Every day in my email I get an posting from a Jewish funeral home in the Detroit area of funerals that day. One caught my eye this morning, a neighbor from Fairfield Avenue in Detroit. The Rosins. Mrs. Rosin passed, the last of the original people on that block. They had a beautiful home about three houses from the corner. We were several houses to the north. Mrs. Rosin was 99. And so it goes. Shiva will be at the house on Fairfield, which means either the daughter is still in the house, Ilene that is, or she is getting ready to close the house up as I did my grandmother's in 2004. Just seeing that obit made me sad. We had a great neighborhood. beautiful homes, the University District, the University of Detroit being my alma mater was a mere mile from the house. I walked there, weather permitting. Our home at 18975 Fairfield was a Tudor style home with a great back yard and we had a swimming pool in the backyard for a number of years (above ground). We had "maid quarters" on the third floor, bedroom and full bath. We actually had a live in maid, Myrtle. My grandmother, sainted woman that she was, paid her social security so that when Myrtle could retire she had a stream of income. Dorothy, my grandmother, was like that. She did so much for her younger brothers and sisters. Friday nights, the sabbath, was a feast and festival of aunts and uncles for me. The bad mommy was in bed and the family had a great meal and I was the recipient of a great deal of attention. I loved Fridays.
So Mrs. Rosin's passing made me sad in a number of ways. Like the final chapter in a long mortality (mortality) play. I remember summer afternoons, hiking to the end the block where Mischa Mischakoff gave violin lessons in his home and the music coming from his home was intoxicating.
I almost found it odd that Mrs. Rosin still lived on the block. When the riot hit in 1967 we had major white flight the following year. My memory of the first year of high school was a racially mixed class that by the time I graduated was predominately African American. Still we stayed in that house, as Mrs. Rosin did in hers. The last of the last. I thought my dad might have been the last original soul on Fairfield but, no, Mrs. Rosin was.
I don't know where I am going with this. Somewhere down memory lane. Just seeing her address in the email made me nostalgic for the Fridays, the High Holy Days, the family always gathering at our house, until the riots, that is. Then the Aunties didn't like to stay past dark and instead of coming for dinner they dined at a quaint "tea room" Ann Sayles, on 7 Mile Road. Then to our house for a rousing game of Canasta. Soon my grandmother, unable to live in her own home with my demented mother signed the house over to her only daughter and my grandmother moved to be closer to her sisters. My mother was proud of her new house but could only entice the Aunts to come during hte day for a ladies' luncheon and more Canasta. Home before dark. Mother wanted to show off her house, the new touches she and my father added but folks didn't want to come to Detroit. When my dad passed in 2004 the remaining Aunties came and sat Shiva with me one night, delivered by their driver as neither aunt could see well enough to drive. After the funeral we went to their building and had a post game meal in the dining room. Which I ended up paying for and for which my rat bastard cousin Don told me not to tip so much but I just didn't care, and what care he as it wasn't his money and he got a decent meal out of it. So there was some of the Epstein grandstanding, as usual, to contend with.
And so down the rabbit hole of memory I go.
As an aside, the library's west wing, where my office ism is currently sans water due to a water main break yesterday. Only four toilets for each gender in the building. Lots of good fun and lots of foresight needed to plan a bathroom run. My secret: Go to the one on the forth floor. No lines.
Here is something I can write without getting my panties in a bunch over politics. I hope you have enjoyed.
Wednesday, June 7, 2017
Tuesday, June 6, 2017
6 of June
What I have in my inbox from three and a half years ago: Aunt Martha's obit from Kaufman's. Today would have been her birthday. My birthday, this year, is Fathers' Day. The family, as it were, had lots of June and July birthdays. Mine sometimes falls on Fathers' Day. It happens. Aunt Martha's was D-Day before it was D-Day, and, as I was in the shower this morning pondering the guts and glory that was the Normandy Invasion, I thought, fondly, of gentle Aunt, really a great aunt, Martha. The last of the nine children to pass. The passing of a generation for me. I just ponder it for all I am worth. Now families are split and aside from my dad's brother and sister-in-law and their kids, I really am alone in this world. No siblings, no parents, no grands of any sort. One aunt and one uncle, some cousins.
Sometimes it gets lonely and I pick up the phone and think I could call the Aunties or dad, but, no, that's not going to happen. I still remember the old phone number, the old exchange of University (UN-26725 before it was 862-6725). I have fewer and fewer people to call and chat.
And it doesn't seem like almost four years since the Toxic Avenger split from Sophie and me, over what I still am unsure. And she truly was toxic: a racist hypocrite and wouldn't say shit if she had a mouthful. Ah, Sophie, we knew her, and knew her not. For all our foibles, dear reader, at least we, or at least I, are genuine. Honest, sincere, you name it. I am still waiting for Jack, I think it was Jack, to rear his or her ugly head and call me names again. Mayhap it was Cousin Lena, an ass who fancies herself a politician now after serving as co-chair of the president's campaign committee in Michigan. Ah, the cult of the amateur.
And speaking of which...I am truly afraid to watch the news now that we have the American Idiot in charge...afraid of his not understanding that he is supposed to be a responsible adult no longer a CEO but the biggest CEO of them all and that words matter. My heart sank listening to MSNBC last night as Michael Beschloss, the presidential historian, said he was afraid. The jerk in charge is quick to point fingers, but he is the one who hasn't filled over 79% of the appointments he has to make. It has nothing to do with the Dems being obstructionists. No, that is on him. And his "managerial" style of pitting one against another doesn't work well when trying to run a country. Yes, he is an ass. And so is Lena, the amateur. Running business is nothing like running a country. You can't tweet out of your asshole and not expect it to land you in a stinking pile of shit.
Alright, let's enjoy the beautiful day and not think about our country going down the crapper.
Sometimes it gets lonely and I pick up the phone and think I could call the Aunties or dad, but, no, that's not going to happen. I still remember the old phone number, the old exchange of University (UN-26725 before it was 862-6725). I have fewer and fewer people to call and chat.
And it doesn't seem like almost four years since the Toxic Avenger split from Sophie and me, over what I still am unsure. And she truly was toxic: a racist hypocrite and wouldn't say shit if she had a mouthful. Ah, Sophie, we knew her, and knew her not. For all our foibles, dear reader, at least we, or at least I, are genuine. Honest, sincere, you name it. I am still waiting for Jack, I think it was Jack, to rear his or her ugly head and call me names again. Mayhap it was Cousin Lena, an ass who fancies herself a politician now after serving as co-chair of the president's campaign committee in Michigan. Ah, the cult of the amateur.
And speaking of which...I am truly afraid to watch the news now that we have the American Idiot in charge...afraid of his not understanding that he is supposed to be a responsible adult no longer a CEO but the biggest CEO of them all and that words matter. My heart sank listening to MSNBC last night as Michael Beschloss, the presidential historian, said he was afraid. The jerk in charge is quick to point fingers, but he is the one who hasn't filled over 79% of the appointments he has to make. It has nothing to do with the Dems being obstructionists. No, that is on him. And his "managerial" style of pitting one against another doesn't work well when trying to run a country. Yes, he is an ass. And so is Lena, the amateur. Running business is nothing like running a country. You can't tweet out of your asshole and not expect it to land you in a stinking pile of shit.
Alright, let's enjoy the beautiful day and not think about our country going down the crapper.
Thursday, June 1, 2017
I am back
And I an still embarrassed. But life goes on, hopefully it does. The house is beautiful and I am basically happy save for our current pretender in chief. My garden is lovely, my credit score is soaring and my Luminosity scores are also on the rise. Capitol City Informatics has a permanent gig at the Williamston Area Senior Center and I must prepare a PowerPoint presentation for the 29th of the month, which is now June. If April is the cruelest month then June is busting out all over. Another thing I am embarrassed by is that the American Idiot's b-day is also flag day which makes him a schizophrenic Gemini (but I don't believe in horoscopes...that another Gemini trait).
I keep going back to he who shall not be named. He stole an election with the aid of an enemy state and no one seems truly upset with this treasonous behavior, least of all the Republicans, who place winning ahead of country. They are so drunk with power that they can't see the world is laughing at us and are a little more fearful of us now that a madman is at the helm of state. There used to be more good Republicans other than McCain and Graham. Bill Milliken of Michigan and George Romney, both good men. I can add Susan Collins of Maine to the list of good Republicans but they have and must start opposing more vociferously the madman in chief. This is just all crazy.
The deal with Kathy Griffin and the head of state should outrage you, but outrage you as much as you should have been when there were Obama effigies being hanged in the street. If you weren't outraged then, you don't get to be outraged now.
So, where does this leave me? Outraged and tired. Watch too much MSNBC yet every time I turn it one, between innings as it were, there are more and deeper scandals. And what the hell is a covfefe?
And on it goes. I keep waiting for the merry-go-round to stop but it keeps spinning out of control. Where will it end. 132 days in and I am still waiting for the other shoe to fall. And wait I will
Okay, onward. Tonight the Old Duffer is coming over, along with the very pregnant cantor, to rehearse for Friday services this week. Since I joined KI, my synagogue, I find myself playing guitar once a month at Friday services. Dinner is included. And the food is usually terrible. Tonight, however, I will make a Greek pasta salad for tomorrow night and that I know will be edible. Seems the people that cook have never heard of seasonings like, oh, I don't know, SALT and PEPPER. I will use a light hand but the salad will be good. Manicotti will be served so it will be a basta-pasta festival. My garden had produced an abundant crop of lettuce so the pregnant cantor will take some of it home to make a salad that I hope her partner will not overseason with fresh garlic and yes there is such a thing as too much garlic. Also, my herbs are herbacious. I can add Greek oregano to my salad as I have multiple kinds of oregano, basil and chives. Fresh, fresh, fresh. Lots to pick from. In spite of not a great weather in May the garden is thriving and my roses are in bloom a full two weeks ahead of schedule, like they pay attention to that sort of thing. My hand is finally doing better since I took the header on Grand River and Coolidge on May 6th. Still swollen and bent but I can play the guitar well enough for services and to teach.
The front porch has been upgraded and I sit out there while Simcha Cat complains that I told the boys that they could sit on the porch with me when we moved to Sans Souci. Simcha sits in the window overlooking the porch and yells at me. But I don't give in. I don't want them flying out the door when I leave the house in the morning just because it suits them. I thought about getting harnesses for them but again I don't want them flying out of the house without protection. And then there is Bernice, a lovely neighborhood kitty that likes to hide in my low bushes and watch the birds. She is very friendly. I see her across the street with Mrs, Shankland helping her plant flowers. A very helpful cat.
I am doing a great deal these days and still have two full years before retiring. Dan is taking me to lunch today, I hope because I am already looking forward to it, and we will get around to paying off the last of the credit cards. Then shred, shred, shred. I went to a BNI as Dan's guest and I have new contacts for my business, which is doing nicely thank you.
As for Sophie she is well. And Ethel is too, Phyllis, their mother, just returned home from a stint in rehab and is doing fine.
Alright, enough with this nonsense. Time for more outrage.
I keep going back to he who shall not be named. He stole an election with the aid of an enemy state and no one seems truly upset with this treasonous behavior, least of all the Republicans, who place winning ahead of country. They are so drunk with power that they can't see the world is laughing at us and are a little more fearful of us now that a madman is at the helm of state. There used to be more good Republicans other than McCain and Graham. Bill Milliken of Michigan and George Romney, both good men. I can add Susan Collins of Maine to the list of good Republicans but they have and must start opposing more vociferously the madman in chief. This is just all crazy.
The deal with Kathy Griffin and the head of state should outrage you, but outrage you as much as you should have been when there were Obama effigies being hanged in the street. If you weren't outraged then, you don't get to be outraged now.
So, where does this leave me? Outraged and tired. Watch too much MSNBC yet every time I turn it one, between innings as it were, there are more and deeper scandals. And what the hell is a covfefe?
And on it goes. I keep waiting for the merry-go-round to stop but it keeps spinning out of control. Where will it end. 132 days in and I am still waiting for the other shoe to fall. And wait I will
Okay, onward. Tonight the Old Duffer is coming over, along with the very pregnant cantor, to rehearse for Friday services this week. Since I joined KI, my synagogue, I find myself playing guitar once a month at Friday services. Dinner is included. And the food is usually terrible. Tonight, however, I will make a Greek pasta salad for tomorrow night and that I know will be edible. Seems the people that cook have never heard of seasonings like, oh, I don't know, SALT and PEPPER. I will use a light hand but the salad will be good. Manicotti will be served so it will be a basta-pasta festival. My garden had produced an abundant crop of lettuce so the pregnant cantor will take some of it home to make a salad that I hope her partner will not overseason with fresh garlic and yes there is such a thing as too much garlic. Also, my herbs are herbacious. I can add Greek oregano to my salad as I have multiple kinds of oregano, basil and chives. Fresh, fresh, fresh. Lots to pick from. In spite of not a great weather in May the garden is thriving and my roses are in bloom a full two weeks ahead of schedule, like they pay attention to that sort of thing. My hand is finally doing better since I took the header on Grand River and Coolidge on May 6th. Still swollen and bent but I can play the guitar well enough for services and to teach.
The front porch has been upgraded and I sit out there while Simcha Cat complains that I told the boys that they could sit on the porch with me when we moved to Sans Souci. Simcha sits in the window overlooking the porch and yells at me. But I don't give in. I don't want them flying out the door when I leave the house in the morning just because it suits them. I thought about getting harnesses for them but again I don't want them flying out of the house without protection. And then there is Bernice, a lovely neighborhood kitty that likes to hide in my low bushes and watch the birds. She is very friendly. I see her across the street with Mrs, Shankland helping her plant flowers. A very helpful cat.
I am doing a great deal these days and still have two full years before retiring. Dan is taking me to lunch today, I hope because I am already looking forward to it, and we will get around to paying off the last of the credit cards. Then shred, shred, shred. I went to a BNI as Dan's guest and I have new contacts for my business, which is doing nicely thank you.
As for Sophie she is well. And Ethel is too, Phyllis, their mother, just returned home from a stint in rehab and is doing fine.
Alright, enough with this nonsense. Time for more outrage.
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