- (retired old men eating out). We love the tradition and respond to the frequent reminder with a resounding “yes, I’m in for sure.” Another item I’m running for in case of…

Last evening we went to a performance at the most charming of theater’s in Boca Raton called The Wick. It’s a throwback to the days of cabaret and houses memorabilia of days gone by, when song was song. Lady Gaga I love you, but when you’re crooning with Tony I Love you more. We saw a performance of the show Curtains. Two of my favorites Kander and Ebb wrote the tunes. My take away song “I Miss the Music.”I was bred with an affinity for music. My parents played their 78’s of Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett and the resplendence of The Gershwin Brother’s. I had a small Record player cased in red and white leather. I had a collection of yellow disks that converted my 78’s of Johnny Mathis into my 45’s of Blue Moon and My Boyfriend’s Back. I would close my light, get tucked into my single bed and fall asleep imagining how my days of glory would play out. The sound that would startle me back to being “15” was the needle hitting the record at the end of it.

When we returned from the show last eve we caught up on the debate a.k.a.cat fight.

Unheard of rhetoric in a debate when The Grateful Dead were Greatful , when we loved seeing what Jackie Kennedy was wearing on the cover of Look Magazine and when I gathered my school books as Sophie screamed up to me In the morning- “Hurry up Jill is here to gather you on route to Junior High.”

Recipe for long living, long ago. How many had grandparents who lived well into their 90’s? Maybe they knew Vic Tanny existed but they were too busy working hard, cooking and baking and smoking cigarettes to get to know him well. My Grandmother, (Bubby Chicken), for those in the know, led with an indomitable spirit. She had a startling  ability to push unpleasant thoughts down the block and across the street. She was too busy to worry about what so and so said or thought. With rolling pin in hand and her grater not far away she filled part of her days. I often wondered if she slept with her apron on as it was ever present and the first thing we noticed when we ran in for her endless Hug. 

We believe she was the prototype for the ” I’m gonna live forever, I’m gonna learn high to fly” lyrics. So, noodle and or potato pudding, apple cake, rugalach with raisins and jelly and her famous candy bowl filled with hard candies were things we came to depend on. We never knew how we would make it to dessert as we were left stuffed with carbs, salt, schmaltz and gribenes(for those in the know.) And- just in case, she had her trustworthy mylanta, gaviscon- or “here mamala have a tums” waiting on the counter next to the left over flour and right under an old plant that still had the ribbon and card on it from last Mother’s Day.

In the absence of probiotics, papaya enzymes, lactaid free whatever’s, Pilates, colonoscopies, portion controls, calories counts on products, my grandmother and her friends lived forever.

Were their stomachs better equipped? Was it not considered abuse to reach for the sugar and go for the salt first? Perhaps endemic to generations long ago who focused less on Vit. D levels and more on how good Halavah tasted, whether it was marble or chocolate covered. The conundrum eludes me, how about you?

A three pronged example of a lifestyle fast forwarded is a workout on the treadmill, a bullet green shake and dashing off to have our blood work tested after a 50,000 unit regimen to pump up the numbers. Bub, we all miss the high caloric, straddled with confectioners sugar way you celebrated life. By the way thanks for palming us the good luck gelt every time we left your side

We believe she was the prototype for the ” I’m gonna live forever, I’m gonna learn high to fly” lyrics. So, noodle and or potato pudding, apple cake, rugalach with raisins and jelly and her famous candy bowl filled with hard candies were things we came to depend on. We never knew how we would make it to dessert as we were left stuffed with carbs, salt, schmaltz and gribenes(for those in the know.) And- just in case, she had her trustworthy mylanta, gaviscon- or “here mamala have a tums” waiting on the counter next to the left over flour and right under an old plant that still had the ribbon and card on it from last Mother’s Day.

In the absence of probiotics, papaya enzymes, lactaid free whatever’s, Pilates, colonoscopies, portion controls, calories counts on products, my grandmother and her friends lived forever.

Were their stomachs better equipped? Was it not considered abuse to reach for the sugar and go for the salt first? Perhaps endemic to generations long ago who focused less on Vit. D levels and more on how good Halavah tasted, whether it was marble or chocolate covered. The conundrum eludes me, how about you?

A three pronged example of a lifestyle fast forwarded is a workout on the treadmill, a bullet green shake and dashing off to have our blood work tested after a 50,000 unit regimen to pump up the numbers. Bub, we all miss the high caloric, straddled with confectioners sugar way you celebrated life. By the way thanks for palming us the good luck gelt every time we left your side.

Leave your mistakes, disappointments, mea culpas and excuses in the box at the door marked Debbie Downer. Your shoes, you can leave them on and hit the ground running. If Harry is wild about you, sit next to him, make him your friend and invite him over when you order in Sushi from Gari’s. Find your group of Harry’s and don’t bother with the Sam’s. 

With our children in America being murdered at rapid fire speed, our life long friend’s loosing loved ones in a few months time and our body parts going to the repair shop often, let’s cast our own spell and really, really, really live for today. 

After spending part of the winter months in a retired state of mind I feel now more than ever the role we play in our own destiny. We are our own gestalt barometers. Complete the project, write the book and call Papa Lenny and invite him to lunch. That smile on his face as he ate meat loaf, mashed potatoes and corn – priceless. “The best of times is now. As for tomorrow, well who knows, who knows, who knows. So hold this moment fast. And live and love as hard as you know how.” Jerry Herman, that La Cage song gets us every time. We have jettisoned into mid- life and then some so it’s time to put on your tan shoes and pink shoe laces and throw on that polka dot vest and man oh man. Here’s to Debby and Walter, dear friends who got their mojo on, took this pic in Mexico and won the cover shot for AARP magazine summer issue. Ok, poetic liberty, truth stretching and brushing the flies in my picnic of life away for good! 

We didn’t have cotillions but we felt like debutantes when we put our gold circle pins on our white blouses with Peter Pan collars. In the days of villager sweaters, Ladybug pins and capizio, we felt so grown up when we fastened our new silk stockings to our pink and white stripped garter belts. You with me ladies? How bout papagallos, Jonathan Meyer sweaters with a madras collar unfolded at the neckline? Hot stuff indeed.  Wait, the first day we debuted our baby bead bracelets encasing our names was certainly our defining moment. Then we had “game.”With our baby beads cozied up next to our gold bangles we were bound to have good luck forever.

On the weekend we went for the tennis sweater and penny loafer look- dexters and weejuns our happy go to’s. Oh those days of firsts, of beginnings we remember with kindness and delight. What could be better than a pink or yellow mohair sweater with a coordinated skirt and matching pappagallos? The excitement, Big, Huge. In the sixties we were fashion plates as we walked out the door in our loden coats or pea jackets to head over to third ward park. We would convene around Tom Sabas truck and hung out with our group. The allure of Passaic in the sixties has lasted our lifetime. Can you say right place, right time? See you at Ginsburgs, I heard they got new color bangle bracelets.

No “Pulse” Nightclub- Orlando, Florida –Las VegasJUNE 13, 2016 -tragic repost— Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School -Parkland , Florida- February 14, 2018 Valentine Massacre 

“That certain night , the night we met, there was magic abroad in the air. There were angels dining at the Ritz- “And a Nightingale Sang in Barclay Square.” Words by Eric Maschwitz, music by Manning Sherwin. The song was written in 1939 in a French fishing village Le Lavandou right before the outbreak of the Second World War. Fast forward— On a steamy week-end eve you get dressed, put on your lipstick, turn off your music and walk out the door. You look forward to debriefing the week with a friend and meeting some new friends. You’re all set to chill in a high energy, safe haven club, on your local Barclay Square- the nightingales were singing. Dry martinis, familiar faces and music you listen to at home and know every word to. A perfect design for a five-star time. One would think. And then the World According to Garp doesn’t happen. No Lin Manuel, THESE senseless acts of tragedy are what is “promised.” Our promised land nearly 70 years after World War Two- on the the doorstep of World War Three. “Praising Isis, Gunman attacks Gay Nightclub, leaving 50 dead in worst shooting on U.S.Soil”– the headline in today’s New York Times. Yes, on U.S. soil, the same dirt that has a potential presidential candidate who made this horrifically designed tragedy about him. We scream in horror, we cry in disbelief as one more lunatic walks into one more gun shop and puts down one more stolen credit card. We then pay dearly for the laws that govern the strongest nation on earth. We pray for the insane and fund them in jail after they take away our freedom of choice, as to which place to dance the night away–that takes our Life away. In concentration camp like fashion we become prisoners of the loose cannon, suicide bombers who live to die. The adage of ” do guns kill people or do people kill people” is one big oxymoron. One avenue for slaughter is people buying guns. How long is congress on sabbatical from revising laws on buying over the counter rifles in a store that houses beef jerky too? Dear G-d please look in our direction. We need our backs covered and we are willing to double down for this.

You know there are 6 more weeks in Boca. So whad ya do this week-end? This musing is inspired by Brad Zimmerman. And just who is this Brad guy? Here goes. A sixty something, in great shape guy whose claim to fame is that he opened for Joan Rivers in Atlantic City, before the days of progressive wheel of fortune slots. Love those! (Shout out to Robo.) He’s a New Jersey guy, way of New York, schmoozing his way on Florida stages. Joan Rivers one- liner to him was and I quote ” you are the funniest comic I ever worked with in your price range.” We laughed and then we cried through the evening. He is still waiting for his career to amount to more than bupkes. Also, if his girlfriend Amy from high school gets divorced perhaps he’ll marry her. A Zuchen Vey. Brad’s stereotypical Jewish mother is still giving him “what for’s.” How lucky to still have her nudging him and reminding him he’s not a shmendrik. Her question to him now, ” so when are you going to get off the stage and give me a grandchild? We left after 90 minutes, no intermission, yes we used the facilities beforehand. I kept thinking on our way to get some key lime pie and a nite cap, if only he went into his father’s furniture business he might not being standing alone on a small stage in Palm Beach Gardens. His spiel was audible when the forced A/C wasn’t noisy. Vayismir. Getting to the theater a bit of a gantseh magilla- but not to worry, we don’t shivtz the small stuff. 

It was a humor filled, delightful evening. His shtick had a cute gimmick. The evening was so provactive of our days of growing up with similar hand me downs. I can’t type fast enough, I could plotz.

Earlier in the day we spaetzered around The West Palm Beach Antique Fair. 

You shouldn’t know from the thrill-big, huge. With every piece of schmutz on every amber glass bowl our endorphins rose to sea level. We sifted through the tchatchkes, the thigamabobs and the doodads. If you haven’t left me yet it’s over soon enough. Trust me, oy. We bought a few things, you’ll see below. 

And then we knew we arrived –over the free, fluffy marble cake samples placed in front of us at Flakowitz. Uh, the look on my husband’s face priceless. His favorite and free. Does it get better? Ok, listen up. We had a Flagel and a schmear and we were off. We were on our way to play pickle ball with that new couple we met on line at Costco. I don’t, know, maybe, could be the early bird’s shadow portends to more then 6 weeks in La-la land. I’ll get back to you later.