The Bowling Ball

B"H

And the World Keeps Turning



Etti and Jerry have been married for sixty years.  ...

Jerry:  What's that? (He points to an egg shaped case, very sturdily made, with two strong handles.)

Etti:  Mary's bowling ball.

J:  Why is it in our car?

E:  They were tearing down the bowling alley, so we all went to pick up our balls.  No one could reach Mary.  We had to clear out our lockers.  So, we took her stuff, too.  The building is down already.  I figure that I'll catch up with Mary pretty soon.  But, I am worried.  Whenever I leave a message on her answering machine she always gets back to me.  Or ... if not Mary, then her aide will give me a call.  But we've heard nothing.    No one knows what's going on.  Who knows what her kids are doing with her? 

A New Book?

B"H

Chapter One:  A Mystery Unfolds?



The address book ...

Beatrice, the day you died I spent the entire afternoon and evening on the telephone.  Your address book gave me all the numbers I needed to call.  But, there was something odd about the entries.  Only one person was named, the blood relation, not the spouse.  Telli and Isidore, for example were married over sixty years.  Yet, Isidore was the only name that graced your entry for the family. 

Do you remember the day?  I was so hurt when you told me to my face that I was not family and never would be.  I believed your shunning me was unique and deeply personal.  But you shunned Telli also.  And she had more right to be called family than I ever did.  If you could dismiss Telli then I was in very good company.  Telli was a great and gracious lady endowed with exquisite modesty. 

And We Lived in Huts

B"H,


Wishing all the security and shelter of a good home filled with warm hearts as we learn the fragility of life by living in huts.  The wind will blow the roof off our sukkah and the rain will soak our table and chairs.  But we, thank G_d are still okay... still preparing for a very good and blessed note in this amazing Book of Life.

Now What?

B"H, 

A New Work Begins...

It is a very difficult task for us who have only known toughness in its abusive form to see it in its uplifting and elevating realm. By the same token, how do we visualize kindness as an evil killer when we have only been nurtured and tenderly embraced by those who embody its spirit.  Is it possible for toughness to save lives and for kindness to destroy them?  These are some of the dilemmas we encounter when our personal ways fail us...

What gives us a reason to learn other ways?  

Bashi Kohanchi loved her parents.  They were a most unusual couple.  Her father's family was Persian and had moved to Manchester, England.  Her mother, Leah, was Eastern European, from a shtetl where they said "chawsday" and not "chasdoh", as in "key l'olam chasdoh"*.  Don't know where that town was located nor what its name was; it is all ashes now.  

Happy 90th Birthday!

B"H


In this moment...a boy began to become a man.

A GOOD MAN 

A KIND MAN


AN HONORABLE MAN


A GREAT SOLDIER, AN AIRMAN