I made a decision last year, after Joe was offered, and accepted, a five-year contract with Tree of Life here in Morgantown. I decided I was going to be happy living here. There are things I don't like, some of which I can change, and some I can't. I was unhappy with the house we were living in, an expensive rental in a sloppily-built townhouse development. I started looking at houses last winter, and now we are homeowners in a comfortable neighborhood of people who are mostly of our generation.
My other unhappiness was the Republican takeover of the West Virginia House of Representatives. Not that the Democrats were any great prize, but in our District, the four Republicans are particularly awful. One introduced a resolution to the US Congress to hold a constitutional convention to ban any recognition of same-gender relationships, one introduced a voter-ID bill, one wants charter schools in West Virginia and lobbies for the Chamber of Commercc, and the fourth introduced and passed a bill to gut safety regulations in coal mines.
I couldn't live with this. Turnout in the last election was under ten percent of registered voters. I don't want this kind of right-wing extremism in my back yard. So I've decided to run for Delegate from the 51st District of West Virginia.
I get the problems. Democrats and Republicans alike start their speeches here with "I'm an eleventh generation West Virginian." Somehow, people are impressed with that. Yet Morgantown is the home of West Virginia University, a major world-class institution. People come here from all over the world to teach and to learn. How does the insularity of so much of West Virginia work in Morgantown? My goal is to involve a different group of people in the election process.
My motto is "For a progressive West Virginia." What that means is taking the signs on the road into Morgantown that say "Building A Diverse Community" seriously. It means a stance in favor of a clean environment, despite the opposition of the coal moguls who seem to control the politics of the state now.
The economic engine of Morgantown is West Virginia University. Yet the state budget, in deep trouble, has cut funds for public schools and universities each of the last few years. Enrollment is down at WVU, possibly because of rising tuition costs. Every year, business interests clamor for tax cuts. I would not vote for tax cuts until the schools, the public health clinics and the highway funds are flush.
I would vote to raise the gas tax to pave roads and provide mass transit in the cities, and raise the tobacco tax to fund health care. I support The Affordable Care Act and oppose efforts to repeal it or the state expanded Medicaid program.
In the last legislature, there was one Jewish man, and one gay man. I could be a two-fer, doubling both of those populations. It's time West Virginia had a grandson of immigrants, a Jewish, gay, Hollywood liberal in the legislature.
Just yesterday, I saw our city councilperson, a liberal. She walks her dog up our street. She told me her tires have been slashed eleven times since she was elected to the city council. I told Joe, expecting him to discourage me from running. Instead he said "That's nothing. I'm sure you could beat that."
I know there are goons in this state. Yesterday, I saw a traveling Anne Frank exhibit at WVU. My mother was the same age as Anne, only born in New York City. The exhibit showed the rise of fascism in hard economic times. Times are hard here for many people. I'd like to find a compassionate way to alleviate that suffering, in the hopes of averting a fascist takeover.
When Joe was ordained, they singled out for praise the new rabbis who were the children and grandchildren of rabbis. I thought they should single out people like Joe, who came from a family of non-believers and found his way to becoming a rabbi. To me, it's easy to say "I'm an eleventh generation West Virginian." I will say "I was born and raised in Baltimore, lived in New Orleans, Miami, Los Angeles and California's far north coast, and I chose to live in Morgantown, West Virginia." That should be worth something.
At sixty-six, I don't have plans for a long political career. Just running is something, winning would be great. I ask for your support.
Thursday, October 29, 2015
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Braxton County, West Virginia
Joe asked me what I wanted for my birthday this year, and I said "Come to Braxton County with me." I thought his face was going to fall on the floor. Still, he was game enough to agree to go. We went Monday, two days before my birthday. It was below freezing in the morning, sunny once the sun came up after 7:30, and 62 in the afternoon.
Mapquest says it is 91 miles from Morgantown to Sutton, the county seat of Braxton County. That's close enough that I don't have to stay over. It's a straight shot down I-79 from Morgantown.
I've been through Braxton County before, heading south. US 19 cuts off of I-79 south of Sutton. I-79 goes to Charleston; US 19 goes to Beckley and is the fastest way to most of the Carolinas and Florida from Pittsburgh or Buffalo. Flatwoods is an interchange on I-79. There are gas stations, fast food places, motels and an outlet mall with a Tommy Hilfiger store, an Amish bulk foods store, a Book Warehouse, with last year's best sellers at seventy percent off, and a Chinese buffet, where we lunched. Joe liked it better than I did. He was happy there was any kind of ethnic food in the boonies.
My goal was to hit each of the ten places listed on The National Register of Historic Places. I try to see a park, a synagogue, a college or university, a shopping mall. I guess the outlet mall in Flatwoods counts for the mall. We visited Burnsville Lake, a Corps of Engineers project with a dam, campgrounds, a historic park (with three National Register sites), and a boat launch. There is no synagogue or college in the county.
As in many places, we could see the importance of the rivers which include the Elk and Kanawha, eighty miles upriver from Charleston. Railroads cross the county. I didn't see any active train stations. There were skirmishes in the Civil War, as the Confederates tried to break the Union's water, rail and road supply lines. There were many Confederate sympathizers in the area, and indeed, we saw houses and trucks with Confederate flags one hundred fifty years after the end of the Civil War.
We had warm, dry, sunny weather at the same latitude as Santa Rosa in California. I was glad to have Joe with me. We left home at 9:30 and were home by 5:00.
Mapquest says it is 91 miles from Morgantown to Sutton, the county seat of Braxton County. That's close enough that I don't have to stay over. It's a straight shot down I-79 from Morgantown.
I've been through Braxton County before, heading south. US 19 cuts off of I-79 south of Sutton. I-79 goes to Charleston; US 19 goes to Beckley and is the fastest way to most of the Carolinas and Florida from Pittsburgh or Buffalo. Flatwoods is an interchange on I-79. There are gas stations, fast food places, motels and an outlet mall with a Tommy Hilfiger store, an Amish bulk foods store, a Book Warehouse, with last year's best sellers at seventy percent off, and a Chinese buffet, where we lunched. Joe liked it better than I did. He was happy there was any kind of ethnic food in the boonies.
My goal was to hit each of the ten places listed on The National Register of Historic Places. I try to see a park, a synagogue, a college or university, a shopping mall. I guess the outlet mall in Flatwoods counts for the mall. We visited Burnsville Lake, a Corps of Engineers project with a dam, campgrounds, a historic park (with three National Register sites), and a boat launch. There is no synagogue or college in the county.
As in many places, we could see the importance of the rivers which include the Elk and Kanawha, eighty miles upriver from Charleston. Railroads cross the county. I didn't see any active train stations. There were skirmishes in the Civil War, as the Confederates tried to break the Union's water, rail and road supply lines. There were many Confederate sympathizers in the area, and indeed, we saw houses and trucks with Confederate flags one hundred fifty years after the end of the Civil War.
We had warm, dry, sunny weather at the same latitude as Santa Rosa in California. I was glad to have Joe with me. We left home at 9:30 and were home by 5:00.
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| Burnsville Bridge, 1893, over the Little Kanawha River, Burnsville, not in use |
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| Burnsville Lake, near Napier, maintained by The US Army Corps of Engineers |
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| Union Civil War Fortifications, Bulltown Historic Park, near Napier |
 | |||||
| Cunningham House, Bulltown Historic Park |
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| portion of Weston-Gauley Bridge Turnpike, Bulltown Historic Park |
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| Braxton County Courthouse, Sutton |
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| Old Sutton High School, 1924, not sure what they are doing to it |
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| Elk River, Sutton |
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| Haymond House, Sutton, 1894 |
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| Sutton Historic District |
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| Main Street, Sutton |
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| Gassaway Depot, 1914, originally on the Coal and Coke Railroad, later acquired by the B&O. Vacant since 1988. |
Thursday, October 15, 2015
The Beach Boys - Light And Dark
Like most people my age (66 next week) I love The Beach Boys. They were an important part of our youth. They spoke to our culture, even if we didn't own a car or live near a beach, or have much experience with girls. Musically, although we would never admit it, they were a bridge between our parents' love of Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals and our love of Chuck Berry-early Elvis rock and roll.
This summer, the Brian Wilson bio-pic Love and Mercy came out. Joe and I saw it around July 4 in Columbia, Maryland, on the way back to my sister's house from a day in Baltimore while we were on vacation. Like most arty movies, it never played in Morgantown. The movie was both exhilarating and depressing. I loved seeing recreations of the early Beach Boys, and the recording sessions for Pet Sounds, one of the most acclaimed albums in history. The rivalries within the group, the bickering, and Brian's descent into craziness was hard to watch.
I thought I would add to my résumé of classes at OLLI, the "school" for people over fifty, by teaching a class about The Beach Boys. I've already taught about the Brill Building, Motown, and the British invasion from 1964-1969. Today, October 15, I'm teaching the albums from late 1967 to 1973. Hard times for the group.
Most of the Beach Boys albums I bought new were after the group's peak popularity. Two of these, Surf's Up, from 1971, and Holland, from 1973, are among my favorites. Yet these did not sell well when they were new. People were listening to Elton John and Carole King, Stevie Wonder and Roberta Flack in those days.
I've been researching as much as I can about The Beach Boys. I've gone back and listened to the albums, read one book about the group and one specifically about Brian Wilson, watched dozens of YouTube videos, and read countless Wikipedia articles.
The Beach Boys really were America's post-war band. they grew up in a boring suburb and had parents who gave them everything at a tremendous psychological price. They were immensely talented but only their junky stuff is what people like ("Barbara Ann" for instance). As a singer, I appreciate that they were always in tune with each other, even when performing live. They sang harmony as well as the great vocal groups of the 50s that Brian so admires. I saw them twice at the Baltimore Civic Center when I was a teen, once in their red-striped shirts, and once with beards and hippie clothes.
Like many of us, they made bad choices about drugs and sex in the sixties and seventies, lost control of their money and their lives, and yet still keep going.
In their later years, they are doing what they can, even if they don't speak to their own family members, nursing hurts and recriminations that are decades old. The Beach Boys will appear in Zanesville, Ohio, next week. The ads point out that the group consists of Mike Love (who won the right to the group name in court) with Bruce Johnston, who has been with the group since 1965. Brian Wilson is still recording music. He was interviewed in Rolling Stone about the harrowing movie about his life. When asked if things were that bad, he says they were worse.
In Love and Mercy, Brian is under the care of psychologist Eugene Landy, who controls Brian's entire life. This is my Hollywood one degree of separation story.
I took a class at UCLA Extension in 1985 called "The Career Exploration Seminar." At the time, less than a year after my move from Miami to Los Angeles, I was working as a supervisor in the SSI program at the Watts Social Security office. The managers hated me, I still believe because I wouldn't work Saturday overtime, and because I directed my United Way donation to The Los Angeles Gay & Lesbian Community Center. I knew I was going to leave there. After some research, directed by the teacher, I thought I would like to be an actor, a cliché about newbies in L.A. There was a gorgeous woman in the class named Alexandra Morgan, an actress. She wanted a new career because, being past thirty-five, no one would hire her. Having never met such a beautiful woman, I was shocked. She encouraged me to give acting a shot. At the last class, we exchanged addresses. She lived on Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu, where the movie stars live. I asked her about that and she said "I live with my boyfriend."
We all went out to a restaurant and the boyfriend came. I sat next to him. He looked a little crazy, sort of like Jack Nicholson playing a crazy person. He was older, maybe fifty, in good shape, and with a diamond stud earring. I asked him what he did for a living. He told me he was a psychologist, and when I said he must do well out there in Malibu, he said "Actually, I only have one patient." I never saw him or Alexandra again. He was Dr. Eugene Landy, Brian Wilson's doctor. I found out three years later, when Brian came out with an allbum, and on the liner notes, thanked Dr. Landy. Some of the songs listed Alexandra Morgan as lyricist. I don't know if Dr. Landy was as bad as he is portrayed in the movie. He was better looking, for sure.
Everyone has their troubles and grief. We are all under appreciated in some way. A friend now is gravely ill. Her family members, who rarely speak to her, are coming to Morgantown today to see her. Joe is spending much of the day at the hospital. He has written a beautiful prayer asking God for healing when things look desperate. Two women at The League of Women Voters meeting last night told me about their terrible diagnoses and the trials of chemotherapy. I'm just recovering from angioplasty, and I'm lucky to still be alive.
Brian Wilson has lost his two brothers and is estranged from his cousin who helped found The Beach Boys. I know that for many years he didn't see his children from his first marriage. In the Rolling Stone article, he talks openly about being old, about his patterns of behavior and how he copes with his mental health issues.
I cry when I hear Beach Boys songs like "When I Grow Up To Be A Man," written when they were young and wondering, like all of us, what their lives would be like. Now we know, and even if we are happy, as I would say I am, it's heartbreaking to look back at all that has happened.
The Beach Boys, at least the ones we remember from the early 1960s, are still popular. We think about the pretty girls, the handsome young men (HYMs) we were or wanted, the powerful impractical cars of the era, and the optimism of the times.In my class, we're going forward into a darker era. It should be interesting.
This summer, the Brian Wilson bio-pic Love and Mercy came out. Joe and I saw it around July 4 in Columbia, Maryland, on the way back to my sister's house from a day in Baltimore while we were on vacation. Like most arty movies, it never played in Morgantown. The movie was both exhilarating and depressing. I loved seeing recreations of the early Beach Boys, and the recording sessions for Pet Sounds, one of the most acclaimed albums in history. The rivalries within the group, the bickering, and Brian's descent into craziness was hard to watch.
I thought I would add to my résumé of classes at OLLI, the "school" for people over fifty, by teaching a class about The Beach Boys. I've already taught about the Brill Building, Motown, and the British invasion from 1964-1969. Today, October 15, I'm teaching the albums from late 1967 to 1973. Hard times for the group.
Most of the Beach Boys albums I bought new were after the group's peak popularity. Two of these, Surf's Up, from 1971, and Holland, from 1973, are among my favorites. Yet these did not sell well when they were new. People were listening to Elton John and Carole King, Stevie Wonder and Roberta Flack in those days.
I've been researching as much as I can about The Beach Boys. I've gone back and listened to the albums, read one book about the group and one specifically about Brian Wilson, watched dozens of YouTube videos, and read countless Wikipedia articles.
The Beach Boys really were America's post-war band. they grew up in a boring suburb and had parents who gave them everything at a tremendous psychological price. They were immensely talented but only their junky stuff is what people like ("Barbara Ann" for instance). As a singer, I appreciate that they were always in tune with each other, even when performing live. They sang harmony as well as the great vocal groups of the 50s that Brian so admires. I saw them twice at the Baltimore Civic Center when I was a teen, once in their red-striped shirts, and once with beards and hippie clothes.
Like many of us, they made bad choices about drugs and sex in the sixties and seventies, lost control of their money and their lives, and yet still keep going.
In their later years, they are doing what they can, even if they don't speak to their own family members, nursing hurts and recriminations that are decades old. The Beach Boys will appear in Zanesville, Ohio, next week. The ads point out that the group consists of Mike Love (who won the right to the group name in court) with Bruce Johnston, who has been with the group since 1965. Brian Wilson is still recording music. He was interviewed in Rolling Stone about the harrowing movie about his life. When asked if things were that bad, he says they were worse.
In Love and Mercy, Brian is under the care of psychologist Eugene Landy, who controls Brian's entire life. This is my Hollywood one degree of separation story.
I took a class at UCLA Extension in 1985 called "The Career Exploration Seminar." At the time, less than a year after my move from Miami to Los Angeles, I was working as a supervisor in the SSI program at the Watts Social Security office. The managers hated me, I still believe because I wouldn't work Saturday overtime, and because I directed my United Way donation to The Los Angeles Gay & Lesbian Community Center. I knew I was going to leave there. After some research, directed by the teacher, I thought I would like to be an actor, a cliché about newbies in L.A. There was a gorgeous woman in the class named Alexandra Morgan, an actress. She wanted a new career because, being past thirty-five, no one would hire her. Having never met such a beautiful woman, I was shocked. She encouraged me to give acting a shot. At the last class, we exchanged addresses. She lived on Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu, where the movie stars live. I asked her about that and she said "I live with my boyfriend."
We all went out to a restaurant and the boyfriend came. I sat next to him. He looked a little crazy, sort of like Jack Nicholson playing a crazy person. He was older, maybe fifty, in good shape, and with a diamond stud earring. I asked him what he did for a living. He told me he was a psychologist, and when I said he must do well out there in Malibu, he said "Actually, I only have one patient." I never saw him or Alexandra again. He was Dr. Eugene Landy, Brian Wilson's doctor. I found out three years later, when Brian came out with an allbum, and on the liner notes, thanked Dr. Landy. Some of the songs listed Alexandra Morgan as lyricist. I don't know if Dr. Landy was as bad as he is portrayed in the movie. He was better looking, for sure.
Everyone has their troubles and grief. We are all under appreciated in some way. A friend now is gravely ill. Her family members, who rarely speak to her, are coming to Morgantown today to see her. Joe is spending much of the day at the hospital. He has written a beautiful prayer asking God for healing when things look desperate. Two women at The League of Women Voters meeting last night told me about their terrible diagnoses and the trials of chemotherapy. I'm just recovering from angioplasty, and I'm lucky to still be alive.
Brian Wilson has lost his two brothers and is estranged from his cousin who helped found The Beach Boys. I know that for many years he didn't see his children from his first marriage. In the Rolling Stone article, he talks openly about being old, about his patterns of behavior and how he copes with his mental health issues.
I cry when I hear Beach Boys songs like "When I Grow Up To Be A Man," written when they were young and wondering, like all of us, what their lives would be like. Now we know, and even if we are happy, as I would say I am, it's heartbreaking to look back at all that has happened.
The Beach Boys, at least the ones we remember from the early 1960s, are still popular. We think about the pretty girls, the handsome young men (HYMs) we were or wanted, the powerful impractical cars of the era, and the optimism of the times.In my class, we're going forward into a darker era. It should be interesting.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
The Holidays and The Hospital
During the holidays this year, I had some medical issues. Just after Rosh Hashana, I went in for an echocardiogram. My cardiologist was afraid my heart wasn't functioning as it should. He called late the afternoon before Yom Kippur, and left a message that said. "Call me back. Don't worry, it's not urgent."
Our Yom Kippur services run all day, from a children's service at 9 A.M., through morning, afternoon, Yizkor (Memorial) and Ne'ilah (closing) service. Joe also runs a discussion group. There is a short break in the early afternoon. Joe and I came home and napped briefly. He was fasting from the night before- not even coffee. I don't try. He went back to temple, and I stayed for a light lunch and more sleep. Repentance and prayer are important, but if I can't concentrate for lack of food, it's not worth it. And I have medication to take with food in the morning.
While I was home, the cardiologist called again.
"Your heart muscle is weaker than three years ago. We need to go in and see if there is something we can fix. It doesn't have to be this week."
I said "Fine. Can we do it after November first? I'm teaching a class."
"I wouldn't wait that long."
"Oh. After October 6? I'm going to D.C. for that weekend."
"We shouldn't wait that long. I'll have the nurse call you."
I returned to services for Yizkor and Ne'ilah. I thought about my parents and the medical choices they made near the ends of their lives. They chose to live as fully as they could. When we came home, I told Joe what the doctor had said.
The nurse called Friday and we set it up for Tuesday, September 29. She said it would be outpatient. I should be fine for the weekend. I told her I was teaching a class starting Thursday and moderating a panel Thursday night.
I love Sukkot, although I understand that most Jews don't observe it. It comes only five days after Yom Kippur, after which people are depressed from all the repentance and fasting. But Sukkot is the time to relax, visit friends, eat outside in a little hut if one chooses to build one (we don't). Sukkot lasts seven or eight days and is followed by Simchat Torah, when we celebrate the annual cycle of Torah reading. In Reform Judaism, the first day is a religious holiday, and the eighth, Simchat Torah. The rest is relaxing.
Our temple was invited join the temple in Wheeling for a barbecue Sunday night, the 27th, as the holiday started. Joe and I were the only ones from Morgantown to make the 75 mile trip to Wheeling. Beth Jacowitz-Chottiner, the rabbi there, and her husband, Lee Chottiner, who once lived in Morgantown, have become our friends.
Monday I attended "Safe Zone" training, to learn to be a trainer for a program to combat anti-gay violence at WVU. At the end of the training, I opted not to become a trainer, because I don't have a presence at the university. I told Ben, the trainer, that I would be at Ruby Memorial on Tuesday, and couldn't swear I would lead the panel discussion I had arranged for Thursday night, part of Diversity Week at WVU. I barely managed to keep from crying.
Monday night, Zalman and Hindy Gurewitz, the couple who run the local Chabad, invited us for dinner in their sukkah. I'm not a big fan of Chabad, but Zalman and Hindy have been friendly to us and we've been guests at Chabad. In a town with so few Jews, I respect their outreach to the community. Joe had scheduled a meeting at temple, the second night of Sukkot being less important to Reform Jews. It was hard for me to relax knowing I was going to the hospital the next day. This was their night to have adults in the sukkah, as opposed to college students, their usual clientele.
Joe rescheduled an appointment with the dentist to take me to the hospital Tuesday. I'm going to skip the gory details. It was an ordeal. I had to make it explicit that I would sign no forms without Joe present, and that he was privy to any information. The whole procedure was delayed, and when it was done about 5:30, I had three new stents in my arteries. They kept me overnight, and I left Wednesday morning. I was well enough to go shopping in the evening, as long as Joe carried the packages. I was told not to lift more than five pounds.
I slept late and skipped my writing group Thursday, but I got out to teach my Beach Boys class at OLLI from 1 to 3. I covered 1964 and 1965, the Beach Boys' most successful years, and to my mind, the best years ever for Top 40 pop music. I crashed at home for a bit, then Joe and I went to WVU, for my panel for Diversity Week, "Love For All- Religion and the LGBT Community." I had five panelists, Joe and other clergy, including three Christians and a Buddhist. I was afraid no one would show, or that I would pass out from heart failure or exhaustion, but we had sixty people and I was fine. Many asked questions, on file cards which I had purchased earlier in the day, so that the askers could be anonymous, and I could filter out the nastiest questions. I asked all the questions I was given, and the panelists were brilliant in their answers. The take-away is that God loves everyone, that we have to be tolerant of other opinions, and that young LGBT people, confronted with hatred from their own family, need to, at some point, break away and assert their independence.
I rested up Friday so I could go to our Sukkot dinner at temple. I tried to limit what I ate there based on the guidelines I got in the hospital, so only one slice of pizza and one cookie.
The sun came out Saturday for the first time all week, so I walked for about forty-five minutes. That was the most I could do, and I felt a tightness in my chest even walking he small hills near here. We were invited to a dinner celebrating the fifth anniversary of a lovely couple from temple who found each other after their spouses died. The crowd was mostly department heads from WVU, current and retired, the food from a great Middle-Eastern restaurant at Morgantown Airport. A young woman from Indonesia played piano. She wore a white pleated skirt with black piano keys for stripes. Early on she played classical music, but later switched to Gershwin songs. I told her I could sing along, and I did, and got Joe and others to sing, too, especially when she played 'Embraceable You," the first dance at our wedding. The party was called for six to nine. I dragged Joe out at 9. I had been sitting quietly, exhausted, since about 8:15.
Reform Simchat Torah was Sunday night, but we celebrated it Sunday morning with the kids in Sunday School. We rolled out the Torah around the sanctuary, marched around with the scrolls while singing repurposed nursery rhymes ("Old MacDonald had a Torah", etc.). Monday, the last day of the festival season, I stayed home and finally got the rest I was supposed to have all week.
What I learned this holiday season is to be grateful. I'm grateful for my husband, who stayed with me when I needed him most, for the cardiologist who spotted a problem and, hopefully, fixed it. I'm grateful for life, for whatever health and time I have left. Yes, I believe in a God of mercy, who has saved my life several times. I am always conscious of God's watchfulness, even though I understand that life is finite. I'm sorry I missed my 48th high school class reunion in Baltimore and time with my sister and her family. I pushed myself a lot, but that would have been too much.
Things are still busy. This afternoon (October 8) I'm introducing my elderly students to "Pet Sounds" and "Smiley Smile. " That should be interesting.
Our Yom Kippur services run all day, from a children's service at 9 A.M., through morning, afternoon, Yizkor (Memorial) and Ne'ilah (closing) service. Joe also runs a discussion group. There is a short break in the early afternoon. Joe and I came home and napped briefly. He was fasting from the night before- not even coffee. I don't try. He went back to temple, and I stayed for a light lunch and more sleep. Repentance and prayer are important, but if I can't concentrate for lack of food, it's not worth it. And I have medication to take with food in the morning.
While I was home, the cardiologist called again.
"Your heart muscle is weaker than three years ago. We need to go in and see if there is something we can fix. It doesn't have to be this week."
I said "Fine. Can we do it after November first? I'm teaching a class."
"I wouldn't wait that long."
"Oh. After October 6? I'm going to D.C. for that weekend."
"We shouldn't wait that long. I'll have the nurse call you."
I returned to services for Yizkor and Ne'ilah. I thought about my parents and the medical choices they made near the ends of their lives. They chose to live as fully as they could. When we came home, I told Joe what the doctor had said.
The nurse called Friday and we set it up for Tuesday, September 29. She said it would be outpatient. I should be fine for the weekend. I told her I was teaching a class starting Thursday and moderating a panel Thursday night.
I love Sukkot, although I understand that most Jews don't observe it. It comes only five days after Yom Kippur, after which people are depressed from all the repentance and fasting. But Sukkot is the time to relax, visit friends, eat outside in a little hut if one chooses to build one (we don't). Sukkot lasts seven or eight days and is followed by Simchat Torah, when we celebrate the annual cycle of Torah reading. In Reform Judaism, the first day is a religious holiday, and the eighth, Simchat Torah. The rest is relaxing.
Our temple was invited join the temple in Wheeling for a barbecue Sunday night, the 27th, as the holiday started. Joe and I were the only ones from Morgantown to make the 75 mile trip to Wheeling. Beth Jacowitz-Chottiner, the rabbi there, and her husband, Lee Chottiner, who once lived in Morgantown, have become our friends.
Monday I attended "Safe Zone" training, to learn to be a trainer for a program to combat anti-gay violence at WVU. At the end of the training, I opted not to become a trainer, because I don't have a presence at the university. I told Ben, the trainer, that I would be at Ruby Memorial on Tuesday, and couldn't swear I would lead the panel discussion I had arranged for Thursday night, part of Diversity Week at WVU. I barely managed to keep from crying.
Monday night, Zalman and Hindy Gurewitz, the couple who run the local Chabad, invited us for dinner in their sukkah. I'm not a big fan of Chabad, but Zalman and Hindy have been friendly to us and we've been guests at Chabad. In a town with so few Jews, I respect their outreach to the community. Joe had scheduled a meeting at temple, the second night of Sukkot being less important to Reform Jews. It was hard for me to relax knowing I was going to the hospital the next day. This was their night to have adults in the sukkah, as opposed to college students, their usual clientele.
Joe rescheduled an appointment with the dentist to take me to the hospital Tuesday. I'm going to skip the gory details. It was an ordeal. I had to make it explicit that I would sign no forms without Joe present, and that he was privy to any information. The whole procedure was delayed, and when it was done about 5:30, I had three new stents in my arteries. They kept me overnight, and I left Wednesday morning. I was well enough to go shopping in the evening, as long as Joe carried the packages. I was told not to lift more than five pounds.
I slept late and skipped my writing group Thursday, but I got out to teach my Beach Boys class at OLLI from 1 to 3. I covered 1964 and 1965, the Beach Boys' most successful years, and to my mind, the best years ever for Top 40 pop music. I crashed at home for a bit, then Joe and I went to WVU, for my panel for Diversity Week, "Love For All- Religion and the LGBT Community." I had five panelists, Joe and other clergy, including three Christians and a Buddhist. I was afraid no one would show, or that I would pass out from heart failure or exhaustion, but we had sixty people and I was fine. Many asked questions, on file cards which I had purchased earlier in the day, so that the askers could be anonymous, and I could filter out the nastiest questions. I asked all the questions I was given, and the panelists were brilliant in their answers. The take-away is that God loves everyone, that we have to be tolerant of other opinions, and that young LGBT people, confronted with hatred from their own family, need to, at some point, break away and assert their independence.
I rested up Friday so I could go to our Sukkot dinner at temple. I tried to limit what I ate there based on the guidelines I got in the hospital, so only one slice of pizza and one cookie.
The sun came out Saturday for the first time all week, so I walked for about forty-five minutes. That was the most I could do, and I felt a tightness in my chest even walking he small hills near here. We were invited to a dinner celebrating the fifth anniversary of a lovely couple from temple who found each other after their spouses died. The crowd was mostly department heads from WVU, current and retired, the food from a great Middle-Eastern restaurant at Morgantown Airport. A young woman from Indonesia played piano. She wore a white pleated skirt with black piano keys for stripes. Early on she played classical music, but later switched to Gershwin songs. I told her I could sing along, and I did, and got Joe and others to sing, too, especially when she played 'Embraceable You," the first dance at our wedding. The party was called for six to nine. I dragged Joe out at 9. I had been sitting quietly, exhausted, since about 8:15.
Reform Simchat Torah was Sunday night, but we celebrated it Sunday morning with the kids in Sunday School. We rolled out the Torah around the sanctuary, marched around with the scrolls while singing repurposed nursery rhymes ("Old MacDonald had a Torah", etc.). Monday, the last day of the festival season, I stayed home and finally got the rest I was supposed to have all week.
What I learned this holiday season is to be grateful. I'm grateful for my husband, who stayed with me when I needed him most, for the cardiologist who spotted a problem and, hopefully, fixed it. I'm grateful for life, for whatever health and time I have left. Yes, I believe in a God of mercy, who has saved my life several times. I am always conscious of God's watchfulness, even though I understand that life is finite. I'm sorry I missed my 48th high school class reunion in Baltimore and time with my sister and her family. I pushed myself a lot, but that would have been too much.
Things are still busy. This afternoon (October 8) I'm introducing my elderly students to "Pet Sounds" and "Smiley Smile. " That should be interesting.
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| Sunday night September 27 in Wheeling with Rabbi Joe Hample, Rabbi Beth Jacowitz-Chottiner and Lee Chottiner |
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| Friday evening October 2 in the sukkah at Tree of Life |
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| Sunday, October 4 at Simchat Torah services |
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