My parents had very different attitudes towards gratitude; at least that was my perception as I grew up, after we moved from Detroit to the suburbs in 1963 and my mother’s mental health issues surfaced. She was a “glass half empty” sort of person. Nothing ever pleased her or made her happy.

Despite all sorts of financial and emotional set-backs experienced by my father, he wasn’t a complainer. He always had a smile for you, a kind word, a sympathetic ear. Never a sharp tongue.

With those two examples laid out before me, I tried to follow my father’s path. Long before the “self-help” movement, he read Norman Vincent Peale’s “The Power of Positive Thinking”, but the book he bequeathed me was “The Art of Living” (Table of Contents seen as Featured photo). He tried to live by those rules and be grateful for the goodness that was in his life, rather than the negative.

I may not always succeed in the “not complaining” department; I know that I’ve led a life of privilege and for that I am extremely grateful. We came through COVID unharmed. We watched a lot of TV, I did my exercise classes via Zoom, got together with friends and family via technology.

The country booted a delusional, charlatan out of office. Whether we can keep our fragile democracy or will succumb to the poisonous lies he perpetuates remains to be seen.

But I am most grateful, over this past year, for family and health. As the vaccination roll-out began, Dan and I rushed to get ours and I truly teared up as I walked into Fenway Park for my first Pfizer shot. I felt like the end of the darkness was near (little did I know that it would become a ridiculous, ginned-up wedge issue which will keep this country from reaching herd immunity and potentially allow mutations to thrive, not to mention continue to cause needless death and suffering). I did not see Delta on the horizon, not know that we would again need to mask indoors, but that is a minor inconvenience compared to health and safety.

Though Dan prefers to hide rather than celebrate milestones, I insisted on making a big deal of his 70th birthday on May 25th, taking close friends out to a lovely restaurant for dinner (there was still a limit to six people per gathering, so I could only invite those two couples), then had them back to our home for singing and birthday cake. We all enjoyed the evening.

In June, our London children arrived to receive their second Pfizer shot (in the UK, it was given three months apart, rather three weeks apart). We got to spend lots of wonderful time with them despite it being work time, not vacation for them, and Anna did not feel well during much of her pregnancy. But it was a joy just to have dinner with them each night.

They continued on to visit her 95 year old grandmother in Atlanta (though London, born and bred, Anna’s mother is American, which gives her dual-citizenship and got her into the country when foreign restrictions were still in place in June). David got to meet Grandma Shirlee (she approved of David) and they had a wonderful visit with Anna’s American relatives. It was good timing, as Anna’s grandmother slipped away shortly after the kids returned to London. At least she got to meet David and know of her future great grandchild.

We attended two COVID-delayed family weddings over the summer, one – my nephew’s in Cincinnati in June, the other – Dan’s nephew in Overland Park, KS in September. It was so nice to see both sides of the family, first time in a long time. Unfortunately, I am still dealing with the sprained ankle and broken heel bone suffered while boarding the riverboat on the Ohio River in late June. I just don’t heal as quickly as I once did, and didn’t realize how seriously I’d injured myself. Besides, six days later catastrophe struck.

On July 1, while the kids were visiting friends in New York City, Dan collapsed on his way to the bathroom. (We still don’t know the exact cause, but believe it was due to vasovagal syncope; a sudden drop of blood pressure when standing quickly. He had devastating injuries and was airlifted off Martha’s Vineyard to Massachusetts General Hospital. Our doctor called me that night (I ferried off the Vineyard the next morning). Though he fractured his C1 vertebra, tore a vertibral artery that brings blood to his brain and broke the occipital bone at the base of his skull (in addition to the five inch gash on his forehead), he was lucky there was no neurological damage. We count our blessings. Breaking that vertebra (called the “Atlas” since it holds up his head), could have resulted in paralysis. We spent three weeks back in Newton, seeing doctors and having tests. He was in tremendous pain (and even now, almost five months later, still experiences an ache when turning his neck). Yet, as a glass-half-full person, at least we got to see our kids again, as they came back to Newton before their flight to London. That was not planned.

The remainder of the summer was quiet, but at least we could go to dinner with friends and stream a lot of movies. After two weeks, Dan was allowed to remove his cervical collar, which caused his skin to be irritated, limited what he could eat (he couldn’t open his mouth very wide) and interfered with sleep. For the next three months, he only needed to wear it when in the car, or if he could be jostled. Now he is done with it altogether. More gratitude. He slowly took up walking (he likes to be active) and David gave him a ship model as a 70th birthday present, so he works on that.

Vicki never liked the ethos of Silicon Valley and decided she had more friends in the Seattle area. On her own, she found an apartment in Bothell, arranged her own move, had help from a good friend from Seattle, who came into San Jose, helped her pack, drove her car, and is helping her unpack.

She already had bought a bed for her new apartment, arrived with her cat and a suitcase; the movers showed up 10 days later and she is slowly figuring things out and looking for a new job. Though she worked for a very “hot” company, she had grown weary of what she was doing. Her skills are in demand. We hope she lands a good job soon. She is with us for Thanksgiving, her first visit here in 23 months! We are overjoyed that we can see her in person! Dan’s youngest sister and brother-in-law also joined us, so we had a real family get-together.

And on December 6, we leave for London to be there when our first grandchild is born. We will celebrate my 69th birthday on the 10th, and stay through until January 3, so we can enjoy Christmas and New Years with the new family. So much to celebrate!

So I reiterate, I am grateful for health and family this year. I do not take either for granted.

After our Brandeis graduation in May, 1974, Christie relocated from Chicago to Boston that autumn. She stayed a year before her father summoned her to work for him at Playboy. She worked as a freelance writer, doing pieces for Boston After Dark and a long piece on Robert Pirsig and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance for a national magazine. I worked a mundane job doing data entry, Dan was in grad school and we had plenty of time to socialize weekly, cooking for each other (yes, I cooked dinner every night in the early years of my marriage).

Backgammon was all the rage and Christie taught us how to play. We’d play chouettes, a form of the game played by three or more players using the doubling cube (the large cube seen in the Featured photo), shifting rivalries and discussions of moves with the players. It was a fun way to spend the evening.

We bought a beautiful leather portable set that we’d use when she came to our apartment when we’d get together. She even gave us two pairs of special dice with rounded off corners (you can see her initials carved into them). We learned to play fast and use strategy. The game was so popular that there was tournament play on Sunday afternoons at a restaurant in Cambridge: 33 Dunster Street (both the restaurant name and its location). We went a few times, entered the tournament (a small entrance fee to play) and played until we were eliminated. I took second place once and won $50! A real jackpot for us in those days. We treated Christie to dinner.

That summer, we took our first-ever trip to California. Neither Dan nor I had traveled much, so this was a big deal. We started in LA and worked our way up the coast to visit our friends the Zussmans in the Bay Area. On Sunday, we visited Christie at the Playboy Mansion.

Sundays were busy days there; Hef opened his home for his friends and their friends. Tennis for all comers (Dan played with Mickey Dolenz of the Monkees), hanging out by the pool (the Jacuzzi Grotto was being cleaned), wandering around, people-gazing. Late afternoon, we went to Christie’s room to shower and change for dinner. Unfortunately, she had to keep it locked, as so many people trooped through the house that personal items had a way of disappearing.

We had not stuck by Christie the entire day, so didn’t know when she would appear. Dan stayed by the room while I went off in search of my friend. I looked through the house and grounds but didn’t find her. Yet I returned to Dan breathless with excitement, “I just saw Kareem Abdul-Jabaar! He is more than two feet taller than me.” Eventually, Christie came, unlocked the room and we all got ready for the vast buffet dinner, followed by the screening of “Russian Roulette”, a new, though forgettable spy movie starring George Segal. We sat up front on one of the couches with Christie. Hef always screened a first-run movie on Sunday nights.

Later in the evening, Hef, Christie and a few of his close friends repaired to Hef’s study to play backgammon. They played for $200 a point. We watched. That was way too rich for us. We sat across from another set-up board. Abdul-Jabaar walked in, sat down opposite us and stretched out his LONG legs. We asked him if he wanted to play. “I don’t gamble”, he replied. We assured him that we didn’t play for money either. Still, he declined and we just watched the other game going on next to us, late into the evening.

 

I can think of lots of things I should regret…or that you might think I would regret. I married a drug addict, for one. But if not for him, I wouldn’t have the same beloved daughter I have, or the same beloved granddaughters. I do kind of regret that I didn’t demand child support or alimony when I left him, but I knew I’d never get it and didn’t want to deal with what it would take to even try, and frankly, I didn’t want him to have a say in raising our daughter. And now I’m proud that I did it my way, on my own. But then again, I wish I’d chosen a better man to be her father. It gets kind of twisty.

But that whole subject speaks to something much larger, and something much more nebulous, my only real regret: I regret that I didn’t have more self-esteem, more sense of self in general. For reasons I now only partially understand, I learned not to ask for much, not to expect much. Maybe it had to do with the perversely humorous plaque hanging on the wall in my parents’ bedroom as I was growing up: “Before You Ask, the Answer is No!” Maybe I took it to heart. Maybe that would explain why I didn’t aim higher. Why I didn’t go to university, become a boss instead of a secretary, and even decades later, an attorney instead of a court reporter. Didn’t I deserve bigger, better, more?

To tell you the truth, I’ve always been mystified by the “because I deserve it” attitude. Is it a good thing to feel you deserve anything? Or, don’t we all deserve the best? Maybe it’s just semantics.

In any event, it’s taken me years (and the writing of a memoir) to figure myself out. Now I’m just grateful to have finally learned to make better choices. And in retrospect, I don’t regret one thing…because each thing led me to exactly where I am today. And THAT’S a good thing!

There are times when I regret thinking it was a good idea to have my own website when I don't know how it works.
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