"As they say, when the age is in, the wit is out." (Much Ado)

When you're almost 85 and you've recently lost your mobility--that is, your ability to walk very far without a cane and without pain, there isn't much you can do with your time. Well, perhaps there is for some people, but not for me. Before we went to Virginia on the auto-train a couple of months ago, I was taking pool therapy a couple of times a week. But now, I've lost my interest in that; I don't think it was helping me that much or quickly enough for me to return to it now. It's just too much to pack a bag, drive to the Y, wait for someone to wheel you to the pool because it's too far to walk there; then to get into a little room, take off and hang up your clothes, put on a bathing suit--and pool shoes; have a therapist walk you back and forth in the pool for 45 minutes and then wait for someone to wheel you back to the dressing room where you reverse the procedure you took when you first got there--only this time with the additional chore of drying yourself with a towel. It simply isn't worth the effort for this person. And golf is no longer part of the retirement equation--especially when you can't walk from the golf cart up a hill to the green, and then after three putts to bend down and take the ball out of the hole, when if you do bend that far you damage your back worse than it was when you first went to your orthopedist. And, too, you can't risk putting on your socks for the same reason. Fortunately, Rhoda has developed a lot of skill in doing that particular chore--whenever she's around to do it. Then, of course, a multitude of would be helpers advised that I go to the gym and lift weights. Well, I did "pump iron" for several years before I got down here, and I did look somewhat like Schwarzenegger. Didn't I say "somewhat"? Pumping iron, besides being boring is also not easy on a man's back, front, top, or bottom. So, I don't do that. How about bowling? Well I tried that when I was able to walk, but I always bowled my golf score. I threw more gutter balls than Ralph Nader got votes. I retired from bowling with a 73 average. About the only exercise I get is writing--and thanks to the computer for that. So, at 84, that's what I do--write. I've written my autobiography and I've published three books of blogs since I began writing them. I began before I really knew what a blog was. I still am not sure. Maybe they're all op-ed pieces. Maybe diary entries? Besides writing, I exercise by doing x-word puzzles--especially the Sunday Times and Washington Post puzzles. When I say I "do" them, I don't mean to imply that I finish them. At one time I could and did finish them, but now they are simply exercises for my brain and my memory. Also, there are fond memories of 5-mile walks, 8-mile runs, 80 laps in the pool, sex every night. (Did I say "every" night?), softball games, racquetball, and pinochle.

Well, I just realized that with the love letters I've been getting from former students and colleagues, there's one more thing I can do--teach. And so, I've decided to revive my course called "Fun With Shakespeare" and I will be teaching "Hamlet" starting in January in the Clubhouse TV Room. And should you not want to spring for the course fee, at least buy one of my books, so that I can feel that I'm making a contribution to society by helping to rebuild our economy.

"We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart." (Hamlet)

The dictionary defines "legacy" as "something received from an ancestor or predecessor from the past." I suppose that's me if I want my progeny to remember me. So, I must again take a "blogging" opportunity to document my "legacy" for the future generations of my family. To do so I will again write what I received from a student of mine from the class of 1964; a "student" who must now be 60+ I would imagine:

Dr. Ross introduced me to the love of my life--words. It was in his class that I discovered the pure sensual joy that using words can give, and the tremendous satisfaction of working with words to communicate precisely one's intent. In introducing us to poetry and teaching us to analyze a poem, I had my first experience in what became my profession which is psychoanalysis. Words were the tools by which the poet commucicated his or her unique emotional or perceptual reality, and it is by listening to a person's words that I can participate in that reality in my office. But it was in teaching me to use my mind that Dr. Ross made his greatest impact on me. I had never thought of myself as particularly bright or smart before meeting him. I got the feeling as his student that he "got" me, and it was this recognition and validation of my thinking and creativity that allowed me to see myself as a capable student, and I hold that awareness with me today. Thank you, Dr. Ross, for your discipline and humor, and for that special talent that only certain teachers have of imparting a love for learning. Barbara Mitchell Kolenda, Class of '64

Since one letter from a student does not a legacy make, here is one from the former North Shore H.S. psychologist:

As a young man, you repeatedly risked your life during World War II, and because of your sacrifice you enabled us to remain free. As a teacher, you mentored those free young souls, gracing them with the power and beauty of literature and wisdom far beyond what ordinary teachers have. As a father, your love and commitment to your children brought them through confused times and enabled each of them to make his or her chosen path in life. As a friend, you never let down those who were lucky enough to be counted among your many comrades. As a man, there are few who egual your rich and varied life, and there are none who surpass the sum total of your courage, your wisdom, your love and your loyalty. Knowing you has made us all better people, and has made this world a better place to inhabit. Ray Maccagli, School Psychologist, 1970-1972.

I realize that I am in a rare position late in my life to receive such endearing compliments written to and about me. It is most rewarding and satisfying to have been a teacher most of my days on this earth and to know that I have reached out and touched someone.

Coming of Age in the 21st Century

Last Saturday night I went to a Bat Mitzvah reception which was held in a very large room in a Temple. Actually, I never heard of a "Bat" Mitzvah which is held for a girl who has reached the age of 12. When I was a Bar Mitzvah, I don't recall any girls in my Hebrew class. But now, I have no idea when girls started to become Bat Mitzvah, not that it matters to me. Why shouldn't girls have the same rites and right as boys? Including a reception that is becoming more and more like a wedding? "Bar Mitzvah" literally means "son of the commandment." "Bar" is "son" in Aramaic, which used to be the vernacular of the Jewish people. "Mitzvah" is "commandment" in both Hebrew and Aramaic. "Bat" is daughter in Hebrew and Aramaic. (The Ashkenazic pronunciation is "bas"). Technically, the term refers to the child who is coming of age, and it is strictly correct to refer to someone as "becoming a bar (or bat) mitzvah." However, the term is more commonly used to refer to the coming of age ceremony itself, and you are more likely to hear that someone is "having a bar mitzvah."

The receptions that parents give their progeny these days are in the cost range of $50000 to $100,ooo range. And also these receptions have to have "themes". For a boy it could be sports, but for Chelsea on Saturday it was "Chelsea's Winter Wonderland." Often before dinner there is a "Cocktail Hour" when servers come around with trays filled with all kinds of hors doevres. Then if you want to fill up your plate with lots of food, there are tables covered with whatever you would like--chopped liver, fruit, potato pancakes, lox, --whatever. By the time you are invited to your table in the main dining room, you are fooded to the limit. When you enter the dining room you are greeted with a DJ or a band and a million decibel of music. The dance floor gets flooded with teenagers and adults jumping up and down as if they were in an aerobics class. Then comes the soup or salad and along about midnight I found on my plate a filet mignon that looked delicious but because of the cocktail hour food orgy, I couldn't eat it. Back in 1937 when I had my reception, it was in the apartment and everyone dined on deli sandwiches. In addition, the custom was for the bar mitzvah boy to write and read a speech. They don't do that any more. They just interrupt the dinner by having aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, grandparents, friends, and parents to come up to the stage and light a candle. What a bore!

"O God of battles! Steel my soldiers' hearts." (Henry V)

I am simply amazed that today I received a comment on a blog I wrote 15 months ago on August 26, 2007 called "Bad Dog, Bad Dog" ! It was from someone named Yolinda and she wrote, "You write very well". Now, I can't think of any four words nicer than that. The point is--what was she doing reading a blog I wrote that long ago? She's way behind. How did she get to it? Did she write the comment back then and it's just getting to my blogspot now? Are there really many people out there reading my blogs whom I don't know? Well, I don't think I'll find the answers to these questions. People writing comments don't usually leave their email addresses. But wherever she may be, I thank Yolinda for the compliment.

Today is Veterans Day, but I don't feel any different from any other day. There aren't' too many people around in my building--and most everywhere else-- who have any memories about WWII. Even if they are 70 years old, they were only 7 when WWII ended and only 4 when we got into it. So, when they meet a vet from WWII, they are probably wondering what he is still doing around. It's somewhat like someone who was 70 in 1934. How much would they care about the Civil War which ended in the year they were born or about vets who fought in it? Most Civil War vets were long gone in 1934 or in their 80s and 90s and getting around with a cane or a wheelchair. I don't remember honoring Civil War vets when I was 10 in '34. November 11 was called "Armistice Day" back then and referred naturally to the end of WWI. My father earned a Purple Heart in that war and I wonder if the American Legion still puts a flag by his grave on this day.

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on..." (The Tempest)

I make no claim to be a medical researcher or a lab technician or whoever is in charge of these things, but there really must be something to this DNA stuff besides a starring role on CSI and Law and Order. My son, Joel, has done a spectacular genealogy chart of our family which anyone interested can find on the internet, but genealogy charts do not do justice to the effect of DNA on members of the family. My mother's family, the Auslanders, appear to have inherited the talent DNA all the way down (so far) to her great grandchildren. My mother was for a time a night club singer and her sister, Bessie, was a very talented writer--never published, however. I was the first member of the family to have graduated from college, and while in retirement (the DNA is rather slow, I guess), I had the performing gene. In our condominium 600+ theater I had the leading role in several productions of Broadway shows such as PAJAMA GAME, MUSIC MAN, SHOWBOAT, FIDDLER ON THE ROOF, MY FAIR LADY, HMS PINAFORE, THE MIKADO, and PIRATES of PENZANCE. I could always sing, and I must have learned to act through years of teaching. I also inherited the writing gene having written and published my autobiography in MEMOIRS of a TAIL GUNNER and several books of blogs and poetry.

My mother's sister, Bessie had four children, one of whom had professional musical talent. My cousin, Eddie played drums with the KIRBY STONE FOUR, a group that opened Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas, made several albums, and had their own television show--black and white. Eddie is also now retired.

My sister's son, Jeffrey (known now as "Zaldor") has a great voice and music has been a part of his whole life, but unfortunately he has never capitalized on his talent. Of my mother's seven other grandchildren, three graduated college--my son, Joel and my daughter, Robin, and my sister's son, David. Shayne, my sister's granddaughter is a real talent--acting and singing. She is soon graduating from the prestigious high school, the Dreyfoos School of the Arts in West Palm Beach. Rhoda and I went to see her perform in FAME and she was brilliant. She also has the red hair gene, passed down from my father, to me, and to my sister's granddaughter. But the talent gene seems to have skipped a generation and went on a real tear with my mother's great grandchildren, Adam, Hannah, Sean, Shayne, Megan and her great niece, Michelle--all of whom are college graduates with the exception of Shayne who is just graduating from high school and Megan who graduated last June. Adam is the founder of a Graphic Designer company, Hannah is a fashion photographer (and red haired!) for a California magazine and she had a showing of her photos in London. Her father assures me that she has the performing gene but has desided that her career will be in back of the camera. Sean is a talented artist who has had two shows and who is now attending the California School of the Arts. Michelle, my second cousin is an Opera singer who has performed professionally and who now is teaching singing in FIU. Megan is going to a performing arts school in New York, and Shayne expects to follow her there. Next stop, Broadway? Hollywood? What more can I say? Well, I can say a lot more, but I'm already confused enough.