Many of us who said, "Till death do us part,"never went the distance. Gary and Barbara did. They were a great lovestory. The fact that her parents didn't approve of their marriage,because he was a saxophone player, made it all the morepowerful.
Playing by the Rules.
Honoring Thy Mother.
My brother called the other day and asked whetherI had noticed how many people are putting things behind them andmoving on.
"Does that mean they have no baggage?" Iasked.
"Well," he said, "either people have no baggage oran invisible semitrailer is following them around."
When my kids were still preschoolers,young enough to be influenced by my every word, I used to have this spiel about marrying out of Judaism. It went something like this:"It's an insult to the 6 million who died only because they were Jewish." I figured that you can't start early enough on the road to the chuppah. Now, both of my children are chuppah material. And I am spiel-less.
My birthday used to be celebrated as if it were a national holiday. From the backyard pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey days to the touch football games on the beach at Easthampton, July 16 was a date inscribed in infamy.
There we were, my family, 11 anarchists cruising down to Ensenada for four days on the Viking Serenade, celebrating my mother's 85th birthday. I roomed with the birthday girl in one of those cabins where you have to yell, "Watch out!" when you exit the lavatory.
I was thinking about my friend Lillian Ross last week as I was driving over the Golden Gate Bridge on my way north to an enzyme bath and massage in an outdoor Japanese tea house in Occidental. (I was celebrating freedom after submitting my manuscript for a book on families and family life.) Lillian's the one who, when asked by her children what she wanted on her 70th birthday, told them that she always had this desire to walk across the bridge with them.