Ft Myers Beach

I wake up to pefect quiet, no neon light blinking the time or merely announcing its electronic presence. The sunshine is peeking through the slats of the shuttered windows. My bed, with palm-printed sheets is swaying slightly, yet there is no breeze. Even the ceiling fan is off.
The dunes are fifty feet west and the Gulf another fifty feet beyond with its gentle waves approaching the shore and the waiting birds, quietly.

I have never lived in a house raised on stilts before and at first the swaying baffled me and my adult son who is spending this glorious week with me. The town is empty this last week in August; we see few people as I walk with my son to the shops for ice cream or homemade fudge, or on the beach in the mornings. At least five different species of birds line the shore awaiting fresh cocinas as the huge pelicans dive bomb beak first into the water and rise, visibly swallowing the small fish.

One morning as I walk with my son, we see a father and his teenage son throwing a round net into the sea to catch the small fish they might later use for bait. There are a few paddleboarders lazily making their way north and a small boy on his tummy in the sand, legs raised behind him as he drives his small car along his imagined route.

But by far the best part of this idyllic spot is to sit with my son to watch the sunset, to see the lightning and count the seconds to the loud, daily thunder, to see the rain descend straight down in torrents and then be totally absorbed by the sand and the heat a half hour later.

To sit with my son, to prepare meals with him, to share memories with him, to enjoy his company and be in this lovely spot in glorious riotous sunshine, nothing can surpass this experience.

Strength Restored and Zeal Renewed

Strength restored and Zeal renewed https://doctorphyl-heartofpalm.blogspot.com/2019/07/strength-restored-and-zeal-renewed.html

Strength restored and Zeal renewed July 1, 2019

I try to begin each day strong and healthy, emotionally in tune. But some days that's not so easy. Like today in fact. It is the fourth  anniversary of Bob's death and it is long enough ago for me to analyze what I felt that day.

I woke to a desire to find a photo of my husband to post on Facebook, to get my friends and family to check in with me with some love and support. I am feeling so alone today.
All the photos in my  gallery show him ill and I decide I can't use any of them. I choose instead to take a photo of a framed picture of both of us. The photo is old; we both look so young. Meanwhile I miss my exercise class, but I am determined and I get to the later class.
I have made no plans for today except for fortifying myself with whitefishsalad and a mini everything bagel from Zabars. I do try.

It was a Wednesday. Bob had not eaten or drunk liquids for the past three days. His lips were wiped with cold wet q tips. I told Steven he could go home at four o'clock. At 4:45 Bob took his last breath and I was told he was gone. I was numb. I felt so alone as if half of me was missing and I couldn't find the part that was me. The mortuary phoned  me and informed me they couldn't get Bob to New York until Friday. Then comes Shabbat, so the funeral can't be until Sunday. My first reaction was that the time would permit Bob's brother to fly up from Florida; my second was that this is the way Christian spouses I knew from the Alzheimer's group waited as a matter of routine.. How did they get through  those days in between?
How would I?
At my synagogue, the rabbi had resigned and was unavailable; the new rabbi won't start until August first. The cantor was comforting another grieving family. Would I meet with the education director whom I had never met? She's an ordained rabbi, Lori Feldstein Gardner. Sure. I met with her on Friday; she had the flu. I was so impressed she got out of a sickbed to help me. I had been so quiet for two days, I spoke at her for two and a half hours, telling her everything that is in the book! She used a whole box of Kleenex as she listened attentively and spoke very little.
I told her that Bob had never spoken of his last wishes when he was healthy, except that he purchased two additional plots in the same cemetery where his first wife is buried. He told me he wanted to be buried with me. But after the diagnosis,  in  the early part of his illness, we had attended his Aunt Frances' funeral. As we sat in the chapel listening to her nieces and nephews laud her praises, Bob turned to me and said, "I don't want that."
When the service concluded, I asked him, "What do you want?"
"I want the Jewish War Veterans to play Taps and I want a graveside service."
When we arrived at the cemetery, Bob looked at the American flag draping Aunt Frances' coffin and said "Just like that."
I phoned the Jewish War Veterans, Dover, NJ chapter, but I was informed they don't have any veterans left who could provide that service. But the US Army did. I phoned the cemetery committee in Chester, New Jersey and we scheduled the service for eleven o'clock. I phoned Bob's favorite diner and asked if we could reserve lunch for about thirty guests. I was busy making arrangements, calling relatives. Bob's  son couldn't believe his father had told me, not him, what his wishes were and said his wishes didn't need to be followed since he was already ill when he made them known.
I invited all who attended the funeral in New Jersey for lunch at the diner and we sat shiva after lunch and for  the next three days in our apartment in New York.
The caring committee of the synagogue took care of everything, from sending a huge food platter to bringing extra chairs and seventeen people to the Shiva service at seven o'clock each evening. I remember feeling such gratitude because all of the people who arrived, knew me, liked me and were fond of Bob and knew him as well. We had been members for the past thirteen years, but much of the time we were in Arizona.
What I remember not feeling was sad. Relief that he was at peace came first. Relief that our long ordeal was over came second. Gratitude for my son Steve who supported me all through Bob's illness is the first feeling that overwhelms me today and I miss that he is not with me now. We have spent this day visiting the cemetery together each year before this one. Bob's best friend Elliot and his wife Ronnie came with us, but now Elliot is gone too.
Many have reminded me today to remember the good times. I don't need a special day to do that. I tire my friends out with stories about our times together every chance I get. We shared so much ; we traveled and experienced so much together. We watched and helped my daughter and each of Bob's three children when our grandchildren were born. We spent two weeks with each  of the children, cooking and helping care for newborns.
By five o'clock I knew I had to do somethng to ease the melancholy, so I walked to the river. As soon as I saw the water and heard the small waves dashing the stones at  the water's edge, I knew I had made the right choice. When I saw they now restrict the path to walkers and the cyclists have a different path, I was so pleased. I didn't have to attend to my safety. I walked to the pier, I watched the boats and the barges on the river and now, after a lobster roll at the pier cafe, I feel peaceful.

Transition from Arizona to New York

Transitions become more difficult as I age.  I get that. My body is less flexible and my mind is also a bit less agile. I try to keep my daily life to a healthy exercise, food and sleep routine, punctuated by interesting events and people. I am stressed beyond belief by the news on a daily basis. I limit my exposure to early morning and early evening news reports in order to keep my sanity. I write to my congress people, I donate money and I march for women's rights and action on climate change when I can.
 As I write this, the transition in my life is from Arizona to New York which I am indeed lucky to experience each year in the springtime.
When I arrived last week, it was rainy, but walking  in Central Park I was overwhelmed by the lush green of the grass, the fully open leaves on the trees, the last of the cherry blossoms.
In April I was delighted by the flowering cacti and other mostly yellow flowering plants.
This is the first year I am not running away from Arizona to a temporary haven in New York. This year I leave Arizona reluctantly as I have great relationships with my family and friends which make me feel sad to leave them. I slip less easily from one place to the other and I wonder if this transition is more difficult for me due to aging since I am not being motivated by negative emotions.

Statistics

At the gym, it  takes twenty-two laps to walk around the track for two miles. Counting backward this morning, I decided to record for myself the most significant event in my life for each of those years.

At twenty-two, I bet my husband we would conceive a child with one unprotected lovemaking session or I would not "bother" him about a second child for another year. On October 31, our daughter Linda was born.

At twenty-one, I voted for the first time, for John F. Kennedy and it was the first time my choice for a candidate for president won the election.

At twenty, I gave birth to my firstborn son just nine months after we were married. That's how I knew I'd win the bet! Folks were counting; I wore more and more safety pins strung together to keep my jeans closed. My son wore my mortar and tassel at age three months!

At nineteen, I was married after a year's courtship and engagement. Without birth control, we married early. 

At eighteen, I switched colleges due to a business downturn in the economy and my refusal to accept a scholarship. I could not tolerate the pressure and I had learned how to study.

At seventeen, I traveled to Germany for the summer after winning an essay contest my mother encouraged me to write. She wanted me to be her eyes and ears, to see what was left of the country she so loved before the advent of Hitler.Then, my first month at college, the girls locked me in a bathroom stall and held the door closed until I learned to insert a tampon.

At sixteen I held my first summer job. I was a gopher in a law office in the city, as in Go For coffee, go to the Hall of Records, deliver packages from one law firm to the other.

At fifteen we moved from the city to the suburbs, where I had my own bedroom for  the first time and traded in my babyLouis heels for black and white oxfords and pleated skirts.

At fourteen I traveled to school each day by public transportation as the local elementary school went to eighth grade and the high school began in tenth.

At thirteen I fought with my mother to let me wear stockings and those  babyLouis heels.

At twelve, I learned about the birds and bees and my mother handed me a box of Modess and a belt and said "You know what to do with these, right?"

At eleven, I asked the rabbi if I could lead junior congregation services as I knew the liturgy as well as any of the boys. I was told I might be unclean and was therefore excused from that obligation.

At ten, I went by bus to a large Conservative hebrew school where we delighted in the birth of Israel, sang Palmach songs and raised money to plant trees in the desert. My Grandma Rosa and my Uncle Julius arrived from Switzerland where they had spent the war years, having been rescued by my Aunt Friedl. They were only permitted to remain in that country for two years after the war ended.

At nine, I took the bus with my Oma and Opa who arrived from Germany six months before, to get their First Papers to becoming American citizens and they discovered I understood what they had been saying in German since their arrival.

At eight, I began religious aftershool and I learned to recite the Four Questions at the Seder table three months after my mother was reunited with her parents who had survived the war.

I also had a second sister to walk around the block with until she fell asleep in her carriage and I could park her near my mother's open window.

At seven I had eye surgery twice to correct amblyopia which the doctors had tried to correct by having me wear a pirate patch over one eye.And then we banged pot lids together to  make a lot of noise because the war was finally over. My mother finally was contacted by HIAS that her parents were alive.

At six, my Uncle Joey who was a soldier on leave from the war went with us to the seashore and won a large doll who I  named Linda.

At five I was afraid. The police stopped my father from sending small pieces of paper up the kitestring, assuming he was sending messages to u-boats off the coast.

At four, my sister was born and my mother tried to  interest me in a doll, but all I wanted was the real baby.

At three, we moved to an apartment where I held the clothespins while my mother hung out the wash. I also helped her collect the small strawberries she planted in our victory garden in the back yard.

At two, my mother's brother and his wife arrived from Palestine and lived with us until my uncle was accepted into the Army where he could go back to Germany and help fight the war against Hitler.

And at one, I listened and learned German nursery rhymes and stories while my mother was alone with me and my father went to work. She missed her old life and her dog Toddie who she had to leave behind when they moved here to run away from the Nazis.

Excitement and Anxiety: the Inside Scoop

I feel happy that both of my grandsons visited me today. I cooked a favorite meal for them and had their favorite snack in the freezer for dessert. Dinner had an hour more to bake when they arrived, so I used the time to share with them, the photos of the laying of the Stolpersteins in front of the house where my grandparents lived. They heard me retell my experience; they were attentive and interested. The older one is psyched to go to Auschwitz, although we both realize it won't be a fun day. He said he really wants to go to experience some of  what my uncle Wolf and the million and a half others suffered.
Grant wanted my brisket recipe but Austin said he won't need that for a long time as Grandma is going to live until 120!
The boys are getting along well, there seems to be little of the teasing that used to happen between them and they shared the dinner well, even asking me if I was going to eat any before they scarfed up the whole platter. They seemed more relaxed around me, but the visit was a short one.
I am not feeling relaxed, however. I resent the year in Grant's life that I missed and I regret the turn he is taking in buying himself an air gun which shoots bb's and going to an arena to practice shooting people. The influence of his father's brother, the retired border patrol agent, offends every fiber of my being.
I told him I believe we are put on this earth for more than to have fun, that I believe we are here to make the world a better place for our having been here. He said he was glad I said that as he feels the same way, sometimes, but that a small group can't change anything. I shared that I try to enlarge the group slowly so change can happen. I did not elaborate. More for another time. 

Anxiety and Excitement : What is the Difference or is there any? Trip Planning February 10, 2019

Somebody once said that excitement is anxiety without the stress. That's like my father helping me to tell my right hand from my left by telling me my left hand is the one that the thumb points to the right.
Today all the tickets have been purchased for our upcoming July trip to Europe: flights, hotels and rental car. I will not let myself add up the totals. I will be surprised when I get the credit card bill at the end of the month.
Austin is in charge of getting himself an international driving license and of downloading the app which gives driving directions in English for all of Europe so we don't have to stress about Polish or Croatian alphabets.
We will stay in Frankfurt at the same hotel where cousin Nora and I stayed when we traveled to Frankfurt in 2006 for the dedication of the "Stolperstein" in memory of Grandpa Salomon. We will visit the house where my grandparents lived and see the brass plaque on the sidewalk of the house. We will visit the memorial wall called the Mauer where the names of the 11000 Frankfurt citizens murdered by the Nazis are engraved. We will say a prayer for all my friends' and relatives' parents and grandparents who are memorialized there.  We'll do some sightseeing and then fly to Krakow where we will visit Auschwitz and Birkenau death camps where Uncle Wolf was murdered. We'll visit the Galicia Jewish Museum before heading out to see the countryside with the guide who will take us to the archives where my relatives' information is listed. Perhaps we will find the cemetery where our great grandparents are buried.
Then the guide leaves and we rent a car to drive to Vienna where we will stay in the same hotel that my husband and I visited when we were in Vienna on vacation.  Grandfather fled from Germany to Vienna when he was freed from prison, but the Germans had already taken over the country. Then we follow his footsteps to Zagreb, Croatia where he was murdered at Jasenovac concentration camp.
Four flights, seven hotels and a car rental! Now I have to find travel insurance.

The Trip begins to take shape

It seems I do small steps to accomplish this goal as the concept at times seems overwhelming. I am communicating with a genealogist in Krakow, who seems not to understand me or to distain my shallow level of interest. I don't know, but I don't get a clear vision of traveling with him. So I contacted another but I think he is in Ukraine, Lviv, not Krakow. We will see.

Austin is enthused. I showed him the letters and post cards yesterday. He was remarking on the postage stamps with Hitler's face and we discovered that Uncle Wolf was executed in Auschwitz. I had planned to spare him that visit, but now we will go. I chickened out of Birkenau last time. This year I will go and to the archives to see what we can discover. I thought he was murdered in Bergen Belsen.

So far, we will fly to Frankfurt on United, as I have enough miles for one ticket. I wrote to Renate who will be in town when we are there, the third week in July. We will see the apartment and the Stolperstein and visit the Jewish Museum which was being renovated when I was there last time and the the wall Mauer, where Grandpa Salomon's name is engraved alongside 11,000 other people from Frankfurt who were murdered by the Nazis.

Next, we'll fly to Krakow, visit Auschwitz, try to find the house where Uncle Marcus Spira lived when Grandma Rosa came to him in 1938 after she was deported to Zabozyn. We might take the train to Premsyl, then have the guide meet us there and take us south through the small towns. Maybe I'll find a rental car and do it ourselves. The problem is the alphabet. If we cant read the signs, we're better off with a guide.

From Krakow, we leave for Zagreb directly by plane or half way to Vienna and then rent a car to drive to Zagreb. Most of the cars have manual transmission and no air conditioning, so I'll probably splurge and rent a Mercedes, so I can participate in the driving. I can now see why my grandfather went to Zagreb. It is south of Vienna and the Nazis were not there yet. Unfortunately, a band of Ustazis formed the government of Croatia, breaking off from Yugoslavia just then and they were virulent Jew haters. It was they, not the Nazis who shot my grandfather.

Then we fly to Frankfurt, stay overnight in the airport hotel and fly home to New York where we will take a day to rest before Austin goes back to Phoenix.

Progress January 19, 2019

Life moves on, sometimes in unexpecteed ways. Right, a cliche. But still. How often is it that I get bronchitis, go to urgent care, receive a prescription and the next day receive a call from the pulmonologist reminding me I have a yearly  scheduled appointment the next week.?
And how often does a woman I met at the Slo Walkers group share with me the name of another friend of hers who is also a child of Holocaust survivors?
Faye just phoned me. After discussing her heritage, she described a trip she took in 2006 with her adult children to Ukraine to research her parents' history. She provided the name of the researcher who assisted her. Alex Dunai, but when I went to his website, Google warned me off with many pages of warnings not to connect any further.
I wrote to Faye, asking if she has his email address and I friend requested him  on Facebook. We shall see what develops.
I attended a book group at the Cutler Plotkin Jewish Heritage Center last night because Nancy Siefer was leading the discussion and I respect and admire her from book group discussions at Temple Emanuel many years ago. The book is Rose Tremain's The Gustav Sonata..I haven't read it, but to me, after listening to twenty folks reporting on it, I felt it describes anti-Semitism before the war, subtle but omnipresent, an active second movement awareness of this time Swiss anti-Semitism during the war when they are asked to admit refugees escaping from parts held by the Nazis, and the final movement, called return, suggesting life returns to the more subtle non-inclusion of Jews as it was before. I could be all wrong, but my idea fits with what I know about Switzerland and how they related to my family.
Larry Bell runs the AZJHC and Nancy suggested we speak about my book and the possibility of presenting it there. I will drive down now to deliver him two copies and a membership application to join the Center.