"I Win. You Lose"

                                               " I WIN. YOU LOSE "


"Does everything have to be a competition between you two!" I exclaimed,

 as we met for brunch at our local diner.
.
"Ma, competition is good, it's what makes out country great!" cried Steve and

 Debbie nodded in agreement.

So, America is great because these two kids of mine can't help but compete in

everything, big, small and in between? But at least they agreed on something,

I was grateful for that.

Steve was two years older than Debbie; the rivalry between them began when

they were in elementary school with board games such as checkers and Monopoly.

It kept them occupied when outdoor play was not an option and when his and her

friends were not available.But it wasn't just a 'game' between them, it was a contest,

a rivalry. And the rivalry went from that to their own imaginative contests, some of

which I was not too happy about!

But they weren't kids anymore, they each had their own kids now.

Today's contest was fairly simple and harmless; 'Which of us has the best,

I lost or broke my cell phone  story'.I heard it with relief, recalling some of

their earlier contests; years earlier...such as the day that I came home with two

gallons of ice cream (they were on sale) and Steve challenged Debbie to 'who

can eat the most'. So each took a container and dug in. I was busy upstairs and

didn't know about it until Debbie came up holding her stomach; "Oohh, I have

such a stomach ache" she moaned and filled me in with the details.

"But you know," I scolded, "we all know that Steve has a cast iron stomach,

nothing bothers him. How could you agree to it?" Then I pulled out that old

cliche: "If he challenged you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?"

"Huh... bridge?....Ma!" she moaned, too miserable to follow what I was

pointing out to her.

But one that I really hated was the one they dreamed up the winter that he

 was in High School and she in the 8th grade when both were sick with the flu.

 They called it 'The Sufferer Award'.

"I was achy, every inch of me," Debbie began, "it hurt just to sit there!"

"I hurt too..." he said. "And I had a high fever."

"So did I" said Debbie.

"One hundred and three....and a half?!"

"Well, maybe not that high, but I was sick to my stomach, couldn't eat, vomiting all day."

"I was in the bathroom all day too, diarrhea, that's worse."said Steve.

They then began a graphic description of both, the contest became; 'spewing

from which end of the body was more disgusting? '

"So, who thought this one up.?.."I asked them and the instant those words came

out of my mouth I regretted it.

"I did!" exclaimed Steve."Me! cried Debbie, in unison.

What have I done. set them up in competition in their mother's eyes?

" I know, you're both brilliant! You both have great ideas... but this is a

contest that neither of you should want to win, 'The Sufferer Award'.The

 'winner' is the 'loser'...so stop it!!"

As I rattled on, my voice,even to my own ears sounded a little hysterical.

They looked at each other and started to laugh," Ma, it's okay, this is fun for us"

said Debbie, calming me down.

Today's contest would be easy on me compared to that one and some of the

others over the years.

Steve spoke first, "I was walking down the street talking on the phone.When

I came to the corner I tripped over some trash, and the phone flew out of my

hand onto the sidewalk..."

"So, pick it up," interrupted his sister.

"...and bounced...into a sewer! Gone! I can see it down there but couldn't reach it."

"Ha!" said Debbie, good one, but mine beats it  So...my phone is in my jeans pocket,

I go to the bathroom, when I get up off the toilet the phone falls out of my pocket and

into the toilet..."

Steve was not impressed (and neither was I). "Put your hand in the toilet and take it out.

I couldn't reach into the sewer...but you...."

"Well, I...."

 "Or are you too dainty to do that? Just pick it up!"

"Well, yes, I started to...but the toilet had the automatic flush, it was gone before

I could get to it."

The image was too much, we all burst out laughing; and then I did something I never did,

"You win Debbie!"

Steve started to protest." But the sewer..."

"That was good but the toilet is better." I said.

Debbie was beaming.

"Steve wasn't happy, "Ma, you can't decide," he said.

"Yes, I can, I'm the mother!"

"Oh no! We decide!"

"What do you mean?" I asked,

"We talk it over... we negotiate.."

"Really? I didn't know that...how mature." I was truly impressed. a warm

 glow surged through me, a mother's pride; I bent over to give each one a kiss.

"But which one?" asked Steve with a frown.

"Which one ... what?"

"Which one of us is more mature?" asked Debbie.

OMG, I thought, this is a no win situation for me....I don't want to do this

...uh, uh. I picked up the menu, "Let's order " I said, thinking, I'll eat quickly

and then get out of here! I'll tell them that I have important errands...or anything!

Then I caught it! Debbie winked at Steve, Steve winked back at Debbie.

What in the world...? "You kids" I laughed, as I ordered my waffles smothered

with maple syrup.


                                                                 THE END

My Friend Ann, Wings and Wheels

                                              

I have a friend who has that well known ‘lust’… no not that one, the other one, the ’wanderlust’. 
She wanted to go everywhere, see everything, know everything.
After her divorce Ann started traveling with  Senior Tour groups. I met her in London on one of the trips; she had been to Venice, Rome, Israel, Amsterdam… and she loved every place she’d been.
And then she met someone that she liked. They began a relationship that was good in many ways. Except for one problem, my friend's friend (she thinks the word ‘boyfriend’ is such a silly word at her age!) didn’t like to travel. In fact, he felt it was a waste of time and money, and asked my friend often, “Why do you like to go away, what are you running away from?” She said, “I’m not running from anything, I just love to see new things, historical places… new cultures…
But he didn’t ‘get it’. “I don’t like it when you go away without me.”
“So come with me. We’ll travel together,it’ll be great!” She had seen couples traveling together and felt a little envious.
But he also hated to fly, or to be more honest about it, he was afraid. “If God meant for us to fly,” he said, “he would have given us wings.” She knew he wasn’t a religious man…was he a philosopher, a modern day prophet?  He’d  repeat it over and over and she tried to come up with a response to it.
“And did you?” I asked Ann over lunch.
She nodded, “I told him, ‘If God wanted us to drive he would have given us wheels instead of toes. That way we’d never have to get into our cars…. and look for parking spaces…. or hail a cab late at night… or wait for the bus…"
I laughed at the image she presented, “What did he say?"
"He said that I was mocking him. But then I told him, 'really it’s not a problem, I’ll go with my tour group … be back in 10 days.’
He shook his head, “No, uh, uh.” He kept shaking his head…“no.”
"I stared at him and waited,"  Ann continued.“ 'So, … you’ll come with me…?' I was confused."
“No… and I don’t want you to go either.”
“Anywhere?"
Silence.
“EVER?”
"He didn’t answer. We just stared at each other, waiting to see who’d blink first."
“Who did?” I asked Ann.
“Me. I just changed the subject, it wouldn’t have to come up anyway, not until the Spring.”
Ann and I changed our subject also.I thought; At what point do we decide that we will not be told  by anyone what we may or may not do?
For those afflicted with wanderlust, satisfaction comes in three stages, the first, obviously, actually being there, experiencing the sights, the smells, the sounds of the place. The second is reliving it with the stories, showing the photos, etc. AndI finally the planning stage is also a lot of fun.
But, unhappily, she couldn’t plan for her Spring trip with him. She was yearning to go to Athens and maybe a few days on one of the Greek islands. The more she researched it the more excited she became.
Her dilemma was complete.
For myself, I had a very definite opinion which I was not going to share with her… it was just too rude!
Over the winter months I wasn’t in touch with Ann, I was away out of town for a family wedding and then to a grandchild’s graduation. I didn’t feel comfortable calling her to ask her how the 'problem' with her 'friend' was resolved. When I got home we spoke, we‘d meet for lunch.
She looked happy and at ease.We hugged.
So how have you been...how's Bob?"
She shrugged, "Well, we'll see" she said. "I am taking a trip in a few weeks..."
"Oh! You 're going anyway..." I didn't need to continue, she knew what I was referring to.
"Yes, I realized that if God wanted me to sit on the couch for the rest of my life, he wouldn't have given me legs and even more, eyes and ears and a mind that wants to see and know the world.! That's exactly what I told him."
"And, what does he say to that?"
"Nothing...yet. I'm waiting."
"Will you be okay?" I asked.
"I'll be fine." She picked up the menu," Let's order, I'm famished.!"
                                    
                                                THE END



















































 

I Talk To The Trees

                                          

 'I talk to the trees...but they don't listen to me...I talk to the stars, but they never hear  me...'

Remember that song from the Broadway musical of the 60's, later made into a movie with Clint Eastwood? It was catchy but also kookie.but so was everything in the 60's)

  It was decades ago, or to be brutally honest..., a half century ago and although I am not talking to the trees I am talking to inanimate objects that used to be trees, such as the legs of my mahogany dining room table and chairs, my maple kitchen stools, oak book shelves...anything that I bump into on my way around the apartment.
  True, my conversation is one sided and always the same...an apology, " Oops, sorry!" Of course they don't answer me, they can't hear me, but if they could they'd probably say, "Be careful! Don't be in such a hurry! Watch where you're going...we like you, we don't want you to hurt yourself!"
    Sweet, but unlike them, my mirrors were not so at all. When our condo was built in the 70's the decorators came up with the brilliant idea of installing wall mirrors in every room floor to ceiling.
And it was alright at first; generally speaking my mirrors and I had a good relationship. It was obvious that they liked me, so I in turn liked them and kept them free of dust and grime so the images were clear and sharp.
But I noticed as I got older, things began to change...they didn't like me as much, in fact they were becoming downright hostile! And today, as I stared straight at them, each one was sending me a message, and not a very tactful one; " You look like something the cat dragged in. Pick up the phone, make an appointment for a haircut, touchup...just for starters!"
I knew they were right but I did not appreciate hearing it from them and in such a rude way.
  "Oh yeah," I answered, "I'll pick up the phone alright. Remember Al, my contractor? He'll be my first call tomorrow. Sooo, guys, you're all on notice...say Bye Bye."

       Part Two

"Ma, what did you do?" exclaimed Debbie when she walked into my apartment..She had been away for 3 weeks while I was having the work done.
I waved my arm around, "New wallpaper, brightens the room, doesn't it?"
"I can't believe it. You did all this in just a few weeks. But why did you take all the mirrors away?"
"Not all, I kept the one in the bathroom."
"But why?"
"Y'know, " I said, in my most casual manner, "I  got tired of them, wanted a new look."
" In such a rush! You never do anything that quickly." Her eyes narrowed with skepticism, boring a hole through my head, "Why" she asked again.
She knew me too well. "Come on, I put the tea on and I have those date and nut pastries that you love... tell me about your trip."
"It was great..." she began,"taking photos out of her bag,... "and your hair... you changed your style and color."
I flipped my head,"Like it?"
"Okay, what's going on?" she said, more to herself than to me.
 We had our tea and talked about her trip but she was clearly distracted and  just kept staring at me with a curious expression on her face.Suddenly she lit up," Mom, I get it! You're having a mid-life crisis!"
"More like three-fourths of a life crisis," I mumbled.
Debbie went on,  "The mirrors, new hair style and color... Mom," her tone was softer, "you're entitled..."
It was one of the nicest things she ever said to me.

                                  just                    THE END

Birthdays, Mine. Part 2

　
      PART 2                                      BIRTHDAYS, MINE


I've never been overly interested in my birthdays. They came, they went and I

was always glad when the day was over. Plus, as I got older,the fact that each

one advanced my age, made me even less thrilled with them. (Sure, I know,

‘it’s better than the alternative’ so please spare me that lecture). And, after I

passed the age of 49 I didn't want to tell my age... even lied once, unlike my

mother who never minded  telling, now at 95 still loves to. When my daughters

tell me that I should be more ‘mature’ like their Nana they’re probably right.

And they have always treated my birthday with more respect than I myself

did .When I hit that milestone of 70 years old they planned a large party for

me.The party took place at a lovely local restaurant in a private room decorated

with streamers, banners and balloons. The guests were my Mom, children,

grandchildren, siblings and some close friends. After a delicious lunch they all

 sang Happy Birthday to me, then stood one by one to wish me‘Many More’.

Then it was my turn to stand and a la Joan Rivers, to thank my children for

the party and to welcome the rest of the guests. I opened by saying that “70 is

now the new 60.” That got me some applause from my fellow seniors in the

room and, I noticed, some in their ‘60’s too, hoping they were they the 'new 50'?

I followed it with remarks about that hot fad… ‘bucket lists‘; the list of things you

want to do before you ’go’. With that I took out a long roll of paper and slowly

unrolled it, glancing as I did so at my daughter Debbie across the table. Her eyes,

wide with alarm, sending me a silent message…‘Ma.! No !’ She didn’t know that

the roll of paper was blank, except for 2 words on the top. I winked at her…and

I heard her say in a loud whisper, “It’s okay, she’s doing ‘schtick’ .”

I waved my hand, “But, not to worry.” I announced, I’ll only tell you ONE

of them“, and I read the only 2 words on the paper, OUTER SPACE.

“I’ve always been fascinated with going into outer space,” I told them, “ but

I felt afraid, it’s so BIG out there! However” I added, “now that I am

losing my ‘spatial sense’… you know, that part of your brain that shows

you how to back park…how to get close to the curb but not too close, and

especially how to judge your space from the car bumper in front of you

and the one behind you ? Well, that sense is gone.” There were nods from

some other seniors in the room, those that were still driving, that is.

“Also” I continued,” my sense of direction, which way is North, South, East

or West…? My left from my right…? not doing well either.

“But none of that matters… if I’m in SPACE! ” All I’d have to do is

look out the window to where they point, ‘Over there, that’s Earth…’ ”

As I rolled up the long roll of paper my granddaughter Natalie called out,

“Grandma, you could have been a stand-up comedian.”

“Too late now?” I asked.

Debbie was rolling her eyes.

“Could’a been worse…” I called to her, “could’a done a song ‘n dance”.

When it was over, and we said goodbye with hugs and kisses, Debbie

wrapped up a large piece of birthday cake, the part with my name on it, the

bouquet of flowers and the biggest balloon in the room, (it was actually

the size of a tire) and we put them into my car.

When I got home, because of the lovely April day most of my neighbors

were out on their patios. I took the cake and the flowers into the house, The

balloon with the number 70 in huge shiny silver and gold was on the back seat.

OK, I thought, I’ll carry it in with the numbers to the back. Oh no, my age was

on both sides. What should I do? I went inside to look for a bag to put the

balloon in but I didn’t have one large enough.

There was only one thing to do. “I’m sorry” I said to the balloon, (as it

occurred to me that more and more I was apologizing to inanimate objects,

chairs, coffee tables, etc.) Then with my car key I jabbed the balloon as

hard as I could, until, with a low pop the air came out of it. Then I took

the beautiful colorful flat object, tucked it under my arm and went

inside, waving to my neighbors with my free arm.

It had been a wonderful day, one that I wouldn’t forget. Many pictures were

taken, everyone with their cell phone, (I use mine only for calls.) They’d

turn them into snapshots that I’d put into my photo album for me to look at

and to remember.

But I learned later, it was all there not just for me in my lifetime, but for

anyone else’s…for Posterity! All those little cell phones at the party, weren’t

only taking pictures, but more… videos that could appear on You Tube.
.
SO, now my age was out there, shown on the cake, on the balloons...and my

stand-up comedy routine for better or worse would be out there too.

I groaned, why couldn’t I just have enjoyed my party, with my loved ones

around me and sat there with dignity for goodness sake!

Technology is wonderful in many ways…but.. it is forcing me to

give up my privacy and to be more mature about it.

But I don't have to like it!
                                                              THE END

  NOTE:
　
 I call  'MY SIDE OF THE SENIOR STREET',  FACTION BECAUSE IT IS A BLEND OF
 FACT AND FICTION.

Words

                        

                                       WORDS
                                                                          
The family had all arrived for Thanksgiving and were waiting in the living room until dinner was ready. I thought it was, until my daughter Debbie, my official ‘poultry inspector’ poked at the turkey, “Uh, uh” she said, “it needs more time.” A few years ago undercooked poultry sent some of us home with stomach aches and although it wasn’t serious it could have been and we certainly didn’t want to repeat it.
“It’s my fault!” I said,“I should have put the turkey into the oven much earlier.“ With that I let out a barrage of ‘spicy’ language…ignoring Debbie’s disapproving glare. “I’ll go in and tell them.” I said.
She followed me into the living room. “Hey everyone,” I announced, “it’ll be a while longer before we eat.”
“Oh no,” groaned 17 year old Neil, “I’m starving.”
“I know. I’m so angry at myself and trying not to use words that aren’t…well… nice.”
“You can use them Grandma, we don’t mind.” said Emily.
Debbie shot me a look that said, ‘I hope you’re not going to‘. I shot her a look right back, ‘Don’t worry,’ mine said, ‘I’m not going to corrupt your children…and anyway, they’re not ALL yours.’
My granddaughter Allison spoke up, “We heard some words yesterday that made us very happy… from our realtor. She told us; ‘They accepted your offer, the apartment is yours.!’ “ Everybody in the room applauded; Allison and Bill, with a baby due soon, badly needed a larger apartment.
Lenny stood up, “The best words I heard was at our last game, when I slid into home plate, and the umpire called ‘SAFE!’ We won the game and the series.”
He got a round of applause too.
"Okay,” I said, “Who’s next…Haley?”
Haley shook her head,“ Well, I didn’t hear the words yet from the college in Philadelphia. I’m waiting.”
"I heard words I didn’t want to hear from the dishwasher repairman,” said Debbie. ‘We’ll come over and look at the problem, not to fix it, just to look. The soonest we can come is a week from Thursday between 8 AM and 4PM.’ Can you believe that I have to wait all day for them?”
“Waiting is tough” laughed Allison, holding her stomach.
“I’ll tell you the words I DIDN’T like to hear, from the company I applied to for a job,” said Natalie, our recent college graduate. “ ‘We’re not hiring right now,’ they told me, ‘but we do have an internship open, if you’re interested.’ “Paid internship?” I asked them. ‘No, no pay.’ But I’ve been
an intern already, now I need a job.!”
Neil, our newest driver, raised his hand, “My turn. ‘You left your lights on overnight in your car. The battery is dead.’ “
The room exploded into groans, “Who hasn’t heard those words at least once,”
said my son-in-law Mel.
“The words I’d like to hear," said Emily “are, ‘Justin Beiber is coming to Long Island…to my school…and I have a ticket in the front row…and he wants a new girlfriend…”
Her cousins rocked with laughter, “In your dreams, Emily.”
“OK,” she said, “that didn’t happen…but it could. Or, how about, ‘Schools are closed, it’s a snow day.’ ”
"Do you know what words I like to say?" said Lenny, “I’ll have the corned beef on rye, fries on the side, a large Coke…apple pie…” That got an enthusiastic response from the roomful of hungry people.
“Ma, I know what you like to say,” said Debbie, “Your face lights up when you’re on the telephone. I don’t mean with just anyone… but when you say your favorite words, ‘I want to speak to your supervisor!’ ’Isn’t that right Ma?”
“Well,” I said, “somebody has to deal with those people, if you can ever get a living human being on the line!”
Debbie nodded, “We need someone like you to speak up for all of us!” she said and for that she got high fives from everyone and so did I !
“Okay “ I said,“ but what about those…3 little words?” I scanned the room, grandkids of 14 years of age, 17 ,19, 20 and up, the ages when we first fall in love!
“So, what about it…have you heard them or said them?” My question was met with giggles and blushes, but no responses.
“Ma, you’re embarrassing them!” said Debbie.
No, I had very carefully avoided looking at any one in particular.
Allison changed the subject; “What about you Nana? What words do you like the most?”
My mother, at 97 years of age, had hearing problems, so she would often catch only some of what was said in a crowded room. But not tonight; “Oh, that’s easy, 'I Love You,” she said, waving her arm around the room. “And the words that I say aloud every day are also three words, they are ‘Thank You God.’ ”
“I’ll second that Mom”, I said, and then with a signal from Debbie, I was able to announce the words; “Dinner is ready. Let’s eat!”
  THE END


　



　

　

　

　

　

Birthdays, Big Shot Grandma

                                   BIRTHDAYS, Big Shot Grandma
PART ONE                                        

Some people love their own birthdays, as children, young adults, adults and

finally seniors. They love to tell everyone when it’s their day, and to feel

 a warm glow inside about it.

But I’m not one of them. I have what I call ‘mixed feelings’ about my

birthdays. Happy, not happy, I’m mostly indifferent and because my

friends and family think I'm strange I am always glad when that day is

 over.

For me, the birthdays that I have treasured are those of my children and

especially my grandchildren. I loved the shopping for their presents from

the time they were just babies. No clothing from me… let the other

grandparents give them the pajamas, the overalls and even cute outfits

from The Baby Gap.

Uh, uh, I could be found in Toys R Us looking for dolls for the girls, the

soft cuddly ones to start with… later graduating to the Barbies, and of

course that most memorable Cabbage Patch doll when in the height of the

craze I was able to locate one, with the ‘adoption papers’ for my first

granddaughter.

For the boys, balls… and for both anything on wheels.

Wheels start early, by the age of 2 the boy is ready for the simplest

wooden train set which, of course, comes in a BIG BOX and has to be put

together while we’re at the party. So obviously my gift had to be brought in

with a lot of excitement, last. For all their birthday parties my gifts included

other things on wheels, wagons, scooters, tricycles, (with pink or shiny

silver streamers hanging from the handle bars), the cars, Barbies or fire

engines, and then of course for each their first two wheeler bicycle!

And because my gifts were always the BIGGEST they were kept hidden in

another room until after all the other presents in boxes were opened.

Then- mine was rolled in.

 But, as the years passed, 3 things converged that ended my rein as the ‘Big

Shot Grandma". The three, not necessarily in order were:

1) Suddenly (and belatedly?) I became aware that being the “Big Shot

Grandma’, while fun for me, maybe wasn’t so nice for the other grandparents

who were wonderful, warm and loving people.

2) About the same time the children already had all the ’wheels’ that were

out there (except for a real car which was never going to come from me).

3) And finally when I wasn’t looking, the TECH AGE sprung upon us,

even for very young children. The Toys R Us aisles were full of them

(starting at age 12- 24 months, for goodness sakes!). But I didn’t ‘get’ it.

And then as they became teenagers in a world so different than it was when

I was one, things such as an ‘I- POD’ with 1000 songs on it, became popular.

I didn’t 'get'  that either. I love music...but 1000 songs!

So, my dilemma was, for a grandchild’s birthday WHAT can I get her or

him? I thought about it and asked my children what they suggest and the

answer was simple. “ Ma, get them 'gift cards’ so they can buy anything

they want for themselves.” So there I was in CVS of all places, buying ‘gift

cards’ for each and every birthday as they came along. No fun for me at all!

And my gifts no longer came in a BIG BOX, nor were kept in another room

to be presented last or presented at all. My envelope just sat there on a table

with the other birthday cards.

The glory days of being the BIG SHOT GRANDMA were sadly over. 

I loved it while it lasted . When I confided it to my daughter, she said,

“ It’s okay, Ma, you’ll have the chance again when you’re a Great Grandma."

It was one of the nicest things she ever said to me.


                                                       THE END
My Side of the Senior Street: I call them: FACTION, a blend of FACT and FICTION
 

　

"Be Nice"

                                                 
                                               "Be Nice"
                                "It's nice to be nice"

       Part One

“Be nice”. We all grew up hearing those words from our Moms, Dads and

Grandparents. I remember when I was in the first grade and my mother,

in response to something I said, or did, scolded, “Be nice!”

“Why?” I asked.

And her answer (or non-answer) was “Well, because…it’s nice to be nice.”

I love and respect words, but ‘Nice’ is such an insipid word, like

watery soup, (yuk) or weak coffee.

But I do try to be nice; most recently at a concert at the Long Beach

Library. When I go to one of their programs I’ve learned to choose a seat

after many are already seated, so I could find one that has a clear view of

the stage…meaning of course not behind a big man.

My method usually works for me but that day just as the concert

was about to begin a woman came over to me and asked if I would

mind moving over one seat so she and her mother could sit together.

I said “OK” and learned only one minute into the show that my new seat

didn’t work too well for me. I couldn’t see the vocalist because a huge

platinum blond head (covering a small gray head?) blocked my view. I

had to twist my shoulder for that hour and as a result for the next few days I

had a crick in my neck. So I decided, no more ‘Mr. Nice Guy’.

Fast forward 3 weeks. Another great program at the library. As usual I

waited to choose a seat, found one with a clear view of the stage and

settled myself in anticipation. The lights went out and barely a minute

later it happened again, a young couple came up the aisle, the man

walked into my row and whispered to me. “ Ma’am, would you mind

moving up a seat so my friend and I could sit together?”

I was prepared, “ Sorry, no,” I shook my head, " no…I can’t…sorry”.

“Okay” he said. Crossing in front of me he took the seat to my right while

his friend…girlfriend? took the seat to my left.

The concert consisted of music from the Broadway musicals going back

decades...such as 'Bali Hai’ from South Pacific, and 'Shall We

Dance' from The King and I. Then, as a duet of  'If I Loved You' was

performed I felt movement from the seat on my right as the fellow

leaned forward across my air space to look at his girlfriend and she at

my left leaned forward across my air space to look at him.

Oh no, is this their song? It wasn't, it was followed by more love songs,

and more glances at each other across my line of vision.

I’ll kill myself, I thought, squirming uncomfortably in my seat, I am not

enjoying this concert at all! And then from the corner of my eye I could see

him mouthing some words to her. That’s it!!

I turned to Lover Boy, “Let’s switch seats” I said.

“No, no” he leaned back in his seat, “we’re fine, really.”

If you’re ‘fine’ I wanted to say, then cut it out, it's sweet how you  look

longingly at each other, but you’re invading my space, (as the young ones call

it). The concert will be over soon and then you can look, touch, get a room,

whatever, but not yet. I’m here!

I was glad when it was all over. But I was in a dilemma, which was

preferable, being ’nice’ but not seeing the stage well and getting a sore

neck or what happened today when I wasn’t ’nice’ but had a good view of

the stage? The answer was…neither one!

I do my best thinking while I’m driving. On my way home I wasn’t feeling

so good about the afternoon; the words that my mother said to me all those

years ago still rang in my head…‘It’s nice to be nice’. Sure, I like to as well

as anyone. And I love the idea of young love or old love for that matter.

While I waited for the red light to turn to green arrow it hit me, it was so

simple a child or a senior like myself, can see it; Rearrange my schedule, do

my errands after the concert so I can get to the Library earlier, much, much

earlier and get myself into an aisle seat. PROBLEM SOLVED!

                                             THE END

 




                                                     BE NICE
                                                  (but not too nice)

     Part 2

“Be nice” had a new twistd that happened the very next day at my

neighborhood Walgreens.

My mother is 98 years old and doing great. But she can no longer shop for

herself so I get her the things she needs. This time she needed some personal

items, and I did too. I got to the store early in the afternoon because I had

to pick up my 9 year old granddaughter from school, as I did every Monday.

My neighbor’s son Matt, (40ish) works at Walgreens and is …yes, I’ll say it, a

very nice guy. He gave me a friendly greeting when he saw me and asked

if I, (his senior citizen neighbor) needed his help. I didn’t, I knew the

store very well, having spent untold hours in it Also I didn’t feel that I

wanted to share mine and my mother’s personal business with him...

and then what?...explain which items were not for me but for my mother,

(at least not yet., but will someday if I am lucky!)

So with my... oh so nice and helpful neighbor accompanying me as we chatted
            
about our New York weather I passed by Aisle 7 where the pantiliners were.

We discussed the new boardwalk as I passed by Aisle 12 that held the denture

cream, passed the 'digestive aids' in Aisle 3, and the hearing aid batteries in Aisle 6

as we speculated about the new neighbor on the block. 

I couldn't shake him! On impulse I, (and he) went into the Housewares aisle,

I dropped a bottle of dish detergent into my cart, not happy because I

didn't need it and it wasn’t on sale yet. In the grocery aisle, I took a box of

Cheerios dropped it into my cart, again, not happy, not on sale. And then in

a flash of inspiration, I, (we) turned into the greeting card aisle and I, (we)

stopped in front of the Get Well cards. Thankfully, I didn’t need one at this

time but I had to get rid of him and the old saying came to mind; 'Don't ask

how someone is feeling unless you really want to know and have the time to

hear it'. It worked, a minute later he was gone, back to his work and I could

get  what I went in there for!

                                                   THE END





                                                  "Be Nice"
                                        ("er good)
Part 3

I got to Emily’s school a few minutes too late to get my usual parking spot right

in front;  I parked on the corner... but she wouldn’t see my car when she came out.

So I violated Rule # 1 and got out and stood by the door where the other mothers and

grandmothers waited for the children. And of course I had my explicit instructions

from Emily (and from all my grandchildren when they were that age;) “ Don’t wave

to me, don’t call me, I’ll look for you..., don't hug me or kiss me..."

I saw her right away as she walked out with her friend and though I couldn't make

out the words it was obvious that they were arguing They parted and Emily

looked on the street where my car usually was and then not seeing it glanced around

the crowd until she spotted me. I didn't get a wave or a hug or a kiss but I did get one

of her bright beautiful smiles.

When we got into the car I waited at least half a minute, "Wow, you girls were

really going at it...what made you so angry? She's your friend..."

"She's not! I don't like her anymore!"

"Oh, that's not...not ...nice." I said.

Emily gave me a long stare," You always say that Grandma."

"What?" I asked.

" Nice...not nice... be nice"

"Do I?" That word has bugged me all my life and I was passing it down the ages to

the next generation??

Not .... good.


                                                          THE END























　

　

































































　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　



　

　

　

　

　

THE CRANKY DAY

                                              THE CRANKY DAY

                                              “something in the air”

I call it The Cranky Day because everywhere I went all day everyone seemed cranky.

I first noticed it early in the morning; my neighbor, for the only time in the 10 years

that I've lived here, sat on his front porch and just stared into space. No "Good Morning"

with a wave as he usually did. I wondered what was the matter and hoped he was okay.

We were all going to Debbie for her summer barbeque. I was taking a fresh fruit salad

of watermelon and strawberries and I thought it would be nice to sprinkle shredded

coconut on the top. But before my stop at the supermarket I’d go for a haircut. I threw on  

pants and a tee shirt and ran out  (I’d get dressed later in my nicer outfit… ( a little nicer).

Joe, the receptionist, at the beauty parlor wasn’t his usual warm and friendly self. I

wondered why but didn’t feel that I should question him.

Diane, my hairdresser also seemed very tense. “Have a nice day,” she said,as I was

leaving. At least that’s what I thought she said, her words were listless and mumbled,

and I was hard of hearing.

When I called Debbie to see if she needed any last minute things, she, not the most

patient of people, sounded even less so today.

“Is something wrong?” I asked. “How are the children?”

“They’re FINE!” she answered in a belligerent tone. “Why do you ask?!”

“Uh, no reason…” I’ll see you all later.”

I wondered if it were ‘her time of the month' which would explain her curt tone.

When I did ask her once, she was ‘highly insulted’ by my question, interpreting it to

mean that if I thought that her emotions were‘hormonal’ that I wasn’t respecting her

true feelings. I actually considered the idea of somehow sneaking a look at her calendar

 to see what days were‘circled’ on it, and then if I could, try to keep my distance at that time.

At Stop And Shop I bought what I needed and got on a line. A customer

three places ahead of me at the register was very agitated and having words

with the cashier.

I turned to the woman behind me, she had an open, friendly face.

“Everyone is cranky today,” I said, “ do you notice?”

She nodded, “Oh yes. Mercury is in retrograde…”

“What is in what?! I asked.

“Merc- ur- y"” she repeated slowly and loudly, “is in ret- ro- grade.”

“What in the world does that mean?” I asked.

“It’s not in our world ” she said,” with a tone of disgust.

Because she was a total stranger I had no way of knowing if is she was

always so grouchy or was she today because of me or, well… Mercury?!!

A man on the line behind her joined in, “You’re wrong. Mercury in

retrograde affects machines, cars, appliances etc. Not people’s moods.” His

disgust with her was even stronger than hers was with me.

“ No, you’re wrong” she said, and with a huff she turned her cart around and

moved to another line.

At home I made the fruit salad, dressed quickly and left. At Debbie’s house I

went straight to the back patio, she was setting the table and my son-in-law

Paul was at the barbeque pit getting it ready.

“Oh, Ma, that looks good” she said, taking my fruit bowl. Then with a

double take at me, she said; “Why is your face green?”

“My face is green?” I said.

“Your eye shadow, it’s smeared all over…”

“Oh.” Maybe because I was rushing out, didn’t want to be late. Once, ten

years ago I was a little late to your house and I’m still hearing about it!
 
I could have said it, but I didn’t
.
As her delicious burgers were sizzling away on the grill, they all began to

come in. Neil, 17, didn’t want my hug, although he was usually okay with it.

“What’s going on with him?” I asked Debbie.

She shrugged, “They’re all kind of grumpy today.”

“Why, do you think?”

“It’s the heat!” exclaimed my granddaughter, Bonnie.

We were having a heat wave here in the northeast, today was one of those

hot, muggy, icky August days…and for Bonnie in her late months of

pregnancy, it had to be even more uncomfortable.

I greeted the other children,“ So are you all getting ready for the new

term?” Emily was entering high school and Haley was in her last year there.

Their unenthusiastic reaction gave me the idea that with summer almost

over maybe it wasn’t the best subject to bring up.

“And Haley is PMS ing,” Debbie, whispered to me.

I laughed inside, ‘That’s what I wondered about you’ I thought.

“That could be it!” said Bonnie, “why everyone is cranky…PMS.”

“But that doesn‘t explain the guys,” I said, “my neighbor, Joe at the beauty

parlor, the man at Stop and Shop, what’s their excuse?”

“Ha! Imagine… if they could have the babies!” said Bonnie.

“ No more population growth!” laughed Neil and Lenny.

My granddaughter Natalie who had just came into the house joined the

conversation at the table which was still focused on the subject at hand:

Why was everybody so cranky today? She was excited, “I think it’s

something in the water.”

“Why do you think that?” we all asked.

“Because everyone is carrying a bottle of water!”

I had noticed it too, definitely not a part of our pop culture when I was young.

“OR containers of coffee!” said Haley. So was caffeine the culprit? She was one

who saw everything through the lens of nutrition.

“And they’re all talking on their cells phones,” pointed out Charles.

“AHA! Cell phones! That’s it!“ I said, “All those microwaves, I never

trusted it.”

“Ma, you’re suspicious of all the new technology“ said Debbie, “or as you

call them, ‘the new machines’. Should we go back to smoke signals?”

“Oh no, I love it, especially e mailing. FYI! LOL! OMG! I use them a

lot… but can you show me how to get that ‘smiley face’?”

We talked more over the delicious barbeque, salads and dessert but the

question of the day was left unresolved… there were many clues, but no

SINGLE CLUE. Maybe it’s just something in the air we concluded.

On my way home as I passed by our town lake I stopped on a whim.

I felt in need of the calmness of the idyllic scene, swans gracefully

floating atop the blue water …graceful and serene.

Why aren’t we as serene as they are ? I asked myself.

They’re only birds, what do they have to worry about? I answered myself.

The other benches were filled with people, seemingly as entranced with the

scene as I was. My eyes were drawn to a young woman seated a few yards away.

I couldn’t help but stare at her. She felt my stare, stood up and walked over to me.

I smiled; “Hi”.

There was no smile or “Hi” in return. “ What is your address” she asked.

“My address? Why?” Did she want to invite me somewhere?

She flipped her head, “ So I can send you your eyeballs back!” she snapped,

and stomped away.

I froze, didn’t know whether to laugh or to .. …what? Breath in…breath

out…breath in. Of all the crankiness, grouchiness and grumpiness from

early that morning and all day, this one won the prize! (the booby prize?)

Was she carrying a container of coffee, a bottle of water, or a cell phone.?

I couldn’t see, she had walked away. Or  was it just something in the air?

“Have a nice day,” I called out.

Years ago John Denver sang, ‘Some Days are Diamonds, Some Days are

Stones…’ For some unknown reason today was a ‘day of stones’ for so

many. But it was almost over. We’ll all go to sleep and wake tomorrow to a

fresh start, a new day and hopefully a happier one.

                                                              THE END

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　







　

　

　

Call Me When You Get There

                        CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THERE

　

On my way home from seeing my mother in Brooklyn, I stopped by

Debbie’s house with the extra satchel that they needed for their weekend

trip. They were taking Lenny to look at colleges in Boston… about a four

hour drive. After a few minutes I hugged them all goodbye, “Call me when

you get there" I told Debbie, fully expecting her reaction.

She protested, “Ma, I don’t know what time we’ll get there. Could be much

later than we think…y’know, weekend traffic,” she began, “and the weather,

they’re predicting rain, could be flooding on the road…skidding…cars will

stall…poor visibility causes accidents … lots of problems…”

I couldn’t stop her, she went on and on listing every possible  disaster 

that might delay them.

“… sometimes when the brakes get wet” she continued, “they won’t work.”

“ I know , I know” I said, edging to the door. “Call me anyway, even if it’s

late.” I didn’t wait for her reply, I was going to have the last word!

A few minutes later at home, I checked my e mails. There were 4 of them

from Staples and Home Depot, which I deleted, and 2 unknown, which I

sent to my junk mail. Then I looked at my phone messages; there were three
from the same number, my mother’s. What was the matter? She was fine

when I left her only an hour or so ago. Worriedly I called her back, “What’s

wrong, what happened?!”

“Nothing happened. Why didn’t you call me when you got home?”
 
“Mom! I’m just here on L.I., you’re in Brooklyn, less than an hour

away …( if I’m lucky, I said to myself, very, very lucky,… that Belt

 

Parkway…!)“And I stopped off at Debbie’s just before they…….” I caught

 

myself, did my mother really need to know that Debbie and the family were

 

starting off on a long drive? Did it make sense that she as well as myself

 

would not be able to sleep until we heard from them? Kindness was my

 

motive… wasn’t it??

 

This is a custom in our family as well as in many others. I remember years

 

ago when we arrived at our destination we’d make the long distance call

 

‘person to person’ because you didn’t have to pay for it unless that person

 

got on the line. So you gave the ‘operator’ a fake name and the family

 

member at home understood; the message was,“We’re here, everything's fine."

 

For that matter, how far back does it go,... centuries...with smoke signals?

 

I had at least 4 hours before Debbie, Paul and Lenny would be in Boston, so

 

between checking in on the weather channels to track the coming storm and

 

the traffic report for any accidents reported along their route, I had plenty

 

of time to mull over our “call me when you get there” thing. I was annoyed

 

with my mother (her 98 years of age notwithstanding), Debbie was annoyed

 

with me, her son will be annoyed with her when he starts to drive.

 

What is this all about?

 

Some people have doctors or lawyers in their family… or plumbers, (they’re

 

the luckiest.) We don’t. But we do have a Social Psychologist, writers,

 

journalists and college students who are majoring in Anthropology,

 

Philosophy or Psychology.

 

And one grandson who is a world traveler, Charles. I could start with him.

 

Over the years he has lived in Japan, Brazil, Iceland; and is in Sweden at

 

the moment. I’ll ask him, “Do the Swedes also have the ‘Call me when you

 

get there’ family tradition?”

 

And to my psychologist grandson; Question: Why was Debbie always so

 

irritated with me when I asked her to ‘call me’? Is it so hard to make a

 

simple phone call? What does she really object to?

 

OR I could ask my other grandson, a college freshman, studying

 

Anthropology. What about  the aboriginal tribes and their smoke signals? What

 

were they saying to each other, ‘We just arrived, we‘re OK, don’t worry.”??

 

OR to my grandson Neil, college Philosophy student; “ Is a lie of

 

omission the same as an outright lie; for example, my not telling my 

 

mother that Debbie’s family were going on a long trip out of town?

 

OR my granddaughter who is a Psychology major? When my mother finds

 

out about Debbie’s drive to Boston will she ever trust me again? And as a

 

result will her phone calls to me increase. She did call me 3 times and I was

 

only an hour away.

 

AND what was the real reason I didn’t tell her? Was it because I was being

 

considerate or were my true motives selfish ones.? So I would not be

 

bothered with her phone calls to me?

 

I had a good five hours of thinking and not to be overly dramatic I was ‘in

 

the throes of a dilemma’ or ‘on the horns of a dilemma“? I’ll ask Natalie my

 

journalist grand-daughter which one is more appropriate.

 

Debbie and her family had left Long island at 7 -7:30PM. Allowing for

 

weekend traffic and weather I estimated that they should arrive in Boston

 

by midnight. Of course I couldn’t sleep until I got her call. Watching TV is

 

the way to do that but what to watch... no scary, horror or hospital stories, no

 

hurt children, lost dogs, uh uh!  What about that channel that tells about

 

Americans that are looking for rental apartments in Paris? Could be fun and 

stress free to watch, but after a few hours of it ( I'm Type A) I couldn't
 
wait! On a whim, I called Debbie’s cell phone…and she answered!

“Ma … oh…yeah, we’re here at the hotel, everything is fine.”

I did not ask her when they’d gotten there. I did not ask her why she didn’t

call me.Or " Did you forget?!" Uh, uh. 

But at that moment it struck me, the answer to my dilemma, and almost

everyone else’s dilemma;

The phrase “CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THERE” is OUTDATED!

 I will never have to utter those words  again!

Why do I have to wait for her to call me? I'll call her.
 
If she hasn't arrived at her destination I'll call her again, once, twice,or more

times if necessary until I reach her.

So a tradition of hundreds, maybe thousands of years is being overturned

with the new technology.

Cell phones, I love you.

　

                                                         THE END

Grist For The Mill

                                              GRIST FOR THE MILL


      We had just finished dinner and were starting in on dessert and I knew that with

      the many sugary things on the table I was risking my daughter's disapproval.

      "Ok " I announced, "let's go around the room and each one of you will tell us

      what's going on in your lives." This always proved interesting because my

      grandchildren ranged in age from thirteen to thirty, from Middle School

      to graduate school and out.

      "You  start" I said to Haley, only because she was seated at the corner of the

      table! I knew better than to do anything that might be construed as favoritism.

      " So you went to visit some colleges?"

      "Yes, we went to Philadelphia, I liked the University there, Mom and Dad liked it

      too so I'm applying to it .But I have to send them an essay"she added with a sigh.

      "What about?' I asked.

      She shrugged, " Anything I want.. I don't know what to write about!"

      Her cousin, ..., already in college, nodded, "That was a problem".

      "Wait a minute," I said, "you can write about anything at all? How can that be

      a 'problem'? There are so many ideas out there...so much 'grist for the mill'. "

      "You always say that Grandma," said 13 year old Emily, "what does it mean?"

      "'Grist For The Mill'? In other words, ideas in their raw form, like wheat in a

      field before it is harvested is the 'grist'. It is then ground in the mill into flour, that's

      the  'plot' for the story...which is then used to bake..." I started to point to the

      chocolate cookies, cought a glimpse of my daughter Debbie, and picked up a

      granola bar instead..."these". In fact, there is a Grist Mill Museum right here

      in town...let's all go tour it!" My enthusiasm was clearly not contagious but was

      met with blank stares and excuses." It'll be fun. An adventure" I added. That

      made it worse.

      Debbie laughed, "Ma, a museum is not an adventure. White water rafting is an

      adventure. Zip Lining is an adventure."

      I didn't appreciate her sarcasm,and what was she talking about anyway...I learned

      how to add a  lining with a zipper into a jacket in my sewing class.

      Emily didn't like her mother's tone either. She moved closer to me.

     "It's OK Grandma, I'll go with you to the Museum."

      Ah, I thought, How sweet she is and even sweeter to know that there is justice

      in the universe; that my daughter's will have to deal with that 'mother/daughter'

      thing as I...as we all did. It could go on for months... years.

      They told me what 'zip-lining' was...so, didn't Tarzan do that a hundred years

      ago? I thought it but didn't say it.

      "Back to my point" I said, "ideas for an essay or a story are everywhere. You all

      know that I belong to a writer's group...I have a million ideas for articles or

      stories." As soon as those words were out of my mouth I was sorry.

      "Read us one," said Lenny. A chorus of agreement went up.

      "Well, uh...I uh..."

      Debbie stared at me, "Yes Ma, how come you never read us anything you write?"

      It wasn't just that Debbie was suspicious by nature, it was that she knew me so

      well, knew that I loved to share with all of them what I thought was interesting.

       Her eyes narrowed, "How come?"

       I racked my brain, "Uh, well, they still need editing...rewriting..."

       "That's alright Grandma" said Natalie, "We don't care if it's not edited yet."

       "Well, some other time." I said brightly," Now let's make our sundaes, the ice

      cream is melting." That did it for now, I thought, but I knew it would come up again.

      While they were busy with dessert I went into the living room and from the top of the

       bookshelf  I took my yellow pad and on the page under the heading;"Story Ideas" I

       quickly scribbled the words ;"Family wants to hear my writings...what should I do.?"

       Debbie came into the room, " Come on in Ma, the teapot is whistling".

       She startled me, I dropped the pad.

       She stared at it, "What are you doing?" she asked.

       "Nothing...just making out my grocery list. My voice sounded weak.

       "Your grocery list! Now?" She bent down, picked up the pad and read aloud "'Story

        Ideas. Family wants to hear my writings. What should I do?' Ma!"

       Bonnie came in, "What's going on?" She looked at the pad her mother was

        holding, " ' Story Ideas' "she read aloud, "Family wants to hear my writings.' "

        She clapped her hands, "Hey Guys !Come on in" she called.  "Grandma is

        writing about US!"

        They all came running in, laughing, "Grandma, you're writing about us!?"

        "Don't call me Bon Bon, Grandma, I hate that name!" It stuck when her 2 year old

        brother used it.

       "Did you write about my Graduation ?' asked Emily, just out of Middle School.

      "And mine?" asked Charles, a recent college graduate.

       And how  I pitched our winning game?' yelled out Neil.

       "Come, we'll all talk inside, "I said, leading them back into the dining room.

       Debbie walked beside me, "I'm not comfortable about this Ma" she whispered

       through gritted teeth," using my children..."

       "They're not all yours, only three are yours!" I whispered back. Even as we

       spoke I was mentally recording what she was saying for future dialogue.

       "OK, everyone " I began, "Yes, I do write about you...and a lot of other things.

       For instance, have any of you noticed that when you buy something the "Have a

       nice day" is now "Have a great day"? And that most banks now have a bowl of

       lollypops for us... and by the way Capital One has the root beer flavored ones but

       run out of them first..."

       "Ma!" She knew I was stalling.

       " And, yes, I do get ideas from my family. I looked at each one," because you

       my dears are my inspiration." I hadn't wanted them to know, thought it would

      inhibit them just as though there was a camera rolling in the room.."But" I added,
 
      with a nod to Debbie, " I never use your real names."

      "Call me Selena!" cried Haley.

      They all burst out laughing; "She was Justin Beiber's girlfriend." explained

      Natalie, and he wrote a song about her."

      "Many songs are written about loved ones" I said," remember "Coal Miner's

       Daughter?" They didn't.

       "Bruce Springsteen wrote about his father" said Bonnie. "Taylor Swift wrote about

        her boyfriend; ' Dear John'."

        " I read that he was very angry at her for that!" said Debbie. " Some people don't

        like to be written about!"
    
        "Poems also" I said. "Elizabeth Barrett  Browning, 'How Do I Love

        Thee ' " I recited.

        " Let me count the ways..." continued Bonnie and Natalie in a chorus.          

        I promised them that I would read them one of my stories the next time we

        were together.

       The following day I received this e mail,' Grandma, I decided that my

       college essay will be; 'My Grandmother, A Million

   Ideas from Grist to Grain to Granola '. Love you! Haley

      
                                                      THE END
     
     
          

        



              


                 

Onion Soup With A Bun

                                  ONION SOUP WITH A BUN

It’s always a ’good’ day when I can spend time with my daughter, Debbie. Between

her home, husband, kids, job and any socializing she can squeeze into that

schedule, it didn‘t happen often enough.

But today was a day off for her so she had planned to shop for shoes to wear

with a dress she’d bought for a friend’s special occasion, and lunch with

me was on her calendar too. Nothing fancy, we’d meet at our local

diner for one of their Greek salads. I picked a table near a sunny window,

with a view of the entrance and waited for her.

As soon as I saw her I sensed that something was wrong. She seemed

distracted, upset. I waved to her and gave her a big smile, it got no response.

She sat down but barely looked at me.

The waitress came over, “Coffee?” she asked.

“Yes, decaf for me, Debbie?"

“No”

“Would you like to order?”

 “Yes, I think we’ll both have the Greek salad, right?” I asked Debbie.

No answer, she was looking down, “onion…bun…onion.” she mumbled.

“I can’t hear you,” I said, too loudly, “what did you want…onion soup…

with a bun…?”

“Did you go for your hearing test! ?” she said sharply. “You said you

were going to!”

It‘s true, I did plan to make an appointment, “Not yet… I will,” and I

thought, this is going to be one of those days.

“I’ll come back later,” said the waitress.

“So, let me see your shoes!” I said., faking enthusiasm. I looked for her

shopping bag, there wasn’t one.

“You left them in the car?” Could she tell that I couldn’t care less about her

new shoes… I just wanted to know what was wrong.

No answer.

It was deja vu, Debbie as a teenager giving me ‘The Silent Treatment’,

one of the best in her repertoire of ‘Treatments’. I used to tell her that she

ought to write a book;" How to’ books are always popular. Call it ‘How a

Teenage Girl Can Torture Her Mother’ and in smaller print, ‘while living at

home in her own sunny room, wonderful meals, nice clothes from The Gap."

It would have been a Best Seller. Her peers would buy it to get suggestions,

ie: when to ‘ roll your eyes’ and when not to and mine would buy it to learn

what our daughters were plotting. But happily, those years passed, we both

survived, she became a wonderful adult, wife and mother and my good

friend.

“ So tell me, what’s wrong?” I asked.

“I didn’t buy anything”.

“Why not?”

She looked me straight in the eye. “Nothing fit right!” she hissed.

 I was being accused of something…but what? My mind raced through all

my past ‘crimes'.

“Why not?” I asked again.

“Because I have what you have!”

“What?” I tossed my grey haired head, “My ravishing good looks? My

brilliant mind? What?!”

“Your bunion ” she whispered.

I cupped my ear, “ You’re mumbling again.” I said.

“ Bunion. B- U- N- I- O- N,” she spelled.

“Oh.” I sent a silent ‘thank you’ to the heavens. Then that was her crisis,

we could deal with it!

I motioned for the waitress, “ Never mind the onion soup with a bun. We’ll

both have the Greek Salad”.

It was all so familiar, her face, her words, I just couldn’t place it. If I had a

computer in my brain instead of a file of index cards I would know in a

second.

“The shoe salesman told me that it was genetic, that I inherited it from

you” she said.

And then I remembered. She was a pre-teen when the dentist told she would

need braces for a ‘bad bite’. He informed her that it was genetic; (Thank

You Dr Kaplan!) that she ‘inherited’ the condition from a parent,” and

since I needed braces as a child, I was the guilty party.

And here I was, ‘guilty’ again. I did have a bunion, that I inherited from

my mother. And that would my defense I thought (as I prepared my case)

because Debbie adored her Nana… as all her grandchildren did.

Whenever I was even slightly upset with my mother, they were angry and

took her side. In a funny way that pleased me, it meant that my

grandchildren would always take my side.

Didn’t it?!

"So," I said, hiding my …well, glee” But you know, don’t you, that Nana has

one too? “ I leaned forward for effect, “I got mine from her!!”

Oh, how I regretted not learning how to use my cell phone camera; to

capture the expression on her face; was it dismay?

“She does? Who did she get it from?”

I shrugged, “From her mother? Your Great-Grandma Sophie ? Let’s finish

our lunch and then we’ll call Nana from the car. And Honey, don’t worry,

we’ll go to an specialist and find out what can be done. There are many

options” I reassured her.

So we changed the subject, I wanted to hear about the children and she

liked to tell me about them, so between her sending and receiving texts

she reminded me that Emily’s dance recital was coming up, and that Matt

was going to pitch at this Sunday’s game. She was proud of them and I

was too.

When we got into my car I called my mother who at 97 is the ‘matriarch’

of the family. She still lived at home and was doing great. I had spoken to

her earlier in the day,“ Mom, it’s me again. Debbie and I just had lunch at

the Diner, we have a question to ask you.”

“Wait, I can’t hear you, let me check the batteries on my hearing aid.”

“Again with the batteries?” I muttered to myself, “Every day with the

batteries…?”

Debbie glared at me, I pretended not to notice.

“ OK, it’s better now.”

“ It‘s about your bunion, Mom. did Grandma have one too?”

No hesitation, “ Yes, remember, how she always wore those terry cloth

slippers in the house? She didn’t put her shoes on unless she was going

somewhere.”

I did remember.

“Ok” now, Mom what about her mother, your Grandmother Hannah” Do

you know if she had bunions…Debbie has one now. And” I added, dental

problems”

“My Grandmother Hannah? I never knew her, she stayed in the ‘old

country’ while her grownup children came to America. So sad, …she never

saw her children again… or met her grand-children…so sad….”

Sad, yes I thought, stay on subject. Meanwhile Debbie was receiving a text

 that clearly excited her, “Ma, my friend Joanie has a brilliant idea! We’ll ask

Great -Grandma Hannah!”

“Your Great Great” I corrected her. “But honey, she’s no longer with us,

in fact she was never with us. She lived and died in the 'old country'."

“Well, I know that!” She was insulted “But Joanie says we can contact her

through John Edwards, y’know from TV.? He’ll ask her if she had a bunio

“Hold on. Joanie thinks we can talk to Great Great Grandma on the other

side and ask her if she had a bunion…” ? I liked Joanie, her mother and I

went to school together. “And while we’re there why don’t we ask her

about her teeth …and her recipe for stuffed grape leaves…but in

what language? They spoke French, not English. Hmmm, do they have

interpreters on the Other Side??”

“You‘re making fun.”she said and with a sour look got out of my car and into hers.

As I drove home I mentally constructed our family tree as I knew it, not a

good idea if you’re the one at the wheel (as the driver in the car behind me

let me know loudly and graphically).

There were two calls waiting for me at home. One was from my mother;

“I just spoke to your Aunt Pauline” she said “ about bunions and bad bites.

She has both and so does your cousin Eddie.”

The other call was from Debbie; she was breathless, “ Ma, I just got three

e mails, from Cousin Mabel, Cousin Ruth and Uncle Joe, and more coming

in now. They’re all reporting in on Nana’s question.”

“And…?” I asked

“Some had bunions, but no bad bites, some needed braces but didn’t have

bunions and cousin Jake bunions and braces…I’ll get back to you!”

She was getting the e mails and I was getting the phone calls. My mother

started a family survey to match American Idol.

The messages were coming in from family here in New York and all

around the country; from New Jersey, Connecticut, Massachusetts,

Maryland, Georgia, Florida and as far as Texas and California.

Debbie was excited “We’re starting a Club, called ‘THE B and B’s,

Bunions and Braces’ from age 9 to 99. We’ll e mail each other, text,

‘friend’ each other on Face Book, Skype, send pictures…all about feet and

teeth and everything!”

So Debbie’s day that began unhappily ended with an exciting discovery of

new cousins, new friends and stories to share.

                                                  THE END