Burnt Chocolate Stories

Lately, I find myself day dreaming about a simpler life, when we had confidence in our leaders and believed they would keep us safe so we could concentrate on important family matters.  Like Saturday afternoon movies and Brownies, piano lessons and skating events, gymnastics and hockey, homework, birthday parties and Little League tryouts. When Ben was eight, he practiced in the backyard for weeks in hopes of making a team. Having seen his wild throws and fumbled catches, I didn't think he'd be picked to play on a team but said nothing, hoping for a miracle.  We arrived at the baseball field early but I was told, along with several other nervous mothers, to 'vacate the premises' until noon.  Prepared for a rough afternoon, I returned to find Ben part of the Optimist team, managed by two brothers who valued heart above skill. I had the great pleasure of seeing them practice that belief many times, but here's one of my favorite stories about that time so many years ag

With just 3 weeks to go before the election, the anxiety has reached a fever pitch for pretty much everyone.  The threats and intimidation coming from the White House has increased in direct proportion to Biden's winning lead which looks like anywhere from 12 to 16 points. Trump is flailing around, striking blows randomly, reaching for any weapons in his tool box.  He's a full grown bully, with techniques learned 70 years ago in the sandbox that are now failing him.  Here's a story I wrote many years ago about a four year old bully. I wonder sometimes, what's become of him.  ************************ Park Bully Eddie is the park bully at age four. He throws sand, squishes castles, pinches arms, pushes babies and ignores his mother's pleas to be a good boy.  Bad boy Eddie is the scapegoat of Goudy playground, the source of all angst, beyond control and blamed for any bad behavior that the other children exhibit. No one intervenes or supports this family.  Instead, we

  The service for Ruth Bader Ginsburg left me in tears. I felt the loss as deeply as that of a close friend. To see a Jewish woman of her stature being revered so deeply by so many left me sobbing. Her clerks standing vigilant over her casket in silence was riveting. The care and love by so many.  Just thinking about it gives me hope.  Because these days there's so little of it and so much fear. I can think of little else than the election looming ahead.  We've adorned Trump with so many adjectives and yet none of them seem to be enough.  He's a Stalin, a Hitler, a monster, a tyrant, a fool, a despot, an ignoramus.  But he's really just a frightened man/child looking for scapegoats to blame for his own ineptitude.  Instead of the Jews or the Capitalists, it's the Democrats or Socialists who are to blame for whatever needs blaming. Or it's the protestors who will take away your rights and destroy your homes. Only Trump can save you from whatever he thinks you nee

It’s been a challenging time.  Between my tendonitis, the state of the country, the pandemic keeping us close to home, concern for our children and grandchildren’s safety, and more has left me exhausted. On the positive side, I am one of the lucky ones, safely inside with plenty of food and no worries about how to pay the rent.  The world has turned in monstrous ways. Separate factions are digging deeper holes than ever before with no stopping in sight.  I remember when my vote mattered but I wasn’t frightened when the man (it was always a man for president until 2016) I supported did not win.  The other guy was ok enough.  That was true for most of the choices I faced at election time.  But that’s no longer true.  The divide is so deep it’s a bottomless cavern.  And the challenge we all face is to figure out how we will pull ourselves together after November 3. The 2016 election was filled with mistakes. Some sat it out, others voted for change with no idea as to what the cha

I wrote this article when Obama and McCain were facing off for the 2008 Presidential election. When Obama won the election, everyone who had gathered together in our living to hear the results cried for happiness, believing we had arrived at a new level of compassion and understanding.  In 2016, our shock and dismay at the election results sent us to bed at 8:30. The issues then are just as relevant today. Systemic racism is as prevalent as ever.  And while McCain was a decent, capable person, we are now confronted with the most incompetent and virulent president in our history.  The stakes have never been higher. In two short months we'll make the most important decision of this century - to vote for an intelligent, caring man who will surround himself with the most brilliant individuals available.  He'll put country over politics.  His name is Joe Biden and he needs your vote. Then and Now Is there anything else to think or write about other than the upcoming electio

  To help pass the time during the pandemic, I decided to knit my children and grandchildren slippers.   The pattern is an old family favorite.   Sixteen  pairs later, I bought more yarn and switched to living room throws that had been requested.   And in the middle of my third blanket, my wrist started to ache and burn.   Bottom line, I’ve been cut off from my knitting for the next few months due to having given myself a case of tendonitis.   Typing isn’t really a good plan idea either until I’m healed.   So my current plan is to post some of my favorite stories from the past.   Hope you enjoy this one.   Bicycles After Sarah and Barry’s wedding in 1995, Steve and I moved to a small house on Division Street in Chicago, three blocks from our apartment where my motherhood years began. Instead of pushing a pram to Goudy Square, I walked our dog Emma around the neighborhood, rode my bike through the park, shopped on Michigan Avenue. Not much had changed. The Chinese Restaurant where Matt

A couple of weeks ago, Steve drove to Whole Foods, to pick up a few things.  Cherries, milk, cottage cheese. We left the apartment together. I had a yoga class and figured we’d both return home at the same time, around 11. When I got back upstairs, he wasn't there. I checked my ‘find my friends’ app and sure enough, he was still at Whole Foods. Except at noon, Steve still had not returned. My three phone calls had all gone to messages. 12:30, no Steve but the app still had him at Whole Foods. Or was he somewhere else?  Had he lost the phone? Where was the car? At 12:45, I called again, my last ditch effort before bringing in the troops. And miracle, he answered, flustered and annoyed because he’d just spent over an hour looking for the car. “Should I cancel my mahjong game?” I faked a calm and centered tone. “No, I’m fine. I'll be right home.” A bit gruff but not confused. He'd left the phone in the car and the car in the garage on a lower floor than he remembered.

One of the positive things that has emerged from this pandemic is our weekly family Zoom calls.  Sometimes all 17 of us manage to show up.  Other times a few are missing.  We catch up on what each of us is not doing since our lives now center on marking time and working at home, staying safe and wearing masks. I look forward to these Sunday afternoon visits as much as if everyone were coming over for dinner. And I don’t have to cook! Here’s what makes these get togethers special: Everyone is comfortable in their own space, lounging in the living room or huddled around the computer. We laugh a lot.  Humor has always played a big part of our lives and has saved us from despair many times. I’m lucky if I see our grandchildren once or twice a year.  Weekly is just amazing. I’m lucky if I see our children and in-laws once or twice a year.  Weekly is wonderful. The grandchildren have reconnected with each other. Maybe not deeply but they are getting to know each other’s quirks.

Sandra and Barbara, 2014 What can I say about my sister Sandra who will live in my heart forever?  She was my friend, my second mother, my confidant.   She died in January at the age of 85, still vibrant and lovely as ever to me.    Sandy was a poet who wrote wonderful rhyming verses for fun, for invitations, for memories.  She wrote stories and books and created beautiful drawings and paintings. A spectacular cook, she could entertain 4 or 40 with ease. Her career spanned decades, from entrepreneur shop owner in Ohio to assistant to the CEO at Grey Advertising Agency.  She’s remade her life so many times with joy and love, it’s been an honor to watch the transitions and successes. But most of all, she loved her family and friends fully and completely.  We made a pact years ago, watching our father die after struggling for years with Alzheimer’s. We wouldn’t stay around for the final exit.  We’d leave while we still had enough understanding of our lives.  Four years later,

Picking up Burnt Chocolate after a silent decade is challenging.  The post I added last August hardly counts since I didn't let anyone know I published it.  In some ways, writing you, my readers from long ago, feels like contacting a long lost boyfriend to see if he still remembers me.  Part of me feels guilty and another part feels anxious.  What if no one remembers me?  What if I’ve lost my mojo?  My memory is definitely not what it was.  Maybe it wasn’t that good in the first place.  Nevertheless, here I am.  We’re living in Milwaukee now, having moved here from Madison two years ago.  St. John’s on the Lake is a great place for retired folk.  Steve and I fall somewhere near the younger end although there are neighbors here in their 90’s that are anything but doddering.  My first friend here walks five miles a day and is about to celebrate her 86 th  birthday. Another friend swims 20 lengths in the pool on a daily basis. If I look to my left, there’s a concert pianist and o