Rituals

I used to say the years fly by like bullets. Then it was weeks. Now it's days. Saturday morning is here again and I've spent a good deal of the time drinking coffee and thinking about what I'd like to post.  Today is Steve's Yartzeit (the one year anniversary of his death according to the Jewish calendar). I lit the candle in his memory and said the prayers. I thought it would be a sad day for me, but in truth, we had over sixty amazing years, a journey that contained dozens of highs and lows. I'm grateful for what we had. The sadness has diminished. In the coming year, I'll light a candle for my parents, my sister Sandy, our son Ben, friends I've lost, because in that moment when the candle is lit, I feel their presence and remember the times we shared. 

Steve was a complicated man, but his ability to laugh at himself, not take himself too seriously was one of his best traits. It's one of the things I loved most about him.

Steve loved to tell the story about taking his first solo pilot flying test and getting lost somewhere over Iowa. He began in a calm, professional sounding voice, saying, "This is Cherokee 951Whisky calling for assistance." When no one answered, he would repeat his request, growing more intense each time and ending with "Someone, anyone, HELP!" A true raconteur.  I'm laughing just thinking about it. Everyone lucky enough to hear the story collapsed in hysterics. 

For the last few years, we had dinner once a month at Taylor's with five other couples, where one of the partners had some memory issues or early stages of dementia. Those were pleasant times where no one felt uncomfortable with repetition or lapses in memory. Inevitably, at some point Steve would perk up and say something like, "Did I ever tell you the time I met Trump?" We would listen patiently to Steve explain how Trump wouldn't shake his hand and was uncouth and rude. After this had happened several times, when he began again to tell the story, one of the wives interjected, "Anyone who has heard this story before raise your hand!" All hands went up. Everyone, including Steve, laughed hysterically. We were practically rolling on the floor. 

So there you have it. A brief glimpse into a 'life well lived.'

Steve rough housing with Josh - 1975