"I am not a teacher: Only a fellow traveller of whom you asked the way" (George Bernard Shaw)

When I was coaching track and field at North Shore H.S. I had a young man on my team who ran the 100 and 220 yd. dashes, and the last leg on our championship mile relay team. His father was my doctor, but that fact in no way affected the magic of my relationship with Bob Marsden, a champion in every possible way and in any arena. And recently we have been in touch through e-mails. After Bob graduated in 1968, I don't remember ever seeing him again. Among other messages, the following is one that gave me the great satisfaction as a former teacher and athletic coach. Bob has been reading my "Memoirs of a Tail Gunner" and apparently has reached the description of my 80th birthday celebration. However, it was not at my birthday that I received remembrances from former colleagues and students. It was at a "tribute" part;y held in Glen Cove some time later that had been arranged by Debbie (Benson) French, a student I always loved. And I copy Bob's e-mail to me:

"Reading "Memoirs" today and it is winding down...the 80th birthday celebration, February 27, 2004 which I was not able to attend due to (another)financial melt-down that was all too common in the Marsden-Randall household as we too, were winding down. I recall the event as Debbie (Benson) French (daughter-in-law of Principal John French) sent out letters of petition to those dear to Doc to please send in some accolades of remembrance. That I did. As I'm reading these tributes from a booklet at that party from colleagues and from "real" students who actually had the tracked-intelligence and privilege to be in Doc's classes. I had a fleeting moment of thought that perhaps I just might make the cut. And then, there it was. Quite an honor to be among the roll-call of those closest to Doc's heart...to find that perhaps in one small way I am part of his legions in memory, and of merit lending worth to one's life. Damn...humbled am i, Doc--"

Speaking of being humbled, I simply cannot avoid that emotion myself in light of the fact that "Flash" (as I like to call him) can still remember the bond we established in several track seasons, and that he still feels the way he does about his old mentor and coach. I have no shame in admitting that I relish these kinds of letters that I receive from former students who now are in their 50s or 60s and who remember me as they do, and feel for me as they do. After all, as a perk to the kind of salaries teachers receive, there remains the satisfaction that somehow you have set a spark in the lives of your students. That's what teaching is all about. And that's the truth.

"I am not a teacher: Only a fellow traveller of whom you asked the way." (George Bernard Shaw)

When I was coaching track and field at North Shore H.S. I had a young man on my time who ran the 100 and 220 yard dashes, and the last leg on our championship mile relay team. His father was my doctor, but that fact in no way affected the magic of my relationship with Bob Marsden, a champion in every possible way or arena. And recently we have been in touch through e-mails. After Bob graduated in 1968, I don't remember ever seeing him again. Among others, the following is one that gave me the most satisfaction as a former teacher and athletic coach, and also as a writer. Bob has been reading my "Memoirs of a Tail Gunner" and apparently has reached the description of my 80th Birthday celebration. However, it was not at my 80th Birthday that I received remembrances from former colleagues and students. It was at a Tribute party held in Glen Cove some time later that had been arranged by Debbie (Benson) French, a student I always adore.

Reading “Memoirs of a…Tailgunner” today and it is winding down…the 80th birthday celebration, February 27, 2004 which I was not able to attend due to (another) financial melt-down that was all too common in the Marsden-Randall household as we too, were winding down. I recall the event as Debbie (French) Benson (I think, daughter of Dr. French, our Principal) sent out letters of petition to those dear to Doc to please send in some accolades of remembrance. That I did and ironically, I think I just sent it out to you all. As I’m reading these tributes from colleagues of faculty…from “real” students who actually had the tracked-intelligence and privilege to be in Docs’ classes I had a fleeting moment of thought that perhaps I just might make the cut. And then, there it was. Quite an honor to be among the roll-call of those closest to Docs’ heart…to find that perhaps in one small way I am part of his legions in memory, and of merit lending worth to ones’ life. Damn…humbled am I Doc -

Speaking of being humbled, I simply cannot avoid that emotion myself in light of the fact that "Flash" (as I like to call him) can still remember the bond we established in several track seasons and that he still feels the way he does about his old mentor and coach. I have no shame in admitting that I relish these kinds of letters I receive from former students who now are in their 50s or 60s and who remember me as they do, and feel for me as they do. After all, as a perk to the kind of salaries teachers receive, there remains the satisfaction that somehow you have set a spark in the lives of your students. That's what teaching is all about. And that's the truth.

Son Joel sent me an e-mail today of three videos I never saw before. I must have been out to dinner or somewhere not in front of the TV set. They are attachments to youtube where you can watch the videos. I copied the links and I'll paste them here hoping you can succeed in accessing them!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJ8M_Vglbw0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHbWyCBBkC4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvpMRMSUIGs

"Put money in thy purse." (Iago in "Othello")

February 8, 2009

In June, 1982, I was told by--I don't remember whom...several people--that I would need less money to live on when I retired than I would while working. Not only that, but the "Bored" of Education offered me $10,000 dollars to get rid of me and the high salary I was costing them so they could hire someone to replace me for about half the amount I was earning. Just as it happens in baseball these days. A team trades a player making $20,000,000,000 a year so they can replace him for someone they contract for $100,000 a year. I was gullible because I never heard of $10,000 before, let alone owning that much cash at one clip. I could use it to get rid of my debts, sell the house, get out of town, and live on my pension of $21,000 a year for the rest of my life. $10,000 was beyond my comprehension and wildest dreams. Consequently, I didn't hesitate, and informed the Bored that I would retire--and I, therefore, collected my ten grand, and while salivating I wondered if it would pay for me to go to Roosevelt Field and run it up at the trotting races? Well, I, wise beyond my years, decided against that because if I lost any of it, I would take hemlock without hesitation. Anyway, to get on with this too long story, the person or persons who told me that I would have a ball in retirement living on practically nothing were out of their minds. They were blatant prevaricators, or else they were idiots. Not idiot savants--but just plain ordinary idiots. You really need at least twice as much retired as you do when you are working and bringing up the family.

And why is this? You might ask. Well, first of all, when you leave town for Florida, let's say, you have to take out a 30 year mortgage to buy your condo which by this time costs you five times as much as it did to buy your big house on Dogwood Ave. in 1956. When the salesman told me how much the down payment was, I broke out in a hot sweat (remember, this was Florida), but succumbed to his sales pitch because the community had a clubhouse with all the amenities I could possibly enjoy--a weight room, a ballroom, a poolroom, tennis courts, a golf course, an indoor swimming pool, a 600 seat theatre, an outdoor pool near my building, a sauna, a jacuzzi, a hot tub, racquet ball courts, and etc. How could I resist such a mesmerizing opportunity? Instead of retirement, I thought I had somehow died and went to heaven. So, I bought the condo. Since it was a very new community, (only four buildings existed,) very few people had moved in--but still the lure was the clubhouse. I went there almost every day to swim all alone 80 laps in the pool. I pumped iron, I played golf, I played raquet ball (alone), I shot pool. All this in my very own clubhouse! No one else appeared there until several months later.

Let me continue with this story about the falsification foisted on a foolish fellow. In retirement, you need more cash than you do while working because you go out to dinner at least three or four times a week. If you are married and the spouse is also retired, the oven becomes a place for potted plants. Then of course there are the vacations--to Europe, to Asia, to China, to Australia, to Hawaii and wherever there is money to be ripped from your wallet. Each December often is the time to go on Caribbean cruises to enrich Carnival, Holland American, Royal Caribbean, and various other cruise lines. Now, lately, there has been a plethora of casinos opening up in Condoland. Several are run by Seminoles and several by the state. Each, however, has the lure of gambling--poker, black jack, Texas Hold'em, and slot machines galore. Of course, you don't want to lose your pension on these things, so you opt for your social security check instead--which means that at the end of the month you eat in Wendy's.

The lesson to be learned from all of this if you are still in the work force is as Romeo pleads with the apothecary, "Hold, there is forty ducats, let me have a dram of poison."

"Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were." (Lord Byron)

I just got back from teaching the fifth session of my "Fun With Shakespeare" class where we are reading and discussing Hamlet. The class is being held in our clubhouse on Fridays from 3pm to 4:30pm. I believe it will take two or three more sessions to finish the play. Yes, I did retire--from North Shore H.S.--but not from teaching. I few years ago I stopped teaching this class after have read several plays over the years since I've been here--Pater Noster in Condoland--but I haven't held a class for several years until now. Just had the urge to teach Hamlet since we're so much alike. But after our last class, I'm really going to retire from teaching because I'm exhausted for hours after coming back to the apartment. I certainly didn't expect this reaction to happen. I used to teach five classes in school with no sweat. Now, after an hour and a half I am sweating as though I've taken some laps in the pool! I've discovered that teaching is damn hard. I'm not going to do it anymore.

My teaching ability is not the only thing that's changed in twenty-five years. I used to be lean and trim, and running 26 miles was a piece of cake. When I was 57, I weighed about 157 pounds and swam 80 laps (one mile) in the pool every day. Now I'm terrified about standing on a scale. At the doctor's office, when the nurse asks me to stand on the scale, I feel like giving her a whack aside the head--of course, I don't put that into action because I'm civilized. Because I don't get a whole lot of exercise these days, when I observe my body that once was "lean and trim", my gorge rises at it. I will probably never go to the pool or ocean again. I haven't been there for twenty years, anyway. Besides my teaching career being over, so is my acting career. I don't get around much anymore. (Sounds like the song I once knew in my heyday..."Missed the Saturday dance; might have gone but what for...awfully different without you...etc.) Whose song was that, anyway? Lena Horne? Billie Holliday? Groucho Marx?

A President who admits a mistake? Isn't there a rule against that? Is it an impeachable offense? Henny Penny, the sky is falling!

"Arguments out of a pretty mouth are unanswerable." (Addison)

Well, Rhoda's two birthday "parties" are over for this year, anyway. Last Friday we went to dinner with the "East Meadow" gang (our neighbors from the year 1) at Sal's Ristorante. I had made reservations for 9 at a round table; seven people showed up and we had to look at two empty chairs and settings for the rest of the night because one couple never showed up. Rho tried to reach them on their home phone and their cell phone without success. So, it kind of put a slight damper on the evening. Ultimately, contact was made with them, and part of their excuse was that "we forgot," along with other matter that was not acceptable. I was embarrassed by their absence because we didn't need the table we were given as it turned out. Then on Groundhog Day, Mon. Feb. 2, Rhoda's actual birthday, we had dinner with the "building+gang" at Snapper's sea food culinary extravaganza with a table of twelve. A grand evening was had by all (Dutch treat and no gifts). So much for the birthday (which generally comes around once a year).

Now for our condo which currently is non-sterile owing to the fact that we are having both our main bath and the guest bath gutted and "modernized". The modernization operation is Rhoda's idea. I felt perfectly at home with the bathrooms as they have been for upwards of 25 years--I had just gotten used to the height of the commodes, and finally figured out the best means of getting off of them. Now, there are two humongous cartons in our living room containing two new toilets--one for each bathroom. We don't have room for a his and hers in our bedroom bath. But, the weird story is that we at first had gone with the contractor to Home Depot and picked out two white toilets, but when the day rolled around, the lady of the house decided that we needed to have two biscs? (beige) ones. So, we went to Lowe's and bought two beige ones that were about $200 cheaper than the ones from Home Depot. So, that night, Tom--the worker--brought the white ones back and then picked up the bisc ones at Loew's and deposited them in our living room! The main bathroom is just about finished with new tiles for the shower wall, the shower floor, and the bathroom floor. There is also a new cabinet and the wallpaper has been scraped from the wall, and just about ready to be painted. Rhoda doesn't like wallpaper. I do. I may secretly get up one night and shmear the walls with paper. Next job? The guest bathroom. Hopefully, the toilets will find an appropriate location. I really wanted to try them out in the stores, but was told it wasn't allowed. I couldn't understand that. You're allowed to test drive a car before you buy it. What's the difference?

"What millions died--that Caesar might be great!"

A student from Sea Cliff High School's class of '57, Wallace Kaufman, has gotten in touch with me through an e-mail. Wallace informed me that he was doing a history of his class, and asked if I would respond to some questions. Of course I told him that I would be delighted to answer some questions as long as they were not too difficult. I imagined that he would want to inform members of his graduating class that Dr. Ross was still alive, living in Florida and spending his hours writing gazillions of blogs once I found out what they were. I did send him an attachment of a Boca Raton News article that spoke of the military awards I received belatedly from the Navy...mainly the 10 Air Medals and the two Distinguished Flying Crosses. Part of his response follows:

"Thanks, Doc. I will make good use of the article. And congratulations. We are both old enough now to be frank. First, I admit that I'm given too excess sentimentality at times. Which leads to the next sentiment--that I am sad that we knew nothing of your pre-Sea Cliff life when you stormed into Sea Cliff School and became part of it in the mid 50s. One class member I sent to your blog has asked why not, why didn't we know? Some reasons are obvious, but the fact is we knew almost nothing about any of our teacher's prior lives or personal lives other than where they went to college. Was it school policy that there be a wall between students and teachers' personal lives? ... I know that many veterans feel it is akin to boasting to talk of their service, and others would rather not remember the dangers, the fears, the others who suffered and died. In any case, knowing more about the service given by our teachers might have had some small but important influence on our understanding of military service as well as the character of our teachers. Whatever the case, a very belated and sincere thanks for what you did."

Now, I will not speak for every veteran or teacher, but I think it was a mistake not to discuss the war experience with our classes. Out of such discussions I believe would have come more first hand knowledge of what the war was like and about, accompanied by more respect for the teacher. I don't believe a veteran's discussing his experience would be boasting; and I'm sure it was not the reason for failure to communicate that experience to the kids. I think Wallace was right when he said perhaps it was the case that their teacher would rather not remember his (or her) fears and horrors by dredging it up in the classroom. In my own case, the war was still too close in my memory. I tried with great difficulty to forget it and to press on with my life. My brain was still littered with scorpions...and to this day I still mourn for my buddies who did not return. This failure to reveal one's war experiences in the classroom was not due to any "school policy" nor was there any real "wall". It was just the way it was and will always be.

" 'Tis neither here nor there."

Well now, a new record has been set. The blog I wrote yesterday has 11 comments and two by Deborah French because I liked it so much. Then there is a comment by someone named "Taconia". I don't know who that is, but I suspect it is a former student from the class of 1957. I love that class. It was the first that I taught in Sea Cliff. Perhaps Taconia will email me and reveal her/him self forthwith.

There also has been some comments about my use of the tilde as "the little curvy thing." I will rename that umlaut "the little curvy thing" instead of "tilde". It is much more colorful and easier to memorize. I don't know who named it the "tilde"; it doesn't make any sense. If the Spanish want to use the word "ano", (which means anus or ass) to also mean "year" by using a little curvy thing over the "n" instead of just using a different word then I fail to understand the reasoning and motivation about that practice. I also find it objectionable to name a planet "Uranus".

Tonight we went out to Sal's Italian Restaurant to celebrate Rhoda's birthday. Our friends from East Meadow were all invited including my sister and brother-in-law. One couple we invited never showed up because they forgot about it. That should never have happened. It did cause a little disappointment. However, if you're elderly you have a tendency to forget events that are important, as well as other matters. It is written.

"Now is the Winter of our discontent." (Richard III)

I really don't know where to begin. My head is filled with miscellaneous items swimming around in my brain--which I hope, at my age, is still viable enough to cast these in some kind of order onto this blog. Ironically and unhappily, the first topic has now birthed and unfortunately it is about death; John French, the principal of North Shore H.S. has died and I was sorry to get that news from Debbie (Benson) French, his daughter-in-law. John and I were friendly activists for the 30 years I taught at his school. He was a fine educator and administrator, and his leadership was laudable. He will be missed. Debbie is one of my most favorite students; she was and is as bright as a button on a sailor's coat (and where did that metaphor come from?) It's a mutual love affair--as far as love goes between teacher and pupil. Fortunately, Debbie is not the only former student that has popped up in my e-mail; there is Bob Marsden, Betsy Krumrine, Carol Schutzman, Ellen Bliss, Nancy Leo, Bob Perry, Wendy Martin, Alan Levine, Magda Machado--and I could go on. All this happens because of the computer--or it would not happen at all. I love to hear from these people, most of whom are now in their 50s and 60s, and who remembers any of their high school teachers enough to stay in touch with them? These students have wonderful things to say about me, and how gratifying is that after 30 years in the classroom?

And now, sadly, another downside topic has come to this page--the economy. I know there is enough about it in the media, but some of it is quite personal with me. Everything about the economy in this country reeks of--not "recession" but depression. I can clearly remember the situation in the 20s when millions of people were out of work, where homes were being lost, where lifetime savings were disappearing in the market, where homelessness was growing exponentially. I remember disheveled men and women selling apples for a dime on the street, and the concomitant lyric "Brother, can you spare a dime?" I remember how humiliated I felt when the mayor of Miami stopped at our door on Thanksgiving Day one year with a donated turkey. It was then that I realized how poor we really were. And I was eight or nine. In our paper today there was a picture of a homeless man and woman seated on a bench waiting for their turn to take a shower in a church. This was not a pretty picture and served to make me--and certainly others--thankful for what we have and what we are.

Strangely, it seems that only depressing things are coming out of my grey matter, and I'm sorry and apologize for that; but what can I do? I have been feeling ill the last couple of days because of the constant pain I'm feeling from my fractured rib and sore knee. I'm taking pain pills for it, but it doesn't seem to help very much. As a result of a bone density test my internist prescribed Caltrate D, an over the counter pill that supposedly helps to prevent osteoporosis. Rhoda picked up a bottle of that medication and when I saw the pill, I balked like a stallion in panic--the pill was huge and I knew I'd have a problem swallowing the thing, so I told Rhoda that I was not going to take any more pills. I'm over medicated as it is. Every time I come up with another illness, disease, or accident I get another pill prescribed. Rhoda says that I am a "disaster ready to happen." I am tending not to doubt that.

January 2009 saw the election of an exciting new president and February will see two birthdays--Rhoda's on the second (Groundhog Day) and mine on the 27th. If my mother had waited two more days I would have birthdays on Leap Years, and I would only be about 25 now instead of 85! What a nice thought to end this blog with--er, with which to end this blog. Felice año nuevo, and Vaya con Dios.

Toilet Tree

I am gabberflasted! The bathroom in our bedroom has been gutted by a guy named "Lautenslager" if you can believe that. You can't peepee in there anymore because he kidnapped our toilet. You can't brush your teeth because the sink has disappeared. The pretty blue wallpaper has been harshly dealt with. You can't take a shower because he purloined the doors so that you could be seen naked by anyone passing by--that is, if there was any showerhead or water to take a shower with,,,er, with which to take a shower. The walls, devoid of paper have holes in them. Our bathroom now is just a hut without any furniture or decorations. All this because Lautenslager decimated it and then had the nerve to demand threeeee thousand dollars! I wish I could say that this is the end of the noise and the madness, but not so. The bathroom in the den will be next to suffer the same fate--Armageddon. So now I suppose the result of all this will be trips to Home Depot, Lowes, and Bed Bath and Beyond to find replacements for our losses--a brand new toilet, a shiny new sunken sink, medicine cabinets with lots of drawers. We will need lots of drawers, I suppose, because for some reason we have collected five jars of Vaseline, two bottles of hydrogen peroxide, several tubes of neosporin, four bottles of shaving lotion, and numerous other condiments that we will have no use for. I did feel really bad about losing the toilet; I mentioned to Rh+ that it really should be donated to some charity rather than finding its way to the city dump. So what if it was 25 years old? A new toilet will serve the same function as the old one. I am opposed to treating elderly things as if they no longer have any usefulness. I may even form a protest group to carry signs in the street protesting the toilet tissue--issue, I mean. It will be interesting to see how this situation in our bathroom will be resolved.

"How are the mighty fallen!" (II Samuel I)

One of the losses I have encountered is being able to dance. A few weeks ago I saw the movie, "Mama Mia" and then last night in the clubhouse I saw a group calling themselves "Adbacadabra" and their whole performance was music from ABBA and it was smashing! Once they started to play and sing "Dancing Queen" the urge to dance shook my whole body, and at that point I realized that I could no longer dance at affairs like Bar Mitzvahs and weddings, nor anywhere else. This hadn't occurred to me until then. I recalled my younger years--my teenage years when I danced to the music of Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, and Vaughn Monroe. It so happens that I was the best "lindy hopper" in my club. Bernie Masef was pretty close. All of our gang could swing with the best of them. All the girls were great dancers as well, and I did win a couple of lindy hop contests. When I met my ex, Thelma, we were a great dance couple, and fortunately Rhoda is also a terrific dancer--although she was not from the lindy hop generation. She was from the "Hustle" generation, and we were some kind of hustlers when the time came for us to get on the dance floor! But the hustle and the lindy were not the only dances we could do. We also did the tango, the rumba, and the Cha Cha--among some others. But the dancing days are over, unfortunately. Aging is a time for losses. Wherever I am, if I hear dance music, whatever table I'm sitting at, I'll bang on it--in rhythm and also a bit in anger. I don't like losing.

"...slings and arrows" (Shakespeare)

Make sure you don't stop taking any medication "cold turkey." I did without knowing it and all I wanted to do is sleep. I was getting stinging pains in my leg while trying to get to sleep. I didn't feel like eating anything for three days, and I did not want to say a word to anyone. Unfortunately we had a dinner date with friends Phyliss and Herb, so we went to Ben's Kosher deli. I ordered some corned beef and pastrami on a plate with some stuffed derma and french fries. I tried eating a little of it, but couldn't finish my plate; so we put it in a box and took it home. Rho wanted to call my VA doctor, but I said no way; she claimed that i was depressed. I did have all the symptoms. But the next day, Rho came home from some errands and said she believed my problem was that I wasn't taking my Neurontin pill which is used for vascular problem in my leg. We ran out of that medication and we ordered a refill a couple of weeks ago from the VA, but the medication had not arrived. So Rho called the pharmacy on our plan and the pharmacist said that my symptoms were typical of withdrawal from that pill. Your not supposed to just stop it at once. But Rho got a prescription from the pulmonary doctor and from Walgreens she picked up 45 of those pills--the generic is called "gabapentin". She paid $50 cash for them, and that afternoon the meds arrived from the VA! Since I'm back on, I no longer behave like some ghost rising from the dead. The moral of this story is don't run out of your pill.

Yesterday we watched the inauguration of Barack Obama. The man is so "down to earth" with a personality that is mesmerizing. His wife is gorgeous and the two girls are adorable. Can't stop thinking of the fun they''ll be having in the White House. No doubt they'll be driven to school by secret service agents and they'll be at the school all day. The kids will never be free from the protection of these agents. And their dad will not be behind the wheel of his car for a very long time. Won't happen. I just wonder if he can order his favorite food from the chefs or does he have to eat whatever they put in front of him. No doubt the kids will have their hot dogs or hamburgers. What happens if he wants shrimp chow mein, wonton soup, and an egg roll? Can he go to a Chinese restaurant? Changing the subject, Rho is having her birthday on Feb. 2--groundhog day. Every year it falls on groundhog day. We're planning to invite four couples to dinner who are neighbors in this building. Actually there is another couple, good friends of ours, in a different building. My birthday arrives on Feb. 27 and Rho wants to do something special because she considers 85 a special birthday. 85 is a kind of special age--I feel it every day--that is "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." But there is not much you can do about it. You just have to deal with it. I'm dealing with it the best that I can, but it's not much fun. I can't wait till I'm 90! Rho says she wont live till I'm 90 because care givers go first. In that case I suppose I'll have to go to an assisted living facility or a nursing home??? That is totally unsatisfactory;there must be a better idea.

Meanwhile, before I'm 90 I have to catch up on what's new on the computer. I keep seeing things like My Space, My Face, Facebook, You Tube, etc. I have no clue as to what those webs are for. My intellect tells me that they are for a different generation. Nevertheless, I'll have to see the benefits involved in each of these, whatever. I'm sure there are more; maybe like Plaxo. I'm not too joyful about that. I know I've not published a blog for several days; part of the explanation of that can be found in the beginning of this one.

"A true friend is one soul in two bodies." (Aristotle)

Let me just say that a fractured rib is not the best thing you could have. Perhaps the shingles, or acne, or maybe a migraine headache--but a fractured rib? No. Each time I move it feels like a cannibal is sticking me with his arrow on a pole or maybe hanging me over a pot of boiling water. So, I do my best not to move. However, this is not the easiest thing you can do. Perhaps it's easier stick your hand in an alligator's jaws or put your head into a lion's mouth than it is to not move. Once in a while you have to go to the bathroom if nothing else. Oh, yes, I almost forgot! You have to get off the couch to get to the kitchen in order to have your dinner, and then after dinner you have to move back to the couch. Then at these times you curse the day and the way that you broke your rib. Actually, and strangely, I haven't a clue as to how this happened. I don't remember falling--no that didn't happen; and I don't remember banging into any wall or engaging in fisticuffs with some old codger. No. The rib just broke on its own volition. Monday, however, I have to go for a bone density test to see if I have osteoporosis. Why not? I have everything else.

Even in pain, I'm following through on teaching "Hamlet" to my Shakespeare class. I'm finding, though, that the energy I once had doing this is sadly lacking because after 90 minutes, I'm thoroughly pooped out. I can't even imagine teaching five classes in a row as I once did. I feel like Petrucchio in "Kiss Me Kate" when he sings "Where is the life that late I led? Where is it now? Totally dead!" I love that show and I'm sorry that we never offered it here in Huntington Lakes. It would be lots of fun, and the leading man gets to spank the leading lady. And how would that go over here? We had enough problems with Prof. Higgins speaking harshly to Eliza Doolittle.

Got a lovely comment from Phil Bergovoy on the blog about son Bobby making the centerfold of the Harley-Davidson magazine. Phil always has such nice things to say about my kids and the Ross family in general.

(Incidentally, PB, I'm the first to have mentioned Bobby kicking the first field goal in North Shore H.S.'s history. I don't know where I mentioned it, but it was mentioned for sure.) I can't wait to publish "Pater Noster in Condoland Vol. IV" which I plan to dedicate to Coach B. And before that happens, I am adopting him into the Ross family as an honorary uncle. So from now on, he's to be known as Uncle Phil (and Aunt Hindy). Maybe with him in the family, now, we'll all get Christmas presents. I am not making him Jewish...or a Democrat...or a liberal. He is free to wear his own livery. But with the Inauguration of Obama coming shortly, he may decide to go into hibernation. But that's OK. He's a Bear of a man...or should I say a Lion? He will forever be a beloved icon to me and let me "...write it down in my tables."

"A wise son maketh a glad father." (Proverbs)

Just got the news today that son #2 made the centerfold of Harley-Davidson's magazine. Though he doesn't wear a thong, he can be seen in leather. And also, he has not been shaved.

Patriot's Monthly Centerfold
Mr. January, Bobby Ross

Here at Patriot Harley-Davidson, we have many customers that come in to buy their second or third or fifth Harley, which leaves us with some very nice previously-owned bikes on our floor. Making sure that these bikes meet our high standards is Pre-Owned Motorcycle Manager Bobby Ross, who brings a lifetime of experience to the position.

Bobby was born and raised on Long Island, New York. Those halcyon days were spent riding bicycles and mini-bikes, and helping his neighbor build and repair anything with two wheels and an engine. As a young adult, Bobby moved to New York City, studying with and working for top fashion photographers Klaus Lucka and Rebecca Blake. Bobby professionally shot magazine ads and product photography, including the Leica catalog, using a Hasselblad camera. Hasselblad cameras were used by Apollo astronauts on the moon, and Leica cameras set the standards for 35mm photography. Impressive stuff for those in the know!

Bobby spent the 70's partying at the legendary Studio 54 and CBGB’s. The party was so hard, in fact, that he felt a move to Los Angeles would get him far enough away to stay out of trouble. Professional photography kept food on the table in LA, and Bobby decided that he needed to build a California chopper. Bobby acquired a basket case '49 FL, and found the parts and help he needed to get it roadworthy by hanging out in the bad-ass West Coast biker underworld. Aptly named "8 Ball," Bobby is still riding the custom FL today, some thirty years later.

Bobby married in California, and when his daughter reached high school age, he felt a move "Straight Outta Compton" was necessary, landing here in Northern Virginia. Bobby's daughter has since graduated from Motorcycle Mechanics Institute and is now a jet engine mechanic in the United States Navy serving in Pearl Harbor.

Bobby has been with Patriot Harley-Davidson for eight years. When he isn't attending to his many loyal customers and duties here at Patriot (including shooting many of the images on this web site), you can find him tending to his garden of exotics, playing soccer on a 30-and-over league, giving pool leasons in 8 or 9 ball, keeping up his photography skills, and of course, riding. As Bobby likes to say, "Enjoy the ride, soon and often." If you see Bobby on his chopper or Road Glide, be sure to give him the Harley "nod" or wave.

There is no great genius without a mixture of madness." (Aristotle)

There are times when I am alone and in a contemplative mood that I think about the concept of genius...who has it, how does it manifest itself, and how does it evaporate...if at all. For example, among the world's foremost philosophers Socrates was by all accounts a genius--but he had a very unhappy home life what with Xantippe managing his household. He was accused by the very people he was trying to help of corrupting the youth of Athens and was sentenced to drink hemlock...which is not as healthy as Gator Ade. Then there is Spinoza, a Sephardic Jew who grew up in the Netherlands and in order to appease the local Dutch politicians who did not care for the blasphemy of his non-Christian beliefs, Spinoza's Congregation had him excommunicated. Spinoza's philosophy was an attempt to love even a world in which he was outcast and alone; again like Job, he typified his people, and asked how it could be that even the just man should suffer persecution and exile and every desolation as he did.

Voltaire--who lived until almost 84--despite exile, imprisonment, and the suppression of almost every one of his books by the minions of church and state had in his lifetime such influence, despite his heresies, that he forged fiercely a wide path for his truth. He was without doubt the greatest writer and philosoper of his time. He was refused a Christian burial in Paris; but his friends grimly set him up in a carriage and got him out of the city by pretending he was alive. They finally found a priest who understood that rules were not made for geniuses and he was buried in holy ground.

And then there is Immanuel Kant, hardly five feet tall, modest, shrinking, and yet containing in his head the most far reaching revolution in modern philosophy. He was so frail that he had to take severe measures to maintain himself; he thought to do this without a doctor; so he lived to the age of eighty. Twice he offered his hand to a lady, but each time she left for a man who more quickly could make up his mind. And so he persevered, through poverty and obscurity, sketching and writing his magnum opus, "The Critique of Pure Reason." He worked on this book for fifteen years, and never did a book so startle and upset the philosophic world. And then there was Arthur Schopenhauer, born in Danzig on February 22, 1788. His father, a merchant, commited suicide and his paternal grandmother died insane. Schopenhauer wrote the great anthology of woe, "The World as Will and Idea". He had no mother, no wife, no child, no family, no country. He was absolutely alone, with not a single friend. I could go on and indicate many other "geniuses" besides philosophers who lived a life of abuse and disengagement from society. The question is, does a pitiful life cause genius to flourish or does genius coexists with a pitiful life?

I once wanted to be a genius, but I couldn't get my life to be pitiful enough. I had a great mother and grandmother; my marriages were years of happiness; my career was a delight; my children grew up and into success, and the war made me a man with useful wisdom. So there went my quest for the Holy Grail of genius. From my unknown books, I can hardly afford an early bird. I recall a friend of mine who went to college and majored in philosophy, unknown to his father who expected to take his son into his lucrative business. When my friend graduated and told his father that he was a philosophy major, his father said sarcastically, "O.K. son, I'll buy you a philosophy store in the mall, and making a living from it is up to you."

"And the night shall be filled with music And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away."

Well, here it is--blue Monday. Blue because that's the color of the font I'm using, and blue because I have pain which is not likely to subside for several weeks. Last week my primary care doc told me that the pain in my left side was likely to be a kidney stone, but yesterday, I couldn't handle it anymore, so Rho and I went to the ER at the hospital here. I was amazed that it only took about 20 minutes before I was called in for an analysis. The DO had x-rays taken and shortly thereafter came in with the grand announcement, "You have a broken rib." I was in some kind of mini-shock at that, since I never before had any broken bones that I know of, and I've bumped in to all kinds of hard and unyielding surfaces. This time, I had no idea whatsoever about what could have caused my rib to fracture, with the notable exception of the fact that just a couple of nights ago, Rho & I made passionate and rough sex for 12 seconds. It was exhausting, but I felt no immediate pain afterward. In fact, I felt nothing afterward. Maybe a craving for a Mallomar, but that's it. That kind of exercise at 85 does stimulate the appetite and give rise to hunger--so I've been told. Since I'd like to lose a little weight, perhaps next time I'll cut it down to 10 seconds, and hope the time goes by slowly.

Just returned from the cardiologist's office where I had to go for a "PT" test. Rhoda drove me because I had recently taken a vicodan (sp?) pain killer and my head was spinning like a top. I kept reminding myself that when I went to school, PT was the name of our gym class--physical training. However, this PT was called "Protine" and it has to do with the level of Coumadin in your body. If the PT is too high, you have to cut back on the Coumadin because if you scratch yourself, you could bleed to death. If the blood got on our couch Rho would be very upset, but if you were to die there, you wouldn't be able to understand her anyway. Then she'd have a hissy fit that I wasn't wearing my hearing aids.

It's kind of tough reaching into your 80s. At some point you have to admit that the aging process is grabbing you around the neck (and elsewhere) and squeezing you, and whatever ailments pop up you have to deal with them--and believe me, something pops up every day! And be careful about how you turn over in bed every night, because that's when you could fracture a rib. Or when you go to the bathroom, you suddenly find yourself peeing like you stutter. The thing that really bothers me is getting Rhoda involved in doing things for me that becomes a problem when I try to do them. She's too young to be playing nursemaid to a codger; my brain is as dry as a biscuit after a voyage; I am as a candle, better burn't out.

"Youth is a blunder; Manhood a struggle; Old age a regret." (Disraeli)

Just got home from IHOP where Rho had lunch and I had breakfast. I like their "Rise and Shine" for seniors--bacon and eggs, potatoes and toast. Extra for the coffee and the water is free, which is the best part. I like their ice because it's cold. If you don't care for coffee, you can always ask for their cherry diet coke--which is delicious, and it has a real cherry on top. Now that I'm home, I have the whole afternoon to write this blog and count up my money from the Shakespeare class. At the first meeting, their were 13 women and one guy. I'm guessing I might have gotten a few more people if my fee wasn't $37.50. I just tried to stay in line with some of the other courses. Besides, I think 14 people is a real tidy, intimate number for discussion of "Hamlet". Although I was still in a lot of pain on my left side, the class went swimmingly, and I noticed that no one fell asleep.

About the pain--the doc said I had a kidney stone, but I believe it is a bruised or cracked rib. I'm supposed to have an ultra sound on Thursday, so maybe that will tell what the problem is. I really don't remember falling or banging into anything, but there are bruises on my side which leads me to believe it's a rib. Perhaps a baby back rib. I'll never eat those again. I was very uncomfortable while watching the national championship game between Florida and Oklahome. I don't know how a team that scored over 60 points in the last four games they played could be held to 14 by Florida. I'm assuming the Sooners played little girls from some nunnery who never were taught defense. Although it was an exciting game, it was quite sloppy by both teams. I guess they were struck by nerves. I would have liked to see a playoff between Florida, Oklahoma, Utah, Texas, and Southern California. Barack Obama also wants to see a playoff, although I don't know what he has to do with college football. I'm pretty sure, though, that he is going to erect a basketball court somewhere in the White House. He's a bb nut. I think he's about 6'4". I used to be about that height, but now I'm somewhat too short for my weight. Luckily, my scooter can bear 250 pounds. I'm still taller than RH, but so is everyone else, so it's nothing to be proud of; her fire burns brighter.

"The pain of the mind is worse than the pain of the body." (Syrus)

Today I awoke with the same pain in my left side as I had yesterday. I tried calling my doctor to see if he had an opening this afternoon. I'm in great suspense to see what the matter can be. The problem is that in two more days, my class "Fun with Shakespeare" is supposed to begin, and I don't see how I can move around as I like to do while teaching. If you stay in the same spot, the class usually falls asleep, but if you move between the aisles, they are curious as to when you are going to stop and where you are going, so they tend to stay awake. However, the doctor's office was closed for lunch, so I have to wait until after 1pm before I call again. Another problem today is that the cleaning crew is coming about 2:30 and I want to be someplace else, rather than in the house. Maybe I'll go to a movie--or to a mall. If at the mall, all I'll be able to do is to sit down on a big chair and watch the world go by for a couple of hours. Or I'll see how far I can walk with just a cane. The scooter is in the house and I can't take it apart and put it back together as well as RH+ can. Speaking of her, yesterday I accompanied her to the City of Hope "donor" luncheon at Benvenuto's. I had to wear a jacket and a tie. There were about 150 people there. A luncheon is provided every year for people who have contributed financially or with labor for the cause. The food was excellent, but the entertainer was below par--a guy who sang a multitude of songs in Italian. He was definitely in the wrong arena for that considering the dominant ethnic group listening to him. While he was doing his thing, dessert was being served and I opted for one of my favorites--profiteroles. And so, this seems to be the perfect lead-in to my "10 Best" list for the end of my list for meals. My 10 Best desserts are:

1) Chocolate ice cream sundae 2) 7 layer chocolate cake 3) Baked Alaska 4) Napoleon 5) Eclair 6) Apple crisp a la mode 7) Chocolate creme pie 8) NY Style chocolate cheesecake 9) Profiteroles 10) Bananas Foster

Well, I finally reached the doctor after his lunch and he decided that I had a "kidney stone". A kidney stone? I am not aware of having any stones in my diet...stones are not on my 10 best list of delectable delights. At any rate, he prescribed "hydromorphone HCL" tablets for the pain, and ordered an ultra sound for next Thursday. The pill sounds as though it contains some kind of morphine...which is OK with me, as long as it alleviates the stone pain. At this point I don't know how we're going to get rid of it--maybe blow it up. Smash it into small pebbles, perhaps? Anyway, we'll deal with it as we deal with any of the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" that pop up from time to time. Which reminds me that my class of "Hamlet" begins on Friday, and I will have news about how that event will work out. I know you all cannot wait to hear about it. Most of my students will be coming in with walkers, canes, and wheelchairs which is a far cry from mini-skirts.

"The miserable have no other choice, but only hope." (Measure for Measure)

I didn't think that my "10 Best" lists would create such emotional and gustatory reaction. What I expect readers to understand is that these lists represent only my own choices. For example, Bobby doesn't consider salad as an "appetizer"--but I do. A little garden salad before the main course at least stimulates my appetite. And Robin's list contains some esoteric and mysterious pre-meal dishes. And Bobby's opening up "a can of worms" did nothing to advance the cause of culinary delights. But in spite of all these comments, I shall carry on with my mouth watering concoctions that appear on my own plate. And you are all free to decorate your own plates. Here is my list of comfort foods:

1) 3 lb. lobsters 2) Spaghetti and meatballs 3) 9 oz. filet Mignons 4) Pork chow mein 5) Stuffed cabbage with kashe varniskes 6) Nathan's hot dogs 7) Lasagna 8) Florida stone crabs 9) Chopped liver and hot pastrami sandwich combo 10) Western omelets w/ sesame bagel and cream cheese.

Whoever invented these dishes ought to have received a Nobel Prize. Now I don't know which of these meals contains the most calories, if at all, but I'm willing to give them a try in spite of whatever fattening ingredients or cholesterol they contain. After all, you only live once--they say. But you never know if you come back again with the same desires. Speaking of desires, I discussed that with Rhoda this evening and admitted to her that i miss playing golf, I miss walking and jogging, I miss swimming, and I miss the joys of erotic bedtime ventures. But one has to deal with the ageing process which carries along with it the pain of the day. Yesterday the shoulder; today the back, and tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace...etcetera, etcetera.

"Ah take the cash and let the credit go." (Omar Khayam)

Last January 1, the market was teeter-tottering--shaking like a leaf in the wind, rocking like a ship at sea, trembling like an Aspen tree--and above all, making me very nervous. I had no intention of taking the chance of losing a lot of money that I saved for retirement, so I dropped the funds I had in my IRA and had them put in a one-year savings fund at 3%--a paltry but safe investment. Today, I went back to check what my investment would be if I had kept the two IRA funds in the market; the result was that if I had left the money with the mutual funds, I would have lost $10,000 in 2008. Did someone say the economy was in a recession? President elect Obama is coming into office with more major problems than any previous president; the economy, health insurance, three wars to worry about--Iraq, Afghanistan, and Gaza. I cannot help but feel the pain that so many people are undergoing over their finances, their homes, their health, and their sons and daughters in conflict. What can one man do to alleviate the national distress? Hopefully, as Plato suggested, our government will be filled with "Philosopher Kings" who will address these problems and find solutions for them. Or what's a government for?

Lately, I've begun to wonder whether or not the computer adds dimension to one's life or takes it away. I find that Rho and I spend altogether too much time with it, writing and reading dozens of nondescript emails of jokes, coming events, idiotic articles, games, movie and book reviews, sports news, world news, new news, and many other items that take one's time away from doing meaningful work--like housecleaning, the laundry, freezing food, making beds, reading books, taking adult courses, chatting with friends and a myriad of other things that were once done before computing and cell phoning. Besides the email of the computer, snail mail keeps piling up all over the house; hospital and doctor bills, insurance premiums, credit card notices, coupons, bank statements, requests for donations, electric and phone bills, catalogs of every shape, color, and product. What kind of life is this? Consolidate! Consolidate!

As promised, I am continuing the practice of providing my blog readers with my "10 best lists". I indicated that I would give you my 10 best foods--but then I thought, why not start with the appetizers before going on to the entrees? So here are my 10 best loved appetizers--not necessarily in size places: 1) Shrimp cocktails 2) Garden salad with 1000 Island dressing on the side 3) Caesar salad 4) Matzoh ball soup with matzoh ball on the side so more soup will fit in the bowl 5) Wonton soup 6) New England clam chowder 7)Lobster bisque 8) Split pea soup 9) Half a grapefruit 10) A beer

After such a salutary beginning, the rest of the meal--including dessert is mouth watering. My next 10--the meal itself will be coming along shortly. But at the moment I have to begin preparing for my "Hamlet" class. My friends who are reading this ought to sign up or miss the cultural experience of their dull and listless lives. "Fun With Shakespeare" opens on Friday, Jan. 9.

"This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well craves a kind of wit." (12th Night)

There has been some comment feedback to the "10 Best" lists posted on these blogs recently; one of them questioned the omission of Hank Greenberg from the list since he went to my high school and am I "anti-Semitic?" The fact is I never saw him play and the list contains players I have seen. He actually went to Red Baron's school in Little Timber, Alaska, which Gov. Palin can see from her kitchen window, And if you feel that Hank got the cold shoulder, hold your fire until you see the list of foods. He only played 13 seasons, and got a D- in Baron's English class.

Now, it's time to settle once and for all the debate over the first references in print to the game of baseball. The 10 best earliest references to baseball occur in the plays of William Shakespeare and include the following: "And so I shall catch the fly." (Henry V) 2. "I'll catch it ere it com to ground." (Macbeth) 3. A hit, a very palpable hit!" (Hamlet) 4. "You may go walk." (Taming of the Shrew) 5. "For this relief, much thanks." (Hamlet) 6. "You have scarce time to steal." (Henry VIII) 7. O Hateful error." (J. Caesar) 8. Run, run, O run!" (Lear)

9. Fair is foul, and foul is fair." (Macbeth) 10. "My arm is sore." (Antony & Cleopatra)

And so much for that. Speaking of arms being sore--mine is very sore; I still have the bursitis pain in spite of the cortisone shot I got yesterday. We will be getting to the pharmacy today to pick up the pain-killer prescription the doctor gave to me yesterday, and I am hopeful it does the job. Rhoda and I are going to a movie today and perhaps it will take my mind off the discomfort-- if you prefer to call it that.

I will be teaching "Hamlet" to a group of 15 in the clubhouse, beginning Jan. 9 for six Friday sessions. I do hope I have something of some teaching skill left to hold their interest. We shall see. Keep your mouths open for the blog that will contain my "10 Best Foods".

"I do not like the way the cards are shuffled, But yet I like the game and want to play." (Eugene Ware)

Since the last two days on the Noordam cruise ship, I've had a whopping pain in my left shoulder caused by--I don't know what. I let it go for the past week and it only seemed to be getting worse. Two tylenols had no effect on it at all. If you've ever been to an ER or a doctor's office that had a chart with a "smiley face" guy getting pain from 1 to 10 as his face changes according to the level of his pain, well at its worst, my pain was a 9. I think if you get a 10, you're dead. But the pain seemed to level off to a 3 or 4 and then started up again. Today I went to my orthopedist--the same guy that tied up my Achilles tendons in 1982. He said I had bursitis and gave me a cortisone shot. It was fine for about 4 or 5 hours, but now the pain seems to be coming right back. He gave me a prescription for a pain killer, but it hasn't been filled yet. Oh, well, I'll watch one of the bowl games to take my mind off the bursitis.

If you think I've taken my mind off the "10 Best" things, well I haven't. No, I'm not going to put down the ten best pains I've ever had; however, I will note the 10 top baseball players I've ever seen. Of course I haven't seen some of the really old guys, so I can't put them on my list. But here follows my list of the 10 best baseball players I've ever seen. If you've seen any better, well...you're wrong.

1) Willie Mays 2) Joe DiMaggio 3) Barry Bonds 4) Stan Musial 5) Jackie Robinson 6) Mickey Mantle 7) Sandy Koufax 8) Lou Gehrig 9) Cal Ripken 10) Babe Ruth

Now these guys are not in any "best" order...it's just a list of my choices. If you think I've missed a couple, I'd be happy to hear about it, but I don't think you'll find any to break into my top ten. Oh, I know there was Ty Cobb, Cy Young, Roy Campanella, Yogi, and one guy from Pittsburgh ???

This is getting to be fun, so I'm going on to some other top tens. My next blog will contain the ten top foods that I've been privileged to partake now and then--mostly now. Yes, make your own list and see if it breaks into mine! While I'm at it, I think Rhoda would be on the list of my ten best wives. Of course, I'll need eight more so you'll have to wait a little bit for that.

"We are never so happy, nor so unhappy, as we suppose ourselves to be." (La Rochefoucauld)

Happy New Year! May we all get through this year with health and get back all the money we have lost (in various places, investments, activities, and lousy restaurants). And since January is named after Janus who was two faced, looking in different directions at the same time, just as January looks back at the previous and forward to the new year, and since Robert Burns wrote in "To a Mouse"--"...mousie, the present only toucheth thee, but backwards I cast my eye on prospects drear, and forward tho' I canna see I guess and fear." It's time to look back at all the movies I've seen and pick out what I think are the top ten. You already have had a look at the ten best poems I've ever read in a previous blog, but as for movies--here goes: 1) Casablanca 2) Gone With the Wind 3) The Razor's Edge 4) Four Feathers 5) The Godfather 6) From Here to Eternity 7) Hamlet 8) Spellbound 9) Treasure of the Sierra Madre 10) The Lost Horizon. And so there you have it--but not necessarily in like order. Sure there were other films that affected me spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually like "Henry V", "On the Waterfront", "The Gold Rush", and "The African Queen" and some that I can't remember so they are not included in my list because obviously they were not memorable. If you haven't' seen some of them, I'm sure you can find them on Google.

Last night, I had every intention of staying up until midnite to watch the ball fall in Times Square, but as I was watching a football game on TV, at about 10:30 my eyes started to close and I could not keep them open. Rhoda was next door having a drink and a chat with some single neighbor women so I decided that I really wanted to go to sleep--so I did. She came in at midnight though and woke me with a kiss. So much for that. I just went back to sleep and she followed. We have nothing special planned for today--just catching up on paying the bills that we failed to pay while cruising. I know it's New Year's Day and not Thanksgiving, but I'm really happy that Rhoda is cruising back to her own feisty self, and though I believe that happiness does not come from without, but only from within, she brings it on, and simply confirms my belief--if you get what I mean.