From Writing class pieces, Retirement courses, and Judaism

1. I am sitting at my little toy drum set in front of our house across the street from the playground. I feel like a joyous little prince. Life is perfect. But I also feel the sense of poignancy of where these drums will take me in the next 60 plus years. I smell the fresh cut grass from the park across the street, mingling with t he smell of my mom cooking in the kitchen. I hear the dull thud of the paper drum heads and know that soon I will have to get real drums. But it’s ok because my dad bought me these and he will be there for me along the journey.

 

2. I am sitting at the dining room table in grandpa Charlie’s and grandma Sophie’s house 2 doors from my own house. I am 7 or 8 or 9 or 10. We did this for Passover all those times. My core family was 100% secular, no Jewish observances whatsoever. At grandma Sophie’s annual family dinner I don’t recall any specific mention of Jewish ritual or culture. The conversation I remember was all about the movie business. The strongest impression is the rich mingling of smells of brisket, chopped liver, matzoh ball soup, etc. The sharp taste of the horseradish on the gefilte fish. The crunch of the little matzoh crackers and the texture of the chopped liver that held it together in your mouth. The warmth of the broth and the pungent smell of the perfectly textured matzoh balls in the soup.

 

3. I am the first child, the first son. I am practically worshipped by mom and dad and 2 sets of grandparents. Everything I do and say is met with oohs and ahs. He’s so smart, he’s so cute, what beautiful hands. The hands of a violinist or surgeon. What a mind. He’s going to be a lawyer or a doctor. I gushed with a little surge of energy each time one of these waves of praise came at me. The belief? I can do anything. I am very special. When I was in kindergarten I learned to read on my own initiative. My brother was 3 years younger. As soon as he was born I became his mentor. Then the teachers started on me. He’s so special. He’s so smart. I almost didn’t have to use my senses. I got so much praise for my facility with language that I felt happiest swimming in the totally delightful ocean of language. The walking dictionary.

 

4. I am on my way to my boss’s office to tell him something very important. “Bill, in a few weeks I’m going to start a 3 month training program at th zen center.”. As I speak I feel the tectonic bumping of the 2 continents I’ve been living in for the last 7 years, and a feeling of hollowness in my chest. I’m at the headquarters of a major industrial corporation, in a very responsible position. But I’m telling my boss I’m going to come to work soon with a shaved head because for the next three months I’m going to be the head trainee in an intensive training at the zen center of Los Angeles.

 

5. Survey response
Because I can’t speak this was a risk for me. It turns out the real limiting factor for me was a less dramatic aspect of my neuromuscular condition. I apparently write at about 20-30% the normal speed. If the length of the writing periods was doubled or tripled I could have done pieces like we heard others share. The guidance was great, but the experience for me was as if I was given five minutes to write. It turns out to be a frustrating tease. Rachel and Kathy were great. And now I know what to do on my own.