Burnt Chocolate Stories

July is a strange combination of events for me. On the one hand, it's the month we lost Ben to ALS which is always a startling realization. Eighteen years ago yesterday. He'd waited ten months to be able to get a diaphragm pacer to help him breathe so he could spend more time with his son and less lying on the couch. We were so excited to see this happen for him but at that stage in his decline, minor surgery could become major which is what happened to him. A quiet ending for a spirited man. It's also my birthday month which is mostly positive, except when the number is the same as my father's in the last year of his life, it does give me pause. I'm celebrating in a strange way by giving up my car on the last day of the month. When I mentioned to my children that I was just thinking about it, to a person they all agreed this was a 'great idea.' I admit I was a little taken aback. Afterall, I'm a fairly decent driver, still comfortable on the highways, h...

Eight years ago, I had a bout with pneumonia and had to stay in bed for a month. At the time, I watched every episode of Call the Midwife and found it to be a compelling show, tackling some of life's challenges. As new seasons emerged, I spent a weekend binging. And now it has concluded so it was time to find a new show to watch. My new addiction is Silent Witness, also a British series that began in 1996 and is still going strong. Thirty years strong. That's 30 seasons with ten episodes each, which means there are 300 episodes. I've watched twelve seasons so far, seen my favorite actors leave and get replaced with new favorites. I just happened on it several months ago which was something of a lark. I do love a good crime drama, so I think that's what got my attention at first. For years I watched Law and Order, so I thought this would be similar. Not so. What makes this program so appealing is the story is told from the pathologist's perspective and we see the dev...

Some people are very private and share little of their inner angst.  There are certainly enough idioms to support this view. "Don't air your dirty linen in public." "Keep your skeletons in the closet." "Keep it behind closed doors."  There's dozens of them that encourage people to put on a happy face even though inside they might be feeling frightened or alone. And while that might be one road to take, I've usually taken the opposite trail. When Ben was diagnosed with ALS, I was beyond crazed. At the time, we lived in Dodgeville on one hundred acres. I remember hiking down to the meadow and screaming at the trees in frustration and anger. Afterwards, my throat hurt and I felt as miserable as I did before. I had a job as the Director of the Family Resource Center in Iowa County which brought me to town every day. I met neighbors and friends on a daily basis and as I walked around the town, whoever greeted me in the usual way of asking how I was,...

The first six summers of my life were spent in Union Pier, Michigan just over the Indiana border. I remember the air feeling like a warm blanket with cool breezes. I spent every day at the beach with my older sisters except for rainy, windy days. My father drove up on the weekends. The cottage we stayed in had literally two rooms and an outdoor shower. My mom swept the sand out in the morning and joined us at the beach with lunch. It was a mostly idyllic time. And here I am again, seventy seven years later, to see if what I remember is still true. The air and sunshine feels the same. We're in a three bedroom house with plenty of space to lounge, air conditioning and a screened in porch which my childhood self would have considered a palace. All those years ago, I ran down the wooden steps to the beach and threw myself into the water. Yesterday, I held the rail and worried my balance wouldn't hold on the sand walking to the water's edge. I brought two bathing suits that I do...

2019 I know I inherited my part of my attitude towards money from my Mom. Maybe my Dad too. They began their life together during the Depression.  A box in the roll top desk in the living room held envelopes filled with dollar bills to pay the doctor, dentist, rent, groceries. It was my mother's way of keeping track of what was owed. Nothing ever became overdue or was purchased on credit. When they retired and moved to Leisure World in California, my sisters and I were concerned they might not be able to afford the costs and we agreed if help was needed, we would all chip in. That's when we found out they had saved several hundred thousand dollars. How they did that remains a mystery to me but then they rarely took vacations or bought new furniture or clothing. What I never inherited was their frugality. Steve was successful in his career. I enjoyed buying new clothes, decorating at will, enjoying my leisure, traveling freely. I don't think I was careless or overly indulgen...

I've made a commitment to myself, my computer and most of all, to you. Every Saturday morning, I make a cup of coffee, enjoy my two pieces of raisin toast and sit down at my desk. Often I stare out the window at Lake Michigan, hoping some great idea will pop into my head. Rarely does that happen. On Wednesday, I begin to think about what I will write on Saturday, ponder many different topics, hoping one will stick.  Alice Munro was once asked why she only wrote short stories. "That's all I had time for," was her answer. With that in mind and all the time in the world, I thought I'd try my hand at a novel. It's been nearly a year now. I've had fun imagining different scenarios, making up drama, creating characters. But a knowledgeable editor has described my writing as too much telling, not enough showing, point of view problems and lack of dialogue. At first, I was crushed. In the past, I would have hunkered down to prove her wrong. It's been a few wee...

Several weeks ago, a young astronomer who couldn't have been more than twenty five years old, gave a presentation here at Saint John's about the current state of astronomy. In other words, what we know but also what we don't know, such as what came before the big bang and what exists beyond our universe and the many others that have been identified. What was the beginning and what is the end? Turns out, no one has any idea. The human mind is limited. We simply can't conceive of a constant continuum that has no beginning, middle or ending. Life just exists, always has and always will in some form or another. Forever. That thought is both unsettling and also freeing. It's changed my view about birth and death of loved ones. I've thought back to the night our son Ben died. I was there in the moment he drew his last breath and suddenly there was a rush, as if he couldn't get out of his wasted body fast enough. When my mother died, her bird breaths stopped in the...

I'm in Miami with my daughter Sarah, visiting my grandson Adam, who lives and works here, and his sister, Elizabeth, who flew down from New York to play with us. Of course they are the most wonderful human beings in the entire world, but I've been thinking about why being with them is so extraordinary, beyond the fact that they belong to me. One gift is that I've lived long enough to see them mature into full blown adults who treasure peace and love and appreciate for the many differences between people. These are the values I hoped to instill in my children and it's wonderful to see them in my grandchildren. I've also been thinking about the differences between our relationship with our children versus our  grandchildren. For one, we worry much less about the decisions they make about life plans, what school they attend, who their friends are, who they love and marry. We're still very much invested without the worry and concern. We leave that to their parents h...

Ben, Matt, Becky, Sarah and Josh Steve and I moved our family to Evanston the same summer as our fifth child, Rebeccah was born. About two years later, the social worker at Lincoln School, Ben Soltz, sent around a sheet asking anyone who wanted to join a mother's group to sign up. Eight of us joined and remained committed for years. I've come to think of that group as mothers mothering mothers. We were committed and rarely missed a Monday afternoon. Ben considered it his way of staying sane. I will be forever grateful for those years. One year, the day after Mother's Day, we shared our individual celebrations with each other. I never considered the holiday terribly important. A day that any of my children helped with the dishes or cleaned up their rooms was a treat. Still in my bed, I could hear the children scampering about and shouted, "Bring me my presents!" And they came running with handmade goodies they'd produced at school. Wanting to hedge my bets, I h...

I've always loved entertaining family and friends in my home. For nearly twenty years, I prepared dinner for seven people almost every day of the week. Then there were the dinner parties for twelve or the buffets for twenty. I've lost track. But I do remember putting together menus, standing in the kitchen for two, sometimes, three hours. Never gave it a thought. I don't remember complaining, so I know enjoyed it. I was a pretty good cook. No complaints except on the nights I was trying to use up leftovers creatively. And everyone remembers the brussel sprout cranberry disaster during Steve's vegetarian days. This past weekend, I prepared brunch for eight people, my daughter and son-in-law along with wonderful friends and two of their grandsons. Simple meal really of smoked salmon, bagels and a noodle casserole. And yet, I found the entire undertaking challenging. I planned my grocery store trips carefully, mixed up the noodles the day before, baked it that morning, set...

In 1997, our family welcomed the first two of our nine grandchildren into the world. Our daughter in law, Susan, delivered healthy, twin boys, Adam and Zachary into the world. Traditionally, a Jewish son has to be purchased from a Kohan, a priest, for five silver coins. Or gold perhaps. The service is called a Pidyon Haben. Our very wonderful friend Michael Kaplan (Z"L) performed this ritual for our son Matthew when he was born in 1967, and again for his son Adam as the first born of the twins. We used the same five coins for both.  By then our five adult children were living as far away as Seattle, Portland and Virginia, so reconnecting, sharing each other's news, became a major part of the weekend. Someone, I don't remember who, brought a copy of the book, The Cube ,  with them, thinking this would be a great game to play. And it was. A series of provocative questions are asked. I don't remember any of the questions, my answers or anyone else's, except one. Ben...

I'm not fond of the word widow. To me, it conjures up black robes, wrinkles and sadness. It's not synonymous with the word crone or wisdom, both of which I embrace wholeheartedly as the true inheritance of a woman who has lived well and past her prime. But I was searching for a word that might describe a woman who had recently lost her husband or partner; a person such as myself.  A grief group was not for me. Just the title depressed me. Between my son Ben and husband Steve, both of whom struggled for a long time with a fatal disease before their deaths, I'd had years of grief in my life and was looking for a way forward, through, and out of that heavy burden. Newly Single Women's Group is the phrase I conjured up to create a support group for those of us searching for new paths in our ever changing world. Being alone is not necessarily lonely, but it does require care and creativity. I wanted to know how others were managing this strange new world of singleness. What ...

We had a place in Dodgeville Wisconsin for several years, from 2000 to 2008. One hundred acres of walnut trees, meadows and a tiny stream. The house was just a few years old but in our usual fashion, we remade the entire interior, putting in a new kitchen, new bathrooms, finishing the basement - the works.  We added a mini barn so Steve could paint. The former owners had planted acres of trees that needed special care so we built a huge barn to hold the tractor that kept the trees weed free. The tractor was  enclosed with air conditioning and a CD player, a source of endless jokes for the neighborhood farmers.   I thought we would spend a month or two there in the summer, weekends occasionally in the winter, but our permanent base would be Chicago. By the end of the first summer, we'd sold our Chicago place mostly at Steve's request. I had no idea what full- time life would be like in the country but I was game for this new experience. After two months, I had second ...

I think everyone likes to feel needed and valued. I know that's true for me. Not so much when I was a little girl and my mother wanted me to set the table and clean up after dinner with my sisters. After the last bite of dessert, I would escape to the bathroom and hide in there until I was sure the last glass had been put back into the cupboard. When Steve and I married, we had each other to care for until the first of our five children arrived just seven years apart. I remember carrying an infant with a toddler wrapped around my leg. Part of me loved it and part of me thought I was being swallowed whole. But those years passed way too quickly. Maybe thirty years at most and we were on our own again.  And now, I am completely alone for the first time in my life. No children, no husband, no house to manage, although my handful of plants need water from time to time. I thought about getting a puppy but Wisconsin winters are not friendly for dog walking. And it would feel like a repea...

I've come to believe that optimism and resilience are two qualities that provide comfort as we age. At least that's true for me. Each morning feels like a gift now, not a day filled with tasks. I check to see if any of my plants have new buds, whether the lake is calm or filled with white caps and if a bird has landed on my deck. My joints ache sometimes and I can't walk as long and as fast as I used to. But I can walk and swim and read and write, so all is not lost. When Tina Turner sang, I Will Survive , I took those words to heart during those dark days we've all had. And here I am, at 82, still looking for the answers I thought I would know by now. But age has nothing to do with it. Life is filled with complexities and confusion that we will never understand. Being alone much of the time does not have to be lonely. It can provide time for introspection and acceptance.  There was a time when anger came swiftly. But now, I find, I haven't the time or the inclinati...

 I have made a decision to focus on joy and love and stop worrying. What was I worried about? Mainly the state of affairs in our country. But my worry and concern was draining me and in the end non-productive. I'm spending energy and time thinking about cherished memories of my childhood and life in general. In June, my daughter and I are spending a week in Union Pier. When I tell others about our plans, they invariably ask where is Union Pier? In case you, too, are wondering, it's in the southern tip of Michigan, just over the Indiana border. I spent whole summers there with my two sisters and my mom. Dad came on the weekends but had to stay in Hyde Park in Chicago during the week for work. Ours was just a two bedroom place, big enough for the five of us to sleep and eat. I was told that Sandy and Eleanor dug holes in the sand so my mom could lie on her stomach when she was nine months pregnant with me in the hot July sun.  I remember digging holes in the sand and squishing t...

Living in a community with so many people provides a fresh look at life. Many of my neighbors have friends they see regularly, having grown up together. I suppose living in Milwaukee their entire lives helps to keep those connections strong. Even though I spent much of my life in Chicago, the names and faces of childhood friendships have become blurred, connections mostly lost. It takes commitment and intention to remain in each other's lives for the whole journey.   You never know who you will meet along the way, who will come into your life and provide the safety net you need to survive and thrive. My good fortune came into my life when I met Jeanie in 1975. We  both had moved to Evanston, into houses a block away from each other. I thought, here is someone with young children, similar ages to my own. We have a lot in common. I like her smile. She has long hair like mine. Likes French jeans. Toddlers the same age. Boys going to the same school. Advice and care was there...

I've been thinking about my Dad a lot lately. He was a quiet, gentle soul. In fact I never heard him raise his voice to me or anyone else. If he was stressed about anything, he became very quiet. I'm sure there were things that angered him; I just never knew what that might be. Most of all, he was kindness personified. When I was a very little girl, maybe six or seven, I would crawl between him and the back cushions on the couch where we would nap together or listen to the radio. It was a place of safety and comfort for me. Whereas some of my friends were challenged by their fathers to get better grades and motivated to be the best in their career choice, my dad was satisfied with me as I was, am, would become.  Sometimes I wish he had dangled that carrot of accomplishment in front of my nose, pushed me harder, demanded more from his youngest daughter. I suppose being the only man in a houseful of women has a dampening effect on ambition. The fact is, I really didn't know h...

The mantra I woke up to this morning was, "If all else fails, start a war!" So Trump is now bombing Iran, even though peaceful discussions were underway which would have, most likely, led to a positive, peaceful conclusion. I find myself needing to turn the page, to look away, to stop focusing on the destruction surrounding us, and look to a better day. So I'd like to write about the last fifth of life, the years between the 80th birthday and the 100th. That's where I am at 82. I feel those years when I wake up in the morning and my neck and legs feel achy as I hobble into the bathroom. But then the day begins and I look forward to my coffee and raisin toast. And the New York Times games. And Lumosity, to see if my brain has slipped or has gained some traction. And then I decide how I'm going to pay for the air I breathe. It's a belief that each day is a gift and we need to pay for it by contributing something positive to our community and our family. I inheri...

 I created Burnt Chocolate over twenty years ago, shortly after our son Ben was diagnosed with ALS. After my first few posts Ben asked, "Don't you want to write about anything else?" I did actually, but I was consumed with his illness, worried for his future and felt ill equipped to handle this devastation. I forced myself to write about my children, grandchildren, interests, travel, but ALS often crept in unannounced to my commentary. That's how I feel today. I wake up and the first thing I do is read Heather Cox Richardson's essay and become consumed with the battering our country is taking. Then I read my neighbor, Vicky Shufton's post, and feel unhinged. My worries do nothing to change the situation. I've joined the protestors, written postcards but feel powerless. Blaming every issue on immigrants has become the scapegoat of the current administration. These are good people seeking a better way of life for themselves and their children. But they shoul...

 Today is a day filled with chocolate covered strawberries, red roses and perfume for loved ones. And while I enjoy the goodies, I've felt putting aside a day to celebrate love is like putting aside a day to enjoy a good meal. Every day deserves celebrating our loved ones, telling them we love them, and putting aside old wounds so they can heal. As some of you know, I am writing a novel. Although it is a work of fiction, it also contains the love I feel for grandparents I barely knew, for their courage and love for a granddaughter they would never know. They saved me from a life of constant persecution because we are a Jewish family. Not that anti-semitism isn't alive and well in the United States because it is and always has been. I attended a program recently on the current politics our country is enduring. There were excellent charts presented with percentages of the numbers of people who support Trump's agenda and those who are against it. 35% for 59% against. Someone i...

Part of being human is making mistakes. Some of us have no problem owning up to them. Others feel they would lose their authority, or feel diminished, if they admitted they had taken a wrong turn. Saying 'I'm sorry' or 'I screwed up' or 'I made a mistake' are words I've said more times than I can count. It's a freeing experience for those who have never tried it. And I think it creates a strong human connection and provides the opportunity for forgiveness. Why am I thinking about this today? Mostly because there are hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of people, neighbors and friends, who supported Trump in his early days and might have regrets today. Unsure of what to do or say, they remain silent and perhaps feel ashamed. And that's sad for themselves and for the rest of us. I admit I'm also a little sheepish about bringing up the topic, fearful it might lead to blows. At the same time, I think it's worth the risk.  The funny thing is...

This past week has been both terrifying and an awakening. We've been here before and if memory serves, we survived and thrived. We will do it again. It doesn't matter whether the tyrant is a mayor, like Richard J. Daley of Chicago, or a governor, like George Wallace of Alabama. In the 1960's, we watched on our little 12" television screens in horror, as the Selma marchers were beaten and sprayed.  In the 1970's, I remember seeing the west side of Chicago in flames as angry, disenfranchised citizens burned down their neighborhoods. The yippies marched from Lincoln Park through the elite, near north side, smashing car windows and screaming vile epithets at the police. The Vietnam war finally ended in 1975, but left millions angry and adrift.   I'll grant you, we've never had a felon as president before, but we will survive this travesty. Trump told us who he was and what he would do. Anyone who has been surprised by his actions hasn't paid attention. Demo...

 My brain is a muddle this morning. Through no fault of my own, there was a water leak into my apartment on Thursday that has left me with noisy machines interrupting my sleep. So I'm tired today and worn out from the noise inside my apartment and outside in the world. What do I worry about? Nothing that I can do much about. I worry about the damage being inflicted on all of us by a totalitarian nutcase who just can't seem to have enough power, money and control. Years ago, a man who made 400 million dollars a year was asked in an interview if he felt that was enough money for him. His answer? No. Imagine how many yachts, airplanes, and villas the man must have had and still, not enough for him. What a miserable way to live your life. I think Mother Nature has become impatient and angry with us for not appreciating her gifts and allowing the worst among us to take over. What was Covid, if not a way to keep us chained inside so the skies could clear? Freezing temperatures here ...

 I start my mornings the same way every day: play the NY games, make myself a latte, and take some deep breaths. A friend suggested I try the app Balance, which provides a deep soothing meditation that is a great way to begin the day. Then I read what Heather Cox Richardson has written because she is so thoughtful and brilliant and even handed in her remarks which provide some protection in the face of political rhetoric that I know is wrong. And then, sometimes, FaceBook breaks into my sense of calm with a jab. Here's one. When someone says to you, "But these immigrants are illegal!" as if the horrors inflicted upon them by ICE is appropriate. Or that the protesters should be arrested, pulled out of their cars, beaten within an inch of their lives and sometimes murdered by ICE who look and behave exactly like brown shirts in Nazi Germany in the 1930's, here's your answer. "You voted for a convicted felon who breaks the law every day!"  Immigrants, like ...

Steve and Michael in Spain, 2012 When we moved into Saint John's in 2018, I loved everything about the place with one exception. When someone died, a photo was hung on the bulletin boards along with the dates of their birth and passing and an announcement about the funeral plan and memorial. Not every day, or even every week, but more than once a month, someone would be gone. Not surprising with a community of around 400 persons, but still, seeing the announcements was a little like reading the obituaries, something I never cared to do.  I've come to feel these notices are a gift to me as my numbers grow and I'm closer to passing on. After all, we're all headed in the same direction. Best to accept the inevitable and see it as a normal part of life. At least that how I've come to feel most days. I find my tears are further away from me and I hold onto the belief that when the body is filled with pain and trauma, it's time to let it go. But when someone dies who ...

Matt and Josh, 1969  In 1996, we became empty nesters, a term that hadn't yet been popularized. Three were married and all five were living in different cities. I was missing those early years when we were creating our family and all the challenges that came with it. So I began to write stories, little nuggets of time that I found charming, difficult, crazy or funny. A whole collection that I promised myself I would continue to expand. But then life had a way of interfering and I sadly, abandoned that project, and turned my attentions towards a more immediate concern.  Here's a funny little one I wrote nearly thirty years ago that any new mom or dad can appreciate. Holes        "Hi sweetheart," I say to my first born two-year-old son Matt, whom I have not seen since yesterday.   My half eaten dinner tray is pushed to the side of my hospital bed.   One day old   Josh is wrapped like a blintz and lies across my still huge belly sleeping.  ...