Friday, December 16, 2016

Let the Toasts Start

Happy birthday, Dad.

I've been thinking of you all week.  As time goes on I do not miss you less.

I was down at the condo last weekend.  I saw Wally and Eileen as I typically do when I am down there.  And as is always the case each, unsolicitedly, made some comment about what a great person you were.  Ona sent me a note in the morning.  She always remembers your birthday and the day you passed. You touched so many people.

A few years back I took one of your suits and had it altered.  I've altered two of your jackets and they fit me just fine. The suits are a bigger challenge for the tailor.  You never had the soft belly I must have inherited from mom, but you were wider. So it took some work for the tailor to try and make it work.  I've had the suit in the closet for a couple of years and never wore it. Yesterday, I decided to do so.  Could not fill it out. Waist is too big, suit jacket just did not work the way the sports jackets have.  Just could not fill your suit.  Probably some metaphor there.  At one of the camp reunions I was asked to lead the prayers before dinner.  I flubbed the opening line.  Barry chirped, "He's no Meyer." It was all in fun, but in some ways Bird's quip and the metaphor with the suit are apt.

It's a good thing you died in 14 of heart related disease, because otherwise the election of 2016 would have killed you as if someone had taken a knife to your chest.  Hillary Clinton ran and was predicted ala Truman-Dewey to defeat the Republican nominee... (get ready for it) Donald Trump.  Despite the wisdom of the experts and the fact that Clinton received over 2 million more votes than Trump, the snake oil salesman won the electoral college vote.  I can hear you saying, "You're kidding" from the grave. Not kidding.

We lost Pumpkin. The guy did not come back on the Sunday night after Thanksgiving.  Just disappeared. It was a blow.  When we asked the policeman who lives on our block if he had seen him, the fellow--who we've met previously--confided that one of his kids has had chemotherapy a number of times.  Losing Pumpkin is sad, but relatively, not that significant.  Still we miss the guy.  When I come down the stairs to make coffee I think I am going to hear him meow for his grub.  Sometimes I see Donna gazing out the window looking for him.

On a positive note, we went to Philadelphia for Thanksgiving again.  It was wonderful to see Hillel and Sam and their kids.  Sophie and Jack were there with Shannon and Matt.  Bobby and Lynne as well.   I kept imagining you sitting around the table with Uncle Morris and Aunt Ethel kvelling at your descendants spending the holiday as you had.

On the even more positive note, we are all healthy.  knock on wood.  I am completely ambulatory--still can't run--but can walk forever.  I have not had a physical since the spring, but at the time the prognosis was life.  I'm still gainfully employed but could cease doing so tomorrow and not have to worry as long as I do not adopt a rich person's life style. Even if I was a rich person I would likely not adopt a rich person's life style. Of course if Trump does what I fear he will, I will be broke by the end of January as the stock market will take a dive. (So far it has zoomed up, but he is not in office yet).

Well, dad, I will close this electronic birthday note.  You are still hanging around in my consciousness and I am grateful to have such a fine person in my head as well as part of my real and symbolic DNA.  When I was at the condo, I went through some of the CDs that we have not as yet taken back up north.  I saw the score from The Student Prince and played--over and over--the Drinking song you would sing at the dinner table or while in the shower now and again.  It makes me smile to think of you belting it out.   "All I ask is the right to see, those smiling eyes beguiling me."

It would be great to see your smiling eyes beguiling me.

Happy birthday, Dad.  Thank you for the wonderful wisdom.

"Drink, Drink, Let the toasts start."

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