Last-minute New York trip, the why and the how

Audrey and Herbert, 1947

I have popped down to New York for the funeral of a good friend's father. It was a last-minute decision but I had the time (and no medical appointments) so I said, why not.

The friend is Tommy Rosenfield (now, as a grownup, Tom, but always Tommy). We've been friends  since our idyllic days in Atlantic Beach, with our friendship continuing through Friends Seminary and beyond.

His father, Herb Rosenfield (Aug. 6, 1918 - July 20 2016), lived a good long life, but of course difficult is not a sufficient word to describe what it is like to lose a beloved parent. Tom started his remembrance of his father the way I might have started mine had I been able to speak through the tears when he died: He remembered his father talking about the ice being delivered for the family's ice box. From much later, I can picture Herb going into the ocean at Atlantic Beach, while his wife, tanned, turbined Audrey (my mother always said she was a real beauty), sat in her usual spot further away from the ocean, being the first person to greet us with a warm smile when we came down the small boardwalk before hopping onto the sand. And then Mary Ann, putting down her book, telling me to stop being a chicken and to go into the water with her.

Temple Emanu-el

This morning, after paying my respects to Herb's children, Tom, Patty and Nelson, and to the rest of the family, I had time to wonder at the main chapel in Temple Emanu-El and was lucky to be standing next to a knowledgable man who told me about the mix of architectural styles and the importance of the temple as a must-see destination in New York. I read later that the temple, completed in 1929, is the world's largest synagogue, accommodating 2,500 worshippers.

It was good to give Patty, Nelson and Tom a hug. The timing was so strange because the night before I learned that Herb had died, a dreamt that I was hugging Patty and Tom.

I am staying two nights but wasn't sure about that at first because I thought I would have to ask my cousin Jeanne for two nights on her couch. Then a friend from Friends, Craig Evans, offered his apartment on east 57th Street. I took him up on his offer and got here last night; after recovering from my trip, I had a very nice dinner with his wife, since Craig only coming into the city this morning.

Tonight I will see them again at a reception at the Century Club.

Always wondering which way is best to come into the city, I took the advice of some friends who said they like to drive to New Haven and take Metro North from there. Someone said I live dangerously to have left my car in an open air parking lot, but I figure there are better targets than an old Subaru. One hopes, anyway.

Disheveled Me

Getting swept out of Grand Central in a crowd in the early evening, I didn't think it would be easy to get a cab or an Uber. So I lugged my suitcase down the subway stairs, going very slowly, because I didn't want to repeat my mishap of somehow flying off the top step in the Paris Metro and doing a belly-flop into the car.

Once in the subway car, I caught myself when it jolted and I started to jerk backwards. Then I lugged suitcase and laptop up the stairs and went  across town and up a few blocks. Did I say that I was dripping with sweat?

When I had dropped Maddie off with Jim Bloom before I left, he asked why I didn't just take Amtrak from Holyoke. I don't really have an answer to that question. As I wobbled in the subway, looking like the world's most disheveled out-of-towner, with baseball cap askew, I asked myself why I was doing this.

"Because I can," I said to myself.

Memories of my parents

When I was feeling my most intense grief after the death of my first parent – my father – and my editor Marie Grady said to me at work, "They're always with you," I just couldn't believe it.

As the years go by you realize it is of course true, although it is also true that it's never the same.  If we are lucky enough to have good memories, we feel our parents'  presence and we also miss them most at  holidays. A friend said it to me yesterday about Easter. It washed over me at Passover.

A piece on the Lives page of yesterday's New York Times rang true. The author wrote that in the silverware her mother gave her, she saw her mother's hopes and dreams for her future.

My silverware has stayed shiny, covered up in its special drawer by the felt that my mother placed over it. Diane and I have both added some of hers. As she was dying, she said, "Don't give away my silver." When I run out of regular tablespoons, I like to take one from the drawer. I am eating out of a silver spoon, I say to myself. I always put it back and cover it up carefully.

I think of how I channel my mother. For Passover, I put a circle pin on my jacket. "Who do I look like?" I said to Katie and Joe. "Your mother."

Never put a container on the table. Always have flowers: Tulips in the spring. (If not flowers, a bowl of fruit will do, or even a lemon and some cherry tomatoes.) Put candles on the table. If you're not going to use them first, light the wick for a minute. (The white doesn't look good.) Send flowers for anniversaries. I did it for Ben and Meghan yesterday. (One year!) Specify no carnations. (Not classy.)

Yesterday I channeled my father as my neighbor Susan and I walked over to the tennis courts to hit outside for the first time. "I'm going to hit a few," I said to Joe. My father's words. Every so often a breeze picked up. If it was really windy out, my father would say we couldn't complain. "It's an outside game," he'd say.

"Serve 'em up."

Into his eighties, he had a regular tennis game at the courts at Atlantic Beach. I'd wake up to find him eating his breakfast in his tennis whites, long legs stretched out. He would come back grumpy if he had a bad game. (Like father, like daughter.) He would grumble about one particular octogenarian, "He cheats."

He loved hitting with the pro, but he would say, "Never kid yourself about how good you are when you're hitting with the pro." So true. Always makes me laugh.

To New York and back

Amanda, Katie and me after seeing "Pippin"

I threw my running things in my suitcase for my trip with Katie to New York on Wednesday, thinking that being near the Central Park Reservoir might inspire me to start running again.

But the streets were still a mess from the latest storm, and it turns out I did enough running around to get all the exercise I needed and then some.

On Wednesday night we saw the amazing revival of "Pippin" on Broadway. Thursday we went to Brooklyn to have lunch with my niece, Lily. It was so nice out that we got ice cream and strolled back to Manhattan over the
Brooklyn Bridge, with views of the Manhattan skyline and, to the left, the Statue of Liberty. During all those years growing up in New York I never took that walk. We provincial Manhattanites took notice of  Brooklyn only from a distance. Now, of course, Brooklyn is a happening place.

Thursday night we had Chinese food with Marge (95) and Bill at their apartment near the United Nations, with spectacular views of the East River. Friday we went down to Times Square to our cousin Serena's office at Macys.com and did a little shopping in Macys. This all involved a lot of going up and down subway stairs, which wasn't too bad except for the last couple of steps on each trip, which required every ounce strength that I had left. With help from Katie's outstretched hand, I successfully navigated an obstacle course of puddles and ice patches.

Finally, on Saturday morning I had breakfast with our friend Harriet from Atlantic Beach.

Ben and Webster

These visits always bring up the question of where is home. Obviously my home is here in South Hadley, but when I am in New York I feel like I am returning home. It is not the same without my parents, but I love seeing my friends and relatives and feeling like I fit right back in (although I could do without being crammed into the subway). I guess that home can be more than one place.

On Saturday, I stopped in Fairfield to see Ben and Meghan's puppy, Webster, who is part German shepherd and part Labrador retriever. I brought him Maddie's favorite snack, Snausages, and a little pull toy. What an adorable baby!

I was tired enough this morning that before writing this, I put my head down on the kitchen table and fell asleep.

Tonight, tennis, and tomorrow, the rescheduled trip for a checkup at Dana-Farber.

Goodbye physical therapy, hello bike

I am now the proud recipient of a diploma from physical therapy.

Yes, I graduated yesterday. Rob, my physical therapist, re-evaluated me and said I had achieved four of my six goals, the most important being balance.

(Hmmmm. Sounds kinda like a C+.)

I failed miserably on my arm strength, which is understandable given that my left arm still hurts from my last fall and also because we didn't really focus on my arms. At home I have been trying to regain some arm strength by lifting weights, but I took a break after my fall. I am trying to get back into it, although I don't want to do any motions that make the arm hurt.

Quad strength is the other area that I didn't pass, although he did mark me down as "making progress." I think the prednisone has a lot to do with this.

I liked my twice-weekly visits to physical therapy. It provided structure to my days. Also the therapists were nice, the music was good, I got to use the exercise equipment, and we played fun games.

Now I have to do it on my own. As most people know, it's hard to stick with a home routine. Sigh.

To shift gears a bit (sorry about the pun), Rob also said he thought it was safe for me to get on my bike again. I went home all excited and put air in my tires. I decided to first practice getting on and off. I couldn't lift my leg high enough to get on. I was frustrated.

I switched to Katie's bike, which is a little smaller. That one worked better.

When they talk about our "re-birthday" after transplant, they aren't kidding. I'm like a little kid on the bike. I teetered around the driveway, first pushing along with one foot at a time. I was scared to hop on. I need another fall like a fish needs a bicycle.

Finally I gathered my courage and wobbled up and down the driveway a few times. I wondered briefly, "Can you forget how to ride a bike?"

I guess you can't. I turned left at the end of the driveway and then left again down the next street, Sycamore Knolls, which branches into three directions, each with a hill. I turned around before it got hilly, impressing myself by staying on the bike at the turn.

I could tell that my legs haven't totally recovered, because even that small ride was hard on my thighs.

But I got a small taste of that wonderful feeling when you're cycling at a decent clip.

As a kid I biked fast on the boardwalk in Atlantic Beach, doing little tricks that made my mother squirm. When I rode without touching the handlebar, I waved at her while she sat on a bench for my command performance.

Yesterday I couldn't shout, "Look, Ma, no hands!"

But I could say to my son, "Look, Joe, I did it!"

Trying to stand on my own two feet

About a week ago, I fell during physical therapy.

This is not supposed to happen, and my therapist was rattled. He usually circles around me and makes a quick correction if I start to lean. I was in a kind of slalom position on a balance board, trying to do mini-lunges with my back foot in a strap. When I was done, I put my left foot down, but I think my right foot got caught in the strap. Rob was on my right side while I fell to the left.

It didn't bother me as much as it bothered him. I got up and continued my exercises. The next day I noticed I had a huge black and blue mark on my shoulder.

Physical therapy has helped a lot. I actually really like it there. I passed my evaluation by showing progress but also some weaknesses, earning me the right to put in for six sessions after my first round ended.

So yesterday I was taking a bag of papers to the garage for our recycling bin. Two little steps lead to the garage and driveway. I've been up and down those steps countless times. Somehow I managed to trip over the last step and fall in the driveway.

The papers flew, and I found myself lying on my back. I looked at the trees for a while, hoping that someone would see me from the street and help me get up. Nobody stopped. Joe and Katie were both out.

My left wrist, elbow and ribs hurt the most. Finally I got up the only way I know how – rolling over onto hands and knees and pushing up from there. I had a bad gash in my elbow and sharp pain in my ribs. Joe came home first and helped me bandage the elbow. Once I collected myself, I felt it wasn't serious enough to call my doctor. I could breathe normally, although it hurt to take a deep breath and to cough, and I'm back to coughing quite a bit lately.

I did call Melissa today, and she said it sounded like it could wait until my appointment tomorrow.

In my mind now, a trip cannot just be a trip. The tears came when I got back into the house, now with blood dripping down my arm. I had to get an ice pack, but I could barely open the freezer; in fact, my left arm and hand are pretty useless now. Totally frustrated, I wondered: How can I be making progress if I trip on one step in my own driveway? And, in crazy mode, Maybe I had a little stroke.

I ruled out the stroke because I felt OK afterwords. And I realized that my problem might result from a medication issue. I guess I will find out tomorrow.

I have experienced some disconnect between my head and my feet before. I wasn't falling all over the place, but Once as a young mother I went for jog near our parents' house in Atlantic Beach (L.I.), happily sending my kids off to the beach with my mother. I was having a great run. Then I tripped on a crack and fell. I hit my left shoulder hard. (I have a big scar to prove it.) I happened to be in front of their friends' house. The friends brought me in, fixed me up, and called my parents. I'm sure they offered me a ride, but I said I'd run back, which I did, trying to keep the leaky bandage in place.

You might call me stubborn. Or clutzy.

Years later, I playied doubles the day before I was to return to the hospital for one of my many incarcerations. I felt good, and I decided I had to play. I had come home with my Hickman, which I just tucked into my bra.

I lunged for a shot and fell hard on my right shoulder, ending up in the ER. The shoulder was separated. They put a sling on and sent me on my way. During that hospitalization in Boston, my shoulder hurt more than any other pain I felt during that round of chemo. It healed oddly, and I now have a bump on my right shoulder.

Lesson?

Hmmmmm. Maybe nothing, because sometimes a trip is just a trip; it's something a lot of people do without giving it a thought.

Nonetheless, let's try this:

Pick your feet up and pay attention.

Happy Fourth, Dad

Simon, a huskie-collie-shepherd mix

(or something like that), shares Al's

patriotism after my father put up the

flag one 4th of July at Atlantic Beach,

Long Island.

One of my father's favorite rituals was hanging the flag outside the beach house on July 4. Later I will post a photo of tall skinny dad holding a big flag. There is another of Simon the dog looking up at it. Simon was a husky-collie and maybe shepherd mix and my first doggie love, unless you count Sam Gordon, our family dog who was an affenpincher -poodle mix, an adorable but kind of crazy little thing. It was a good day. They both look very patriotic.

My father, a good New York Jewish liberal, hated the forces he believed were wreaking havoc in our country. But he always said that despite everything, it was the best country in the world, and he was proud to be an American. His words became known as the "Al Gordon speech," and Ben uses some of them when he delivers his Thanksgiving speech.

It seems the country is in more trouble than when he died in early 2001, and the world is a mess. But I think of him fondly on this day (every other day too), think of his big smile, and try to remember that a little optimism never hurt.