Two Sides of the Family--One Building

Wonderful piece, Roberta. Made me feel better just reading it.

we had a great family doctor too, my mother was his first baby patient (he didn't deliver her, but saw her as a newborn), he did deliver my mom's brothers and my sister and i

when he retired, well semi retired, he moved to a lovely small town about 2 1/2 hours north of us, we made a couple of visits a year to see him for checkups, he had a half day surgery and did water samples for the local health unit, one day he told his wife he didn't feel like going into the surgery that day and thought he'd have a nap after lunch, he lay down and passed away quite peacefully on his couch

Panzade, Through the prism of life? I thought I was just talking about the family doctor. Glad you survived. I've been thinking about him some more. (My mother always told me I think too much.) I'm convinced that having that much confidence in a healer contributes to the healing.

Eva, If it made you feel better, I'm especially glad I wrote it. I wish Dr. S could help you now.

dj, Glad you had a great family doctor. There's something enormously comforting about having someone like that in your life. When our doctor retired, there was panic in the family. He made recommendations to us for other doctors. Never the same. He died two months after he retired. A sudden heart attack. Maybe all those walk-ups took a toll.

Ha. Delightful post, Roberta.

I become quite excited when I discover a new entry to this thread.
Love it!

You wouldn't have any photographs of this family god, would you?

I think I have a picture from the Fiftieth Anniversary. Not sure I'm comfortable posting it. I must cogitate.

It makes me feel good that you're so fond of this thread. Can't tell you how many times I've been back to it.

It's perfectly OK if you prefer not to, Roberta.
I have a very active imagination & I can picture this person perfectly well, so no pressure, OK?


I am very fond of it!
And I can see why you would return to it so often, Roberta.
It's your personal family history.
So beautifully recorded.
-

He was an imposing looking man. Strong features. Overweight. Smart looking. I may drag out the photo once I get past some work I'm doing.

I remember him mainly from when I was a child, so I may think he was bigger than he actually was.

My neighborhood was about 100 percent Jewish. No holiday decorations. No trees, wreaths, poinsettias. Nuttin'. I was barely conscious that there was such a thing as Christmas until








Television!

Presents? Some guy in a red suit shows up with presents?? I wanted in!

In retrospect, I'm surprised that my parents and grandparents tolerated, even encouraged, my interest.

My eccentric aunt decided to take me to see the real Santa Claus at Macy's on 34th Street. I had never seen the store so lit up. So decked out. I was impressed. I waited in line to see Santa--the real one. What do I say? My aunt told me to tell him what I wanted, but that I shouldn't bother about the horse. Santa isn't gonna bring me something that my parents say no to. Sigh.

My turn! For one of the few times in my life, I was tongue-tied. Didn't talk Santa's ear off. Barely managed to recite my list. I wanted a walking doll. I forget what else.

Then my aunt and I strolled the crowded streets, taking in all the decorated windows. I remember it all as white and red--mostly white. Windows with snow. Loved it.

My grandmother's contribution to the day was one of her gigantic humongous stockings. It was enormous. I may have heard my mother say "oy" when I told her what I'd be hanging up.

I would hang up the stocking and leave out Santa's milk and cookies on our credenza. Just because I was little didn't mean that I wasn't me. I started worrying. Hunting around in the credenza to find the connection to the roof. My mother came into the living room to find me crawling around in the credenza. How's Santa gonna get in? She informed that when there was no fireplace, Santa came in through the window.

Well then why is everything on the credenza? Let's move everything over to the window. Santa will know, she informed me.

I wouldn't go to sleep until the window was open. OK, December. Cold. Windy. Open the window! I went to sleep when the window was cracked open.

I woke up early and headed to the living room. My walking doll was there. A few other things were there. My grandmother's stocking was filled with a few little toys and lots of fruit. Fruit! Gimme a break.

I was happy.

I learned later that Christmas was a religious holiday. A Christian holiday. Who knew?

A wonderful post, Roberta.
You've made my day!
Good to have a chuckle in the morning ...
Thank you!

Happy to oblige. Smiled the whole time I was writing it. Not a special Christmas memory. But mine.

I'd have loved to see a photograph of you on Santa's lap at Macy's, Roberta.
What a big moment for you!

(too bad about the horse, though. But he remembered the rest!)

And so YOU!!!!!!!!

I saw the Macy's Santa too, 1949. I probably gibbered. Can semi-remember it.

This is my favorite thread, as I've told you before. It is so like a novel and, because I don't come to a2k very frequently, it's like reading the novel in installations. Chicken fat, the draecena, Christmas. Love it.

Glad to see you here, Diane. And glad this is your favorite thread. I return to it often, usually to look at the pictures.

BLING!

My eccentric aunt and my mother loved jewelry. My aunt was allergic to the metal in costume jewelry and wore only gold. My mother wasn't allergic to anything and wore costume jewelry and gold jewelry.

Aside from seeing it all the time, I was introduced to jewelry when I was fairly young. I got a gold ring for my birthday. Was I 8? Don't know. When I was 10, I got a gold charm bracelet from my father's sister-in-law. And many charms followed.

We had our own jeweler--in the diamond exchange. He was a watch guy. If our business was not watch-related, he sent us to a booth we could trust.

I remember my first visit to the diamond exchange. I was bedazzled. All that shiny stuff. I felt drawn to it like a bee to a flower, like a dog to a lamp post. Hooked by bling at an early age.

A gift of jewelry usually signified something special. A gold bangle bracelet for my sweet sixteen. When I started taking painting classes, my parents bought me a lovely gold stick pin with an artist's palette at the end. The paint on the palette was represented by different colored stones.

When I had my corporate job, not only did I wear beautiful clothes, but I wore wonderful jewelry. Some real; some costume.

After my first bout with cancer and radiation, I fell into a depression. Bling didn't occur to me. Didn't think about it. Didn't remember it. Gone from my consciousness.

When I had to sell some jewelry to pay the rent, I didn't sell anything that was special to me. Sentiment over rent.

As I worked my way out of the depression, bling reappeared. It wasn't a conscious decision. One day as I was getting dressed, I put on a ring. Another day a necklace. Just did it. I wasn't dressed without that stuff.

Now I can't imagine going out without at least a ring. Nekkid without some kinda bling.

I don't know whey I loved cold metal and shiny rocks but I do. If you see me and I'm blingified, you'll know I'm in a good state of mind.

Bring on the Bling!

There won't be any new bling, deb, but I've got a decent supply.

Correction: The above sentence should read: I don't know whey I love cold metal and shiny rocks but I do. If you see me and I'm blingified, you'll know I'm in a good state of mind.

Razzle-dazzle Roberta