Posts from — May 2011

Like a lot of folks I’m sure I always thought Maria Shriver had married down.

How could this rather classy, high- cheek-boned, American royalty Kennedy clan gal fall for the terminator?

Then even more shocking, was that largely do to the help and counceling of her Democrat clan, the terminator becomes the Republican governator of California.

I recall the scene when A Nold who was not allowed to smoke his cigars in the office had a tent built on the lawn so he could smoke and goven. Perhaps he would have been better suited with a pull-out couch too, given how busy his libedo clearly was during his marriage.

We’ve got at least one child from a house-hold staffer and apparently others coming forward. Maria in shame trying to hold her head high despite the anger and betrayal.

And all the while I’m thinking you cheated on Maria with this lady? The dowdy rather frumpy baby mama? But hey A Nold is the sexanator. Conan the impaler will impale all the wenches in his path!

The man just makes me ill. Yeah, yeah, I know men cheat, they always have and always willl, but does he have to be so damn well gross about it.

Yech!

S’all I’m saying.

The morning of May 1st 2011, I found myself in a long phone chat with an adorable nine-year-old girl, the granddaughter of a great old friend of mine. The little girl had become obsessed with the holocaust. May 1st was holocaust remembrance day and so she had spent the morning watching “Schindler’s List.” This coming just after her having finished reading “The Diary of Anne Frank.”

Rather heavy for a nine-year-old, but this was no ordinary nine-year-old.

“You’re an old soul,” I told her, after she read me a poem she’d written, that I would say was pretty darn good not to mention age appropriate for someone five years older, about Anne Frank.

“I know,”she’d responded calmly.

I told her about my experience visiting the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam and how even though I’d read the book and been moved by Anne’s ability to still muster up hope, love and flicks of joy in the worst of imaginable times, it wasn’t until I walked around in the cramped little living space her family had, had to hide in that I really took her inside my bones.

I told her my parents were older when they had kids and their parents were older when they had them and so even though I was younger the most kids of the Holocaust generation I grew up hearing the stories about the relatives who had been killed there and that when I asked, could we go find our family in Hungary I was met with wet eyes and a change of subject because everyone knows that just about all the Jews in Hungary were murdered.

My mother told me “Never forget. Remember so it never happens again.” I told the young poet.

I spent the evening of May 1st 2011 helping my best friend out with my goddaughter’s 14th birthday party. It was a fun evening filled with screaming teens, pizza, lots of sugar and a private screening of “Little Miss Sunshine” which I gotta say is one of the best movies ever made. I was spared the screaming by hanging out with the parents in the front part of the party space who enjoyed wine and cheese and we talked about everything from Donald Trump (no one in the group was pro-trump, this is Brooklyn after all) to trying to have a romantic life with kids running around, (this part I could only listen to, being an auntie and godmama, not full time mama). It was a great birthday bash. My beautiful goddaughter had been properly shocked and a little annoyed when we screamed surprise and all in all, I went home tired and happy.

L and I met late night and wound up making cocktails and turning on the news at about half past midnight. “Osama Ben Laden Killed!” came the breaking news.

“What?!” I screamed and we were glued to the TV to see the snippets of Obama’s speech and anything else we could find.

Crowds raced to ground zero and to Time Square and it was a patriotic celebration. It felt wonderful and odd to see cheers more then tears at ground zero. Almost ten years later and the bastard who changed our lives, who murdered so many who brought pain and an end of innocence to millions, is finally dead.

I thought about the fact that in the last few weeks when President Obama had to suffer the degradation of having to produce his birth certificate, he was secretly authorizing, killing the world’s most wanted man. To say he had more important things on his mind was an understatement.

It was a great night for Obama to be sure, but this night was not about Obama or Democrats or Republicans. It was a chance finally for some healing of what happened that terrible morning.

I felt a strange sensation watching the news that night. One of relief certainly that all these years later the murderer of thousands was dead, but it also opened it all up again. In an instant I was on my roof watching the towers burn and fall, hearing the screams all around me. In an instant I was walking near the pile at ground zero aware that the smoldering wreck before me was being tattooed on my pupils forever. In an instant I could see the tiny orchestra quartet in the heavy dust, trying to play soothing music to the early responders. In an instant I was picking up a piece of burnt fax paper from the cemetery of St Paul’s church knowing that the person who sent this fax was part of the dust falling all around me.

I’d just received an invitation from The World Trade Center group that does medical monitoring. As a first responder I am part of their test group. They invite me to things all the time. This one is a breakfast and lunch with speeches about The James Zadroga Health Care act and emerging conditions they are discovering from early responders, upper airway and gastrointestinal conditions from 9/11 workers and volunteers.

So many of us who went down there are sick today. Years ago I would go to the volunteer reunions, to the medical screenings to the 9/11 related events for first responders. I could think of little else but 911 for two years, but then I moved on.

I thought of my friend D in Israel who said he had asked his grandparents, both Holocaust survivors who had lost their entire families to Hitler, how they were able to live long happy lives to have many children and grandchildren and bring so much happiness into the world after starting with such pain and loss and his grandmother responded simply, “Revenge.”

Against these monsters of history joy is the revenge, living a full happy life, not letting yourself get sucked into the void of sadness is real revenge. Surviving and growing stronger and prouder and bolder is revenge and so I decided to put away the bright yellow hard hat I kept out like a symbol of that time and embrace newness and wonder and try, try, try to keep doing so.

I did not bury a loved one like so many, many, many people did. I did not wear a uniform like L in the line of duty who had to carry a gun or be responsible for protecting civilians, a very frightening thing for one lone rather petite woman. I volunteered and would do so again gladly, (only um this time, I would have a proper ventilation mask). I still regard my time at ground zero in September 2011 as the best and worst experience of my life. The courage, kindness, selflessness and beauty of people from around the world giving of themselves was a miracle that made my heart nearly burst. The burning death, sadness and fear was something that is still painful beyond words.

On May 1st 2011; I saw the Holocaust remembered thru the eyes of a sensitive nine-year-old girl who generations later has truly taken Anne Frank into her heart. On May 1st 2011 I saw my dear best friend put her heart and soul into making sure her daughter, who’s life hasn’t been easy of late, have the best birthday a mother can give. On May 1st 2011 I watched the president of the united states announce the death of a monster.

The death of Osama was for so many a late late but final full circle. Will it take away the sickness so many first responders suffer from, the loss of life, the hurt?

No, but it’s a hell-of-a lot better then knowing that bastard is still sipping tea in a cave somewhere.