Friday, February 6, 2009

"Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were." (Lord Byron)

I just got back from teaching the fifth session of my "Fun With Shakespeare" class where we are reading and discussing Hamlet. The class is being held in our clubhouse on Fridays from 3pm to 4:30pm. I believe it will take two or three more sessions to finish the play. Yes, I did retire--from North Shore H.S.--but not from teaching. I few years ago I stopped teaching this class after have read several plays over the years since I've been here--Pater Noster in Condoland--but I haven't held a class for several years until now. Just had the urge to teach Hamlet since we're so much alike. But after our last class, I'm really going to retire from teaching because I'm exhausted for hours after coming back to the apartment. I certainly didn't expect this reaction to happen. I used to teach five classes in school with no sweat. Now, after an hour and a half I am sweating as though I've taken some laps in the pool! I've discovered that teaching is damn hard. I'm not going to do it anymore.
My teaching ability is not the only thing that's changed in twenty-five years. I used to be lean and trim, and running 26 miles was a piece of cake. When I was 57, I weighed about 157 pounds and swam 80 laps (one mile) in the pool every day. Now I'm terrified about standing on a scale. At the doctor's office, when the nurse asks me to stand on the scale, I feel like giving her a whack aside the head--of course, I don't put that into action because I'm civilized. Because I don't get a whole lot of exercise these days, when I observe my body that once was "lean and trim", my gorge rises at it. I will probably never go to the pool or ocean again. I haven't been there for twenty years, anyway. Besides my teaching career being over, so is my acting career. I don't get around much anymore. (Sounds like the song I once knew in my heyday..."Missed the Saturday dance; might have gone but what for...awfully different without you...etc.) Whose song was that, anyway? Lena Horne? Billie Holliday? Groucho Marx?
A President who admits a mistake? Isn't there a rule against that? Is it an impeachable offense? Henny Penny, the sky is falling!
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Wednesday, February 4, 2009

"Arguments out of a pretty mouth are unanswerable." (Addison)

Well, Rhoda's two birthday "parties" are over for this year, anyway. Last Friday we went to dinner with the "East Meadow" gang (our neighbors from the year 1) at Sal's Ristorante. I had made reservations for 9 at a round table; seven people showed up and we had to look at two empty chairs and settings for the rest of the night because one couple never showed up. Rho tried to reach them on their home phone and their cell phone without success. So, it kind of put a slight damper on the evening. Ultimately, contact was made with them, and part of their excuse was that "we forgot," along with other matter that was not acceptable. I was embarrassed by their absence because we didn't need the table we were given as it turned out. Then on Groundhog Day, Mon. Feb. 2, Rhoda's actual birthday, we had dinner with the "building+gang" at Snapper's sea food culinary extravaganza with a table of twelve. A grand evening was had by all (Dutch treat and no gifts). So much for the birthday (which generally comes around once a year).



Now for our condo which currently is non-sterile owing to the fact that we are having both our main bath and the guest bath gutted and "modernized". The modernization operation is Rhoda's idea. I felt perfectly at home with the bathrooms as they have been for upwards of 25 years--I had just gotten used to the height of the commodes, and finally figured out the best means of getting off of them. Now, there are two humongous cartons in our living room containing two new toilets--one for each bathroom. We don't have room for a his and hers in our bedroom bath. But, the weird story is that we at first had gone with the contractor to Home Depot and picked out two white toilets, but when the day rolled around, the lady of the house decided that we needed to have two biscs? (beige) ones. So, we went to Lowe's and bought two beige ones that were about $200 cheaper than the ones from Home Depot. So, that night, Tom--the worker--brought the white ones back and then picked up the bisc ones at Loew's and deposited them in our living room! The main bathroom is just about finished with new tiles for the shower wall, the shower floor, and the bathroom floor. There is also a new cabinet and the wallpaper has been scraped from the wall, and just about ready to be painted. Rhoda doesn't like wallpaper. I do. I may secretly get up one night and shmear the walls with paper. Next job? The guest bathroom. Hopefully, the toilets will find an appropriate location. I really wanted to try them out in the stores, but was told it wasn't allowed. I couldn't understand that. You're allowed to test drive a car before you buy it. What's the difference?
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Sunday, February 1, 2009

"What millions died--that Caesar might be great!"

A student from Sea Cliff High School's class of '57, Wallace Kaufman, has gotten in touch with me through an e-mail. Wallace informed me that he was doing a history of his class, and asked if I would respond to some questions. Of course I told him that I would be delighted to answer some questions as long as they were not too difficult. I imagined that he would want to inform members of his graduating class that Dr. Ross was still alive, living in Florida and spending his hours writing gazillions of blogs once I found out what they were. I did send him an attachment of a Boca Raton News article that spoke of the military awards I received belatedly from the Navy...mainly the 10 Air Medals and the two Distinguished Flying Crosses. Part of his response follows:
"Thanks, Doc. I will make good use of the article. And congratulations. We are both old enough now to be frank. First, I admit that I'm given too excess sentimentality at times. Which leads to the next sentiment--that I am sad that we knew nothing of your pre-Sea Cliff life when you stormed into Sea Cliff School and became part of it in the mid 50s. One class member I sent to your blog has asked why not, why didn't we know? Some reasons are obvious, but the fact is we knew almost nothing about any of our teacher's prior lives or personal lives other than where they went to college. Was it school policy that there be a wall between students and teachers' personal lives? ... I know that many veterans feel it is akin to boasting to talk of their service, and others would rather not remember the dangers, the fears, the others who suffered and died. In any case, knowing more about the service given by our teachers might have had some small but important influence on our understanding of military service as well as the character of our teachers. Whatever the case, a very belated and sincere thanks for what you did."
Now, I will not speak for every veteran or teacher, but I think it was a mistake not to discuss the war experience with our classes. Out of such discussions I believe would have come more first hand knowledge of what the war was like and about, accompanied by more respect for the teacher. I don't believe a veteran's discussing his experience would be boasting; and I'm sure it was not the reason for failure to communicate that experience to the kids. I think Wallace was right when he said perhaps it was the case that their teacher would rather not remember his (or her) fears and horrors by dredging it up in the classroom. In my own case, the war was still too close in my memory. I tried with great difficulty to forget it and to press on with my life. My brain was still littered with scorpions...and to this day I still mourn for my buddies who did not return. This failure to reveal one's war experiences in the classroom was not due to any "school policy" nor was there any real "wall". It was just the way it was and will always be.
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Friday, January 30, 2009

" 'Tis neither here nor there."

Well now, a new record has been set. The blog I wrote yesterday has 11 comments and two by Deborah French because I liked it so much. Then there is a comment by someone named "Taconia". I don't know who that is, but I suspect it is a former student from the class of 1957. I love that class. It was the first that I taught in Sea Cliff. Perhaps Taconia will email me and reveal her/him self forthwith.
There also has been some comments about my use of the tilde as "the little curvy thing." I will rename that umlaut "the little curvy thing" instead of "tilde". It is much more colorful and easier to memorize. I don't know who named it the "tilde"; it doesn't make any sense. If the Spanish want to use the word "ano", (which means anus or ass) to also mean "year" by using a little curvy thing over the "n" instead of just using a different word then I fail to understand the reasoning and motivation about that practice. I also find it objectionable to name a planet "Uranus".
Tonight we went out to Sal's Italian Restaurant to celebrate Rhoda's birthday. Our friends from East Meadow were all invited including my sister and brother-in-law. One couple we invited never showed up because they forgot about it. That should never have happened. It did cause a little disappointment. However, if you're elderly you have a tendency to forget events that are important, as well as other matters. It is written.
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Thursday, January 29, 2009

"Now is the Winter of our discontent." (Richard III)

I really don't know where to begin. My head is filled with miscellaneous items swimming around in my brain--which I hope, at my age, is still viable enough to cast these in some kind of order onto this blog. Ironically and unhappily, the first topic has now birthed and unfortunately it is about death; John French, the principal of North Shore H.S. has died and I was sorry to get that news from Debbie (Benson) French, his daughter-in-law. John and I were friendly activists for the 30 years I taught at his school. He was a fine educator and administrator, and his leadership was laudable. He will be missed. Debbie is one of my most favorite students; she was and is as bright as a button on a sailor's coat (and where did that metaphor come from?) It's a mutual love affair--as far as love goes between teacher and pupil. Fortunately, Debbie is not the only former student that has popped up in my e-mail; there is Bob Marsden, Betsy Krumrine, Carol Schutzman, Ellen Bliss, Nancy Leo, Bob Perry, Wendy Martin, Alan Levine, Magda Machado--and I could go on. All this happens because of the computer--or it would not happen at all. I love to hear from these people, most of whom are now in their 50s and 60s, and who remembers any of their high school teachers enough to stay in touch with them? These students have wonderful things to say about me, and how gratifying is that after 30 years in the classroom?
And now, sadly, another downside topic has come to this page--the economy. I know there is enough about it in the media, but some of it is quite personal with me. Everything about the economy in this country reeks of--not "recession" but depression. I can clearly remember the situation in the 20s when millions of people were out of work, where homes were being lost, where lifetime savings were disappearing in the market, where homelessness was growing exponentially. I remember disheveled men and women selling apples for a dime on the street, and the concomitant lyric "Brother, can you spare a dime?" I remember how humiliated I felt when the mayor of Miami stopped at our door on Thanksgiving Day one year with a donated turkey. It was then that I realized how poor we really were. And I was eight or nine. In our paper today there was a picture of a homeless man and woman seated on a bench waiting for their turn to take a shower in a church. This was not a pretty picture and served to make me--and certainly others--thankful for what we have and what we are.
Strangely, it seems that only depressing things are coming out of my grey matter, and I'm sorry and apologize for that; but what can I do? I have been feeling ill the last couple of days because of the constant pain I'm feeling from my fractured rib and sore knee. I'm taking pain pills for it, but it doesn't seem to help very much. As a result of a bone density test my internist prescribed Caltrate D, an over the counter pill that supposedly helps to prevent osteoporosis. Rhoda picked up a bottle of that medication and when I saw the pill, I balked like a stallion in panic--the pill was huge and I knew I'd have a problem swallowing the thing, so I told Rhoda that I was not going to take any more pills. I'm over medicated as it is. Every time I come up with another illness, disease, or accident I get another pill prescribed. Rhoda says that I am a "disaster ready to happen." I am tending not to doubt that.
January 2009 saw the election of an exciting new president and February will see two birthdays--Rhoda's on the second (Groundhog Day) and mine on the 27th. If my mother had waited two more days I would have birthdays on Leap Years, and I would only be about 25 now instead of 85! What a nice thought to end this blog with--er, with which to end this blog. Felice año nuevo, and Vaya con Dios.
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Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Toilet Tree

I am gabberflasted! The bathroom in our bedroom has been gutted by a guy named "Lautenslager" if you can believe that. You can't peepee in there anymore because he kidnapped our toilet. You can't brush your teeth because the sink has disappeared. The pretty blue wallpaper has been harshly dealt with. You can't take a shower because he purloined the doors so that you could be seen naked by anyone passing by--that is, if there was any showerhead or water to take a shower with,,,er, with which to take a shower. The walls, devoid of paper have holes in them. Our bathroom now is just a hut without any furniture or decorations. All this because Lautenslager decimated it and then had the nerve to demand threeeee thousand dollars! I wish I could say that this is the end of the noise and the madness, but not so. The bathroom in the den will be next to suffer the same fate--Armageddon. So now I suppose the result of all this will be trips to Home Depot, Lowes, and Bed Bath and Beyond to find replacements for our losses--a brand new toilet, a shiny new sunken sink, medicine cabinets with lots of drawers. We will need lots of drawers, I suppose, because for some reason we have collected five jars of Vaseline, two bottles of hydrogen peroxide, several tubes of neosporin, four bottles of shaving lotion, and numerous other condiments that we will have no use for. I did feel really bad about losing the toilet; I mentioned to Rh+ that it really should be donated to some charity rather than finding its way to the city dump. So what if it was 25 years old? A new toilet will serve the same function as the old one. I am opposed to treating elderly things as if they no longer have any usefulness. I may even form a protest group to carry signs in the street protesting the toilet tissue--issue, I mean. It will be interesting to see how this situation in our bathroom will be resolved.
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Sunday, January 25, 2009

"How are the mighty fallen!" (II Samuel I)

One of the losses I have encountered is being able to dance. A few weeks ago I saw the movie, "Mama Mia" and then last night in the clubhouse I saw a group calling themselves "Adbacadabra" and their whole performance was music from ABBA and it was smashing! Once they started to play and sing "Dancing Queen" the urge to dance shook my whole body, and at that point I realized that I could no longer dance at affairs like Bar Mitzvahs and weddings, nor anywhere else. This hadn't occurred to me until then. I recalled my younger years--my teenage years when I danced to the music of Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, and Vaughn Monroe. It so happens that I was the best "lindy hopper" in my club. Bernie Masef was pretty close. All of our gang could swing with the best of them. All the girls were great dancers as well, and I did win a couple of lindy hop contests. When I met my ex, Thelma, we were a great dance couple, and fortunately Rhoda is also a terrific dancer--although she was not from the lindy hop generation. She was from the "Hustle" generation, and we were some kind of hustlers when the time came for us to get on the dance floor! But the hustle and the lindy were not the only dances we could do. We also did the tango, the rumba, and the Cha Cha--among some others. But the dancing days are over, unfortunately. Aging is a time for losses. Wherever I am, if I hear dance music, whatever table I'm sitting at, I'll bang on it--in rhythm and also a bit in anger. I don't like losing.

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