"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.