New Year’s Resolution???

Look down the barrel of a gun
What stares back at you
Way down lies death, steely, insinuated
In between life’s nothingness
Quickly diminished.

Look into your future
Threatening deep depression
Your own death at its end
The dreaded nothing in-between
Grossly accentuated.

written by a very young Hans Muller

Hans was a teenaged, non-practicing very assimilated Jew living in Austria when he penned this poem. It was written in German and he said it rhymes better that way.

YOUNG HANS IN THE U.S. ARMY

A Nazi officer had pointed a gun in Hans’ face and ordered him to go to a nearby headquarters to scrub and clean an office. Did Hans have a choice? Being precise, the officer gave him a paper stating he HAD given that ‘service’. Hans showed it to me. Obviously, we haven’t learned much since WWII. Hatred continues in many ways.

Hans did survive and escaped to the USA, where he served in army Intelligence. His language skills, German — French — Italian — Spanish — English and goodness knows what else, served his adopted country well. He witnessed starving prisoners being released from German Death Camps, but managed to put it behind him.

Recently patrons at the only gay bar in beautiful (and very conservative) Colorado Springs found a gun pointed at themselves. Five were killed, seventeen wounded. Their crime? Either being born as part of the LGBTQ community or straight friends and relatives of same.

A new year begins. An opportunity to all of us to be better. How about loving each other just because. We need not be so insecure that we pretend others aren’t as good as we are because of whatever colour, religion, or being born just who they are.

IF I KNEW HOW TO APPLY MAKEUP AS WELL AS DRAG QUEENS DO, I’D LOOK A LOT BETTER

EVERY COLOUR IS BEAUTIFUL………..

BEAUTIFUL CHINESE WOMEN………………..

Let our New Year’s resolution be to celebrate the wonderful differences that make life so much more interesting.

And while we’re at it, pray for an end to all those many guns getting into the wrong hands.

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FATHERS DAY

It is Fathers’ Day. My son Rafi is a father — a devoted, loving father and I am proud of him. Surely, he and his lovely Chandra are raising a son who will also be a loving father.

RAFI AND SISTER SUSAN, WHO LOVED HIM BUT COULDN’T RESIST TRYING TO FOOL HIM OCCASIONALLY

RAFI AND HIS SOFT BROWN CURLS

I remember when I’d be pushing little Rafi, dressed in red overalls, in his stroller and strangers would comment: ‘What a beautiful little girl.’ He WAS pretty with his soft brown curls and it didn’t matter to me. I’d just say: ‘Thank you.’ (Red is still my favourite colour.)

When Rafi was very little, we didn’t have the fancy olives displayed in the grocery markets today. I used to buy black olives in cans. He’d push one on each finger and march around the kitchen thrilled with himself. I’d chuckle. He was so much fun.

I REMEMBER RAFI AS A HAPPY CHILD

His sister Susan loved him, but couldn’t help but take advantage of him occasionally. When he was about four, she told him a nickel was worth more than a dime because the nickel was bigger. She was offering to exchange her nickel for his dime. I overheard the transaction and scolded her. Rafi, always the peacemaker, insisted he was the one who wanted the nickel.

I wish my son Rafi, who has given me so much pleasure through the years, all the best on this day devoted to men like him. I am also proud of him and of all his accomplishments.

Happy Valentines Day…

PHOTO BY CHANDRA

We are all tired of COVID:19. We want it to go away!!! We miss friends and family we can’t see. I certainly do.

I miss my book club. I miss my loved ones. I miss seeing many of my friends. I miss being physically close to them. I miss touching them and feeling okay about it AND, it’s Valentines Day!

I even find keeping a safe distance from strangers lonely. It’s difficult to have conversations with people standing in line with you. You’d have to holler for them to hear and that’s not so cool.

But, what I miss most of all is HUGGING loved ones and friends. Don’t you??? I feel like squashing them. Have you almost forgotten what it was like to hug someone dear to you? To cuddle? To feel really close to someone? Well, here’s a little poem to help you remember:

Would you like a cuddle
with me, and to huddle?
No – not in a puddle
where ducks like to waddle
that would tend to befuddle
and leave us amuddle.

My wanting to cuddle
Is not empty twaddle,
My sentiments floodle
my heart – my cheeks ruddle,
I tremble, I shuddle –
And it all came so suddle.

By Hans Muller

A Love Story…

When I asked daughter Susan if I may post the following epic tale, she declared that anyone who IS anyone would want to be familiar with her brilliant saga. Here is what she sent out to friends.
(I’d scanned the original, but shall spare you the difficulties of reading same.)

photo by Chandra

‘So, my mom is going through some old files of hers and is finding all kinds of detritus from the distant past of our lives. One item she unearthed is a story which I must have written when I was extremely young, maybe around seven years old, judging by the spelling. My conclusion after reading this epic tale of heroism and romance: My mother was clearly putting LSD in my Cheerios! How else does a child come up with a story like this one, called, “The Pickle and the Stick”:
(Original spelling preserved)

Susan, left, could be about that age in this photo

Once thare was a pickle. It was locked up in a jar. Thare was a stick. One day the jar with the pickle fell out of a bag. the stick had gest left tree. The stick saw the pickles helplessa nd stranded; He opend the jar. all the pickles wher sour-harted all but one. she was a vary nice kind harted one. she asked the stick to please help her out. The stick did as she pleased (the pickle) The pickle said she would repay his kindness some how. The stick who was very polite said, “how nice of you.” Back at the jar the pickles had bad luck. a boy kicked them into the gutter and a car ran over them. that was the end, at least of them. the stick just then was picked up by a boy. He was going to brake Sirr stick in half! The pickle took a big, big breth and just in time FOOOOOOOOOOOO! Out came a tarabell noise. The pickle saved his life. They got marieyed and lived happily ever after.

The attached drawing is something I threw together with some help from the internet, inspired by reading this story. No, I am not currently on acid!’

—

Why my crazy trip was worth it…

I had to pose with Remy so he’d know how much I enjoyed these trees

Australian Tea tree

I’d informed son Rafi my knees didn’t enjoy hills any more. He and grandson Remy put their heads together and chose parks without hills for my daily walks. The first had these wonderful trees I couldn’t resist. We went again and again so I could pose with Rafi, then Remy, and when Susan joined us, back we went to pose yet again!

Just had to once again pose by one of those wonderful trees with Rafi AND Susan when she arrived.

Yes, we took walks elsewhere as well. Every morning Rafi walked the family dog, Germaine, we dropped Remy off at soccer camp, and Rafi walked me. (He wasn’t going to let me slack off. He knows how important it is for me to keep moving.)

Another walk by the water

Germaine walks me at the nearby dog park. It was cold. I was grateful to Chandra, who gave me the snuggly, warm jacket with a hood. (My very first hoodie!)

The few times we couldn’t find the time to visit another park, I took my walk at the dog park under the supervision of Germaine, who made sure I got in enough steps. He took every step with me! Ha, ha.

Rafi at 20. What a hunk! I’d never seen this photo before.

Rafi ordered this little man for my home-made terrarium. The little guy seems happy in his new home with his bottle of wine.

Chandra, always creative, made a beautiful photo album for Rafi as a birthday gift. I had never seen some of those old photos and got a kick out of seeing, for the first time, some taken years ago. (She also made an album for him of what friends and family members thought of him. It was lovely to read.)

We celebrated everyone’s birthday. I’d just celebrated a venerable one, Rafi had a recent birthday and so had Susan. We laughed a lot and I discovered my grandson, Remy, had a crazy sense of humour. (Wonder where he got that from??? Ha, ha.) Also an avid reader, Remy shared books with me when I ran out of reading material. It was just a great visit. I could not have asked for more.

Rafi and I shopped for plants at the nursery — the kids have a beautiful garden. I looked for a little man to live in my home-made terrarium, but they didn’t have one. Rafi ordered one for me, tried NOT to tell me right away, but was so excited about it, he couldn’t wait to surprise me, but when he said: ‘I bought you something’. I immediately guessed what it was. Yeah! See him above. The little guy loves his new home.

I’m holding on to the memory of the wonderful time I had and how spoiled I was by everyone. The morning breakfasts I had with Rafi, the time we all spent together was worth all the nonsense and stupidity of the rules and regulations I had to deal with to travel across the border during COVID.

Rafi sent me this photo of Germaine waiting at my door after I’d gone home. Well, I miss him too. He was particularly gentle with me.

A Mere Change of Heart…

 

We shared a love of film and theatre

And talked about them passionately.

I saw us together melding our knowledge

Learning and growing and sharing and…

 

 

 

He talked of summer visits to Oregon friends

And taking two weeks to drive there — slowly.

I heard the promise of joyful times with him

Exploring tomorrow and tomorrow.

 

 

His eyes across the dinner table spoke of

Countless hours we’d spend together.

Then he could not understand why his

Mere change of heart hurt so deeply.

I want a rat tail like Remy’s…

Remy’s tail

The last time my San Francisco crew visited, I teased Remy about his long braid. After admiring it, I suggested he not dare fall asleep at night because I would cut it off and glue it on for myself. He laughed. He wasn’t terrified. (I’m using his photo here with his permission.)

I had no idea it was called a ‘rat’s tail’. Why would I? It was my patient friend Celine, who made my first real braid and commented that’s what it looked like. I thought it was because my hair is grey and Remy’s is black, (like mine used to be).

Then, son Rafi told me it WAS called a ‘rat’s tail’. Imagine! I keep learning folks. Don’t we all NEED to know these things? Aren’t you glad I’m telling you?

I’m a determined sort. Ask my kids. It drives them nuts.

All I could do was make a small ponytail

So, I continued to let my own rat’s tail grow, but now I’m isolating because of COVID:19 and giving friends and others I love a break by not seeing anyone. I’m definitely not talented enough to make a braid for myself in the back of my head. Forget it. All I could do was make a small ponytail and hope for the best.

The lovely braid Samantha made

Then, finally Samantha visited wearing a mask, washed her hands 100 times, etc., etc., etc. but still beautiful. What a treat. She made a lovely braid for me. I loved it. The next morning, it was stubbornly curled up to the left and no way was it willing to straighten out.

Note the stubborn curl toward the left of photo

Want some good advice? Watch out what you wish for. You may get it AND regret it. I had straight jet-black hair and would have sold my young soul to the devil to have it curl. Well, now I’ve got what I then wanted so badly. My grey hair IS wavy. I hate it! It drives me crazy. It won’t wave the way I’d want it to. It is totally uncontrollable. Sometimes it looks like the 1920s. Oh, woe is me… I’m back to nothing but a silly little ponytail.

You mean I didn’t make you cry with this very sad tale about my tail??

My son Rafi’s thoughts on COVID:19

Today I am proudly sharing my son Rafi’s thoughts on COVID:19. I think you will agree he is more able than I to express his heartfelt feelings about these troubling times.

I feel so lucky to have Rafi, his lovely wife Chandra, and my brilliant, wonderful grandson Remy, whom they are raising so well, in my life. (Do I sound like a grandma???)

Here’s what Rafi wrote. I thank him for allowing me to share it with you.

 

I tend not to pray
I hope, I wish, I ask, I wonder
But pray I have chosen to not

Today, however, I find myself hungering for a prayer
A prayer for the homeless and the housed, the young and the old, the unknown and the celebrated, the powerless and the powerful
A prayer for those less fortunate and for those who have more

This crisis brings us into balance, the fear heightens our commonality, and the unknown leaves us without answers.  All of us.  Together

As we face this adversary, we are all on equal footing – we sit in isolation, we work, we learn, we argue and love in virtual worlds.  All of us. Together

Today tests our sense of accomplishment, our goals and ambitions for the future
For why be earnest if tomorrow never comes?  Why begin when the end is nigh?

Why?  Because we are in this.  All of us.  Together.

I hunger for and have found my prayer
It is in the sun that rises and sets, in the blossoms that are born in the spring, and in the “we” that perseveres
It is that hope is a harbinger of these cycles’ continuum
It is that in my wife, my son, and our extended families I find happiness when there seems none to have
It is that we can find community in friends old and new, and in neighbors who leave a loaf of homemade bread at your door
It is from the hugs that will be had and the glasses that will be clinked
It is from the fact that tomorrow brings with it the potential for more than what exists today

Chandra, Remy and Rafi

I tend not to pray
I hope, I wish, I ask, I wonder
But pray, I have been chosen to

By: Rafi Kauffmann

My Susan…

Susan, left, with sister Carrie

In the morning

We never found it.

We crawled on the floor
Seeking
The little green bug
Tucked into a drawer
For safekeeping
The night before.

Tear stains
On that little face
So sad, so white
Framed in
Silky, smooth hair
So black.

Susan was angry, indignant…

“He stomped on my babies.”

I hope he brought them to HIS mother.

She was angry, indignant..
A pocketful of roaches
Shown off to
A bigger boy
And lost
To innocence.

Susan and her donkey Rogie. (As an adult, Susan enjoys larger creatures.)

A collection of bugs
Carefully pinned
To the inside cover
Of a shoe box
Desperate buzzing of treasures
Held captive who gnaw through
My very best scarf.

(Goodbye nice scarf…)

Susan on Hummer — and even larger.

A COVID:19 Romance…

COVID:19 or no, If I don’t continue my dally walks these old bones of mine may not want to go anywhere, so I’m walking each day — totally on my own. Those who care about me kept reminding me how old I am and that I must take extra care out there, so I do.

I avoid the major street where I usually walk. The shops, cafes, and markets are all located there and I think it wise to avoid people so I use only the side streets, where there are just apartment buildings and houses. There are very few cars on the streets right now and many less people.

On one of these very first walks, I saw a man sitting out in the sun on a second floor balcony. He waved down to me and said hello. I asked if he was staying in like me. He was. We ended up chatting, he sitting on his balcony above and me sitting on my walker below on the sidewalk.

If things had been reversed, I would say it was like the tragic story of Romeo and Juliet. And if I told you we made each other laugh, became fast friends, exchanged phone numbers and now talk endlessly so that’s why my phone is usually busy, and have decided we really like each other, have much in common and shall spend oodles of time with each other after this is over, it would be a lovely end to the story. Right? Unfortunately, it would also be a big fat lie. That’s not how it ended.

Since then, although I’ve walked on the same street and passed under ‘Romeo’s’ balcony many times, I’ve not seen him again. Is he chatting with someone new? Is that the real end of this love story?

True, we really did have an enjoyable chat, that part is actually true. However without breakfasts every day at my favorite cafe, many lunches with friends, exercise classes to take, visits to the library, and everything else I do in my ordinary life, things are more leisurely right now and I don’t get out at the same time each day. Perhaps the lack of a new COVID:19 romance in my life is my own fault. Poor ‘Romeo’ just doesn’t know when  I’ll show up. This is, indeed, a tragedy!

Oh, well…..