Malka's House -  Sold!

My Mom's and my childhood house of 5 decades finally sold in Brooklyn this past October. To say, it wasn't emotional would be a lie.  A year after my Mother's death, the weeks were filled with clearing out stuff and items my Mom had stashed in various corners and closets for the past 55 years.  I found doctor scripts from the Dr. Crohn from the 1960's, summer clothing from the '70's, my high school notebooks, pictures, letters in Polish and German, and artifacts saved from her years in Poland and in the concentration camps she was interred in.

After the emptying of what I could trash or donate, and the estate sale of tchatchkes and furniture, I let the neighbors in and they carted the rest of the stuff off. I removed all but the front door mezuzah.  Hired a carting company to place the dumpster in the driveway, and began hauling stuff into it. What a feeling of relief,  mixed with sadness, the end of an era. 

Finally, the house was emptied and the "For Sale" sign went up.  We had some solid offers and went to contract in early Spring.  Everything looked promising and then the deal went south. Back to the drawing board.  I felt Mom was holding on somewhere from wherever.  So when I went there every week, I'd beckon her to let go.  Miraculously, the original buyers came back and we finally closed.  

On closing day, I removed the front door mezuzah. Joy, my Mom's beloved aide and I said our goodbyes. I stood in my psychedelic wallpapered room and reminisced a bit about my days there listening to Elton John and Grand Funk Railroad with my headphones on. Sat on the porch one last time and watched the buses and cars roar by on Flatlands Ave. 

Went into Mom's bedroom and strangely enough there were a couple of paint cracked areas on the wall above the bed where my Mom took her last breath, the debris on the floor. Mom had left. 

Goodbye Brooklyn house. Thanks for the memories. 

In My Life, I've Loved Paul McCartney

 The second highlight of my Spring of 2022 occurred at MetLife Stadium in E. Rutherford, N.J. on June 16, when Paul McCartney, my favorite Beatle, walked on to the stage and started singing "Can't Buy Me Love"! Finally, after all the years, I checked off another thing on my bucket list. Becoming a revitalized Beatlemaniac after viewing "Get Back" several times, I knew I had to see Paul in concert. Oh yeah, the first highlight was becoming a grandmother upon the birth of my grandson, Zander.  

Getting to Jersey from the city wasn't all that bad, but an hour of checkpoints and security protocol til we found our seats wasn't great.  Neither were the seats on the field, that were way back, and also obscured by mountainous monitors. As my son and I pouted, a young crew girl asked us if we'd like better seats!? "Well, yeah, of course," we replied, and we were led from section 12 to section 3, the section in front of the stage. Many other people were shepherded onto that row for the same reason.  We were delighted and waited in anticipation for the concert to begin.

McCartney, 2 days shy of his 80th birthday was  talkative and energetic, as he sang and played his Hofner bass, magic piano and his other cool guitars, including the "crowd goes wild" Gibson. He remarked that he would play old, new and in between songs, and noticed how few cellphones lit up when he played the "new".  I didn't care, I was in the presence of a former Beatle. I had brought my homemade sign along, because I read that Paul enjoyed his fans' signs, and hoped maybe he'd notice mine.  Instead I only embarrassed my son. 

He played Wings tunes, solo McCartney songs and of course Beatles tunes. Love Me Do, Blackbird, Helter Skelter, Maybe I'm Amazed, Band on the Run, Letting Go, Let it Be, and many others, were included in his set, a total of 38 songs, 2 hours and 40 minutes run time. It started raining during "Hey Jude" but the crowd put their raincoats on and continued singing "Na na na nah nah na nah." We didn't care, this was a once in a lifetime experience for some; well at least for me and my son, a fellow Beatles fan.             

Out came Bruuuuce Springsteen to join Paul in singing "Glory Days" and "I Wanna Be Your Man,"  the song the Beatles gave to the Rolling Stones. At some point, Jon Bon Jovi, another Jersey boy, handed Paul balloons, while we sang "Happy Birthday."  This was followed by the appropriate "Birthday" Beatles song.  

Fireworks and cool pyrotechnics exploded on stage for "Live and Let Die". But the crowd was really moved by a very emotional performance featuring a virtual duet of "I've Got A Feeling" with John Lennon on screen, thanks to Peter Jackson, director of "Get Back."  Paul also sang a song written after John's death, "Here Today."  In memory of George Harrison, he played "Something" on ukelele, one of George's favorite instruments. 

The finale featured Springsteen coming out to join Paul and his guitarists dueling leads on "The End." I knew this number was coming since Macca usually plays this at the end of his concerts, and it did not disappoint! 

All in all, I was awestruck and joyous seeing and hearing this legend, an iconic entertainer still going strong 65 years later.  Will he get back next year? I am hoping so. 

 Mom, Survivor, a Life Well Lived    Feb. 28, 1920- Oct. 10, 2021 

I buried my Mom, Malka Zajc, 2 days ago.  It was a sunny day at the cemetery in Elmont. We took turns shoveling dirt into the grave where the plain pine box rested, next to Dad's resting place. The Rabbi recited the Kaddish, the Mourner's prayer. It was surreal and sad.

She was 101, a Holocaust survivor, clinging on to life until the day before she left us, I had to tell her to let go. Skeletal, not eating or drinking, demented, she was almost lucid that last day.  Her aides and I sang songs to her, hymnals, Yiddish Barry Sisters songs, like "Biribim Biribom" and we held her hand.  She knew, and she heard. She was fluttering her eyes, not able to speak, and moving her arms.  She heard the words of her 2 grandsons whom she loved, and they told her, we're getting married, we're having a baby, and our sister is engaged.  

I whispered to her in Yiddish, this time with more conviction, "It's o.k. Mom, you can go now and see Dad. We're all ok and we're going to be fine."  10 hours later at 2 am, she took her last breath.  I was told that loved ones sometimes need to be reassured that it's o.k. to leave this earth. 

I felt a relief, and also a terrible loss.  I had such mixed emotions those first few hours. I cried and I felt the need to find her one more time and ask her if she was o.k. It's days later, and I'm still searching for her, for a sign that her soul is still hovering around me.  

Warsaw Ghetto Uprising 

That last year was not kind to her.  Hospitalized twice, she started slowly going downhill. She became agitated, as dementia took over, and started reliving her past. Surviving the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, and 4 concentration camps made her delusions painful.  She started seeing a little boy in the house and talking to him.  She had lost her year old son in the Warsaw Ghetto, so we thought it was him. 

She'd cry out "Get me out" over and over like a chant, daily.  We didn't know if she was back in the camps or saying get me out of this life. Her body deteriorated; she couldn't walk, couldn't chew, was legally blind and incontinent.

Mom's 100th Bday 

 But she perked up when we visited and called us on the phone, happy to have family around her.  We were lucky to throw a 100th birthday party for her, February of 2020, with the entire small family we have.  Then Covid hit and we were all in lockdown.  

It was tough for me, commuting to Brooklyn, and seeing my mother in such distress and decline.  I'd play her music, Nat King Cole, Johnny Mathis and the Barry Sisters, and she'd sing along and was transported to another time.  I thought at least the music is soothing her.  We would remind her of how great of a dancer she was. And then she'd sleep.

Mom in NYC and Sweden, Dad 

When Mom stopped eating and drinking 2 weeks ago, I knew I had to call Visiting Nurse Hospice. They took over the burden of transitioning Mom to her final rest. We didn't know how long Mom would last without food. That last day, she rejected my spoon of glucerna and water, as I was thinking, parent has become child.  But she was done and passed a few hours later.

Mom and I 

No matter how old your mother is, that particular loss is a monumental one. This will take some time, to get through; there all all those stages of grief. Shiva for her will be at the beach, which she loved, and where I find peace.  

Goodnight Mom. Sleep well in peace and comfort. 

And so it goes...11 months of quarantine and counting...

mask city 

   Almost 11 months in from the first date of quarantine for me, March 15, 2020, the world has shifted to new levels of normalcy.  We have a new president, Covid vaccines are being administered, and I own a sizable collection of masks, for every occasion, much like shoes. Is there a light at the end of this dark tunnel? I'm cautiously pessimistic. The first month of 2021 ended like the first month of 2020, with Mom coming out of the hospital.  This time was more serious; admitted with pneumonia and congestive heart failure, which at 100 was a life or death situation.

    Luckily, she made it out of the hospital in Brooklyn, with a brand new pacemaker battery, which had stopped working after 9 years.  I asked the thoracic surgeon if this battery would last at least 10 years, hopefully? He laughed.  She was all set up at the house with a new hospital bed, oxygen tank and hoyer lift and her current 24/7 home health aides. 

Mom is 100 

    Needless to say, that first month was riddled with daily near crises, medical issues and a changed Mother.  She wasn't really there much; dementia having gotten worse because of the traumatic 3 weeks in the hospital.  Luckily, I found an MD who made house calls, and brought Mom back to a level of physical functioning.

   This time last year, we were planning her 100th birthday party in February.  These days, Mom, a Holocaust survivor, is struggling to survive; reliving memories of her traumatic past at times.  We weren't sure if she was trying to tell us she wanted to go on, or if she wanted us to let her go. She's still hanging on, approaching her 101st. I was thinking, what do you get for a 101 year old? 

  Oh, so back to me.  My level of mental functioning has not been filled with clarity.  Aside from the daily morning ritual  involved in Mom's care taking, my world became smaller. The gym where I had been teaching Silver Sneakers closed, while I continued quarantine with my daughter and her boyfriend.  I live in a 2 story rental, but privacy and lifestyle choices were still a challenge.  Other unexpected issues between family members unfolded to add to the stress of the pandemic and made the first 6 months of quarantine almost unbearable.

Baked ziti and meatballs 

  I stayed sane by exercising online, yoga, personal training my client on zoom and eating! Yup, ended up with some inevitable Covid weight gain.  I needed that like I needed an extra croissant! Took a great liking to morning glory muffins, and using real butter! Not to mention, cooking creamy and cheesy pasta dishes, because of course we needed comfort food.

  Since I wrote my last blog post in April, much has changed. The vaccine is now here and a good portion of my friends have had both doses.  I'm awaiting mine, in the hopes of  continuing the semblance of a social life I used to have, seeing friends, hearing live music,  dining indoors.  I ordered a Peleton bike, due March 15, the anniversary of quarantine.  I did become a spin instructor during this period, but have not gotten on a spin bike yet.  Luckily, the summer afforded me outdoor rides on my bike. 

 

   I also became an official empty nester a couple of weeks ago. Daughter and bf moved out, so now experiencing quarantine solo.  Luckily, I have my poodle, Cinnabun, for some company, but it is eerily quiet in the house now. With the privacy, and freedom to run around the house in my underwear, came the downside of loneliness. I've taken to riding down to the shore in the dead of winter to look at my lovely sunsets at West Meadow Beach, the place of peace for me. 

  Yes, things could be worse, my friends say.  Of course they can, but every person goes through their own unique struggle and who can judge whose struggle is worse? If you're going through troubled times, you're the one who needs the hug, the hand on the shoulder, the kind words or the positive affirmation that you are cared about. 

   If I'm taking a yoga class, we are asked to set an intention for the day, and it's usually the same thing for me lately, not to be self destructive. The motivation is not necessarily there on any given day.  Sometimes, just getting up in the morning, making coffee and feeding the dog is an accomplishment.

Let there by lights 

   So, I stay here in my apartment, looking out at the continuous snowfall, having my second cup, about to do some warrior poses on my yoga mat.  I've decided to keep my blue and white lights on indefinitely.  They were originally for Chanukah, but they are comforting for me. And my music is blasting, loudly.  Things could be worse. Stay well.  

World turned Grey                                       

    My writing muse has been blocked for quite some time. But now, the spilling of my emotional guts via the written word has begun. I wish I could write about something happy and uplifting, but my world and probably everyone else's has changed irreparably. Living in the suburbs of N.Y., on Long Island, in the specter of the coronavirus, a modern day plague, has opened up the floodgates. My thoughts were muddled at first, because I had no words to even come to grips as to what was happening.  And now, it's all pouring out of me like lava.

   This is just how I, a single, mid-life female, who is a Mother to 3 grown children, and daughter to one 100 year old Mother, is dealing and coping in these difficult times. Quarantine, sheltering in place, social distancing, masks, hand washing for 20 seconds while singing Happy Birthday twice have become routine.  But for me, the hand washing  tune will be Elton John's "Saturday's Alright for Fighting".  All new phenomenons, all strange, sinister and uncomfortable.

  Apocalyptic, surreal, like a zombie land, our daily life became like a bad TV movie, or a low budget sci-fi horror flick.  I'd wake up every morning in the hopes that I was in the middle of  a nightmare, but I wasn't; just in the reality of another day of  mandatory sheltering. #StayHome trended, became imprinted as our new mantra, if we wanted to live!  My gym where I work closed, some of my friends were out of work, others worked from home,or  home-schooled their kids.  We were in the midst of this alternate reality, and it hasn't gotten measurably better yet.

   What seemed like such a faraway illness, originating in China, had hit home, here in the U.S. like a sledgehammer.  Finding its hot spot in New York City, my home town. I started narrowing my time watching the news or reading about it on social media, because I just end up crying, and that was happening several times a day.  I woke up one morning to check facebook, greeted by this post: How awful is it that people are dying in hospitals, with no loved one to hold their hand, or say goodbye. What a stark, awful reality...and I could not go back to sleep.

   I've been working out like a crazy person, daily -  zumba, weights, yoga, to keep myself sane.  And for those couple of hours, the heaviness lifts and I feel alive and healthier.  The rest of the morning is spent, foraging for food and paper goods, like one of the contestants on "Naked and Afraid" desperately in search of sustenance and necessities.  Where can I find toilet paper, fresh produce, coffee, at a reasonable price,  delivered... and by when?  I have not gone into any stores in 4 weeks, relying on curbside drop offs and delivery.  To explain, I live with a relative who is auto-immune compromised, and we are taking all precautions.

Sausage & Peppers

   When all the stuff I ordered finally comes, I don gloves, then lysol spray all the bags,leaving them on my porch, gingerly removing the contents and bringing them into the house. Then I wash my hands at least 3 times, wiping down the milk containers, mayo jars, emptying the produce into clean bags. Eating is not pleasant...there is not sense of satiety or normalcy or enjoyment.  Rather, it's survival mode. The tastes of food are muted, even the usual joy of cooking is hardly existent. Although, I've cooked more this month, than I probably have all year. Also, had my first virtual Seder with my kids. We had the matzoh ball soup and read the 4 questions, but it felt different, like we were trying hard to recreate old memories, uneasily.

  As for necessary social distancing, that has also become surreal and more like anti-social distancing.  Walking my dog used to be a happy little journey.  Now it was an exercise in avoidance of humans.  I live in a complex, so when I'd see people coming, I would veer off in another direction, and they would do the same.  No smiles, no waves, there were just zombie like expressions on my neighbor's faces as they'd stare ahead, avoiding eye contact.

   There were some bright spots that I observed on TV.  There was the 88 yr old grandma singing Happy Birthday to herself, the 70 yr old doctor who recovered from COVID-19, leaving the hospital to applause... the Maimonides ER doc who was sickened and returned to work...the sounds of the 7 pm applause and cheers in NYC for the frontline workers: the EMT's, NYPD, FDNY and Hospital medical staff. Those stories lifted my spirits.

   Several weeks have passed since I started this post. All the beaches in my area of Long Island are closed, so no more sunset walks, which were my moments of serenity.  Masks are now required for anyone who can not social distance, 6 feet apart, from the next guy. So I bought myself a kitschy poodle decorated mask, which I'm sure I'll be needing for the long haul.

   My thoughts have turned to the immediate future.  When will I see my Mom in Brooklyn, my kids, my friends, go to a restaurant, return to the gym to work? Concerts, my fun times of music and dance in the summer may not happen at all. There is a fear now of any type of group socializing, of touch, of contact. We have happy hours, listen to music, work, joke, virtually, but there's an overall aura of sadness in some of these meetings. Perhaps it's the longing for face to face human contact, or the
fear of an uncertain return to normalcy. I'll report back in a few weeks. Looking for signs of hope right now.

Festival of Sighs - Chrismakkuh chronicles

What a miracle, only 4 times in the past century has the first night of Chanukah fallen on the same date as Christmas eve! And every year, the same olympic feat of juggling holidays in families of divorce also begins, with less than miraculous results.  My 3 grown children gingerly make plans for breakfast with Dad, lunch with Mom, dinner with whomever has the best meal planned.  As hard as it is for me to navigate this scenario without coming off as demanding, I border on being slightly annoyed to mildly insulted. But it is equally as hard on the children, as they have told me: "Mom, this is how it is with children of divorce." Guilty, as charged!  Feelings need to be spared, and blows softened by secrets and white lies, which ultimately are uncovered.  As I tell the children, don't hide your plans from me; be honest, let me know everything, as painful as it will be! Yeah, right!

How to cope and survive without too much angst and anxiety?  I'm still not very good at it, as I try to suppress my exasperation and disappointment when I only get 4 hours out of the day. And sometimes I only get a 2 kid visit, not all 3 at at the same time. It really hasn't gotten any easier. For instance, this Thanksgiving they ate a huge meal at Dad's. I spent the day at a friend's house with her family. I made dessert - dirt cups, chocolate pudding with cookie crumbs and gummy worms, as requested.  They got home around 8 pm, obviously not hungry for dessert, as  But no matter, we all hung out, played Uno and jammed in the basement. Those few precious hours of family time were what I hung on to for the rest of the week.  Of course, the rest of the 4 day weekend was divvied up between Dad and me. Could not help feeling the tinge of sadness when they would leave.

And now this year, the Mother of all Holidays, Christmas, falls on the same day as Chanukah - go figure! And that complicates matters even further, because not only do the kids have to split the first day of Chanukah; they have to plan Christmas with significant others who celebrate! Horrors! So, as it stands, I have 2 kids for candle lighting on Dec. 24th, 3 kids for breakfast on the 25th.  The main latke/dreidel/Chanukah bash later on that day will have only 2 of my kids. And Dad gets them for Saturday night dinner and part of Sunday. Oy! It's enough to just give up and celebrate Festivus.

It probably won't get any easier, but with enough red wine and egg nog, to soothe the savagery of Holiday Jenga, it may be manageable.  And with this thought, I wish you all a stress-free holiday season.

"To Get Through this Thing Called Life..." 

                         Becoming a Prince Fan

Over a month has gone by since Prince's untimely death, and the constant radio of  Prince's songs still runs through my mind.  It was worse a few weeks after April 21...I'd go to sleep with the strains of "Purple Rain" in my head; then wake up to "When Doves Cry"  or "Pop Life" or "Let's Go Crazy" and it was like that night after night. I had listened to Minnesota's radio station, The Current, on my Sonos, play Prince's catalog, all weekend. Think I caught it at the "R"s, riveted for hours, til the end. That's when I really became a Prince fan.  What a treasure trove of music! Was introduced to "Morning Papers, "The Love we Make," Wow," "The Ride," and "The Sacrifice of Victor." It was my first time hearing all these songs, and I was blown away.

I remember seeing "Purple Rain" in the theatres when it first came out, in 1984, and immediately after, buying the album...played it to death. Here was this guy, with serious eye makeup, in lace, singing crazy, funky songs, shredding like Jimi and looking cool, raw and sexy. Weird coincidence -  my daughter had to pick a singer to write a report about in 5th grade, found my album and started listening to "Purple Rain", writing a report on Prince. 

I was in my 20's then, living in Brooklyn and working at a tv station, hanging out in the city, dancing and partying...free and easy, no commitments yet.  I think all the memories of that era, embedded in the fibers of my brain, flooded back to me, making the shock and sadness of this man's death more potent.  Funny how the mind works - sometimes the subconscious takes over without giving you any conscious notice!

After listening to all this music and viewing youtubes of Prince at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction ceremony in 2004, killing it with his guitar solo on "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" or the vid of him singing "The Beautiful Ones" while Misty Copeland danced, I became sadder and sadder, as I appreciated Prince's talent, and knew he was no longer on this earth.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P3DaE75tEl4

I was angry at myself for not enjoying all of his music while he was alive, and not getting the chance to see him live in concert. So, I continued to scroll through the internet, watching the Dave Chappelle skit of Prince playing basketball, then making pancakes for the losers - hysterical, and I re-watched Purple Rain; painted my nails purple, looked up the chords to "Let's Go Crazy" for the piano. Then viewed all the tributes...but nothing was better than watching the videos of his live performances.  I was awed and I cried. 

The worst part was knowing that this hugely talented musician died alone in an elevator. Can't sweep away the sadness of that. Or the thought that help for whatever addictions he was fighting might have been only a day away. If only that doctor had met with him a day earlier, if the story is true.

I'm sure in time, the Prince music in my head will settle down. Mourning him may continue a little while longer.

"Sometimes, sometimes I wish that life was never ending/ And all good things, they say, never last"  - "Sometimes in Snows in April" - Prince