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Stuff Multiplies by
200
(283 Stories)

Prompted By Stuff

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I just decided to get rid of shoes and purses I don’t use anymore. Although I pledged to stop buying purses, somehow, I managed to purchase a few over the past year or two in an effort to find that elusive perfect one. I also tried a few large wallets with loops attached hoping I could to reduce the amount of stuff I feel I have to have whenever I leave the house. Of course, none of those were just right either. I definitely have an issue with stuff magically multiplying.

I definitely have an issue with stuff magically multiplying.

Four years ago, we moved from our big, old house where we lived for 45 years to a condo. In the run-up to the move, we got rid of lots of stuff. So, how did piles of stuff come back to haunt me in such a short time? There are a few things we could have left behind in the move, but during a pandemic, with most of my shopping done online, why do I still have too much stuff?

I didn’t grow up with lots of stuff. We lived in a small house which always looked neat. Of course, there was not that much available for my family to add clutter and my mother was meticulous about her housekeeping. Toys were minimal. We had a landline, stereo, and TV, which were all of our electronics. My brothers shared a small bedroom, which always looked neat. We were trained to fold and put away clean clothing so we could re-wear it, as laundry was a big deal back then. Needless to say, my bedroom was also small and I was taught to keep my things in order. Maybe the answer is that we didn’t have very many possessions to worry about.

For my kids, on the other hand, even with few electronics (anyone remember Pong or the Apple II-C?) their toys took over the house. Despite our efforts to teach them to put their things away, we spent every evening picking up toys from our family room, and their clothes often lived on their bedroom floors until I finally picked them up. Getting them to put the clean clothes from their laundry baskets into their drawers was a fail. They mostly wore the things right out of the baskets. Unlike my mother, I had a job and housekeeping didn’t thrill me. With three kids, there was just too much stuff no matter how hard I tried.

My daughter’s kitchen

 

My other daughter’s living room

Don’t get me started about their kids, my grandkids. Their stuff “runneth over.” Everyone needs their own phone, iPad, electronic games — and this is on top of all of their toys and the clothes that carpet their bedroom floors. There is just too much out there for them to consume. I must confess that, when they were younger, I made a huge contribution to this overabundance of stuff. And I must also confess to accumulating too much stuff of my own.

So, back to today’s effort to reduce the chaos in my shoe and purse collection. In four short years, I had done it again. After accumulating a huge garbage bag for Goodwill and putting the things I actually wear or might use in order, I had a brilliant idea. If I just ordered a tote bag on Amazon, I could fit my large wallet in there, along with other stuff I need when I want to have a book or meds and cosmetics with me to go places (think the doctor’s waiting room). Sigh. More stuff.

Wait, this is my kitchen!

Where Have All the Snow Days Gone? by
200
(283 Stories)

Prompted By Snow Day

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I don’t remember snow days when I was in school. That’s because school never closed for snow or cold winter days. We had warm hats, scarves, mittens, boots, and snowsuits. Think Ralph’s little brother in A Christmas Story. And we walked to and from school. So, it’s no surprise that I pulled my three little kids on a sled to school one snowy day so the oldest two could go to school, only to discover school was closed. This was my first encounter with snow days.

From A Christmas Story or how I remember dressing for winter

In my defense, the internet, cell phones, texting, etc. didn’t exist back then. I’m not sure how I was supposed to know it was a snow day. Maybe I missed the call from the school secretary while I was pulling that sled. My memory is that snow days were infrequent for my kids and a fun break from school. Because there so few of them, I don’t recall having to make them up at the end of the school year.

My kids enjoying a snow day, 1978

For my grandkids, snow days were more frequent. In January, 2014, we experienced a snow/cold snap that extended Winter Vacation by several days. At this point, most parents were suffering from frozen spirits and minds, numbed by the challenge of finding even more indoor activities for their housebound children, who had missed 18 days of school and counting … Traditional winter delights were out:

  • No sledding – too cold
  • No ice skating – not only too cold but how to find the ice under all of that snow
  • No field trips – car is also frozen

Indiana grandkids on snow day

That January, my four-year-old grandson “attended” preschool five half-days a week in Indiana. I use the term “attended” loosely because since winter vacation ended January 3, he had gone to school five times. That’s right, he had 14 “snow” days before finally returning to school. That same winter, my local granddaughters spent several days playing in my basement when it was too cold to go outside for a chunk of time that extended Winter Vacation an extra week.

Silly string — fun but what a mess to clean up

That did leave lots of screen (and screaming) time. One of the days, I asked my 7-year-old granddaughter to make a list of what we could do to entertain ourselves while the -45 wind-chill raged outside.  Here’s her 9-point plan:

  1. Bake a challah
  2. Balloons (as in blow up, tie, and hit with an old badminton racket)
  3. Wacky string (to be squirted all over my basement)
  4. Bowling (home plastic version with her keeping score and mysteriously beating her sisters)
  5. Roller blades and scooters (also all over my basement)
  6. Dance to What Does the Fox Say?
  7. Have a pajama party
  8. Watch a movie (maybe The Swan Princess for the 25th time)
  9. Maybe do a hard puzzle or build something with Legos

I bought a plastic ball to roll in, but it broke in one day

My grandkids may have been bored, but at least they were safe. What about all of the kids whose parents didn’t have sitters or grandmothers crazy enough to entertain them? Snow days create tough choices for them. I doubt their employers gave them paid snow days off of work, so they had to choose between non-paid time off work, the threat of losing their job, or leaving their kids home alone. For some children, school is their safe haven and the place where they receive two of their daily meals. Was anyone thinking about them?

I know from 25 years of personal experience as a preschool administrator how hard it is to make the decision to close school. Generally, we did it whenever our local public schools also closed. And that was almost always due to massive amounts of snow and ice making travel dangerous and parking impossible.

On days I kept the school open despite bad weather, mostly because our public schools were also open, teachers were surprised that people showed up – lots of them. Maybe these parents had older kids and were out anyhow. Maybe they had children with special needs for whom a break in the routine was a disaster. Maybe they walked, pulling their kids in sleds, veterans of Chicago-style winters. I made no judgments regarding their decision to come or about parents who opted to keep their children home.

Here’s a great snow day story. The superintendent of Brownsburg, Indiana schools decided to keep schools open on a snowy, cold January day during the years when the weather was more typical of midwestern winters. He was deluged by tweets and Facebook posts decrying the decision. One parent asked, “How would you like to stand at the bus stop with my kids in this weather?” His answer was, “Sure, tell me when and where.”  He showed up at her bus stop with shirts for the kids that said #Bulldog Strong and waited with them for that bus. Bravo for literally taking a stand on this issue.

These days, we have gotten to the point of closing schools based on weather forecasts, which are often wrong. Now that schools, post-pandemic, are capable of having remote learning days, there are even more school closings, but instead of snow days when kids could play outside (weather permitting), they are stuck in front of a computer doing zoom lessons. I think romping in piles of snow or playing in grandma’s basement for a good, old-fashioned snow day is probably better for kids in the long run.

Sliding down the stairs of my deck — more fun than remote learning

 

 

Stress and my Back Pain by
200
(283 Stories)

Prompted By Stress

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At least my most recent round of back pain earned me this amazing chair

Until Trump and the pandemic hit, the thing that caused me the most stress was my back pain. I remember it dating back to 2003 when my twin granddaughters were born. It was my total joy to cut back a bit on work hours and help my daughter by watching them so she could work a bit. But as they grew, so did my back pain. By 2004, carrying them down the stairs together really hurt, so I sought all kinds of remedies — acupuncture, physical therapy, pain clinics, steroid injections. Basically, I was open to any nonsurgical intervention.

Until the pandemic hit, the thing that caused me the most stress was my back pain.

2006 brought a third granddaughter and perhaps the stress of my balancing act of being a preschool director and a helpful grandmother was growing. I now had a full-blown case of sciatica. A friend suggested an excellent surgeon who performed a miracle cure by operating on her friend’s back. After consulting with him and undergoing tests, my back was a mess, a disk was totally missing, and I needed a fusion at L5-S1. But don’t stress, said he. I told him my younger daughter was having a baby soon and he promised I would be fine in six weeks. In fact, I could probably return to work in three weeks.

Although the 2006 operation was a success mechanically, I arrived at my daughter’s that September to be “helpful,” but was in so much pain I couldn’t drive. Stress and pain levels were definitely a ten. The surgeon never answered any of my calls, just random residents who hadn’t even read my chart. At least I could hold my newest granddaughter and give what I hope was good advice. I came home exhausted and in great pain. At my follow-up visit, the surgeon said I had scar tissue pressing on my lower back and sent me to a pain doctor, who cured me with a steroid injection. By the dawn of 2008, I was in pretty good shape. I had cut back on my hours at work and was pain-free. But stress was not done with me yet. The twins had developmental delays and I had to help get them to numerous therapies. After the birth of my grandson in 2009, we found out his older sister had cystic fibrosis. And my back started to hurt again.

My father had died in July, 2012 and my mother needed my time and attention, so after stepping back at work to mentor a new director, I officially retired in 2013. I had to remove one stress from my life, and my grandkids’ and mother’s needs came before my job. Still, during the time of our father’s illness and death, followed by moving our mother to a retirement home and settling Dad’s affairs, there was a lot of conflict with my brothers. When my mother died in April, 2015, I was in therapy and hoping it would lower my stress level, which it did.

Trying to be calm when life hands me lemons and I’m in pain is a tough balancing act. A recent bout with sciatica combined with my newly diagnosed pseudo-gout led to 16 hours waiting in two different emergency rooms, followed by a three-day hospital stay. So far, 2024 has not been a gem for me. But I am improving and hoping to resume normal walking and exercising by March. Now if I could just banish all of the political stress from my life, maybe my back will be happy again.

My Grand-Dogs are Not Trained by
200
(283 Stories)

Prompted By Training Pets

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Except for Perfect Penny

Perhaps it’s my fault for setting a bad example. Rocky was a Yorkshire Terrier who joined our family when he was eight months old. I guess the breeder had decided he was a loser and happily sold him to us. We were looking for an allergy-free pet and he was still looked as cute as a puppy. Unfortunately, he had never been house broken. We assumed at his age, he knew where to do his business, but belatedly discovered that no matter how many walks and backyard outings he had, he preferred to pee in pretty much every carpeted corner of the house. So while he was sweet, he ended up living in the kitchen. Definitely a training failure.

The kids loved Rocky despite his lack of house training

The moral of the tale is that it is possible to have a perfectly behaved dog — just not one trained by anyone in my family.

My youngest child became a vet, so you would think her dogs were well trained. Her first two, Weimaraners named Savannah and Aspen, ate the fringe off my rug, the finish off my banister, stuffed toys, paper, etc. They were impossible to walk because they pulled so hard. Good natured but totally untrained.

When her kids came, the dogs were very tolerant and loving. They just ignored requests to come, sit, or stay.

As they entered old age, my daughter the vet got a puppy in anticipation of their demise. This time, one of her clients was a breeder of Labradoodles, so Flynn Rider (she let the kids vote on the name) joined the menagerie. Soon after, Flynn’s brother Rex was abandoned, so of course she took him. For a few years, there were four dogs rushing the door, barking loudly, peeing on the rug, and taking up all of the seating on the sofas. Just before Flynn and Rex died, she added one of another client’s dog, a Golden named Charlotte, followed by another Golden named Boise. Their lack of discipline is less troublesome as they mainly like to lie on the furniture and sleep.

No room for me on that couch

My grand dogs who live in Boston are good natured Labs who come charging at us as soon as they are released from their crates. Despite being told “down” and “stop” and “no,” they simply need to share their enthusiasm. Sammi has calmed down a bit, but her younger sister Chewie behaves just as her name implies. She would eat anything from my dinner to a sock.

Chewie thinking she might eat a stuffed animal

My other daughter rescued two dogs during the pandemic. Lucy looks sort of like a lab mix and is afraid of men. Her loud bark is all bluster. Supposedly, she is smart and follows a few basic commands, but I have yet to see evidence of this. Her little brother, Schroeder, is totally cute but doesn’t even know his name. Luckily, he’s very affectionate.

Not trained but they love each other

I’m leaving the one grand-dog who was well behaved for last, the amazingly wonderful Penny. She came to my daughter prior to the pandemic pups and was perfectly trained — just not by anyone in my family. One of my granddaughter’s was terrified of dogs, so my vet daughter found Perfect Penny, mother of Flynn and Rex, who had passed her breeding days. She was sent to a dog trainer who worked with companion dogs. She was obedient, gentle, easy to walk, and followed commands. My fearful granddaughter loved her, as did her little sister below. I guess the moral of this tale is that it is possible to have a perfectly behaved dog — just not one trained by anyone in my family.

Sweet Penny

 

Too Old for SNL Now by
200
(283 Stories)

Prompted By Comedy

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When our grandson, who was 11 at the time, stayed with us for a week, we decided it was time to introduce him to the classics as well as to the concept that movies are best shared rather than watched alone on his own devises. So, we decided to watch the 1980 movie Airplane together, I remember laughing hysterically at it when my husband and I watched it so many years ago. I’ll confess we saw it more than once, although I doubt anyone could surpass my brother’s claim he watched Animal House over 80 times.

This was a little funny, right?

I guess a show that has been on the air for 49 years has to evolve, and each generation has its own concept of what is funny.

While he loved Jaws and ET, he just didn’t get why Airplane was that funny. And while we still laughed at some of the gags, the movie had its politically incorrect moments that were a bit cringe worthy. I guess the point I’m making is that comedy is generational. If my parents had watched Jack Benny or Phil Silvers or Sid Caesar or Milton Berle with my kids, I’m sure they would not have found them funny. I could barely understand why they laughed when Jack Benny, born on Valentine’s Day of 1894, insisted he was 39 years old on every birthday past 1933. Why was that so funny? 39 was pretty old.

Tommy Smothers, age 86, died recently. He was the guy on the left, jokester to his brother Dick. I loved the Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour in the late 1960s. So many others who made me laugh are now gone: SNL cast members Gilda Radner, Andy Kaufman, John Belushi, Chris Farley, John Candy, Norm McDonald, Peter Ackroyd, Phil Hartman, come to mind. So many more who could leave me in stitches are also gone – Gene Wilder, Robin Williams, George Carlin, Richard Pryor, Lenny Bruce, Madeline Kahn, and Garry Shandling, to name a few.

But watching today’s version of SNL usually leaves us wanting to ask our grandson why most of the skits are funny, who the musical guests are, and why the only part we sometimes like is the Weekend Update section. I guess a show that has been on the air for 49 years has to evolve, and each generation has its own concept of what is funny.

Remember when Tiny Tim married Miss Vicky on Laugh-In?

DMV for Seniors — A Great Idea by
200
(283 Stories)

Prompted By The DMV

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My granddaughter passed with ease

Note: I apologize for my spotty postings and comments on Retro. I have been experiencing health problems lately and was in hospital last week. My health is improving but I need to save my energy for healing. I hope to continue writing on prompts that are new for me and about which I have something to contribute.

Then came the part I was dreading. Where do I go to wait for my road test?

Illinois was one of the few states that required seniors to take a road test when renewing their driver’s license. This stuck terror in the hearts for people I know who are over 75, including me. Would I have to back up in a straight line? Parallel park? Filled with trepidation, I made a “senior” appointment at the DMV, which meant I wouldn’t have to stand in line with nervous 16-year-olds. After taking my photo, I was seated in the section for old folks. I had already filled out most of the information online and had a letter from my eye doctor stating my driving vision was fine. Then came the call I dreaded, “Next.”

I had already scoped out the clerks and there was only one who seemed to be unpleasant. Of course, he ended up being mine. He grumbled about how my filling things out online made his job harder, but I had all of the required paperwork with me, so he passed me. Then came the part I was dreading. Where do I go to wait for my road test?

You don’t have to take it. What? Seems that since COVID had shut everything down, someone decided there weren’t enough employees to do the road tests. So, I was granted a reprieve until age 79.

But wait. Things got even better. Statistically it seems seniors have fewer accidents than any other age group. Perhaps that’s why most states don’t bother with the road tests after 16-year-olds pass theirs. And some kind soul at the state DMV decided to try an experiment – a separate seniors-only facility. And one of the two pilot sites is located in my city of Evanston. When my husband went, not only did he not have to take the road test, but the place was totally user friendly. Someone guided people to the right room in City Hall and pointed out the handicap entrance if needed. The people were super-helpful and accommodating. No computer pre-registration was necessary. He was finished in 15 minutes.

Most of the time, things are harder for older people. For example, the Continuing Education at Northwestern University hired a new vendor for online registration that turned the process into a labyrinth for the very age group it serves. Former log-ins were no longer recognized. Changing passwords, a requirement, was very difficult. It took me hours to complete the process and many “lifelong learners” could not manage the new system. So, when someone actually thinks about what seniors need and makes it user-friendly, I’m very grateful. Bravo to the Illinois DMV!

Swearing Sid by
200
(283 Stories)

Prompted By Short Fuse

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My father earned that nickname. He had no tolerance for following directions or fixing things around the house. Inevitably, his temper would get the better of him, and a string of obscenities would follow. He was the original short fuse.

My father earned his nickname, Swearing Sid.

Growing up with a man who had no patience for anything that required him to leave his comfort zone was not easy. I don’t remember who he turned to for common household fixes. Perhaps my parents had a handyman. But I do remember the screaming, shouting, and stream of language I was forbidden to use flowing from his mouth. He was often frustrated and enraged by simple tasks that were never his fault.

The example that I remember most clearly was having to put a play kitchen together for our daughter’s second birthday. It was my parents’ gift to her and we wanted to assemble it while she slept. Her birthday always fell near Thanksgiving, so my youngest brother was also there. Once we took the pieces for the kitchen out of the box and saw the multiple sheets of directions, I knew we were in trouble. After a short time, Dad launched into his usual stream of obscenities, declared it was an impossible task, and stormed out of the room to go to bed.

That left my husband and brother to, literally, pick up the pieces. They had to re-sort everything, including screws that had been tossed all over the room. Slowly and patiently, they assembled the play kitchen. It really wasn’t that hard if you followed the step-by-step directions. The next morning, our daughter was delighted by this wonderful gift, and Swearing Sid took full credit for the assembly.

Laundry Tales by
200
(283 Stories)

Prompted By Laundry

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Story # 1

With three kids, four beds to make, and seemingly endless piles of towels to wash and dry, laundry “day” happened several times a week. Wash, dry, fold, put away was my mantra.

When I was a child, we had a washer with a wringer in the basement of the two-flat we shared with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. We loved to play there on rainy days, hiding behind sheets strung up across the ceiling. Somehow, we convinced my youngest cousin to put his hand in the wringer. Despite his shrieks of pain, amazingly nothing was broken except for our spirits, as the rest of the crew was grounded by my mother and aunt.

Story #2 — Suburbia in the 1950s

When we moved to the burbs, we still didn’t have a dryer. At least the washing machine was safer, lacking the external wringer. I remember helping my mother hang clothes out to dry on a contraption that looked like this:

Of course, we still had clotheslines strung across the basement in case of rain. Laundry day was an all-day production. We actually only washed clothes when they were dirty, unlike my grandkids who toss whatever they wore that day into the hamper. Most things needed to be ironed, so damp clothes went into a plastic bag. If they got too dry, my mother would sprinkle them with a water-filled coke bottle with a sprinkler top. I started learning to iron when I was pretty young, practicing on my father’s handkerchiefs. As a pre-teen, I was ironing shirts, skirts, and pants. Eventually, we got a clothes dryer, which was a huge help.

Story #3 — The Laundromat

When we were first married, our apartment had a communal laundry room in the basement. Not only was it hard to find a time when the washer and dryer were free, but someone stole all of the fancy underwear I received at bridal showers. The laundromat was more efficient. We could get everything done once a week by using more than one machine. I remember being in one when we found out via the small tv mounted in the corner that Martin Luther King had been assassinated. There was mass hysteria as people gathered their wet clothes and ran home.

Story #4 — Laundry Chutes

Our house was built in 1911 and laundry chutes were a common feature in older homes. Ours started in the staircase between the second and third floors and went down to the basement. Of course, my kids delighted in throwing all manner of toys and junk into the chute, running down to the basement to retrieve them and repeat the game. My one fear was that my youngest was small enough to fit in the chute, and I was vigilant about her access. My anxiety wasn’t irrational, as one of her friends took a trip down the chute in her house and broke both of her legs. Luckily, she didn’t go down head first.

Story #5 — Too Much Laundry

With three kids, four beds to make, and seemingly endless piles of towels to wash and dry, laundry “day” happened several times a week. Wash, dry, fold, put away was my mantra, especially on weekends when I didn’t work. (Wait … wasn’t doing all of this work?) While my husband could be helpful with some chores, I don’t think he ever tried using the washer or dryer. My kids knew how in a pinch, but there was always too much homework or an important activity. I figured I could at least make them responsible for putting their clean clothes away, so they each had their color-coded laundry basket. Problem was, they wore the clean clothes straight from the basket, leaving me to put away what was left so I could use the baskets again. Another parenting fail.

Story #6 — Laundry for Old Folks

Our old house had a very old, top-loading Maytag that was both repairable and reliable. When we moved to our condo, we inherited this washer and dryer:

I must admit to being initially intimidated by all of the options on the dials until I realized I only needed to master two settings. Now, doing laundry became, literally, a pain. Bending to use the fancy, new front-loading machines hurt my arthritic back. It was time to teach my husband the basics of doing laundry. Sadly, our weekly laundry day now takes two of us, and making the bed is a real project. While my husband is still loath to turn the machines on, he can do it in a pinch. We pile all of the clean, dry clothes and towels in a basket, which he carries into our tv area so I can fold while sitting and watching the news (more pain). It’s really not too bad now that we have our system down.

When my parents were pretty old, they were still living in a 3-floor condo with the washer and dryer on the lowest level. My mother used to throw all of the dirty clothes, towels, and sheets down from the top floor to the main floor to the basement. Then she would work her way down the stairs and spend the whole day in the basement until everything was washed, dried, and folded. I have no idea how they got their clean laundry back to the upper level. My father must have helped with this task, although he never went near the machines. That was woman’s work. Now that it’s too late to ask my mother how they completed the task, I have to give her credit for sticking to her laundry day routine until she moved into senior housing after my father died. She finally admitted how nice it was for someone else to do her laundry and make her bed. I totally get it, Mom.

From my Parents to Me to my Kids and Grandkids by
200
(283 Stories)

Prompted By Prejudice

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My parents grew up under the shadow of anti-Semitism in Detroit of the 1930s. Henry Ford, revered as a titan of the auto industry, was an avowed anti-Semite, admired by Hitler. He wrote a series of articles that claimed a vast Jewish conspiracy was infecting America. In his hometown newspaper, The Dearborn Independent. Ford published the articles into four volumes, “The International Jew,” and distributed half a million copies to his vast network of dealerships and subscribers.

While prejudice takes different forms in different eras, I fear it never really leaves us.

And then there was Father Charles Coughlin, a Catholic priest in the Detroit area. Throughout the 1930s, he was one of the most powerful men in the America whose anti-Semitic, pro-Nazi broadcasts reached tens of millions of listeners. Coughlin told his followers, “We have lived to see the day that modern Shylocks have grown fat and wealthy, praised and deified, because they have perpetuated the ancient crime of usury under the modern racket of statesmanship.”

My father’s diverse gang

With this fearful climate so close to home, I was surprised my father wasn’t more fearful of becoming the victim of anti-Semitism. He entered kindergarten only speaking Yiddish, but soon connected to American culture through his love of baseball. He laughed when he shared the names his friends called one another — Kike, Wop, Chink, Cracker, Greaseball, Dago, Kraut, Mick, Redneck — to him these were “terms of endearment” exchanged among boys who punched one another in the arm and ran wild. I don’t think he ever thought about this as a form of prejudice.

My mother with neighborhood kids

On the other hand, my mother shared feeling persecuted for being Jewish in neighborhoods that were mixed ethnicities. Like my father, her family rented and moved a bit, so she sometimes ended up in areas where there were few Jews. She remembered being teased and called names when she walked to and from school. Worst of all, she encountered a few blatantly anti-Semitic teachers who refused to call on her in class.

No surprise that when my parents married, they settled in the very Jewish neighborhood of Dexter-Davison, later moving to the very Jewish suburb of Oak Park. I grew up amongst mostly Jewish peers. Our schools closed for Jewish holidays (or at least we were excused if we didn’t attend). While I had a few close Catholic friends because there was a large parish nearby, I never felt like “the other.” In fact, I found my upbringing too narrow and stifling. My husband grew up in Skokie, which had a similar vibe after the first couple of years he lived there.

Growing up in suburban Oak Park

We vowed to raise our family in a “diverse” community, which is why we chose Evanston, Illinois. They attended schools which were (at that time) close to 40% White, 35% Black, 10% Latino, and the rest multi-racial, Asian, and “other.” Schools could not exceed 60% of any identifiable racial group. The Jewish population may have been around 12-15%. Of course, what we didn’t realize was that housing created very separate communities. When we bought our house, the realtor tried to steer us to very specific neighborhoods. From our naïve perspective, our children were experiencing maximum exposure to other ethnic groups and minimal prejudice growing up.

My daughter’s skating partner in high school

So where does this leave me now? As I pass by “Free Palestine” graffiti and anti-Israel rallies in our downtown areas and Northwestern, I feel the sting of anti-Semitism not so different from what my mother experienced growing up. Our synagogue needs to keep its doors locked. My grandkids who live here identify as Korean/Jewish, I fear others look at them as non-White and different. While prejudice takes different forms in different eras, I fear it never really leaves us.

 

Friendships That End and Those that Endure by
200
(283 Stories)

Prompted By Ex-Friends

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Friends that date back to 1971

I’ll admit over the years, I have ghosted a few former friends. These people were not really true friends, even though I liked them for brief periods of time. But when the light bulb went off that they were users and most of the giving came from me, it was easy to let them go. Just stop giving.

It is said that a predictor of happiness and longevity as we age is maintaining strong friendships.

On the other hand, I still feel guilty about how I handled some friendships when I was younger. Freshman year of college, there were three of us sharing a small dorm room. I know this is a cliché, but three women was not a great number to get along, at least back in the 60s. Ultimately, I sided with Elaine and we excluded Sylvia. My shame over this behavior is compounded by the fact that Sylvia died before graduating college. Sometime in our junior year, she asked to meet me for coffee and told me she was dying of Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Perhaps she wanted to clear the air between us, or perhaps she wanted me to feel badly about our relationship freshman year. Mission accomplished. I have no memory of what I said, but I was not mature enough to do more than hug her and wish her well.

Two years later, I was in my first job, teaching high school English. I didn’t have a car, but one of my colleagues offered to drive me, as she passed by where I was living. Sometime during that year, she stopped speaking to me during those rides. We sat in awkward silence because I lacked the maturity to confront her. I had no idea what happened. Did she want me to offer to pay for gas? Had I said something in casual conversation that offended her? This still bothers me, but I can’t find her online to have the conversation I should have had 55 years ago.

Chavurah women folk — celebrating 50 years of friendship this fall

My current friendship group has remained pretty stable. Of course, over so many years, some relationships have waxed and waned. But I can’t think of any that have ended. In fact, some were strengthened by the need to reach out and support one another through COVID and aging. I have been regularly zooming two old friends with whom I had lost touch (featured image). Time and geography made seeing them on a regular basis challenging, but once we started zooming regularly, the spark that made us friends 50 years ago was reignited. Same with the women in my Chavurah (Jewish friendship group), who have become closer through our weekly zooms. And the women with whom I worked at Cherry Preschool. We retirees have stayed in touch. I also have two close friends with whom I meet every week. Our time together is a combination of organ recitals and therapy — priceless.

Weekly “therapy” buddies

At this stage of life, I work harder to communicate with friends. I can’t afford to let small issues end friendships as I did when I was younger. It is said that a predictor of happiness and longevity as we age is maintaining strong friendships. I plan to hold onto mine.

Close friends from our days at Cherry Preschool

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