Sadly, many people who need care and supervision end up as part of the homeless population living in the streets.
Read More

I don’t really believe in “ex” friends. There is an ebb and flow to friendships, but once established, they can usually be revived, even if dormant. Some can be intense for a while, then circumstances change – one of the parties moves away, changes jobs, or life interferes (I have seen an instance where politics got in the way; in this polarized world that can certainly happen). But once the basis is established, most can still be friends.

I put up the photo of my childhood birthday party because Debbie Felsot is in it (the girl with her eyes closed). Her birthday is one day after mine and our mothers negotiated which weekend each of us would celebrate our birthdays. We had the same group of girlfriends, lived in the same neighborhood and were quite friendly. Then the family moved away. This would have been around 1960 – long before social media (or a concerted effort for little girls to stay in touch). And, indeed, we lost touch. But I belong to a Facebook group for those who lived in a certain Detroit area code. It seems to be inhabited by folks a bit older than I, though I recognize some of the last names. One that cropped up some years ago was “Ron Felsot”. I messaged him, asking is he was related to Debbie, explaining who I was and why I was interested. He was, indeed, her older brother and gave me her email address. I promptly wrote, sent a current photo and was delighted to be back in touch.

We exchanged a few messages and birthday greetings, then fell out of touch again. It seems, after all those years, we really didn’t have much to say to one another. People do grow up and life moves on. Is she an “ex-friend”? I suppose so. If we lived close to one another, perhaps things would be different, but it did not turn out that way.

For years I have worked on, or chaired my college reunions. So every five years, I would call a long list of friends and catch up. After the Internet came along, I’d email, but that was less personal and I wouldn’t always get a response. For our 40th reunion (now almost 10 years ago), I made a concerted effort to get great turnout and really reconnect to some old friends. And I was successful at both, much to my delight. I got a few friends to show up who had never come before and we’ve stayed in touch.

My Brandeis friends crossed a lot of peer groups and I continued to pestered one fellow (who had never come to any reunions, but I always wanted to stay connected) long after the event, until I finally got a “yes” to meet for lunch. We hadn’t seen each other in over 40 years and had so much fun telling our life stories. We stayed in touch. I was delighted to discover that he had grown into a genuinely nice person, someone I enjoyed speaking with. We’d text or he’d call if he was out and about. So I stayed up-to-date on his life.

Until recently. I know he has been busy, between a big renovation project to his summer home, helping out with the grandkids, other family obligations. I hope that I haven’t done something to aggravate him. He no longer responds to most of my texts (which are not frequent). We do “like” each other’s Instagram posts, but there is not real contact. Does this make him an “ex-friend”? I hope not. It just makes me sad to again not be in close touch. Perhaps we had different expectations for this renewed friendship.

As I said when I began this story, friendships ebb and flow. I guess we are at a low point. I look forward to the time when we are flowing again. We are now in our 70s. The clock is ticking…can’t wait too long!

 

A Crack in Everything 

“Ring the bells that still can ring / Forget your perfect offering / There is a crack in everything / That’s how the light gets in.”

I love the lyric but it took me awhile to get the songwriter’s message.

I thought when I got married my life would be perfectly and eternally blissful,  after all what could two people madly in love ever find to fight about?

But when I realized how many differences we actually had,  I despaired that ours was a bad marriage.

And then I saw how much light there can be between perfect and irredeemable.

Thank you Leonard Cohen!

RetroFlash / 100 Words

– Dana Susan Lehrman 

My father joined the Army Air Corps in January, 1941, a full 11 months BEFORE Pearl Harbor. There was no separate Air Force at this time, it was still a division of the Army. He longed to be part of something bigger than himself. He had worked for the Chevrolet division of General Motors since 1937, but I think enjoyed the structure of the military. It was like being in a large family. Since he was the youngest of 8 children and his family had its fair share of dysfunction (his mother was bipolar and had been institutionalized since he was 12), this gave him that structure.

I have a letter from his oldest sister admonishing him; advising him to NOT join up. “What happens is we do not enter the war?,” she queries, “what then?” But he was on the older side, in fact, just under the age when he could join, so he disobeyed his de facto mother and enlisted. Since he was already a college grad, with useful management experience, he went to officer training school, was taught to be a navigator and wound up teaching that at Mather Field in Sacramento for the duration of the war. He truly loved his time in the service. He saved all his training manuals and stayed in touch with lots of Air Corps buddies for the rest of his life.

 

His handwritten notes remain inside this bound book, yellowing but legible.

He carried a little wallet with him that included his ID card and a card with basic training instructions. As a former teacher, I can assure you, they are still valid methods.

I’m sure he was an excellent teacher, as he was always patient with me. He would take me out in the backyard to look up at the stars, telling me how to figure out my position through the location of the constellations in the night sky. I no longer remember the details of the lessons, just the wonder of being out in the night with my father and how special that was.

This professional portrait of his commanding officer was in the front of the yearbook. He stayed in touch with Col. Egan for the remainder of his life. Dad died on Jan. 3, 1990. When my brother and I went to his condominium in Laguna Hills, CA to clean it out and close his estate, we found his holiday card list on his desk. Col. Egan’s name and address was on it. I wrote to him to tell him of my father’s death and added him to my annual holiday card list. I heard back from him once. He said that my David looked a lot like Kenny (my father had been named Conrad, but his parents changed his name to Kenneth a few days later when his Grandfather Kahuth died. They just didn’t bother to officially change his birth certificate, so he became “C. Kenneth”, but was always called Ken). It made my heart leap to think that my 4 year old son resembled my father. May that boy be as good a man as my father was.

Dad died with his captain’s ring on his finger, though he was promoted to Major by the end of the war. I have all his official promotion documents, which are fantastic testaments to his skill and dedication.

 

 

I’m one of those people who gets a task 95% completed and decides it is good enough.
Read More

As we stood there, very excited to have busted in without tickets, Neil Young was joking about “Sugar Mountain,” a song that he told us had too many verses.
Read More

Passed Out in the Library

The last thing I remember was locking the door of the high school library at the end of the day.  And then inexplicably I found myself seated at my desk, confused,  and with an aching head.

I had no memory of walking back to my office and sitting down at my desk before I passed out,  a phenomenon later explained to me as post-traumatic amnesia.

Realizing I was alone in the library and not well,  I lifted the phone on my desk and called for help.  Someone came and escorted me,  still dazed,  to the principal’s office.   David,  my principal,  and a good friend,  called my husband.  (See Magazines for the Principal – for David F  and Mr October)

”Danny,  what do you think of those Yankees?”,  I remember hearing David ask Danny on the phone.   And then after a little more sports talk –  the two of them big fans – I heard David tell Danny not to be alarmed but I had fainted in the library and shouldn’t drive myself home.  “In fact I think you should take her to the hospital.”  he said.

Danny came to get me and we drove to the local Bronx ER where I underwent a few tests as well as an MRI to rule out stroke and other serious conditions.

It happened MRIs were done in another building  and thus I was wheeled out of the hospital on a gurney to that other location a few yards away.  It was drizzling and so I was covered with a sheet head to toe.  When Danny saw that he thought I was dead,  and until I was able to assure him otherwise,  he was rather upset!

After awaiting the test results and worrying a bit,  I was diagnosed with low blood sugar and advised not to go too long without eating,  nor to skimp on meals.

They kept me overnight for observation,  and discharged me the next day.   Then, to avoid another low blood sugar fainting episode,  we went to City Island for a fabulous seafood dinner!

– Dana Susan Lehrman

"Do you always share such personal details with strange men in coffee shops?"
Read More