"I have lived long enough: my way of life is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf..." (Macbeth)-

If a blog is a venue for recording daily, minor, significant, and important events in a blogger's life...and if it's also a place to express feelings and emotions, then I confess that I feel "cabin'd, cribb'd, confined." And to continue with the Macbeth thing, "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace...." In the past, when I awakened in the mornings, I went to work. I could hardly call it work to be surrounded by hundreds of teenagers; and to think I used to get paid for having fun all day. And I do mean, "all day", because after the classrooms closed, I went down to the field to coach the soccer team in the fall, and the track teams in the winter and the spring until about 5pm. Going home, I had more fun with my four teenagers and their mother. Even after their mother split, I used to run the 10 miles to get home...and that was euphoric. After I came down to Florida with Rhoda, she went to work as a receptionist for a doctor or as a salesperson in a shop with products for the handicapped, while I usually was off to the golf course with my buddies, or to the weight room to pump iron or to the pool to swim a mile of laps--80 laps actually. But what about these days? I've lost my mobility among other things. Golf is a lost cause--even if I could play without pain, the buddies are all gone. My life is becoming a big yawn. Once upon decades ago, I had goals which seemed unattainable and what were they? First, to engage in combat in WWII which came along just as I graduated from high school. The plan was to avenge the affliction my father suffered from being gassed in WWI. My other goals were to get into college, graduate, and get a PhD in English education; marry, raise a family, and have a teaching and coaching career; run the New York Marathon; take a year to travel around the world; break 80 on the golf course; perform in Gilbert and Sullivan operettas, play Tevye in "Fiddler on the Roof", and write a book. Now, when I look back at all these goals, I wonder how the hell I managed to do all that.

I survived WWII (barely & hardly) but now I am trying to survive aging. My pill box is loaded every day. I have doctors to tend to every part of my body--outside and inside-- and two to tend to my brain. This is not fun. And now that I've finished pining and whining, I'm off to lunch and await the arrival of Pat, the physical therapist. And tomorrow is Saturday.

"Afh yenems tukhes is gut sepatchen."

Good day, my friends, enemies, and relatives. This is my 225th blog, not that I'm bragging--just counting. I can't believe that I've had that much to say, but it's my way of communicating to the outside world--telling it how I feel and what I'm thinking. Who knows? Perhaps there's a shrink or two out there who is reading these who may have some advice. Although in the past couple of days I'm been getting a lot of advice, and complaints from the advisors that I'm being "stubborn". I have written to them and said that because they call me stubborn doesn't mean that it is so. It simply means that since their advice, well meant, is in a state of equilibrium, and I'm not immediately accepting of it, in their minds I'm "stubborn". Not.

Now, if we continue on the theme of calling people by names that may or not apply, or which may or not be well meant, I've been reading a lot of news items regarding Muslims referring to non-believers in the Koran as "infidels". It is my understanding that the word was first used in the Christian Church to refer to those who did not believe in the divinity of Jesus. In Islam, "infidel" refers only to those who do not believe in the one God, with the exception of the extremists who believe it's OK to kill all infidels who do not accept the Muslim faith. Well, to those extremists--like Al Qaida and Bin Ladin--I say that Judaism is going to fight back. For example, if they call us infidels, then we can call them "schlemiels" or "schlamazels." If they declare a jihad against us, why not hit them back by letting them know we are visiting upon them a "vicious varnishke"? That should frighten them because surely they don't know a varnishke from a kasha. Now also, they've come up in the past with something they call an "intifada". Why not taunt them back by declaring a "gefilteknish" against them? That should strike a note of terror. After they suffer from that catastrophe and declare that those affected are "martyrs" why not say that our guys are "fartyrs". Their martyrs, we should mention, will not get 79 virgins when they leave this world, but 79 "farshlepteh krenks". When we sneak one of our fartyrs aboard one of their buses, and he explodes, then they'll know what terror is all about. And on our side, we have the Father of All Fartyrs in Sir Mike Herbstman who is the resurrection of the Dybbuk himself. Finally, in our own retaliatory arsenal we can release

our own version of Bin Laden in the GOLEM! (In Yiddish, pronounced "goilem"). He is resting in the Old-New Synagogue in Prague in a crypt all his own. When they experience our Golem, the whole Islamic world should sue for peace.

(Translation: Someone else's ass is easy to smack) GOLEM

"O! How full of briers is this working day world." (As You Like It)

Went to Dr. Rebello today and since everything checks out OK now, he wants me back in two months. I don't really know if I want to go back to him, since I can't understand what he says half the time. I believe he's Indian or Pakistani or something like that. I'm glad Rhoda came along to translate what he had to say. Anyway I'm really very tired of seeing doctors for this pain and that pain, and I'm tired of taking this pill and that pill for I don't know what reason. If Rhoda goes before me, I'm a dead duck, because I haven't the foggiest notion of what pills go into the 7 day pill holder she loads up every week. She is going to have to leave instructions in her will.

We have cancelled the Anniversary cruise we had planned to Scandinavia. I just wasn't going to get sick and find myself in a foreign hospital. Too much of a chance to take. We already got back half the money from Celebrity Cruise Line, and now we have to go through the process of filling out all sorts of forms for the insurance company. They will owe us the rest of the money...almost 5K. But the good news is that we have booked another cruise leaving Dec. 17 for the Caribbean which is much closer to home. It will stop at some ports that we have never been to. The rest of the good news is that we will get a handicap room that will allow us to bring my scooter. It's an outside stateroom with a veranda (whatever that is). My guess is that it's a balcony. Anyway, it will still be our Anniversary cruise; although I feel really guilty about getting sick at the wrong time so that Rhoda will not get to see all the things she was looking forward to in Scandinavia. But, as they say,

"C'est la vie;" or "Que sera, sera;" or "s_____happens."

Tomorrow we are going to the Mardi Gras Casino in Hallandale. We've never been there, but we are looking forward to making a bundle on the slot machines. The secret of winning at the slots is that you have to walk around until a certain machine calls to you; that is, you and the machine make a magnetic connection. Sort of ESP. No kidding; try it.

"The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us." (King Lear)

I've been watching the EUR0 soccer tournament, and even though I've coached H.S. soccer for over 25 years and won over 100 games on the Varsity level, averaging 10 wins a year for 10 years, I still marvel at the beauty of the game as played by these national teams. Yesterday the Netherlands played Russia and even though the Dutch were favored, Russia won the game 3-1 when they scored two goals in the second 15-minute overtime. That put them in the semi-finals when they will play the winner of today's game between Spain and Italy. Spain has never beaten Italy in a big tournament, so perhaps there will be the makings of another upset. The Holland-Russia game was frantic from beginning to end. One needn't worry about the low scoring in soccer, if you just concentrate on the skills displayed. The way goals are scored is incredible quite often. They just come so suddenly. And you have to be amazed at how fit these players are to run their hearts out for 90 minutes. There are no time outs in this game! Hurray for Pele and Beckenbauer and even Chinaglia!

I'm feeling a lot better in the past couple of days, but I still have to see the internist tomorrow at 2pm. I'm getting really tired of going to doctors and doctors and doctors of all sizes, shapes, and forms. And besides that, I'm just damned tired. It's just very confusing...every test I've taken to find out why I'm having pain in various parts of my body has come back negative. By that I mean that the tests don't show anything wrong; which I suppose is a good thing. But the bad part is that I still don't have a clue as to what put me in the hospital for four miserable days. And the pills are multiplying exponentially. Also, I'd rather not fly anywhere again--and if I could, I'd get on my scooter instead and drive it across country to establish a World Record for my age group in scooter driving. At least it's a goal. But where would I put Rhoda? The basket is not comfortable, I understand.

By the way, Spain won.

"O she doth teach the torches to burn bright" (Romeo & Juliet)

Twenty-five years ago today, Rhoda and I were married, so this is our "Silver Anniversary" (as you can surmise from the text color...well, it's as silver as I could make it). For the past 24 years I've been able to remember to get Rhoda a card; I find it mystifying that this very year fate has prevented me from doing that. Not that I want to make Hallmark any richer, it's just what we've been doing for each other on these occasions. However, since I've come home from the hospital, I've not been able to get out to buy a card, and so guilt-ridden as I am, I've decided to dedicate this blog to her as a way to express my love for her and for what she has meant to me since that day we were wed. I met Rhoda at a house party on New Year's Eve, 1978. I had recently returned from my year's sabbatical during which I fly-hopped all around the world engaging in my own version of Indiana Jones. However, it was a lonely ride, and back home again, I was unabashadly looking for someone to love, since I still had a lot of it left, unused.

When I sauntered into that house, well...there she was, a "Barby Doll" of a woman in a tight fitting brown cordoruy suit. To shorten a long story, we spent the evening together with our drinks, sharing stories too long and sordid to narrate in this venue. It also happened that we lived in the same development; she with her two children, a scroungy cat, and a nosy dog. Both of us divorced; she after 12 years, I after 30. Fast forward from 1978 to 1982 and I retired in June of that year and moved to Florida to be closer to my mother and sister. But in 1983 I went back north, married her, and fetched her to Florida kicking and screaming. I say that really, only metaphorically; but she was only a child of 45 in a 55-and-older community, and she was not a happy camper for a long, long while. But to my astonishment she remained with me...and still is. Because now she finds all the new residents are in her age group; and now I find that I'm the one at the bottom of the wine barrel with all the other decrepit versions of elderly judaism.

So, what has Rhoda meant to me? A whole new lifetime. I've been in awe of her without limitation. She is the most caring person I've ever known. There isn't anyone she knows or loves who is in need of a sympathetic ear that will lack her attention and support. Whatever my own needs are or have been, she has filled with unselfishness and devotion. I cannot imagine what my life would have been without her by my side. As Shakespeare said of Cleopatra, "...age cannot wither, nor custom stale her infinite variety." Do you think I love her? Haven't you been listening?

Happy Anniversary, my sweet love.

Rudeness is Rife

Why is it that so many people who work in so called "public service" positions are so arrogant and so rude? As far as my remembrance is concerned I don't think it used to be that way. Of course, lots of things these days didn't used to be that way. But, it just occurred to me while I was in the hospital, and while I'm in a restaurant, or at the doctor's office. I've been in several hospitals in my lifetime for one reason or another when nurses were solicitous, caring, always nearby if needed, and friendly. This time, I had a different nurse each day, which I thought was a lousy policy, and each one of them was indifferent to my pain and anxiety. Not only that, one nurse was Charles and one was Barry. I would have preferred a Charlene and a Sherry. Charles was stiff as a board and Barry was a zombie. My relationship with the staff at that hospital made me feel I was in a foreign country. No one spoke English to me even if they knew the language. However, when I spoke English to any of the nurses or aides, it was still as if we were in Swaziland or Montezuma. I never got what I wanted.

Last week I went to my internist's office for an ultra sound of my abdomen because I was getting severe pains every time I took a breath. The nurse called me out of the waiting room and then proceeded to walk rapidly ahead of me to the room without even a gentle hello, how are you. When I walked in, her back was turned to me and she was gazing at a monitor. When she told me to get onto the table, she didn't bother to offer a hand. When she had finished, she said I should get off the table and leave the room, and she started to walk out ahead of me, also not offering to help me off. I said to her "Don't rush me. And I don't like the way you talk to me. I'm not the village idiot." (She didn't need to know the truth). But the bottom line is that people who have chosen jobs that require them to deal with people of all walks of life need to have better "bedside manners". I read a letter to the editor in the paper today complaining about rude stewardesses on the airlines. I believe people who don't like their jobs should seek employment elsewhere. With my expectations of service people, I expect a little civility.

I'm still getting comments about my guest blogger, Mike, who helped me out by writing a blog so my readers wouldn't give up on me while I was hospitalized. Well, one comment today was, "He must be a little weird". I took that as a poor insight...Mike is a lot weird, and that's why we get along so well. I'm somewhat jealous of him because I'm just a teenchy bit weird, while he's the Tiger Woods of Weirdness.

Incidentally, I changed the link to my books just to the right of the blog. If you click on the title of the book, it should take you to the website which lists all the companies that are selling the book, along with the price. It wouldn't hurt you to buy one.

"If they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad." (Much Ado About Nothing)

Today is Barbara and Joel's 29th Anniversary. They were married in Temple Emanuel in East Meadow on this day in 1979. I had only known Rhoda for less than two years, yet she agreed to help make the wedding for those two lovebirds. It would be difficult for the Vlasachs, who lived in Pennsylvania to make the wedding because the "kids" wanted to marry in East Meadow. I first met Barbara in Australia during my world tour...and it was in January. She and Joel had graduated college and went to Australia to teach...for some long forgotten reason. She worked in Sydney and he in Tenterfield. My understanding was that she was terrified before meeting me, but after we met, I set her mind at ease that I wasn't Shrek, the ogre. Barbara was beautiful and engaging and I thought to myself that she was a "keeper". I don't know when they decided to marry, but Joel thought the idea was best if Barbara converted to Judaism...which eventually, she did. And so the way was cleared for the union. I don't believe that Barbara's conversion sat well with her family, but that is certainly understandable. When Barbara's late father sat in the Temple, he looked as though he felt he was in the Devil's hideaway. For in his eyes, as a Christian, the only pathway to heaven and salvation was through Jesus. But, of course, that's a religious belief, not a fact.

When Barbara and Joel were married, they were very poor. I don't believe they are poor any longer. Joel retired from the CIA after 20 years, and now is successful in private industry. Barbara has been teaching in Virginia now for many years. Gratefully, they provided me with two brilliant grandchildren, Hannah and Adam...both of whom are embarked on successful careers after college. Our relationship with Barbara and Joel is a memorable one ever since Rhoda and I spent our honeymoon with them while he was stationed in England in order to spy on the Queen. Adam was just a baby then. But our honeymoon was exciting and enjoyable, especially when we took a motor tour in their car around England. Another, not so enjoyable occasion occurred during their visit to us in Florida while Hannah was still a baby. It was while we were in a Chinese restaurant that the waiter put the pot of hot tea too near Hannah and reaching over, she spilled it on herself. We rushed her off to the hospital and Rhoda held and comforted her while waiting for the doctor in ER. Happy to say that Hannah is OK now, but that event was scary to say the least.

During the early years of their marriage, whenever we four got together, we spent many hours just talking and shooting the breeze about any topic. We got into what we later called "sessions" which meant that we kept talking right past midnight. It was quite enjoyable and we got to know each other. Barbara and I used to go out running miles and miles together. I believe she still runs. She used to call us regularly, like a good daughter-in-law should, and spent hours on the phone with Rhoda. Well, we rarely hear from her anymore, and that puzzles us because we don't remember doing anything that would alter our relationship. But now they are in that big house in Virginia; the "kids" have left the nest; and after 29 years they have to face each other again. Happy Anniversary to the loving couple. (I only gave them twelve years.)