Upright & Stowed

Thankgiving Thanks, 2009

Additional words unnecessary.  Happy Thanksgiving to all!

 

This Turkey Flies

Domesticated turkey’s can’t fly, which is at complete odds with my family’s celebration of Turkey Day.  Thanksgiving is the holiday most likely to see my family hitting the road or taking to the skies to gather together in our homeland, St. Louie, MO. 

Sadly for us, American Airlines has decimated its flight schedule to/from St. Louis, but we persevere.  Herewith, the travel dossier of my family for this year’s Gateway City Thanksgiving.   Fingers crossed for clear skies.  Cause I’m connecting through O’Hare!!!!

• Princeton NJ: Eddie
  
• Orange-ish NJ: Lisa, Danny, Miranda, Margaux 
• Chicago IL: Dan, Bettina, Elijah and Sylvie
• Greenville SC: Ed, Caren
• Charleston SC: Emma
• Atlanta GA: Ellen, Seth, Megan, Danny 
• Dallas TX: Laurie, Barry
• Los Angeles CA: Andy, Hannah     
• NY NY:  Yours Truly

The Last of a Generation (dateline 9/17/09)

While I was at Burning Man a significant milestone occurred in my life.  My Great Aunt Doretta (in this photo, with me last year) passed away, at 86.  She was the last of my great aunts/uncles, and her death marks the passing of the final member of my grandparents’ generation.   Kind of weird to think about an entire generation of your immediate family being gone.   For me this generation loomed large … they were omnipresent in my childhood, served up guidance and wisdom throughout my life, and were my window to America in the mid 20^th Century.   Happily, most of them lived long and rich lives, mostly in the Midwest. 

I’m not a big believer in afterlife, but I like the idea that all four sets of my grandparents’ and all their siblings are now reunited… somewhere.  The thought is especially sweet in the case of my Grandpa Max, who lost brothers and sisters (and many others) in the Holocaust.  If your grandparents, great aunts or great uncles are still living, why not reach out and let them know how much they mean to you.  I bet it’ll make your day, and theirs.

Caribbean Nightmare

In 1976, my father and step-mother took me, my two brothers and my step-sister on what – by any normal measure – was a dream vacation: Three weeks island-hopping across the Caribbean, from St. Martin to Grenada. 

In fact, it was a trip from hell.

As the above picture  evidences, we are all miserable … and pretty hideous to boot (so much for managing my own press).  That’s me standing in the middle wearing a LONG-sleeved shirt, LONG pants, very bad long hair, hideous glasses and a “please don’t take my picture or come near me” pose.  This was one of our happier days.

Time changes everything.  Dad and Doris have been married for 35 years, and we all get along great now.   I am making this post because today they left their home in San Diego for a 4 week trip back to the islands, their first visit in years.  I hope they remember the hell they put us through (tee hee), and have a great trip.

Family Does Me Proud

On November 4th, America completed an epochal journey.  A country that once stole people from Africa and sold them as slaves elected an African American President of the United States.  And a nation that has slipped in stature and lost its way began to right itself.  Today, I am proud to be an American.

I grew up in the ultimate swing state, Missouri.   The Show Me State was on the fence regarding slavery, and it has remained on the fence politically.  But in my family, the political blood runs blue.   Here is a list of the 10 states where my family members currently reside (counting my 4 parents, 5 siblings, 2 aunts and 7 first cousins):

Missouri
New York
Illinois
Georgia
Texas
New Jersey
South Carolina
Nevada
Maryland
California

I am happy to report that each of us voted for Barack Obama (with one exception).  Today, I am thrilled by my country, and very proud of my roots.  

[Family photo taken in 1999, at Busch Stadium, St. Louis, MO]

PS122 – Then and Now

Today was Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement.   For me, it's a day to reflect on where I've fallen short of my expectations of myself, and I typically observe it privately rather than going to services.

A couple years ago my father sent me a picture – taken in the early 1950s – of the day he visited the Brooklyn elementary school  which his father attended from 1905 to 1910.  It's the smaller inset above.  I'd been meaning to pay a visit, and I decided the high holiday was the perfect excuse.

So I jumped on my bike, rode across the Williamsburg Bridge and found my way to PS 122, in the heart of what has become the epicenter of Hasidic Jews in New York City.  It was thrilling to stand in front of a building that my beloved grandpa attended before moving to the Midwest (first to Coffeeville, Kansas ... then to Jefferson City ... and finally to St. Louis).   It was also kind of eerie, because the area was completely deserted due to the holiday, with only a few hasidic mothers and children walking silently by every few minutes.  The larger photo is  the one I took today.

The journey provided much room for reflection, and a great sense of pride (though not too much, on Yom Kippur) over my New York City roots.

I Heart Mom

Aw shucks.  Is there any better way for a son to show his mom he loves her than by taking her to the roof of the Metropolitan Museum to see Jeff Koons' whimsical, smile-inducing sculptures – Sacred Heart (above) and Balloon Dog? 

Perhaps  a heart-shaped tattoo with "Mom" in the ribbon would send a similar message, but that ain't gonna happen.  So here we are: Mom, me and a red/gold heart.  Note to readers:  This frivolous, fabulous exhibit (and the incredible NYC views) closes October 26th.

Small World

I have a mother and a father.

In the 50s and 60s they lived together in St. Louis.

My mother still lives in St. Louis.

My father now lives in San Diego

My father has a sister who lives in Washington DC.

My mother has a first cousin who lives in Tel Aviv.

My father’s sister became close friends in the late 70s in Washington DC with the woman here in black.  Her name is Nira.

My mother’s cousin went to college in the early 60s in Israel with the woman here in black.  Her name is Nira.

On Friday, my mother’s cousin came to NYC to celebrate the birthday of a friend.  When she told me that her friend’s name was Nira, I thought “Nira?  No frickin way!” 

It was the same Nira.

Thirty years of friendship with my paternal aunt.  Forty-five years of friendship with my maternal cousin. 

All discovered last Friday.  The day that Nira and I met.

In the picture above you can see me and my paternal aunt in the little picture, me and Nira arm in arm, and (unseen) my maternal cousin behind the camera.

My head is still spinning.  I love it when world's collide.  And I love Nira!

Accepting Visitors

There are a million and one reasons I love living in New York.  At the very top of that list is playing host to all the special people in my life who come to visit.  This weekend, my friends Mark and Adam and their kids Max and Rose set up camp at my place, and we had a blast.  Experiencing Manhattan through the eyes of a child is a total thrill.

Alas, my Canon did not deliver the perfect shot of the five of us ... so instead I treat you to a highlight moment of the visit.  Dusk from the top of the Empire State Building.   Ah, home.

Several Compelling Reasons...

... to visit San Francisco.