Burnt Chocolate Stories

Pieces of me are falling apart. I suppose it's my age - 82 is no spring chicken as they say. I need two implants due to two teeth failing to do their job properly and chew as they have been instructed. That is no easy feat as it takes many months to get it done. And how much mileage will I get out of it? Maybe ten years if I'm lucky. But my children say I need to do these things and spend the small fortune it will cost. The other night, there was a tiny spider on the ceiling above my bed. At first I thought, how much damage can a tiny spider do. But then it bothered me that it was up there waiting to pounce and bite, so I picked up my slipper, stood on the bed and swiped it off, killing it I suppose, but it disappeared. Then I fell against the wall behind my bed and clocked my right eye, turning it blue and swollen almost immediately. Ice all night kept the swelling down, but the color has become a brilliant rainbow that circles my eye. Nurse Abby confirmed no damage had been d...

"Can't we all just be friends?" That was Rodney Kings refrain after he'd been beaten within an inch of his life by the Los Angeles police.  If he can express such a hopeful stance, let's hope the rest of us can.  When Karl Rove, Tucker Carlson and John Yoo have come together to say enough is enough from trump, here's hoping the rest of us can. I was at a discussion group last week and a gentleman, rather apologetically, said he was concerned about the budget which is why he voted for trump. No! That excuse does not fly. Because trump never said he would or even could balance the budget. No one really cares about the federal budget except when it's time to have an election. Then hands are raised as if this is a horrible predicament. Well, now, in these terrible circumstances, it might be, but it's too late to even be concerned if anyone really was. This gentleman voted for trump, as so many others did, because he couldn't bring himself to vote for a...

I said a few words at the Alzheimer's Walk at Saint John's on the Lake, about how caring and supportive our community is to those who have the disease and to those who care for them. My father and my husband Steve both died from Alzheimer's. They struggled against the ever advancing symptoms to make the best of their remaining time. And then there was our son Ben who had ALS and met his challenges with grace and courage. Brain diseases are the most complicated medical frontier today, but we continue to maintain hope in the face of overwhelming odds. Afterwards, someone asked how I've been able to maintain strength in the face of these horrific diseases. I joked, 'denial is my friend' but that doesn't really answer the question. It lies in my family history. My paternal grandmother, Rebecca, is my champion. Her only daughter and one-year-old baby boy died hiding with her in a neighbor's cellar during the 1902 pogrom in Ukraine. For the next year, she made...

 In 1986, I volunteered at the Evanston Women's Shelter for Battered Women. I was an outreach spokesperson for any organization that asked for presentations. I explained why spanking a child is the least effective discipline tool, why abused women need sanctuary, how laws to protect battered women need to be passed. I also listened to the painful stories from women who sought refuge for themselves and their children, from husbands and boyfriends, afraid for their lives. Literally. Through these brave women, I learned what it meant to live in an abusive relationship. These women risked their lives to save themselves and their children. Often, they escaped in the middle of the night, to seek shelter and protection. As we were protesting on Lafayette Hill on Saturday, a fellow protester told me about an article she read that compares what our country is living through now, to an abusive relationship. I hadn't thought about that before, but it makes perfect sense to me. We ask, why...

1976 - Matt in Japan with his Dad      I sometimes say that every ten years I push the delete button in my brain to make room for new information. It's just a game I play to cover myself for whatever I can't seem to remember-names, dates, places. About thirty years ago, I started to write a collection of stories about my early years as a mother. I regret that I didn't write more of them when the memories were fresher and I could conjure up the experiences as if they just happened. Going through my files, I happened upon this little piece that taught me an important lesson. The year is 1976. We've lived in our house for just two years and the garage has stretched as far as it can to accommodate two cars, five bicycles, two tricycles, a lawn mower and gardening tools. Shelves in front of the windows creak with automotive supplies. Baseballs, basketballs, soccer balls, golf balls and tennis balls randomly bounce under the cars, creeping into the corners. A tinny red gas ca...

 In 1974, we moved into a beautiful house in Evanston, Illinois on a tiny street next to the beach called Edgemere Court. Older residents were moving out and we were one of the newcomers with young children. Janice and Charlie Feldstein, who lived across the street from us, were great neighbors whose company we enjoyed. Several years later, the last of their children graduated from college and they moved to a condo in downtown Chicago. Within a few months, a new family moved in with two children much younger than ours. We welcomed them to the neighborhood but didn't spend much time together.  A few years later, I was asked to do the collections for cancer research for our block since I knew all of the neighbors and had the time. So of course, I called the neighbors across the street.  When the wife answered the phone, I said, "Hi Pam, How are you?" She answered, "Oh, hi Barb. I'm doing fine." Not having spoken more than a few words to each other in passing, ...

Many years ago, Steve and I were invited to the Covenant Club in Chicago to celebrate the wedding of a good friend at the time whose name I do remember - Judy Young. This had to be in the 1970's because the Club closed in the 80's. Anyhow, the place was known for their creamed spinach which was delicious and a very popular item on their menu. So of course, it was served at this formal wedding. I wore a long black gown with rhinestones on the front. Even though Steve was planning to catch a midnight flight to New York, he wore his tuxedo and looked quite dashing. The dinner was lovely, music perfect for dancing and as I recall, we enjoyed the company at our table.  Around ten o'clock, I checked the time and suggested Steve think about saying his goodbyes and congratulations. As I turned to face him, I noticed a tiny green smudge on his collar. "How did you dribble spinach on your collar?" I said as I removed it with my napkin.  "No idea."  Then, I noticed...

This is the first year in my entire life of 82 years that I have lived alone, having gone from my parents home to my marital home. In 1964, a 'nice girl' lived with her parents until she got married. What's interesting to me is what I've learned about myself and my marriage this past year. I have some OCD in me, perhaps more than I'd like to admit. I eat the same breakfast every morning and follow something of a routine. I play the five New York Times games as I eat my cinnamon raisin toast and drink coffee. Even though I can stay up late, eat chocolates to excess, binge watch a show until I'm dizzy, I stay to a regular schedule, much the same as I did when Steve was with me. And I like my apartment to look well groomed at all times, but I'm likely to shove papers and magazines into any available drawer if company is coming over.  I used to think we lived according to Steve's plan, that he was the one who made the decisions about vacations and travel, re...

In spite of the dangerous, spiteful and stupid actions by this government, I'm not really affected. My investment account rises daily, I can afford whatever prices show up in the stores where I shop for food and clothing. I'm able to take trips and for now, I'm not worried about money, which is strange because I have always been a bit of a worrier. But I am angry and wish terrible things on the people that are making the lives of so many impossible. ICE is nothing more than brown shirts revisited upon us from Nazi Germany. Swooping up innocent, loving families and shipping them off to god knows where. Why? Because they can. Because by the time the legal system catches up to them, if it ever does, no one will know where the dispossessed are living, whether they are alive or dead. I've always been proud to be an American, even when Europe painted us as the Ugly American in some book or other. I've forgotten who coined that term.  And yet, I was still proud of my herit...