I am sitting here at my desk, contemplating my navel as it were, and I began thinking about the few sessions I had with the therapist I referred to as The Bird. Of a sudden I felt naked and exposed by her version of the therapeutic process. She wanted me to go through "re-birthing" as a stage in therapy with her and that was the point I decided she was a bad fit for me. Too New Age. And Hyphen 2.0 said to me, referencing that, that it was an outmoded form of therapy and never too much of use in the first place. I like Hyphen 2.0. But The Bird was a terrible therapist. I was at the point with her that I was afraid to go to a session with her for fear she would bring some nonsense up along these lines. But upon reflection I realized I was exposed to her and she made me to feel helpless and that I had a problem with the therapy modalities she was offering. I am going to address this in therapy with Hyphen 2.0 next week. This and the fact that if and when Hyphen 1.0 returns to practice I will not be going back to her. I have too much time invested already with 2.0 and to go back and go over the same issues again would not be healthy. The house and all the steps getting to here is in the past. And today I realized one of the reasons I am most happy with the new house is that I no longer have to drive past my old house on Highland any longer. No more fear of running into Patricia or Aaron or PJ. I have migrated to the other side. Not the dark side, mind you, but the light of the north side of Grand River. I am free. And I am working with 2.0 to stay that way. And Jerry, with whom I needed closure that was not forthcoming as of yesterday, is firmly planted in the ground in a nearby tree. I don't know that I will ever have the kind of closure. I don't know, I do not know. All I am certain of is that the past is prologue, as they say, and all of it has gotten me to this reality. I have to deal with the past: the past of The Bird, the past of Highland Street, the past of Glenmoor, the past of the original Hyphen. I still need to deal with a few of the above, or all of the above. This is why therapy is so necessary for me.
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
The last of Jerry and a new beginning
We planted Jerry today with his beloved cat Sassy along with a lovely sugar maple tree. The service, which was done beautifully by the Reverend Percy, lasted about a half hour including the placing of the ashes in the ground along with the tree. It was to be closure for his friends and me among them. I don't know if that really happened of if later today I will have a solemn moment when the events of the day catch up with me. Percy really did a lovely service and the attendance was great. I decided to return to work to process these events rather than going out for a post memorial meal.
Now...time to process.
Now...time to process.
Friday, September 25, 2015
Simcha
No...not my cat...the Hebrew word:
Simcha (Hebrew: שִׂמְחָה śimḥāʰ; Hebrew pronunciation: [simˈχa], Yiddish pronunciation: [ˈsɪmχə]) is a Hebrew word with several meanings. Literally, the word "simcha" means gladness, or joy. It comes from the root word "sameyach," which means glad or happy.
I had a simcha moment this morning. Of a sudden, and for no apparent reason, I had a moment of pure joy this morning. It washed over me like a wave of gladness and I thought to myself "I am happy and I want every one around me to feel this way". Of course it passed. But for that brief moment all was right with my world. I wonder if this is the moment one has before dying (just saying). Not that I thought I would drop dead from my simcha moment. OK, so for maybe a moment I thought I would drop dead. But if that had happened I would have died in a moment of pure joy.
Percy came over with Phyllis last night and we discussed my pal Jerry's memorial service planned for the 29th of September at 9:00 a.m. (y'all come!). We are planting Jerry's ashes, along with that of his beloved cat Sassy, with a sugar maple. A memorial tree. It will stand guard on campus forever and a day and will line the sidewalk Jerry took every day to the Union and back and then back again on his way home. Percy has a nice brief service planned and we are taking a page from a Jewish service, i.e., having those who want to shovel a trowel full of ashes in the ground to do so. Ostensibly this is done at Jewish services for the reason that we had help coming into this work so should we have help leaving. Jerry left over two years ago and his ashes have been well traveled since but now he will go to his final rest and this, I hope bring closure. Up until now it did not feel as if I had any real closure. But with the service I hope to bring to an end the transitional phase of my life, my life from Highland Street to the condo, and now I am in a much better place. My simcha place. So maybe this is why I had a simcha moment this morning. The coming closure of a chapter in my life. A chapter of sorrow and of some joy but not to the extent that I feel happy in the "nowness" of this moment. Yes, dear friends, I am living in the moment and that moment feels right. A simcha place.
And, yes indeed I have a cat name of Simcha, who is. He is the embodiment of all that is joyous. Although some days he prefers to be called either Francois or Sven, depending on his mood and my own. Gonif has morphed into Eduardo, although he is still my little Gonif, the one who stole my heart. He'll be nine in October, but is still very kittenish. Then there is the big boy, Yankel (Yiddish for Jacob) who now prefers the monikers of either Moshe or Raul depending on the day of the week. See in spite of having various simcha moments though out the day I really have no life. No, but seriously folks, I do have a life. It includes the silliness of renaming my cats depending on my whimsies. And whimsical I am. And I enjoy being silly. Silly is what wrought the break between the Soul Sucker. She had no whimsy. Still doesn't I suspect. This being silly brings me jollity much like Jupiter is the bringer of Jollity (see: Gustav Holst's the Planets). Really we could refine the term simcha to be a moment of joyous silliness.
I love to laugh. It keeps the tears at bay. Sophie and I make each other laugh and lighten our day. When she retires in December (oops, the cat is out of the bag) I shall miss her constantly. Her sense of humor meshes so seamlessly with my own. And we are silly. Lowbrow silly. Nothing makes us laugh harder that the natural passage of gas. See Sophie is on some medication that makes her, well, belch. Her gas attacks just make me laugh as they are so monumental as to shake the library. A helluva good medication that is. And it was these belches that angered the Soul Sucker to the point where she accused Sophie of doing this on purpose to annoy her. Not so. They are the natural byproduct of medication. Sorry to say I laugh out loud. The more outrageous the belch the better my laughter is and, as they say, laughter is the best medicine. Another simcha moment has passed as has gas. [if you recall Sophie originally had the name of Gastric but upon accompanying me to West Bloomfield in Michigan to see a production of "Old Jews Telling Jokes" she became my close and personal friend Sophie Horowitz].
So keep the laughter coming. Keep those simcha moments coming. I will take it all. And away we go.
Simcha (Hebrew: שִׂמְחָה śimḥāʰ; Hebrew pronunciation: [simˈχa], Yiddish pronunciation: [ˈsɪmχə]) is a Hebrew word with several meanings. Literally, the word "simcha" means gladness, or joy. It comes from the root word "sameyach," which means glad or happy.
I had a simcha moment this morning. Of a sudden, and for no apparent reason, I had a moment of pure joy this morning. It washed over me like a wave of gladness and I thought to myself "I am happy and I want every one around me to feel this way". Of course it passed. But for that brief moment all was right with my world. I wonder if this is the moment one has before dying (just saying). Not that I thought I would drop dead from my simcha moment. OK, so for maybe a moment I thought I would drop dead. But if that had happened I would have died in a moment of pure joy.
Percy came over with Phyllis last night and we discussed my pal Jerry's memorial service planned for the 29th of September at 9:00 a.m. (y'all come!). We are planting Jerry's ashes, along with that of his beloved cat Sassy, with a sugar maple. A memorial tree. It will stand guard on campus forever and a day and will line the sidewalk Jerry took every day to the Union and back and then back again on his way home. Percy has a nice brief service planned and we are taking a page from a Jewish service, i.e., having those who want to shovel a trowel full of ashes in the ground to do so. Ostensibly this is done at Jewish services for the reason that we had help coming into this work so should we have help leaving. Jerry left over two years ago and his ashes have been well traveled since but now he will go to his final rest and this, I hope bring closure. Up until now it did not feel as if I had any real closure. But with the service I hope to bring to an end the transitional phase of my life, my life from Highland Street to the condo, and now I am in a much better place. My simcha place. So maybe this is why I had a simcha moment this morning. The coming closure of a chapter in my life. A chapter of sorrow and of some joy but not to the extent that I feel happy in the "nowness" of this moment. Yes, dear friends, I am living in the moment and that moment feels right. A simcha place.
And, yes indeed I have a cat name of Simcha, who is. He is the embodiment of all that is joyous. Although some days he prefers to be called either Francois or Sven, depending on his mood and my own. Gonif has morphed into Eduardo, although he is still my little Gonif, the one who stole my heart. He'll be nine in October, but is still very kittenish. Then there is the big boy, Yankel (Yiddish for Jacob) who now prefers the monikers of either Moshe or Raul depending on the day of the week. See in spite of having various simcha moments though out the day I really have no life. No, but seriously folks, I do have a life. It includes the silliness of renaming my cats depending on my whimsies. And whimsical I am. And I enjoy being silly. Silly is what wrought the break between the Soul Sucker. She had no whimsy. Still doesn't I suspect. This being silly brings me jollity much like Jupiter is the bringer of Jollity (see: Gustav Holst's the Planets). Really we could refine the term simcha to be a moment of joyous silliness.
I love to laugh. It keeps the tears at bay. Sophie and I make each other laugh and lighten our day. When she retires in December (oops, the cat is out of the bag) I shall miss her constantly. Her sense of humor meshes so seamlessly with my own. And we are silly. Lowbrow silly. Nothing makes us laugh harder that the natural passage of gas. See Sophie is on some medication that makes her, well, belch. Her gas attacks just make me laugh as they are so monumental as to shake the library. A helluva good medication that is. And it was these belches that angered the Soul Sucker to the point where she accused Sophie of doing this on purpose to annoy her. Not so. They are the natural byproduct of medication. Sorry to say I laugh out loud. The more outrageous the belch the better my laughter is and, as they say, laughter is the best medicine. Another simcha moment has passed as has gas. [if you recall Sophie originally had the name of Gastric but upon accompanying me to West Bloomfield in Michigan to see a production of "Old Jews Telling Jokes" she became my close and personal friend Sophie Horowitz].
So keep the laughter coming. Keep those simcha moments coming. I will take it all. And away we go.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
The rest of the story
I know you are dying to hear, as Paul Harvey would say, The Rest of the Story of the ill-fated trip to New Orleans in 1979. Well, here goes.
My "roommate" at the time (perhaps a euphemism (or not)) and I were sitting at the dinner table on early spring day (in just spring) (when MSU was on terms) at our rental house in Lansing (which we were about to not have our lease renewed for any number of neighborly complaints (in just fall)) and she pined about being on break (she being a medical student in her last term) and wanting to go south for the break. We didn't have a lot of money but she had a car and gas money so I lied to my parents and said I was going to Chicago with a friend for break and off we headed to Hot Springs, Arkansas, ostensibly our only destination. We made it in a day of constant driving, with me behind the wheel at daybreak somewhere in Arkansas as I pulled the little red Toyota off the road and stalled the car. She drove the rest of the way to Hot Springs, which was a lovely, deserted old town. We had a very cheap breakfast in town and then headed to one of the Hot Springs resorts for the waters and a massage. While we were being kneaded into senselessness she waxed poetic about New Orleans, where she had done her undergraduate degree at Tulane. Gee, she said, wouldn't it be fun to go there again. And I was so relaxed, and consuming great amounts of Jack Daniels, said Sure, why not? So less than twelve hours later we pulled into her friend's house in Metarie, Louisiana, where she proceeded to dump me where her friend, who was nice enough to show me the French Quarter. Prior to her leaving me with a friend the car we were in was rear-ended as we sat at a traffic light. The Good Hands People were good enough to total the car out an let us keep the vehicle while giving us just enough money to last a week in New Orleans, where my roommate proceeded to look up old flame after old flame and desert me. Then there was the night where we were all together, eating a dinner of crayfish etouffee and watching MSU and Magic Johnson beat Larry Bird and Indiana State for the national title in basketball. At which I consumed more Jack Daniels and smoked some really good grass and managed to puke all over the guest bathroom, which caused my roommate great emotional distance and remorse on my part. Next day woke up clear as a bell, with a lovely hangover, and we left for parts unknown, including a side trip for her to see yet another old flame in Atlanta where she dumped me with yet another of her old friends and left me to stew the night away on a sofa bed in a living room of total strangers while she did God knows what for the next twenty four hours. I was upset beyond all recognition. When she finally re-appeared she was not contrite about the situation she had set me in and we did not speak again until in Indiana. We were running out of the car crash money and things were getting tight in that we did not know if we would have enough gas money to get back to Michigan. We were smoking butts of cigarettes and drinking water instead of Jack Daniels, not eating for almost twenty hours before finally and safely arriving in East Lansing the Tuesday after classes had resumed. In just spring. The class I was T.A.-ing for had already met once and my prof had signed me up for classes. I was less than happy as I was left in East Lansing doing mundane things while roomy headed back to Carson City, Michigan to finish her internship. That summer we both graduated. She with a degree in Osteopathic Medicine and me with my M.A. in history. She promptly moved out and moved to Detroit and did a residency. Oh, and did I mention she was a "nun" in a crazy religious cult that had paid for her medical education whereupon she and another "priest" in the same order, left the cult, got married and had at least one child together. Boy was the order mad. This was the year of Three Mile Island and just a year after the mass suicides at Jonestown. Her order, The Holy Order of Mans, sent out a tape right after Jonestown, instructing the members of her order how to respond to charges that they, too, were a CULT. The whole purpose of her year with me was to get me to go to EST training, get "baptized" in her cult, and then for her to move on. I was lonely enough and clueless enough to fall for the whole shebang. By the same time the following year I had drunk myself out of the PhD program and was on unemployment and was singing part time in a bar in the heart of Lansing as Katy Muldoon. I was also in great need of therapy as the bipolar boogies were descending on me fast. Whereupon I had a new roommate and bought a house. I was lonely enough and clueless enough to fall for the whole shebang. And fifteen years later I finally moved out and the rest is misery. I moved to the condo for eighteen weird years and now, finally, am safe without remorse in my new chateau, Sans Souci. And I am no longer lonely enough and clueless enough. I don't think my "baptism" in the Holy Order means squat anymore. Who knows. I have no idea where I left the past, I just know it is gone and I have, finally, moved past some of the rougher spots. I like Hyphen 2.0 as she is always telling me how far I have come (in just since late July with her). And I guess I have.
My "roommate" at the time (perhaps a euphemism (or not)) and I were sitting at the dinner table on early spring day (in just spring) (when MSU was on terms) at our rental house in Lansing (which we were about to not have our lease renewed for any number of neighborly complaints (in just fall)) and she pined about being on break (she being a medical student in her last term) and wanting to go south for the break. We didn't have a lot of money but she had a car and gas money so I lied to my parents and said I was going to Chicago with a friend for break and off we headed to Hot Springs, Arkansas, ostensibly our only destination. We made it in a day of constant driving, with me behind the wheel at daybreak somewhere in Arkansas as I pulled the little red Toyota off the road and stalled the car. She drove the rest of the way to Hot Springs, which was a lovely, deserted old town. We had a very cheap breakfast in town and then headed to one of the Hot Springs resorts for the waters and a massage. While we were being kneaded into senselessness she waxed poetic about New Orleans, where she had done her undergraduate degree at Tulane. Gee, she said, wouldn't it be fun to go there again. And I was so relaxed, and consuming great amounts of Jack Daniels, said Sure, why not? So less than twelve hours later we pulled into her friend's house in Metarie, Louisiana, where she proceeded to dump me where her friend, who was nice enough to show me the French Quarter. Prior to her leaving me with a friend the car we were in was rear-ended as we sat at a traffic light. The Good Hands People were good enough to total the car out an let us keep the vehicle while giving us just enough money to last a week in New Orleans, where my roommate proceeded to look up old flame after old flame and desert me. Then there was the night where we were all together, eating a dinner of crayfish etouffee and watching MSU and Magic Johnson beat Larry Bird and Indiana State for the national title in basketball. At which I consumed more Jack Daniels and smoked some really good grass and managed to puke all over the guest bathroom, which caused my roommate great emotional distance and remorse on my part. Next day woke up clear as a bell, with a lovely hangover, and we left for parts unknown, including a side trip for her to see yet another old flame in Atlanta where she dumped me with yet another of her old friends and left me to stew the night away on a sofa bed in a living room of total strangers while she did God knows what for the next twenty four hours. I was upset beyond all recognition. When she finally re-appeared she was not contrite about the situation she had set me in and we did not speak again until in Indiana. We were running out of the car crash money and things were getting tight in that we did not know if we would have enough gas money to get back to Michigan. We were smoking butts of cigarettes and drinking water instead of Jack Daniels, not eating for almost twenty hours before finally and safely arriving in East Lansing the Tuesday after classes had resumed. In just spring. The class I was T.A.-ing for had already met once and my prof had signed me up for classes. I was less than happy as I was left in East Lansing doing mundane things while roomy headed back to Carson City, Michigan to finish her internship. That summer we both graduated. She with a degree in Osteopathic Medicine and me with my M.A. in history. She promptly moved out and moved to Detroit and did a residency. Oh, and did I mention she was a "nun" in a crazy religious cult that had paid for her medical education whereupon she and another "priest" in the same order, left the cult, got married and had at least one child together. Boy was the order mad. This was the year of Three Mile Island and just a year after the mass suicides at Jonestown. Her order, The Holy Order of Mans, sent out a tape right after Jonestown, instructing the members of her order how to respond to charges that they, too, were a CULT. The whole purpose of her year with me was to get me to go to EST training, get "baptized" in her cult, and then for her to move on. I was lonely enough and clueless enough to fall for the whole shebang. By the same time the following year I had drunk myself out of the PhD program and was on unemployment and was singing part time in a bar in the heart of Lansing as Katy Muldoon. I was also in great need of therapy as the bipolar boogies were descending on me fast. Whereupon I had a new roommate and bought a house. I was lonely enough and clueless enough to fall for the whole shebang. And fifteen years later I finally moved out and the rest is misery. I moved to the condo for eighteen weird years and now, finally, am safe without remorse in my new chateau, Sans Souci. And I am no longer lonely enough and clueless enough. I don't think my "baptism" in the Holy Order means squat anymore. Who knows. I have no idea where I left the past, I just know it is gone and I have, finally, moved past some of the rougher spots. I like Hyphen 2.0 as she is always telling me how far I have come (in just since late July with her). And I guess I have.
Monday, September 21, 2015
Hyphen 2.0...the renaming
We have a new member of the cataloging team who has a voice as annoying as her predecessor and has been dubbed J***2.0 (and am I ever jealous that Green Tuna came up with that designation before I did (no relation to MPT (heaven forbid))). So Hyphen 2 has been renamed to Hyphen 2.0 (or just 2.0). Ms. JB was getting confused as I was referring to Hyphen 2.0 as just Hyphen and the original Hyphen had me in session on Mondays and 2.0 has me in session on Tuesdays. She was getting confused as to what days to pick me up. So Hyphen 2 is now the new and improved Hyphen 2.0.
So, why should the days confuse JB? Why should it matter when she has to pick me up? Well, my darlings, I do not drive. Scares the pookie out of me. I am even a bad passenger (just ask anyone) as I "ride" the "passenger side brake". Oh, I drove many years ago and was a pretty bad driver, but I still have a driver's license. But as for actually driving ...no so much since 1976 when I migrated from Detroit. The last time I drove as on a Jack Daniels fueled road trip to New Orleans in 1979. The car had a stick and I would drive the night shift as I couldn't drive a stick. I would slip in behind the driver and just take over and when dawn broke rosy over the highway I would pull the car off to the side of the road and stall it to a stop. Some day I may go deeper into the whole story but I do remember getting money from a friend (Thanks Jon (and Cheryl)) (in the days before ATMs)...writing him a check and taking his available cash and heading on a wing and a prayer to ostensibly Hot Springs and then proceeding to New Orleans, where my friend totaled the car but it was still road-worthy so we took the insurance payoff and stayed another week in New Orleans and took our time returning to East Lansing. And when we arrived we were without money, cigarettes and Jack Daniels. So that is my story and I am sticking to it.
And so it goes. I just know you want to hear more of this story. Well, perhaps soon...
So, why should the days confuse JB? Why should it matter when she has to pick me up? Well, my darlings, I do not drive. Scares the pookie out of me. I am even a bad passenger (just ask anyone) as I "ride" the "passenger side brake". Oh, I drove many years ago and was a pretty bad driver, but I still have a driver's license. But as for actually driving ...no so much since 1976 when I migrated from Detroit. The last time I drove as on a Jack Daniels fueled road trip to New Orleans in 1979. The car had a stick and I would drive the night shift as I couldn't drive a stick. I would slip in behind the driver and just take over and when dawn broke rosy over the highway I would pull the car off to the side of the road and stall it to a stop. Some day I may go deeper into the whole story but I do remember getting money from a friend (Thanks Jon (and Cheryl)) (in the days before ATMs)...writing him a check and taking his available cash and heading on a wing and a prayer to ostensibly Hot Springs and then proceeding to New Orleans, where my friend totaled the car but it was still road-worthy so we took the insurance payoff and stayed another week in New Orleans and took our time returning to East Lansing. And when we arrived we were without money, cigarettes and Jack Daniels. So that is my story and I am sticking to it.
And so it goes. I just know you want to hear more of this story. Well, perhaps soon...
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
The Tree
About two and a half years ago my neighbor and close friend, Jerry, passed away and I had the misfortune, although not as unfortunate for me as it was for him, of finding his dead body in his condo. I was and am the PR for the estate and saw to it that his wishes to be cremated were followed. He was very estranged from his family. We were each others family. So I had both his ashes and the ashes of his late cat Sassy in the lovely green bag form Gorsline Runciman in my condo. Not having had to deal with a decedent's ashes (Jews do not, as a rule, cremate (except for Joan Rivers) especially since the horror and symbolism of the Holocaust and the ovens). I digress, and I am quite good at that. So, I asked the Rabbi what to do with the ashes. Jerry wanted to be scattered on campus, a position not prohibited by university regulations, but I really did not want or know how to deal with ashes. Rabbi Z suggested composting the ashes and planting a tree. Well I wasn't going to plant a tree in Israel but one on campus seemed like a great idea. And so it will be on September 29th at 9:00 we will plant a sugar maple on the path between the library and Union, a path Jerry traversed daily. A small ceremony, a few words and then closure. Now Jerry had his friends at the library and many from the old hipster contingent will be there. As much for him as for me perhaps and to help with closure for us all. A celebration of life. I do not want to do a "funeral meal" post tree planting. I just want to get back to work. This is a big enough event as it is without adding the symbolism of another aspect of a funeral. I had a wake for Jerry shortly after his passing. But then Gorsline Runciman Funeral Home had to call me several times to pick up his ashes. I just like the Jewish tradition of burial within twenty four hours (unless that would involve a Shabbat). I guess I am not one for hoisting a beer on occasions in honor of the departed. Now I will and have lit a Yahrzeit candle but ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
I am honored that many people want to come to this. And I an "heartened" that many will come to help me with the closure to this chapter of life. This is really the last of the unfinished business of the condo. That will be the real closure for me. To successfully move on to my new life; to leave behind what is meant to be left and to to accept what has been given.
So if you would like to come to the ceremony mark your calendar for the 29th of September at 9:00...we will be the second tree on the left en route to the Union. Stop by.
I am honored that many people want to come to this. And I an "heartened" that many will come to help me with the closure to this chapter of life. This is really the last of the unfinished business of the condo. That will be the real closure for me. To successfully move on to my new life; to leave behind what is meant to be left and to to accept what has been given.
So if you would like to come to the ceremony mark your calendar for the 29th of September at 9:00...we will be the second tree on the left en route to the Union. Stop by.
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Boot redux
Yes indeedy, I is a boot-wearing member of the osteoporosis club. The new orthopod, who is very similar to Groucho Marx and has a totally unpronounceable and consonant riddled Dutch name, was very thorough and thought my last orthopod was, literally, a Putz. He said another three to four weeks in the boot and really upped my intake of calcium and Vitamin D. I am less than happy about the boot but grateful to have a new doctor who really seems to know what he is doing. I go back on the 6th of October.
La Shana Tovah to all my Jewish readers. And to the Gentiles amongst you Happy New Year, 5776. Beat that! We are as old as the dinosaurs if we are to believe the creationists amongst you (which I won't dignify with an uppercase C). I thought I was going to go to services tonight but it will be Kol Nidre next Tuesday night for Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur is the Day of Atonement, a fasting observance. It is also the close of the High Holy Days, which started Sunday night with Rosh Hashanah. Kol Nidre literally means "all vows" and is basically a tort with God and the universe. It is also a beautifully sung prayer, very plaintive. Too bad our synagogue has no Cantor, but I hear a number of the men in the congregation have the most beautiful of basso voices. As for Original Sin, we will have none of that. Jews believe that man enters the world free of sin, with a soul that is pure and innocent and untainted. The High Holy Days serve as a time of renewal. And thus concludeth Judaism 101: The High Holy Days.
On a less than pleasant note, a really unpleasant note that is, the MPT is humming almost constantly. Now I don't want to get into a pissing match with her regards her humming, as she did with me over my brief humming career. Now I am so paranoid about humming that I don't dare hum or will run the risk of another tirade directed my way by the MPT. She seems totally oblivious to her obnoxious behavior for which she is so critical of in others but herself, not so much. But it being the High Holy Days I shall refrain from criticizing her refrain.
I have therapy today with Hyphen 2. She wanted to see photos of the house, while I want to talk about other more pressing matters, like me having to do things I don't want to do, regards the planting of the Paulins' tree of life. This is becoming a big deal. They U wanted to do this on Thursday this week, something I found out only yesterday and said I have a doctor's appointment at the appointed time. I requested that it be done the week of the 28th so I have time to round up the troops. And I really don't want to have to plan a lunch to follow the planting. I just want to walk back to work. Need to speak to Hyphen 2 about this.
My finger tips are blistered from playing the mandolin and guitar so much. Callouses are coming next. I was able to play a little longer today. And so it goes. Working on pieces for the Jamming Jews evening at KI Synagogue. I had a great "lesson" with Ben last night and worked up a few pieces. More to come.
La Shana Tovah to all my Jewish readers. And to the Gentiles amongst you Happy New Year, 5776. Beat that! We are as old as the dinosaurs if we are to believe the creationists amongst you (which I won't dignify with an uppercase C). I thought I was going to go to services tonight but it will be Kol Nidre next Tuesday night for Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur is the Day of Atonement, a fasting observance. It is also the close of the High Holy Days, which started Sunday night with Rosh Hashanah. Kol Nidre literally means "all vows" and is basically a tort with God and the universe. It is also a beautifully sung prayer, very plaintive. Too bad our synagogue has no Cantor, but I hear a number of the men in the congregation have the most beautiful of basso voices. As for Original Sin, we will have none of that. Jews believe that man enters the world free of sin, with a soul that is pure and innocent and untainted. The High Holy Days serve as a time of renewal. And thus concludeth Judaism 101: The High Holy Days.
On a less than pleasant note, a really unpleasant note that is, the MPT is humming almost constantly. Now I don't want to get into a pissing match with her regards her humming, as she did with me over my brief humming career. Now I am so paranoid about humming that I don't dare hum or will run the risk of another tirade directed my way by the MPT. She seems totally oblivious to her obnoxious behavior for which she is so critical of in others but herself, not so much. But it being the High Holy Days I shall refrain from criticizing her refrain.
I have therapy today with Hyphen 2. She wanted to see photos of the house, while I want to talk about other more pressing matters, like me having to do things I don't want to do, regards the planting of the Paulins' tree of life. This is becoming a big deal. They U wanted to do this on Thursday this week, something I found out only yesterday and said I have a doctor's appointment at the appointed time. I requested that it be done the week of the 28th so I have time to round up the troops. And I really don't want to have to plan a lunch to follow the planting. I just want to walk back to work. Need to speak to Hyphen 2 about this.
My finger tips are blistered from playing the mandolin and guitar so much. Callouses are coming next. I was able to play a little longer today. And so it goes. Working on pieces for the Jamming Jews evening at KI Synagogue. I had a great "lesson" with Ben last night and worked up a few pieces. More to come.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
The boot
May be drawing near again. I finally was able to make an appointment with someone at East Lansing Orthopedics Association, kinda the legal team of orthopedists. However my appointment is Friday at 8 a.m. (sorry JB) and depending on the outcome, which I think will either be another MRI or PT or both, we may proceed to breakfast and then back to work for me. But the foot, like Cinderella's slipper and the striking of the midnight hour may turn me back into a booted pumpkin. I am just sick unto death of the pain and the awkwardness. And I need to change the bed AGAIN as someone has taken it upon himself to soil the sheets with, how do you say, an emetic substance. But the sheets are soiled. Off they go this afternoon. But first I pick up my MRI CD to take to my orthopedic appointment tomorrow and I must come home and to meet with a Glickman about Jammin' Jews.
Now I have a slight problem with playing. Seems I have been playing so much after not playing for several weeks that my callouses are now mere blisters causing me some degree of discomfort when playing. The mandolin teacher thinks I should pop then to hasten their return to callousness. I say moderate playing will turn the mush to a callous faster. We shall see who is more correct in their approach to the problem.
As for the Glickman, well, I don't know what to expect. What I am hoping is that we can get two sets of a music playlist that I can practice and rehearse. Maybe the first set more traditional and old school and the second 20th century folk music, from Yip Harburg (Brother can you spare a dime?) to some from Fiddler on the Roof (oh, don't make me do Sunrise, Sunset) and then some Steve Goodman ( a nice Jewish boy who wrote City of New Orleans) to Carole King and Paul Simon. And then have the planned dessert in between the two sets. So that is how I see it happening. I have a whole slew of music books we can go through, plus online via the reliable iPad. But say learning twenty to thirty songs in two months, well, all I can say is I will need some help and some good callouses.
And now it is off to the library...
So now I am at the library listening to Bach and just over the sound of my headphones, which, by the way, are not noise cancelling (oh, why, oh, why) is the lovely lilting sounds of MPT clearing her throat every few seconds (or so it seems). MUST MAKE MUSIC LOUDER (or get noise cancelling headphones, which would make hearing the phone ring a near impossibility). Besides, the only sound that truly annoys is the constant throat clearing. Maybe she should smoke a little less of the wacky tabacky at night. I am just saying...
Ah, Bach...
Now I have a slight problem with playing. Seems I have been playing so much after not playing for several weeks that my callouses are now mere blisters causing me some degree of discomfort when playing. The mandolin teacher thinks I should pop then to hasten their return to callousness. I say moderate playing will turn the mush to a callous faster. We shall see who is more correct in their approach to the problem.
As for the Glickman, well, I don't know what to expect. What I am hoping is that we can get two sets of a music playlist that I can practice and rehearse. Maybe the first set more traditional and old school and the second 20th century folk music, from Yip Harburg (Brother can you spare a dime?) to some from Fiddler on the Roof (oh, don't make me do Sunrise, Sunset) and then some Steve Goodman ( a nice Jewish boy who wrote City of New Orleans) to Carole King and Paul Simon. And then have the planned dessert in between the two sets. So that is how I see it happening. I have a whole slew of music books we can go through, plus online via the reliable iPad. But say learning twenty to thirty songs in two months, well, all I can say is I will need some help and some good callouses.
And now it is off to the library...
So now I am at the library listening to Bach and just over the sound of my headphones, which, by the way, are not noise cancelling (oh, why, oh, why) is the lovely lilting sounds of MPT clearing her throat every few seconds (or so it seems). MUST MAKE MUSIC LOUDER (or get noise cancelling headphones, which would make hearing the phone ring a near impossibility). Besides, the only sound that truly annoys is the constant throat clearing. Maybe she should smoke a little less of the wacky tabacky at night. I am just saying...
Ah, Bach...
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Day 2 Sans boot
My ankle is achy but not as much as I thought it would be based on all the walking I did yesterday. 1.78 miles just by going to the LR and the Cyber Cafe in the library. It is no worse today so another day without the boot. I did FINALLY get a referral to a new orthopod but I can't make an appointment...they have to call ME to make the appointment. That sucks. I feel like I could benefit from a course of PT and a lighter brace but I may not be able to get in for a month and then WHAT'S THE POINT??? I will be healed by then. An x-ray is not going to show a thing and I really could use another MRI, but then I am not a doctor, I only play one on TV. So it is day 2 without the boot.
I didn't get to talk much in therapy about closure issues. We did talk about my upcoming Jammin' Jews session and also Holocaust denial literature, which she was blissfully unaware of and also of the MPT and her impact on the workplace. Finally in the last twenty minutes we began to talk about closure regards Jerry and I want to bring that issue up regards Hyphen 1. Even if Hyphen 1 fully recovers and resumes practice in a year I doubt if I am going to go back to her so I need some closure. Also I would also like to address my fear that if Hyphen 2 goes on vacation that she might not come back. That kind of closure I don't want again. But I really need to deal with Hyphen 1's accident and the fear of losing my safety net. Need to be more focused with Hyphen 2. I get the sense she enjoys our sessions. She wants to see photos of my home and backyard so this weekend I will take the phone out and get her some photos. I would really like to clean off the overburdened counter to the right and left of the stove before taking those pictures. I am hoping Sophie's son can help me get two bookshelves up from the basement to be used in a pantry. If I can do that I would feel less antsy about all the accumulated clutter in the house from my confinement in the boot. Clutter, clutter everywhere and not a spot for Dink.
Last night I kinda fell asleep watching a baseball game and woke up about 10:30. I thought "why not play the guitar for an hour and stay up and watch the new Late Show with Stephen Colbert". So I did. Wrote part of a new song and actually wrote that part down so I won't forget it. Got out my book of music that I write and put it in next to my hit single "My Yiddishe Cowgirl". Ah, there's a song for the ages. Fell back to sleep at about 12:30 and got up this morning at my usual time of 4:15 so I can practice the mandolin, which I did, and also got out the guitar to work on The Parting Glass. Why not? Both a guitar and a mandolin part.
Alright, kiddies, time to take a seat and engage in my occupation of being the Authority Czarina. MPT is clearing her throat to her heart's desire and, sorry, it gets to me and I shouldn't let it. But she has this annoying method of constantly clearing her throat that involves a little lilt at the end. Very annoying and there she goes again. Why, oh why???
Adieu
I didn't get to talk much in therapy about closure issues. We did talk about my upcoming Jammin' Jews session and also Holocaust denial literature, which she was blissfully unaware of and also of the MPT and her impact on the workplace. Finally in the last twenty minutes we began to talk about closure regards Jerry and I want to bring that issue up regards Hyphen 1. Even if Hyphen 1 fully recovers and resumes practice in a year I doubt if I am going to go back to her so I need some closure. Also I would also like to address my fear that if Hyphen 2 goes on vacation that she might not come back. That kind of closure I don't want again. But I really need to deal with Hyphen 1's accident and the fear of losing my safety net. Need to be more focused with Hyphen 2. I get the sense she enjoys our sessions. She wants to see photos of my home and backyard so this weekend I will take the phone out and get her some photos. I would really like to clean off the overburdened counter to the right and left of the stove before taking those pictures. I am hoping Sophie's son can help me get two bookshelves up from the basement to be used in a pantry. If I can do that I would feel less antsy about all the accumulated clutter in the house from my confinement in the boot. Clutter, clutter everywhere and not a spot for Dink.
Last night I kinda fell asleep watching a baseball game and woke up about 10:30. I thought "why not play the guitar for an hour and stay up and watch the new Late Show with Stephen Colbert". So I did. Wrote part of a new song and actually wrote that part down so I won't forget it. Got out my book of music that I write and put it in next to my hit single "My Yiddishe Cowgirl". Ah, there's a song for the ages. Fell back to sleep at about 12:30 and got up this morning at my usual time of 4:15 so I can practice the mandolin, which I did, and also got out the guitar to work on The Parting Glass. Why not? Both a guitar and a mandolin part.
Alright, kiddies, time to take a seat and engage in my occupation of being the Authority Czarina. MPT is clearing her throat to her heart's desire and, sorry, it gets to me and I shouldn't let it. But she has this annoying method of constantly clearing her throat that involves a little lilt at the end. Very annoying and there she goes again. Why, oh why???
Adieu
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
A laborious weekend...not
I had a great weekend. As promised the new guitar was waiting for me when I arrived home, as were four dozen Kosher hot dogs. I played one and cooked the other. As hot dogs don't play well with others it was the Guild guitar I unpacked and cradled in my arms. It is a concert size, a smaller guitar, as opposed to a dreadnought, which is more than a mere sailing ship of a guitar. I played and played and played. My fingertips, unaccustomed to playing for almost eight weeks, screamed as they tried to accommodate my hour long jam session. Yes, the Hebrew Jammer is in da house. And I will tell you that before I sat down to play I did unpack the Vienna Brand (not style but brand) all beef Kosher hot dogs shipped that day from Chicago, city of the big shoulders and the best Kosher hot dogs, and place them in the freezer, leaving out two for dinner that night. I made Chicago style hot dogs, sans the poppyseed buns, but dragged through the garden as it were. It was the first time I had cooked since my confinement in the boot. Heartened as I was by my new found mobility I hobbled around in the boot without the aid of the crutches. And by Monday night I had decided to try to wear both shoes and go to work with the boot but not wearing it. I put a brace on that ankle and we will see how the day goes. The break feels healed but the ankle is very tight and a little achy. If I get tired or more achy I will put the boot back on. But I will, in general, take it easy regards walking all week. Just trips to the LR and the Cyber Cafe will be it. And not too often. Certainly it does not help that the weather is so blasted humid and rainy. A drier and cooler day and perhaps the ache would be minimal.
I played both my new guitar and my lovely mandolin this weekend, preparatory to resuming lessons and getting ready for Jammin' Jews, now scheduled for Novemener 21st. I meet with a musical mentor this Thursday and we will draw up a playlist and that I will rehearse and practice until I have achieved a level of confidence. If I have to do songs in Hebrew I will need a great deal of help but Yiddish I can somewhat handle as that is what my grandparents spoke, especially when they didn't want the kids to understand what was being said.
So, this weekend brought a resumption of music, a resumption of cooking and a resumption of a less hobbled approach to walking.
And...away I go...
I played both my new guitar and my lovely mandolin this weekend, preparatory to resuming lessons and getting ready for Jammin' Jews, now scheduled for Novemener 21st. I meet with a musical mentor this Thursday and we will draw up a playlist and that I will rehearse and practice until I have achieved a level of confidence. If I have to do songs in Hebrew I will need a great deal of help but Yiddish I can somewhat handle as that is what my grandparents spoke, especially when they didn't want the kids to understand what was being said.
So, this weekend brought a resumption of music, a resumption of cooking and a resumption of a less hobbled approach to walking.
And...away I go...
Friday, September 4, 2015
Shine a little light...
As indicated yesterday, amid the noise and light of the morning, today is new guitar and laundry day. My pal, Brody's former mom, AKA Phyllis Edelman, is coming to my abode to, dare I say it, strip, (you should pardon the expression) my bed and gather up my laundry and take me to her abode for a dinner and laundry opportunity. Percy will be there as well and that is great as I need to speak with him about the tree ceremony for my late friend Jerry, and for the planting of said tree (a sugar maple) and the planting of his ashes along with his tree, in the shadow of Beaumont Tower, close to the library he so dearly loved. Percy is not an Edelman, and how long Phyllis stays one is a question for the ages. Before that my guitar student and his mom and younger brother will come to my house for a tour and maybe a lesson as I show off my yet to be delivered but to be delivered today Guild Guitar.
This weekend promises to be a gluttony of Kosher hot dogs, clean laundry, music and sports. Today MSU, my alma mater, is playing powerhouse (NOT) Western Michigan University at 7:00. This is the first Friday opener in a number of years not to be played at MSU. In years past they asked employees to be off campus by 3:00 p.m. to accommodate the onslaught of tailgaters. Today, for some reason, a number of library departments wanted full staffing (which they are not getting) Sophie is off for the second day with a headache (as I suspected she would be so I made arrangements on Thursday for a ride home today). Her department was one that wanted full staffing. And so it goes. Unfortunately I can't shine a light on that situation.
I will resume mandolin lessons on the 21st of the month. Until then, and especially this weekend, I will practice both the mandolin and the new Guild Guitar to be delivered today (had I mentioned that yet?). I have my therapist on Tuesdays now so Monday lessons will not be as onerous with the haze of a therapy session and Valium hanging over me. No, I shall be clear eyed. Speaking of therapists, have I spoken about Hyphen 2 and how much I am enjoying working with her? She is very engaged and gives a great deal of open and honest feedback. I don't dread going to therapy, as I did with the Bird (for fear she would spring re-birthing on me or some other hyped up trendy treatment). No, Hyphen 2 is very well grounded and does treat hypersensitivity in people, formerly known as introversion. And, yes, I do tend to be introverted, save for these ramblings. I feel much more in my element when I write then when speaking. But I am much more verbal than I was, say ten years ago. I used to be afraid to speak to an "adult" (who are persons, unlike me, who have grown to a certain maturity I feel I lack). Now I am better at it. Perhaps it is the practice of speaking with Aunt Marilyn. But I do feel child-like as compared to my peers. I feel as if I have never grown up. As Margaret Atwood opine: “I believe that everyone else my age is an adult whereas I am merely in disguise.” I am so inclined. Adding Maya Angelou to the mix: “I am convinced that most people do not grow up...We marry and dare to have children and call that growing up. I think what we do is mostly grow old. We carry accumulation of years in our bodies, and on our faces, but generally our real selves, the children inside, are innocent and shy as magnolias.” Indeed that is how I feel. And when you find someone who expresses your innermost self in a slightly more eloquent fashion you are obliged to quote them in the hopes of giving a more fulsome expression of yourself. Thus Spake Czarina.
So I indicated hot dogs would be the order of the weekend. I did order a mess of Vienna all beef hot dogs from Chicago this week, yesterday as a matter of fact, and I anticipate their arrival concurrent with the arrival of the Guild Guitar, however, I will only grill the dogs and not the guitar. The Guild Guitar I will treat tenderly and lovingly and confess my excess to Hyphen 2 on Tuesday. That will shine a little light on me. Hyphen 2 is of the opinion that I ought to enjoy myself and not belittle myself into a deep and dark depression (and that is really for the winter months...but #gottalovewintersolstice). Dinner with friends tonight, as well as clean laundry, and dinner with dogs on Saturday. Hopefully Sophie is well enough to shop for me this weekend. Sophie is older this week having celebrated her old birthday. We shall see. While we are two juvenile together if truth be told she is more grown up than I. I am amazed that such people hang with a child such as myself.
Let us turn our thoughts today to things both juvenile and immature. The burp and fart, the warp and weft, of life. That will be me on my deathbed. Alone (as that is my choice) laughing at one last fart.
Shine a little light...
This weekend promises to be a gluttony of Kosher hot dogs, clean laundry, music and sports. Today MSU, my alma mater, is playing powerhouse (NOT) Western Michigan University at 7:00. This is the first Friday opener in a number of years not to be played at MSU. In years past they asked employees to be off campus by 3:00 p.m. to accommodate the onslaught of tailgaters. Today, for some reason, a number of library departments wanted full staffing (which they are not getting) Sophie is off for the second day with a headache (as I suspected she would be so I made arrangements on Thursday for a ride home today). Her department was one that wanted full staffing. And so it goes. Unfortunately I can't shine a light on that situation.
I will resume mandolin lessons on the 21st of the month. Until then, and especially this weekend, I will practice both the mandolin and the new Guild Guitar to be delivered today (had I mentioned that yet?). I have my therapist on Tuesdays now so Monday lessons will not be as onerous with the haze of a therapy session and Valium hanging over me. No, I shall be clear eyed. Speaking of therapists, have I spoken about Hyphen 2 and how much I am enjoying working with her? She is very engaged and gives a great deal of open and honest feedback. I don't dread going to therapy, as I did with the Bird (for fear she would spring re-birthing on me or some other hyped up trendy treatment). No, Hyphen 2 is very well grounded and does treat hypersensitivity in people, formerly known as introversion. And, yes, I do tend to be introverted, save for these ramblings. I feel much more in my element when I write then when speaking. But I am much more verbal than I was, say ten years ago. I used to be afraid to speak to an "adult" (who are persons, unlike me, who have grown to a certain maturity I feel I lack). Now I am better at it. Perhaps it is the practice of speaking with Aunt Marilyn. But I do feel child-like as compared to my peers. I feel as if I have never grown up. As Margaret Atwood opine: “I believe that everyone else my age is an adult whereas I am merely in disguise.” I am so inclined. Adding Maya Angelou to the mix: “I am convinced that most people do not grow up...We marry and dare to have children and call that growing up. I think what we do is mostly grow old. We carry accumulation of years in our bodies, and on our faces, but generally our real selves, the children inside, are innocent and shy as magnolias.” Indeed that is how I feel. And when you find someone who expresses your innermost self in a slightly more eloquent fashion you are obliged to quote them in the hopes of giving a more fulsome expression of yourself. Thus Spake Czarina.
So I indicated hot dogs would be the order of the weekend. I did order a mess of Vienna all beef hot dogs from Chicago this week, yesterday as a matter of fact, and I anticipate their arrival concurrent with the arrival of the Guild Guitar, however, I will only grill the dogs and not the guitar. The Guild Guitar I will treat tenderly and lovingly and confess my excess to Hyphen 2 on Tuesday. That will shine a little light on me. Hyphen 2 is of the opinion that I ought to enjoy myself and not belittle myself into a deep and dark depression (and that is really for the winter months...but #gottalovewintersolstice). Dinner with friends tonight, as well as clean laundry, and dinner with dogs on Saturday. Hopefully Sophie is well enough to shop for me this weekend. Sophie is older this week having celebrated her old birthday. We shall see. While we are two juvenile together if truth be told she is more grown up than I. I am amazed that such people hang with a child such as myself.
Let us turn our thoughts today to things both juvenile and immature. The burp and fart, the warp and weft, of life. That will be me on my deathbed. Alone (as that is my choice) laughing at one last fart.
Shine a little light...
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Lights out!
Gotta love smart phones. Here I sit in the dark illuminated by the glow of my soon to be outdated iPhone 6 and I get to blog. We, that is as far as my eyes can see, lost power over an hour ago. I have my emergency light on but at 3:34 a.m. I am unable or rather unwilling to go back to bed only to wake up who knows when in spite of the alarm on my phone.
What I am thinking now that I and most of East Lansing has phoned the BWL to report the outage is how absolutely quiet it is without the hum of electricity. I have a big camping style light on and there is a clip on battery operated light on my music stand so I might as well practice my mandolin and make a joyful noise. I have nothing else going on. I am still able to check my email and surf the web. #gottalovesmartphones
The cats are shaking off the fear of the last storm that came through. It was a beaut. Now as the overhead fans are off the house is heating up like an oven maybe too warm to play.
Speaking of play this jamming Jew took some of the proceeds of the condo sale and (oh no you didn't) bought a new guitar. A Guild. Not unlike the one Tommy Smothers (dating myself here) used to play. I had no intentions of getting a new guitar when I went to work in the morning it just kind of happened. And I see by my app that it will be here Friday, oh joy of joy. A nice long weekend to give it a workout.
So Friday will be music and laundry with friends. Oh by the way it is still dark, humid and warm. I have a purring Simcha cat on my shoulder. Yankel is off snuffling in the music room and Gonif has settled in on the couch. Coming up on 4:00 a.m. Music to follow. I almost hate to break the spell of the quiet. Wait...I thought I heard the sound of a phone ringing. Aurical illusion
Well no time like the present. Off to make musical scale fall from my eyes or rather fingers
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Happy Birthday Sophie Handelman
It being the 1st of September it is an auspicious day as Sophie turns another page in the book of life. A major page, if you will, mayhap a chapter. Sophie and I have been friends for over thirty years and the ties keep growing. Perhaps you have known her in the past as Gastric but she has since morphed into Sophie Handelman after an equally relevatory trip to West Bloomfield where she became her own true self.
We share much the same sense of humor. To quote Chuckles the Clown "A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants". No, truly it is verily a puerile sense of humor. That being said, what could be more giggle worthy that a well place burp or, even better, a fart. I know Mrs. Smith is chuckling at the mere thought. So at our advanced ages (she more so that I) find true humor is the most likely places. Now let it not be said we don't have a mature side (we really don't) but she of rapier sharp wit and me of witty repartee make the best of weird situations. Like work. We had once a friend, hereafter referred to as the Soul Sucker, who after years of our juvenile humor (and laughing at it) found pleasure in cutting us off saying what a poor example we set for the students (as opposed to her good example of being dense and a racist (not mutually exclusive)). So Soph and I go on our merry way of being childlike in out humor (not merely childish) and laugh out way home every night where we call each other repeatedly and laugh some more.
Happy Birthday Mrs. Handelman.
We share much the same sense of humor. To quote Chuckles the Clown "A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants". No, truly it is verily a puerile sense of humor. That being said, what could be more giggle worthy that a well place burp or, even better, a fart. I know Mrs. Smith is chuckling at the mere thought. So at our advanced ages (she more so that I) find true humor is the most likely places. Now let it not be said we don't have a mature side (we really don't) but she of rapier sharp wit and me of witty repartee make the best of weird situations. Like work. We had once a friend, hereafter referred to as the Soul Sucker, who after years of our juvenile humor (and laughing at it) found pleasure in cutting us off saying what a poor example we set for the students (as opposed to her good example of being dense and a racist (not mutually exclusive)). So Soph and I go on our merry way of being childlike in out humor (not merely childish) and laugh out way home every night where we call each other repeatedly and laugh some more.
Happy Birthday Mrs. Handelman.
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