A blog in many parts

1. The Ocean

As I walked down to the Atlantic Ocean, down on the Jersey Shore it occurred to me that although I love it, and can sit and watch the waves for hours, the Ocean doesn't think about me. I can go away for years but the waves come in and out with a regularity that is, as close as I can understand, eternal. It doesn't stop for anything or anyone. I can think I am tired and that is enough for now, so just stop for a while; the waves keep coming in and going out. The first day a wave knocked me down and the next one pushed me back up. I stumbled back to my towel and was grateful for the lesson. Further down the coast the intensity was less and I enjoyed hours standing in the surf, burning to a crisp and loving every minute of it. I do love the ocean and wonder how I've stayed away so long.

Once my mother and another old lady from the East were talking about missing the smell of the sea and how a lake just wasn't the same. I said I would get some salt water and dead fish and run a fan in their direction. They are right, though, a lake, even a Great Lake, is not the same as the ocean. The beach on the Jersey Shore is so clean and well kept, no sand fleas, no seaweed and very few shells. I am not sure whether this is natural or signs of something wrong ecologically. I let the fun win over thinking.

2. Adoration and joy

The reason I got to enjoy the ocean is that my cousin's daughter kindly invited me to her wedding. Everyone was happy and all enjoyed themselves. The food was great and the band superb. Nicole waited a long time for her groom, Dennis. He said he had been looking in the wrong state, not knowing his true love waited across the river. Why don't I have a picture of them? Maybe because there is no picture on earth that could capture the adoration on his face and the look of utter joy on hers. They are wrapped in a sphere of love that nothing can penetrate. How wonderful to see that intensity of feeling, of hearts joining and melding and becoming so much more than each alone. Be happy, dear ones.

3. Family

Iris and Bob are the parents of the bride. They are wonderful people who did so much to help my parents in their declining years. Although there were five nephews and nieces who lived in the metropolitan New York area, only Iris and Bob were there for them. They would come from New Jersey to Brooklyn to help when the old man was in a nursing home and the old lady was helpless. For this alone I am indebted. Then they promised to visit in Minnesota and followed through. Not once, but three times! They came for Erica's wedding and again a few months before my father died. They are kind, not because someone tells them to be kind, or because they are looking for praise. They are the true picture of what it means to be a mensch. I looked around at the wedding, and except for immediate family, I was the only cousin there. The funny thing is I am not a relative by any blood. These are my step-mother's relations and by their kindness and actions have made me family of the heart.

4. Friendship

Picture the scene, the year is 1956 and two little girls and their mothers are riding in an elevator in a new development, Bayview Houses. Monica was taller and could reach the button for seven and I was in the stroller, not even trying to reach for eight. Maybe her younger brother was in his stroller, I can't recall. We both remember that meeting fifty-six years later.  That is right, two sixty year old women who met when they were just four years old and remain friends to this day.

We were not always on good terms, what children are? Oh children can be so cruel! But those were the days when kids played outside for hours and hours, alliances forming and breaking and forming again. We grew up and went our separate ways, married and raised families and always were able to reconnect even though we lived far away and rarely spoke. Each time I came to NY I had to see her.  I am very lucky in having far away friends in California and Colorado and Massachusetts.  We had planned to see the MA friends while I was there but life interrupted in the form of sick cats and people and we decided to just go down the shore instead. I know I will see my dear Alix and Amy and Syl sometime, it just wasn't meant to be this time.

This time it was meant to be two mature women talking about what really mattered. Hearts and minds open and judgements left at the door. We have differing opinions about religion, marriage and a host of other things. Yet the respect and affection we have for each other allows us to differ and still be friends. Years ago when we supported opposing candidates I thought we were done. I didn't know how we could continue being friends. Somehow we overcame that hurdle and here we were, talking late into the night in Wildwood, New Jersey.

I don't make friends easily. I am opinionated and judging and expect a lot out of my friends. Because I am there for them, I expect them to be there for me. I know a bunch of people, but true friends are precious, rare and few. I treasure them all.

Expressing condolences virtual vs. physical

As most of my friends and family know, my mother, Harriet Smoller, passed away peacefully on July 28, 2012, this past Saturday night. We are all saddened to say goodbye, but happy she has transitioned to whatever may be beyond this earthly life.

Many, many people have sent me love via the internet and each and every condolence has been met with a smile that I have been thought of. When I was growing up, it was called paying respect and was the way I was raised. If someone lost a loved one, you told them you were sorry for their loss.

But we did it a different way. We went to the home of the bereaved and brought food and sat with them. We told stories, we cried, we laughed, we hugged. Or sometimes, depending on the degree of closeness, only popped in "to pay our respect". When my brother died at the age of 21, we sat Shiva. Everyone from the building and neighborhood and relatives came by for days on end. I remember feeling outrage at one particular young woman who had not been nice to him, and I remember basking in the love of my father's oldest friends. They made me feel like living. Whatever else it was, it was community looking after their own. The aunties came and cleaned the house, and food! In mine and many other cultures, food is love. I wish I could tell you what a box of fancy cookies from the bakery means. In Christian families one brings a casserole (hot dish) or pan of bars.

Then the official days of grieving are over, usually on the Sabbath, and for another month one wears a ribbon button with a slash. It means one is mourning a family member. I wore the one for Stuart like a badge of honor.

Years ago my husband and I did not so much as decide, but never joined a Temple or Church. We believed what we believed and for a time had a community of like thinkers. But for many years, community wise, I have been on my own. The advent of Facebook has brought me back in touch with many I have not seen in years and introduced me to many new friends who I appreciate though we have never met. They are real, but not physically present.

No one has cleaned my house, and the only cookies are a small box of Chips Ahoy that I bought myself. The boxes from Mom's apartment and various pieces of small furniture clutter the living room. When I get the motivation I will go through each and winnow out what should be kept. Tomorrow is Saturday and for the first Saturday in seven years I do not have to make arrangements for someone to visit my folks or take them out or visit myself.

I love my internet friends and far flung family, but oh, I wish you were here bringing me rainbow cookies from Nobby's.