Mabfan's Musings

It's been a few weeks since I've managed to blog here; as I hope people can imagine, the kids still take up a lot of time in our lives. Nomi and I continue to enjoy being parents, and I find myself torn between wanting to post every update about the kids and not wanting to deluge the readers of this blog with all those details. I would post about other things going on in my life, but as I noted recently on Twitter and Facebook, there's not much else going on.

Well, that's not entirely true. We're working, of course, and I'm always trying to make progress on some writing project or other. We're continuing to clean the apartment; in particular, every day we make a little more progress in the kids' room so it will one day be entirely theirs. And we socialize a little bit, although that's mostly close to home. We did make it to a wedding last month, and we're going to another one this month, but any trips out of the house involve so many logistical details that they have to be considered carefully before implementing. (I sound like a military general.)

Amidst all the current chaos that is our lives, however, I didn't want to let two anniversaries pass today without mention.

A year ago today, on Sunday, November 2, 2008, was the official publication day of my collection I Remember the Future. It's hard for me to believe that the book has been out for a whole year. I blogged about publication day last year in my post The Publication Party, and I noted how wonderful it was to have so many people turn out for the celebration.

In honor of the first anniversary of the book's publication, the Open Book Society website is featuring an exclusive interview with me. I discuss a variety of topics, including my thoughts on the current state of the publishing industry and how having twins has affected my writing. Feel free to check it out.

(Also, although I'm probably preaching to the choir here, keep in mind that the book is still in print, and would make a great gift for Chanukah or Christmas. And check out all the other books Apex has for sale.)

Ahem.

So that's one year ago. Nineteen years ago... well, nineteen years ago my father died. And oddly enough, that's true this year on both the Gregorian and Hebrew calendar. Dad died on the evening of November 2, 1990, after sundown, which means that he died on the 15th of Cheshvan in the year 5751. As it so happens, the 15 of Cheshvan began last night and lasts all day today until sundown – and today is November 2.

I've discussed my father here before and how much he influenced me – in fact, I did so again just last year in the post Joel David Burstein for anyone who wants to be reminded about him. Yesterday evening, when I went to shul to recite the Mourner's Kaddish, I contemplated how far I've come from that night in college when Dad was taken from me.

For many years, I defined myself as an adult who had lost his father. Then, in 2007, I had to learn to redefine myself as an adult who had lost both his parents, and that was at an age when most people still have their parents around. But this past summer, I began to redefine myself again, as a father to twins. Last night, as I held my two daughters and thought about how they've both been named in a way that honors my parents, I thought about how joyously Dad would have held the two of them were he alive today.

I wish they could have met my parents, their grandparents, and I hope I'll be able to impress upon them the kind of people they were.

One year ago, and nineteen years ago.

My younger brother Josh called from Seattle, where he's away for meetings, to remind me that today was Mom's birthday. If she were still alive, she'd be 73 years old.

I am sad to say that I had forgotten. But I'm sure Mom would have forgiven me. :-)

For those interested, the kids slept very well on Monday and Tuesday night, probably because we did our best to help them get used to the idea of going to sleep. Yesterday we went out to a meeting of the New England chapter of the MWA to hear a police officer talk about her experiences in law enforcement. It was a fascinating talk, but that meant that the kids went from nanny to babysitter, so they were a little fussier last night after we got home.

More when I have a moment...

This shabbat will be the day of Mom's yahrzeit. She died on January 25, 2007, which fell on 6 Shvat on the Hebrew calendar, and 6 Shvat this year falls on January 31.

In honor of my mom's yahrzeit, Nomi and I are sponsoring kiddush at our shul, Kadimah-Toras Moshe, on shabbas morning. That afternoon, I'm the speaker at shalosh seudos (the third meal), and for my topic I've decided to speak on "Superman and Moses." Mincha begins at 4:30 pm for anyone in the area who wants to hear my talk. However, for those who can't be there, I'll be basing much (but not all) of what I have to say on the book Up, Up, and Oy Vey!: How Jewish History, Culture, and Values Shaped the Comic Book Superhero by Rabbi Simcha Weinstein (and yes, I'll be giving him credit for it).

And yes, I know people still want me to write up my comments on "Spider-Man and Repentance." I will when I can.

Weekly Reader has announced the results of their presidential election poll. For those of you unfamiliar with this, its a poll they do every four years of the nation's schoolchildren to involve them in the process and get them interested in voting. It's actually predicted the results of 12 of the last 13 presidential elections.

Reading about their poll reminded me that I too participated in the Weekly Reader poll when I was a kid. My first experience with democracy that I can recall was "voting" in the Ford-Carter election of 1976. My class ended up going for Carter by a vote of 13-7, and when Carter won the presidency, I assumed that my class had elected him.

Four years later, I remember being very surprised when Reagan won. Many of my fellow students and I wandered the halls and stairwells of the school on the day after Election Day, asking if anyone at all knew someone who had voted for Reagan. I was still too young to consider the fact that just because I knew of no one who voted for Reagan didn't mean that no one had. (Growing up in New York City does tend to give one a skewed view of how the country is voting as a whole.)

What I remember most about the Reagan-Mondale match-up was the electoral map showing Mondale with only Minnesota and Washington, D.C. colored in for him. If I recall correctly, the channel I was watching had colored in Reagan's states blue and Mondale's red, the reverse of what the networks tend to do now.

The first election I was able to vote in for real was the Dukakis-Bush election. I will always feel proud of how I voted in that election.

A final thought, somewhat personal.

I remember how, when I was little, Mom let my brothers and me into the voting booth with her. The booth had small levers that put an X next to the names of the candidates, and a big red lever that you pulled when you were finished which went KA-CHUNK, cleared the X's, and opened the curtain for the next voter. Mom told me to keep her vote secret; years later, she told me that as a little boy, my uncle had gone into the booth with my grandmother during the Eisenhower election and returned home to inform my grandfather that "Mommy likes Ike!" As my grandfather was a Democratic ward organizer, and my uncle blurted this out in front of some of his fellow Democrats, it was an embarrassing situation for all involved.

In 2004, Mom voted in a presidential election for what turned out to be the last time. And by an odd quirk of fate, I was there with her, and she let me accompany her into the voting booth so I could help her with the levers.

Next week: no levers, no booths. A bubble sheet and scanning machine.

When I last posted about my personal life, gnomi and I were contemplating the drive to Connecticut to pay our respects to the Greenberger family.

In the end, gnomi and I decided that we ought to proceed with our previous Sunday plans after all, so we didn't go to Connecticut. As much as we wanted to, there was one item that simply had to take precedence. (More on that at the end.)

There were a few things we had planned to do on Sunday, and we managed to do most of them. We had lunch with cellio, who was passing through Boston on her way to Pittsburgh, and so if we didn't see her yesterday we have no idea when we would have a chance to see her next. (As cellio has posted, there was a nice small group at lunch.)

We drove out to Burlington and did three things. We visited Nomi's parents, we went to the Bose store, and we took a new author photo of me.

But the most important thing we did, and the main reason we stuck to the original plan, was that we took care of some final issues with Mom's estate. As previously planned, Nomi and I went over to my older brother's place to deal with the final paperwork. My brothers and I now each have one more form to fill out and mail to the estate lawyer, and once we do, Mom's estate will be closed.

I'm not sure if I'm feeling a sense of closure or not. The whole process of dealing with a parent's death from the moment you hear about it is a series of steps. I've gone through a variety of "closing steps," I suppose, both religious and secular ones, and I still find myself occasionally obsessing over the loss. As I told people years after my father died, you never fully "get over it," nor would you want to. You just eventually adjust to a new version of normality, one in which the person's absence has become a normal part of your everyday life.

And so, I guess that's where I am right now.

Meanwhile, I've got to finish off my final assignments for my publishing classes, and see the final steps that need to be taken before I Remember the Future is officially published.

Three years ago, I mentioned that my younger brother and his family had moved to Richmond, Virginia so that my brother could take a new job as the Associate Dean for Career Services at the University of Richmond School of Law. (See Meet My Younger Brother, but note that the first link no longer works.)

It was a big move for Josh and a milestone for all of us. For the few years before, Josh and his wife and family had been living in New York City, so I always knew that when we went to visit Mom we'd be able to see Josh as well. After he and his family moved to Richmond, it seemed unlikely that I'd get to see him as frequently as I had before.

Indeed, that turned out to be true. Nomi and I made it down to Richmond only once in the past few years, and that was primarily to attend RavenCon in 2006. (My RavenCon 2006 reports can be found here, here, and here.) As I reported, Josh picked us up from the hotel after the convention ended and took us to spend Sunday night in the house. It was the one and only time I visited him in Richmond.

And now he's moving on.

Today, Joshua, Rachel, and their three kids are beginning a ten-day drive across the country. What with Mom having died last year and other life issues, they've decided they want to be closer to Rachel's mother, who is their children's last surviving grandparent. So, in a few weeks, they'll arrive in Eugene, Oregon, where Josh will take on the role of Assistant Dean and Director of Career Services Office at the University of Oregon School of Law.

Josh, knowing me as I do, keeps pointing out that Eugene is a center for science fiction and fantasy writing. Maybe with him there, that'll finally give me the impetus to check out the Pacific Northwest.

I just hope that with the time difference we'll still be able to keep up our habit of talking on the phone a few times each week.

As baseball season starts up in earnest, I can't help but think about my own history as a fan of the sport.

When I was growing up, my younger brother Josh was the real instigator when it came to baseball. I suppose that left to my own devices, I could have just ignored baseball for the most part; I was more into comic books and Star Trek.

But Josh fell in love with baseball at an early age, and due to his urgings, my family began following our beloved team: the Yankees.

You read that right. In the beginning, despite living in Queens, the Burstein clan were Yankees fans as well as Mets fans.

There were legitimate reasons for this. We grew up in the 1970s, and in 1977 the Yankees had one of the major success stories of their career. That was the year of Billy Martin and Reggie Jackson, and the year of the World Series. I vividly remember the whole family shlepping to the Bronx to see a game or two; I remember how much we cheered for Thurmon Munson and how tragic it was when he died; and I remember how we idolized Reggie, and his eponymous candy bar.

However, by the time the 1980s rolled around, we had started to mostly follow the major league team in Flushing. I think it was the return of Tom Seaver to the Mets for the 1983 season that caught our imagination, although I do recall that Josh was also a big fan of Danny Heep. Josh started following the Mets regularly, and the rest of us followed suit.

Josh was eager to attend games at Shea Stadium, and so my parents took a step that still boggles my mind today. They bought season tickets to Mets games. Now, we didn't buy tickets for the whole family, nor did we buy tickets for every single home game in the season. Rather, we bought a package of tickets for all Saturday games, and we only bought two seats for those games. The theory was that Josh would get to go to each game, and someone else in the family would take him. Most of the time either Mom or Dad would take Josh to Shea, but occasionally Jon or I would do so.

And to my mind, Shea was the most beautiful stadium in the world. It was big, and blue, and always (believe it or not) very clean. The fans felt united in our love of the team, something I felt whenever the announcer spoke or when they played "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" during the seventh-inning stretch. Our seats were a bit far up, so the field looked somewhat far away, but the view from our seats (along the first base line) was unobstructed. When I sat with Josh at a game, I would take in the expansive, deep blue sky, breathe in fresh parkland air, and root, root, root for our home team. And if they didn't win, it was a shame.

Now, baseball fans are aware that we all have our own little superstitions and idiosincrasies. And it did not escape my notice that every time I attended a Mets game at Shea, the Mets would lose. Rationally, I knew that my presence in the stadium had no effect whatsoever, but in the back of my mind, I felt like a jinx.

So when 1986 rolled around, and the Mets ended up in the World Series, and my family acquired tickets to games one and seven, I was torn about whether or not I should accompany Josh to the games.

For about one second. World Series? I'm there, baby!

Josh was amused when I "offered" to take him to the World Series games, but the fact was that both Dad and Mom didn't care that much about attending in person, and neither did Jon. (Mom's only concern was that we would be safe among the crowds, and I promised her that I would look after Josh.) Josh and I attended game one on Saturday, October 18, and I recall how raucous and boisterous the other fans were. There was something magical in the air – at least, until the Mets lost to the Red Sox 1-0.

We watched the rest of the games on television with trepidation. On the one hand, we wanted the Mets to win the World Series, and as quickly as possible. On the other hand, we had tickets to game seven, and if the Mets won too soon, we wouldn't be able to attend game seven as it would not be played. So we watched, as the Mets lost game two, then won game three and four, then lost game five...

I won't reiterate the details of game six here, except to note how quickly we went from depression to elation. Game seven was delayed by rain and held on the evening of Monday, October 27, and Josh and I went. I remember how disappointed we felt when the Sox took an early lead in the second inning; how delighted we felt when the Mets scored three runs each in the sixth and seventh innings; how nervous we felt when the Sox scored two more runs in the eighth; how pleased we felt when the Mets scored two more in the bottom of that same inning; and how the stadium erupted in joyful cheers when the game ended with a Mets win. The Mets were champions again, for the first time within our lifetime, and we dearly hope to see them win a World Series again at some point soon. (Please.)

The last time I was in Shea was to see the Mets in one of the 1988 playoff games. I don't remember which game it was I saw, or even who I was with. All I remember is that they lost that game, and went on to lose the pennant.

And now, I'll probably never return to Shea again. For this season is the last one that will be played at Shea, as in 2009 the Mets will take up residence in Citi Field, just next door. And of all the news sites to praise Shea Stadium and William A. Shea, oddly enough, it's the Post-Tribune of Northwest Indiana with the best tribute. Check out the article "Mets shouldn't forget Shea when new stadium opens" by Bob Estelle, and learn about how Bill Shea worked to replace the Dodgers and Giants. If it weren't for Bill Shea, I wouldn't have the fond memories of the Mets – and of Shea Stadium – that I have today.

Thanks, Bill.

[The following is a personal anecdote about our past weekend trip to New York City. Just so you know what you're getting into before you start reading. The short version includes seeing friends, spending shabbat in Queens, and celebrating the recent wedding of my brother Danny and his wife Barbara. But the long version includes some pictures, so click on the link and enjoy.]

( Read more... )

I'd like to end this post with a philosophical note. This is the first time we've been back to New York City since my brothers and I sold Mom's house, and it felt odd. Nomi and I want to continue taking vacations to New York City to see friends, but we're going to have to start relying on some of those friends to host us on those vacations. I feel blessed by knowing that whenever I've mentioned this concern, we've been flooded with offers. Thank you all.

[For gnomi's take on the weekend, click here.]

Here in Bursteinville, gnomi and I are anticipating a busy weekend, starting tomorrow.

Folks may recall that last month, my half-brother Danny got married to Barbara Heller in Michigan. This Sunday is when they're having a second celebration, and so Nomi and I are heading down to New York City for the weekend. We decided to get to the city in time for lunch tomorrow so we could meet up with one of my high school friends, a gentleman we don't see as often as we'd like.

I know there's a lot going on in the area this weekend, and I know there's always a lot of people to see, so if we miss you this time, maybe we'll catch you next time. For this trip, we're taking advantage of the gracious hospitality of sdelmonte and batyatoon for shabbat, so we're pretty much spending the weekend with them in Queens. Shabbat afternoon, we'll also be getting together with chaos_wrangler and G.

Early Sunday afternoon, Nomi and I will take a cab to the Heller-Burstein celebration, which is at a deli in the northernmost parts of Riverdale. Here's where things get personal in a way I had not expected.

I had decided to call for a cab from Boulevard Taxi, a company that Mom used to use for her daily commute to work. All the folks at Boulevard, the drivers and dispatchers alike, got to know my mom as that nice lady judge in Forest Hills.

Since we needed to know how much the cab would cost, Nomi suggested I call Boulevard last night to find out the price of a ride from the middle of Queens to Riverdale in the Bronx. So when I called last night, and explained I was calling from Boston and why, I made sure to mention my mom. I told the dispatcher that my mom was the judge who they used to pick up in Forest Hills.

"You mean Judge Burstein?" the dispatcher asked.

I was flabbergasted. "Yes."

It turns out they still remember her very fondly, and the dispatcher was delighted to hear me tell him how much Mom had always praised their company's service. On Sunday, he said he's going to take personal charge of making sure I get the cab I need.

Recently, I've been listening over and over to Kimya Dawson's song "Tire Swing," which can be found on the Juno soundtrack. I've been enjoying all aspects of the song – the rhythm, the melody, the vocals, the texture – while I try to puzzle out the lyrics. The lyrics in the song are not as difficult to decipher as those in some of her other songs, but I suspect that one can find many shades of meaning hidden within.

For me, in particular, I find the following verse to resonate with something I am sure Dawson never intended:

Now I'm home for less than twenty-four hours
That's hardly time to take a shower
Hug my family and take your picture off the wall
Check my email write a song and make a few phone calls

Now, maybe my mind is only drifting in a certain direction because of the time of year. It was a year ago this past weekend that we held Mom's funeral, and I keep going over my memories from that period. But the lyrics of this verse remind me of a day a few months later, when I managed to squeeze out a tiny amount of time to visit the house where I grew up a final time. My younger brother Josh and I were doing another check of the house to clear out the possessions that we wanted to rescue before we sold the place. I'm very grateful to Josh that he found the time to return to the house a few more times and supervise the final pickup of our stuff, but that particular day was my own last day in the house I grew up in. And the lyrics of "Tire Swing" seem to echo that day for me.

Why? Because I remember being on the train to New York City, and realizing that I would literally have less than twenty-four hours to take care of everything. Because I find myself missing the shower in the bathroom. Because we rescued (I hope) all the family photos, and we took off the wall a picture that Mom had painted as a little girl, a picture that now hangs in my apartment. Because while at the house, I'm sure I made a few phone calls, even if I didn't have my computer with me to check email.

(Okay, so I didn't write a song. But you wouldn't have expected me to, now would you?)

So, for all those reasons, "Tire Swing" resonates. And I'm sure Dawson would find my resonance with her song orthogonal to her own.

A year go this morning, at 6:39 am, as Nomi and I were getting ready to go to work, we received a phone call from my brother Jonathan. Mom had died, and suddenly much of our lives were put on hold as we dealt with the aftermath.

I felt the need to mark today with some sort of mention, but the truth is that the anniversary isn't hitting me emotionally as much as it could. For one thing, I already marked Mom's yahrzeit on the Hebrew calendar a few weeks ago, bringing my religious mourning period to a close.

For another thing, it's been a very busy week. We started the week at Arisia, and on Tuesday and Thursday evenings I had my first two classes in the Boston University Certificate in Publishing program. Furthermore, I've had a lot to do at work and I had a medical follow-up appointment yesterday afternoon. And finally, as I mentioned earlier, the son of a good friend of mine was diagnosed with leukemia, leading me to think about his plight a lot more than mine.

In short, the week has been filled with enough of its own distractions that the anniversary of Mom's death ends up being just one of many things, and not a looming single presence of its own.

And you know what? I know she would have preferred it that way.

On the Hebrew calendar, Saturday night and Sunday corresponded to 6 Shvat 5768. The significance of this date is that Mom died on 6 Shvat 5767.

In other words, from a religious perspective, my year of mourning is over.

The anniversary of Mom's death on the Gregorian calendar isn't until January 25, 2008, but as far as religious observance goes, I'm done. Starting tonight, I'm free to join in celebrations, and to attend live musical events and theater.

As it is, I spent the yahrzeit (Hebrew anniversary of Mom's death) engaged in nice, low-key activity. Last night, my younger brother called, and we talked for almost two hours about a lot of stuff.

Today, Nomi and I went out shopping in the early afternoon to get groceries for the Arisia science fiction convention next weekend. The supermarket was crowded, no doubt due to the predictions of a major snowstorm starting tonight, requiring all of New England to stock up on eggs, bread, and milk.

(Aside: this evening, as we were watching the news, Nomi and I played a game. Every time the newscaster said the word "snow," we shouted "SNOW!" It was fun.)

And this afternoon, Nomi and I went to a siyum and azkara at our synagogue, Congregation Kadimah-Toras Moshe. To explain those terms, a siyum is a completion of study, and an azkara is a remembrance. Both of these are often done in honor of someone recently deceased, and today happened to be thirty days since an honored member of our synagogue had passed away. Thirty days after a parent's death is the end of the shloshim period of mourning, so today was a significant day for the siyum.

Marvin Benjamin Levenson was an 85-year-old man whom Nomi and I first met in late 2006. At the time, we had no idea who he was; just a funny older gentleman who joked with Nomi when he discovered that she had started to help set out the food and drink for kiddush following morning services. Marvin became responsible for a new tradition at the shul, as it used to be that the only drink set out for the kiddush was wine. But Nomi and I don't drink alcohol, so she would always make sure that we each had a cup of grape juice instead. When Marvin found out, he asked us to provide him with grape juice as well, so Nomi poured three cups instead of two. Well, it soon became easier for Nomi to set up a plate of cups of grape juice, and to label it with a card, so as to differentiate it from the cups of wine. It proved so popular that we now have two plates of grape juice that Nomi sets up at the end of one table, and it's all because of Marvin.

Who, it turns out, had been instrumental in the creation of Kadimah-Toras Moshe as a combined synagogue in the 1960s. Marvin had also served as one of the most popular presidents of the synagogue.

After we learned of Marvin's death last month, we were saddened, and even more so when we discovered that his family lived in New Jersey and Israel, and so we would have no real chance to pay our respects. But the family grew up with Kadimah, and so they arranged for today's remembrance. Nomi and I went, and the shul was packed with more people than I had ever seen in there before. Marvin's four children and three of his grandchildren spoke, and they brought him to life for us. Marvin was a man who loved his family, giving charity, and Judaism. It was reassuring in some way to hear how the picture of their father and grandfather was consistent with the gentle, funny man that Nomi and I had gotten to know, all too briefly.

It was a very appropriate way to spend Mom's yahrzeit.

Today is the last day for me to recite Mourner's Kaddish for my mom.

Because it's a Friday, Nomi and I asked friends of ours who live near the shul if we could come over for dinner, and we're looking forward to enjoying their hospitality tonight. This afternoon, I'm going to go to the Mincha service, during which I will recite Mourner's Kaddish. Immediately following it will be the Kabbalat Shabbat and Maariv service, and I suspect that some folks may have a momentary minor jolt when they realize that my voice is no longer among the chorus reciting the Mourner's Kaddish.

There will be no fanfare to mark the moment, just a quiet acknowledgment that my year of mourning has only one Hebrew month left to go.

I find myself with mixed feelings. On the one hand, and I know this isn't the best way to phrase it, but I'm sick and tired of mourning. I want it to be over with, so I can get back to a closer semblance of normality in my life.

On the other hand...

On the other hand, after you lose a parent, you never want the world to stop acknowledging that loss. Obviously, in the week and month immediately following the death, you need a lot more special consideration. But for the rest of my life, I will be an "orphaned adult," and I would want people to know that and to understand that in their dealings with me. Reciting the Mourner's Kaddish is a very public way of reminding people of your current fragility; that reminder will now get lost in the seas of time.

Of course, we still do other things to remind the world. The Cheshvan before my Mom died, Nomi and I sponsored a kiddush at our shul in honor of my father's yahrzeit. In a way, it helped stave off questions people might have asked; when my mom died, folks already were aware that my father was out of the equation. After my year of mourning is complete, Nomi and I will most likely sponsor a kiddush again, to commemorate my mom and to remind the community that my year is complete. (Amusingly enough, we won't be able to sponsor a kiddush right after the year ends, as that would be Arisia weekend and we'll be at the convention.)

But even though I will continue to remember my mom, and my dad, today's final recitation of the Mourner's Kaddish means that the third phase of mourning is complete. I enter the fourth phase tonight, and, a month from now, the fifth and final phase...which will last for the rest of my life.

Is it just me, or does Thanksgiving weekend seem to go by quickly for other people as well?

Our weekend was filled with dentists, turkey, family, home electronics, errands, television, reading, and sleep. Let's take a look.

( Wednesday )

( Thursday )

( Friday )

( Saturday and Sunday )

And that was our Thanksgiving weekend. I'm very thankful for it.

Normally, I don't sit down on Thanksgiving and come up with a list of reasons to be thankful. It's not that I don't feel gratitude for the benefits I enjoy on a daily basis. It's just that sometimes those benefits seem so trivial to me sometimes, and I feel that expressing gratitude for them would border on gloating.

One friend of mine who posts on LiveJournal ends every single one of her posts with a statement of something she is grateful for. While I admire her dedication, I know it's not something that I could ever do personally. And I do wonder if my expressions of gratitude might come off as self-indulgent.

However, this year is different. It can be hard to express gratitude to the universe in the year of a parent's death, especially when it's the second parent one is mourning. I've been reading a lot about what it is like for people to enter this stage of their life, and I've come to believe that it really is unprecedented, something that can't be completely understood by anyone who hasn't yet experienced it themselves.

So this year, with the loss of my mother still fresh in my mind, and the loss of my father still as poignant as ever, I've decided to note a tiny handful of the reasons why I am grateful to my parents.

I am grateful to Dad for my love of and interest in science fiction. Although by the time I knew him Dad's fiction reading was mostly devoted to paperback mysteries, he had been an enthusiastic science fiction reader in his earlier years. Dad encouraged me to read the short fiction magazines, and he would never turn down a request on my part for a book. It was at Dad's insistence that the family shlepped to an Isaac Asimov appearance at the Books of Wonder bookstore on Sunday, November 4, 1979; I still recall that event vividly, and I sometimes marvel at how much that shaped my life. My only regret is that Dad died before he could see how involved I would become in the world of science fiction.

I am grateful to Mom for never throwing out my comic books. This may sound silly, but over the years I've met many people whose mothers threw out some of the valued childhood possessions. I was lucky in a sense, because my father's mother had thrown out his comic books and my father always regretted that. So armed with that knowledge, my mother never threw out a single one of my comics, and today I still own every comic I ever bought all the back to age five. (Well, except for the ones I chose to weed out of my collection myself.) Mom was never into science fiction or comic books herself (except for Wonder Woman, she once told me), but she once called DC Comics for me and got a young artist named Al Milgrom to give our family a personal tour of their offices. I was in heaven.

I am grateful to Dad for my love of the news and newspapers. I grew up in a home that got four newspapers a day, and each paper presented the news with its own slant and ran editorials that sometimes opposed each other radically. The newspaper business may be changing, but I will continue to believe the importance of receiving my news from many sources.

I am grateful to Mom for taking the family to musicals and shows on Broadway. When she had been growing up in New York, her family had gone to many of the classic original performances of well-known actors and actresses. Thanks to Mom, we got to attend revivals of many of these shows. I saw Richard Burton in Camelot, Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady, Herschel Bernardi in Fiddler on the Roof, Yul Brynner in The King and I, Mike Burstyn in The Rothschilds, and many others. After we saw Brigadoon, Mom took us to meet Lee Sullivan, who lived in a house across the street from ours, and who had played the original Charlie on Broadway. He signed our copy of the vinyl album jacket, and I still have that record.

I am grateful to Dad for instilling a love of justice, and of Judaism.

I am grateful to Mom for the laughter she brought to our world.

Finally, I am grateful to all my ancestors, Bursteins and Cohens and Bakers and Cohns and Sokolovskys who made the decision to come to this country, so I could lead a life that they could barely have imagined. In general, I enjoy my life a lot, and I am grateful for all the myriad steps that led to this point.

Today is my mother's birthday, and if she were still alive, she'd be 71 years old today. Because it's her birthday, I've been thinking today about some of the ways I've been honoring her memory, and my father's memory as well.

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As Nomi has already noted, tonight begins the Jewish holiday of Sukkot, the final major holiday in the fall. Because of the holiday, I'll be away from the Internet until Saturday night.

One of the nice things about Sukkot this year is how much it's letting Nomi and me realize that we've become a valued part of our local shul community. For those of you who don't know about the holiday, one of the customs is for us to build little booths in our backyards or porches. The booth is called a sukkah, plural form sukkot, hence the holiday name. We're supposed to take our meals in the sukkah and some folks even go so far as to try to sleep in the sukkah for the duration of the holiday.

The problem we have is that we don't have an appropriate porch or backyard wherein to construct a sukkah. Most years, Nomi and I go to her parents' house for the holiday, because they have a porch where they build their sukkah. But this year I'm reciting Mourner's Kaddish for Mom, which means that I want to be close to a shul so I can daven with a minyan. That meant staying at home, but what would we do for a sukkah?

Well, Jewish communities tend to come together on this problem. For one thing, shuls tend to build sukkot on their own property, so anyone who can't build a sukkah at home can use the one at the shul. But in addition, families that have a sukkah on their property will invite those who don't to come over for the holiday meals. This means that Nomi and I are eating out at the homes of friends for pretty much the next three days, all through to the end of shabbat.

Sukkot doesn't end there, though. The holiday continues through Wednesday, meaning that we'll be at work for three of the days. What to do about meals? Well, as it so happens, a few communities in the cities of Boston and Cambridge build sukkot that folks can use during the day. For example, one of the rebbes builds a sukkah on the plaza of Old City Hall, on School Street. So at lunchtime, we'll be able to enjoy one of those local sukkot. And for dinner, we might go out to eat at one of the kosher restaurants...because they too build sukkot for their patrons to dine in. All in all, it's a wonderful example of a community working together to enjoy a religious observance.

Next week, Sukkot ends with two more holy "yom tov" days, Shemini Atzeret and Simchas Torah. I'll probably post about those next week.

Most of you have probably noticed that I haven't blogged much recently. That's because, as often happens, life has been busy. It's been a mix of the Jewish holidays, family stuff, other personal stuff, and work. For those of you who are interested, here's an update. (Others may wish to skip on to the last chapter which is a good bit and has Marvin in it.)

Jewish Holidays

Last week were the Days of Awe on the Jewish calendar, the reflective period of time between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, culminating, of course, with Yom Kippur and the fast. Yom Kippur fell on Saturday this year, and whenever that happens, I can't help but feel cheated out of a shabbat. For me, the Jewish sabbath is always a joyous day, one I look forward to throughout the week for many reasons besides it being a day off from work. But when Yom Kippur supersedes the sabbath, the tone of the day changes to what you would expect for a Day of Atonement.

And in general, I have difficulty with the way we force these days to take on the significance that they do. If you're Jewish or watch The Colbert Report, you know that during this time there's a whole process in which we're supposed to ask forgiveness of the people around us and grant forgiveness to those who ask. I know it's a vital part of my religion, and yet I can't help but feel that there's a certain artificial aspect to it. Human beings can't turn forgiveness on and off like a light switch, and during these Ten Days of Repentance many of us are too busy and emotionally fragile to deal with the actual wronging that we may have done to each other.

(On the other hand, I absolutely do agree with the idea that God cannot forgive you for sins committed against your fellow human being; only the injured party can forgive you.)

I also hate fasting. Like many of us, I find that it throws my body out of whack and it takes a day or so for me to recover. The one advantage to Yom Kippur falling on Saturday is that we had Sunday off from work. (Next year, Yom Kippur falls on a Thursday, which is going to feel odd.)

But now that it's over, I'm delighted that we have the fall holiday of Sukkot to enjoy this week and next. It does tend to front-load the fall with holidays, but I've always agreed with the rabbi who was dumfounded by the number of people that observe Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur and then ignore Sukkot entirely: "It's like eating your vegetables and then skipping dessert."

Photo Albums

On to some personal stuff. Although much of the issues regarding Mom's estate have been settled, there's still quite a lot to do. Mom had the whole collection of the family photo albums, and it's fallen to me to scan in every single photo so my brothers and I can each have a full set. Afterwards, I plan to hold onto the originals, even though the suggestion was made that once we had digital copies, the originals could be disposed of. That feels anathema to me. Scanning in photos takes a lot of time, so this is going to eat up many hours of my life, but Josh has expressed his gratitude to me for doing this, so I know it's a worthwhile thing to do.

Anyway, even though we have albums from our childhood, I'm actually starting with an album from when Mom was about 18 years old. Here's two photos I scanned in last night. The first is of my Mom:

Eleanor Mae Cohen (Burstein), circa 1954

And the second are my Mom's parents:

Louis Cohen and Clara Baker Cohen, circa 1954

I find myself wishing I could talk to them and find out what they think of this whole scanning in of their photos. I also wish they were around to identify some of the people I don't recognize.

Other Stuff

Hm. Much of the other stuff going on is too boring to discuss. :-) If anyone has any particular questions they'd like to ask, I'll do my best to answer them.

In the meantime, here's a rare sentiment from Marvin, after he reads God's final Message to His Creation in Douglas Adams's So Long And Thanks for All the Fish: "I think...I feel good about it."

Exactly six years ago today, terrorrists attacked the United States of America. They flew planes into the World Trade Center in New York City and into the Pentagon in Washington, DC. They most likely would also have flown a plane into the Capitol building but were stopped by the passengers of United 93. Almost 3,000 people died that day.

Emotions are still raw for all of us, but I have to admit that in light of my own recent personal tragedies (can Mom's death be considered "recent" even though she died back in January?), this anniversary isn't hitting me as hard today as it did last year. (More on that below.)

Because I'm obsessed with exactness, I've made sure for a while now to know the exact times of certain events that took place on 9/11. The bare sequence of events at the World Trade Center was as follows:

8:46:26 AM: North Tower Hit
9:02:54 AM: South Tower Hit
9:59:04 AM: South Tower Collapsed
10:28:31 AM: North Tower Collapsed

I'm a New York City native, born and raised in Queens, and I grew up in a city in which the Towers always stood. On 9/11, I was at my teaching job in Newton, Massachusetts. The following comes from my journal, a hand-written one that I was keeping at the time.

"The second [staff] meeting ended early, and I went back to the Science lab to check my e-mail. I idly noted a message...which said that an airplane had hit the World Trade Center.

"I didn't really think much of it and I went back to the Information Center. Shortly after the meeting...began, [a colleague] walked in and asked if we had heard the news. He told us that two planes had hit the twin towers of the World Trade Center, and he set up the small TV to receive CNN. They showed pictures of two commercial jets crashing into the twin towers...

"I ran to the phone...to call [my younger brother] at work. At 9:35 AM I called and got him. He had just gotten in, and he said that he seen the smoke from the 7 train. I told him to stay in touch, but due to circuits being busy, I wasn't able to reach New York City again for a while.

"The rest of the day passed in a blur of rumors and news. I kept checking webpages; when I couldn't reach cnn.com, I checked the New York Post webpage and the Newsday webpage. I called Nomi...

"At 10:15 AM, the...students returned from their physical education class...and...we told them the news...

"When the meeting with the students ended, I collapsed in tears..."

There's more, of course, but to summarize, I spent the day trying to get news of family and friends, making sure they were all safe. The drive home was surreal, knowing that fighter planes and battleships were protecting New York City. Nomi was already home, as her office had sent everyone home early. The rest of my family was safe, but my older brother, an emergency medicine physician, had been called up to report to New York City. Nomi and I took a walk at 5:30 PM, which included browsing at Brookline Booksmith and getting ice cream at JP Licks. Everything on TV was the news; we watched C-SPAN, which was running a feed from the CBC, so we could get the Canadian perspective.

The next few days, the events were fresh in everyone's mind. On Wednesday, I flinched at hearing an airplane in the sky, then remembered that all commercial flights had been grounded, so it had to be one of our military aircraft, protecting us. I bought my regular comic books that day; Adventures of Superman #596 had an eerie panel of the twin towers of Metropolis being repaired. A friend came over that evening after attending a local religious service.

On Thursday, Nomi and I were sick of the news, and Animal Planet had gone back to regular programming. We watched a documentary about moose to help us get our minds off things.

And life went on. Today, I'm no longer teaching, but editing textbooks in Boston; my younger brother no longer lives in New York City, but in Richmond, Virginia with his wife and two children, soon to be three children; and my older brother is still an emergency medicine physician in the Boston area, specializing in disaster management.

But...last year I noted that "my mother still lives in New York City, as do my two older half-brothers." Anyone who knows me understands that this year's 9/11 anniversary feels a touch different. All my life, Mom worried about my brothers and me, to the point where it would be a joke that she would call to check in on us because of a plane crash that took place halfway around the world. On 9/11, it took me a long time to finally get through to Mom on a phone, and when I did, I collapsed with relief. (I did a lot of collapsing that day.) The idea that Mom is no longer around to call and check up on us in the event of another emergency or disaster...well, it should be no surprise that it's an empty and upsetting feeling.

So even though I'm grateful that I didn't lose anyone close in the 9/11 attacks, I still think about losing Dad in 1990 and losing Mom in 2007. In some way, there's a part of me stuck in both those years. Dad never got to see how the world played out after his death, and neither will Mom see how this country finally adjusts to the fact of 9/11.

One final note about 9/11. Ever since then, Nomi and I check in with each other every morning when we get to work. I'm very grateful that she's around to be a part of my life. I probably don't need to tell anyone this, but today's probably a very good day to remind your loved ones, familes, and friends how much they mean to you.

A few years ago, in an attempt to spur the local economy, the state legislature of Massachusetts instituted a tax-free Saturday. On that Saturday, retailers were exempt from charging sales tax, and people shopped.

Those of us who keep the Jewish sabbath on Saturday were unable to participate, however, and last year the legislature extended the tax-free Saturday to a tax-free weekend partly on our behalf. The only problem was that last year's tax-free Sunday coincided with the Jewish fast of Tisha B'Av, a day that most of us wouldn't really use to go shopping. So this year, for the first time, Nomi and I were able to take advantage of the tax-free weekend.

Sunday morning we woke up early and returned some books and CDs to the library. After morning services at Kadimah, we drove out to Burlington to have breakfast with Nomi's parents and then do a little shopping.

I'm not sure if most people use the tax-free weekend just to shop serendipitously, or have a list of specific items they're intent on purchasing. In our case, it was definitely the latter, as we've had a few big-ticket items that we needed to get, and figured that this weekend would be a good weekend to acquire them.

So after breakfast, we headed straight to the Circuit City in Burlington to buy two items. The first, for ourselves, was a Bose SoundDock Digital Music System to use with our iPods. A few months ago, Nomi had expressed interest in getting speakers for the iPod, so we could listen to music while doing tasks in the apartment. As far as I was concerned, if we were going to buy speakers or a dock, the only one to get was Bose. It costs more, but I knew that the sound quality would be worth it.

Nomi set it up after we got home. I was right.

The other item we bought was a scanner, which is really an estate purchase, because we'll be using it to scan in all the old family photos that Mom kept in albums. This way, my brothers and I can all have copies of the photos, and I can keep the originals in storage. We ended up getting a Hewlett Packard Photosmart C5280 All-in-One Printer, Scanner, and Copier. After sifting through all the suggestions we received, and doing some research on the Internet, this just seemed like the best choice for us.

We stopped at my brother's house to pick up the DVDs of the Super 8 movies from my childhood, as well as the CDs of the slides that Mom took during her trip across the country. I was surprised to discover that Mom's slides included pictures from her wedding, and that the home movies included some sound movies as well as silent ones. (It was amusing to discover a segment in which my brother Jon and I reproduced a quick sketch from "The Muppet Show.")

After a break at home, Nomi and I went out again to do more shopping. The other big-ticket item we had saved for this day was framing. Nomi and I had some original artwork that we've been meaning to get framed for a while, and yesterday was the perfect day to do so. We went to the Corners in Newton, which was somewhat busy because of the tax-free day, so we waited. Eventually, a friendly staff member named Zach helped us out. The items we're framing include a photo of a lighthouse in Maine, given to us by a friend; an original pencil sketch of the comic book superhero Firestorm, done by Paul Gould; a page of original art from the Rod Espinosa adaptation of Alice in Wonderland; and the "Time Ablaze" painting by W.K. Gilbert. In the end, we're getting some gorgeous frames and matting, and the art is going to look cool. (Personally, I think that the "Time Ablaze" painting would look great in a museum...)

Since we were in Newton anyway, we went to Staples for some CD storage boxes and the New England Mobile Book Fair, where I bought the new Woody Allen collection "Mere Anarchy" as well as "The Insanity Defense," one volume combining his three previous books of humorous prose. (Jasper Fforde fans really ought to check out Allen's story "The Kugelmass Episode.") Then we went back home.

We did go out again to buy groceries and dinner from Taam China, but we hadn't planned those purchases for the tax-free weekend.

Thanks to the Massachusetts legislature for this boon. Let's do it again next year.