The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.
Fighting Wistfulness
My former classmate and Phil Jones Dance partner and I have lunch this afternoon; at 12, we took lessons in preparation for many upcoming Bar and Bat Mitzvahs, and for life. We were also at the University of Michigan at the same time, but I don't have much memory of that till he reminds me:
"The last time I saw you was in 1985, in the Fishbowl [the all-glass part of Mason Hall in Ann Arbor]. You seemed really uncomfortable; in fact, whenever I ran into you on campus you seemed uncomfortable, but that day, you were with some girls and one of them --"
"-- had a mullet?"
"Yes, and one's hair was multicolored."
"Well, the one with the mullet is a guy now." (Not sure he's heard me.) "Really. He was a guy back then, too; he's transgender, but hadn't yet transitioned and I didn't know then, but yeah, that was really awkward, seeing you then."
He nods acknowledgment and then says, "You know, if you hadn't acted so odd, I'd have never guessed about you, but since you did, I realized [that you were a lesbian], and thought, She probably doesn't want her mom to know, and I never told a soul."
"Well, you were who I was supposed to want -- you, a good-looking, smart, nice, tall, Jewish man and so of course, I felt awkward."
He's flattered, but what is there to say in response?
Our Dads (z"l)
Both of them died at 56, of the identical, rare cancer. We agree that we became adults overnight at the time. His dad (z"l) died in '88, when he was 22 and mine (z"l), in '82, when I was 17 -- right around the same time of year, within two weeks of each other. I sit there, feeling jealous and competitive; at least his dad saw him graduate from high school and college.
Overall...
He is a gentleman, a mensch.
I have yet to regret getting together with anyone from my Stamford past.
This lunch, plus Teena Marie's passing earlier this week, are making me feel tons of pre-teen and adolescent memories. I'd rather feel my feelings than ignore them, I guess. How can I channel them for further good, though?
Showing posts with label Stamford CT. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stamford CT. Show all posts
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The Best of Stamford
The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies.
The Official Version vs. My Version
Earlier today, I received e-mail from a Middle Eastern restaurant in Stamford, Connecticut, asking me to vote for it as the best ethnic restaurant in Stamford for 2010. When I went to the voting site, it included a link to the winners for 2009.
Stamford is my hometown. I spent ages 0-18 there.
Here is my Best of Stamford list:
The Official Version vs. My Version
Earlier today, I received e-mail from a Middle Eastern restaurant in Stamford, Connecticut, asking me to vote for it as the best ethnic restaurant in Stamford for 2010. When I went to the voting site, it included a link to the winners for 2009.
Stamford is my hometown. I spent ages 0-18 there.
Here is my Best of Stamford list:
- Best rock to climb upon and eat a picnic lunch: At the Stamford Museum & Nature Center
- Best bikeride: High Ridge Rd. from Sunset Rd. to the Dorothy Heroy public pool
- Best friends from Stamford in the order I met them:
- Sarah Tauber
- Jimmy Gutterman
- Didi (aka Nicole) Doutre
- Helene Doutre
- HoneyB (aka Barbara) Prins
- J.J. (aka Jennifer Juliet) Rogers
- Adrienne Weiss
- Jennifer Gerstel
- Amy Neufeld
- Caryn Lesnoy (z"l)
- Atalia Hochenberg
- Svetlana Bekman
- Leslie Karp (z"l)
- Sarah Tauber
- Best stone wall: In the woods on either side of our driveway
- Best place to ice-skate in my neighborhood: In the woods behind Did's and Helene's house
- Best Chevy Impala convertible ride with the top down: To Friendly's ice-cream shop on High Ridge Road during spring and summer, with my parents in the front and my two sisters and I, on our knees, facing backward and gripping the back-seat as the breeze whipped through our hair
- Best place to roller-skate alone: Hickory Road
- Best reminder of the heather in *My Secret Garden*: At the intersection, where you turn right to go to Scalzi Park
- Best sledding hill: Behind Temple Sinai
- Best wild raspberries and blueberries: In the woods to the side and behind our house
- Best pets: Didi's and Helene's dog, Fluffy; HoneyB's dog, Elizabeth; and Amy's dog, Tigger
- Best place to play ping-pong: the Jewish Community Center's recreation room
- Best pool to swim in as a guest: the Italian Center's
- Best ski club: Stamford High's
- Best salesman/ambassador/recruiter for his alma mater: Cy Carlton for the University of Michigan
- Best contemporary mind: Scott Kogan's
- Best resemblance to my 14-17-year-old self, or so all of our Stamford High teachers thought: Karol Nielsen
- Best dances in the '80s, where everything from "Reunited" to "Hungry Like the Wolf" played: Stamford High's.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Movie Night
The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.
Sister-love Galore
Before we went out to dinner, I didn't realize that "Rachel Getting Married" had come in the mail. It was set in my hometown, Stamford, Connecticut.
Spoiler alert: The best part of the movie is the relationship between the sisters. The saddest, between the mother and the youngest daughter. Since July, we've lived with two sisters, our cats.
Phoebe and Toonces are just like human sisters in essential ways: They play together and envy each other if either of their adoptive parents offers visibly more affection to one over the other at any given point. They must be more like twins, though, since they're the same age.
The older sister in the film touched me, and I thought of my own, oldest sister, who is nine years older than I. She used to bathe me when I was very young; I might have written here before that the way she got me to let her shampoo my hair was by putting a warm, wet washcloth over my eyes and calling it, "Magic Mask."
The sisters in the film were so great. And mine are, too. Two Sundays ago, my oldest sister and I sat at a food court off of the New Jersey Turnpike on our way home from our cousin Shirley's funeral in Bethesda, Maryland. I felt especially close to my sister then. It was such a treat to have her all to myself for 30 minutes. In the car, it was also just us, but there was traffic to watch and a road to concentrate on.
Both of us have our families always occupying us, and we haven't been alone together since my middle sister had breast cancer, which, thank God, she has survived. A few years ago when that happened, I asked my oldest sister to spend an afternoon with me. We went to the Frick Collection and she talked to a number of strangers.
I felt dissed. She didn't notice. I got upset. She became annoyed. We ended happily, but never since have done anything together -- just the two of us. The cancer-scare disappeared, thank God, and I suppose we went back to taking each other for granted a bit...and then Surarivka (aka Shirley) died...four hours in the car each way. The time went so fast, she agreed.
My sisters and I are so organically sympatico, ultimately, and I'm lucky we are one another's family.
Sister-love Galore
Before we went out to dinner, I didn't realize that "Rachel Getting Married" had come in the mail. It was set in my hometown, Stamford, Connecticut.
Spoiler alert: The best part of the movie is the relationship between the sisters. The saddest, between the mother and the youngest daughter. Since July, we've lived with two sisters, our cats.
Phoebe and Toonces are just like human sisters in essential ways: They play together and envy each other if either of their adoptive parents offers visibly more affection to one over the other at any given point. They must be more like twins, though, since they're the same age.
The older sister in the film touched me, and I thought of my own, oldest sister, who is nine years older than I. She used to bathe me when I was very young; I might have written here before that the way she got me to let her shampoo my hair was by putting a warm, wet washcloth over my eyes and calling it, "Magic Mask."
The sisters in the film were so great. And mine are, too. Two Sundays ago, my oldest sister and I sat at a food court off of the New Jersey Turnpike on our way home from our cousin Shirley's funeral in Bethesda, Maryland. I felt especially close to my sister then. It was such a treat to have her all to myself for 30 minutes. In the car, it was also just us, but there was traffic to watch and a road to concentrate on.
Both of us have our families always occupying us, and we haven't been alone together since my middle sister had breast cancer, which, thank God, she has survived. A few years ago when that happened, I asked my oldest sister to spend an afternoon with me. We went to the Frick Collection and she talked to a number of strangers.
I felt dissed. She didn't notice. I got upset. She became annoyed. We ended happily, but never since have done anything together -- just the two of us. The cancer-scare disappeared, thank God, and I suppose we went back to taking each other for granted a bit...and then Surarivka (aka Shirley) died...four hours in the car each way. The time went so fast, she agreed.
My sisters and I are so organically sympatico, ultimately, and I'm lucky we are one another's family.
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