At the Post with the Fab Four

 

The “Board of Directors” agreed to meet Thursday Night at The Post in Creve Coeur. We are a foursome by virtue of rounds of golf dating back more than 25 years. We are men of a certain age. Successful by almost any conventional measure, we all have respectable careers and all of us celebrate prospects and progress in our respective families.

I have become more reflective in my life, as my wife Lynn passed away earlier this year. Our two kids are grown, married and each have boys born in the past half dozen years (2016). I have always insisted to my daughter Lindsey that the world is a better place with her in it. She is a leader in a Reform Jewish Temple Congregation in Tampa, Florida. My son has grown and has taken his financial skills and general “amazing-ness” and become a Senior Vice President and solid citizen. (He has all that and the heart of an artist.)

Dave has leveraged his brilliant approach to design and merged his commercial art business into a larger enterprise. He is adjusting to a more corporate model after years of prosperity as founder and principal of Sandbox Creative.

Rowdy shares the design background but has morphed himself into a signage and wayfinding impresario. His employer company (sign business) was sold and re-engineered. Rowdy found himself becoming a “go to” guy at BJC Healthcare. He brings pragmatic problem solving and common sense to what clearly can sometimes be a bureaucratic process. (You need only to note the massive web of buildings in one Saint Louis hospital to feel the complexity.)

Tom showed us just how well he could recover from what looked to be a stable position as software/computer application guru in the packaging business for 28 years when his employer sold the company, leaving Tom to face the career “what’s next” of a lifetime. He landed softly with a family owned pizza company and showed them how to manage millions of units of ingredients and hundreds of distribution points (grocery stores, restaurants etc.)

Our meeting came to order as each of my colleagues signed a message to their respective spouse “I will never forget how great you are!” in a custom card featuring a cartoon elephant (designed by wam22). The meeting would inevitably result in bits and pieces of joyful family news from each of us.

Dave’s daughter Samantha is getting married in December in Michigan. Danielle is making strides in her post college career path (as her 24th birthday approaches). Nicole is making herself into a broadcaster and creative powerhouse at Drake University.

Rowdy is grateful for the bountiful occurrence as he becomes a grandpa several times over. He reflects on daughter McKenzie's wedding in Philadelphia. He never hides the pride he has for his son Nick (noting what a blessing it was to follow his boy in soccer at Wisconsin).

Tom’s daughter Grace might have stumbled on to a shrewd career path as part of a high school program that may just gotten her focused on the rigger that could result in a big time government analytics job that will lead to a life in Washington D.C. with panoramic cresidential view of the U.S. Capital. Jack is about to enter college (Tom thinks Missouri might win, but Arkansas, KU and Tennessee are still in the mix).

All of these morsels, as we sit at a table with a bucket of beers, random appetisers, and big screen television monitors in every direction around the place (Hockey, Baseball playoffs, NFL news, Soccer and more). We have much for which to be thankful. Cheers.

Columbus with Janie (part 3)

 

"I feel like a giddy High School girl in love" was the P.S. on the Rebecca & Co. original design card. A Big Hug from me to you - was the message and it arrived in my mailbox about a week before Janie and I would be together again - this time in Columbus, Ohio. I too, feel like a high schooler. Well, in so many ways, it's as if no time had passed at all since we were a couple in High School. 

I flew to Columbus where I would visit with my nephew on Thursday night. Friday morning, Janie drove from Cleveland and we spent a lovely 28 hours together. The Columbus Museum of Art is hosting a special exhibition of Tapestries designed by High Renaissance artist Raphael. Columbus is a twin city with Dresden, Germany and, as such, is the only place in the U.S. showing these remarkable pieces (which once hung in the Sistine Chapel). After Columbus they will go to London.

One of Six Raphael designed Tapestries on view at Columbus Museum of Art

Coffee and Tea in the sculpture garden. In spite of weather predictions of cloudy day, the sun was shinning and the temps are in the sixties. Comfortable and adjacent to Aristide Maillol The Mountain and a reflecting pool.

Lunch at Ohio State Golf Course and a evening with Shadowbox Live regional theater sketch comedy production of Wicked Games. 

A visit with my sister at the Wal-Mart where she sells eyeglasses; The show and The Marriott Columbus OSU spill into breakfast and and pregame of The Ohio State Buckeyes at the Penn State University at JV's house. (JV is stressing a bit over his latest project to rehab and renovate a house in Upper Arlington). 

Janie left for Cleveland mid morning and we racked up a few more memorable moments before returning to our respective lives in Cleveland and Saint Louis (I flew back early Sunday on Southwest wanna get away trip that took me through Chicago).

Photo above: Janie photographed in the Lakewood High School cafeteria in 1974 where she had the same kind of charm, mystery and vibe as the character played by Ali McGraw opposite Ryan O'Neal's character in Love Story (1970). 

Photo Below: Wes and Janie at Ohio State University golf course where we enjoyed a leisurely lunch surrounded by the majesty of a Fall Day in October. 

 

Je t’aime Janie

 

I know you are capable of being alone;

I’ll just text you, so I’ll be on your phone.

I wish you more… You say I could always read you;

Your cards are on the table but never fully shown.

 

Children on hard wood floors making noise;

Five girls and no boys.

Grace Wren Mercy Rooney Prim;

Princess parade proceeding with poise.

 

Cleveland, Cincy and Columbus;

Can’t stop thinking of the two of us;

Old Immigrant brew-pub eclectic;

Divine Intervention…In God we trust.

 

Clifton Park, Edgewater Drive;

It’s great to be alive;

Embracing the moment;

Grateful, as we survive.

 

Consider the time and miles;

Kissing in the dark,   

We’re only dancin’ a while.

And I will always love your smile.

-----------

Love Story

 

They went to the senior dance;

Not ever thinking of an enduring romance.

That night came and went;

Marking time and another life event.

 

Ultimately going their separate ways;

It was a time and place. It was just a phase;

Unaware they were living the good old days.

Simple, present, in retrospect, it amazed. 

 

A reunion and a chance encounter;

Memories rekindle as he once again found her;

They danced around and round;

As the feelings and flames astound.

 

The bond was a magical kind of chemistry;

Familiar places, friends, a shared history;

The why and the how remains a mystery

What they were and are will always be.

Note: The poetry is one way for me to channel my sappy affection for this ironic set of circumstances that brings us together after so many years.

Drimer at the Wall - Jerusalem

 

Reflections on a Wall By David Drimer

Every time in Jerusalem feels like the first time.

But there is a force, a powerful magnet, always drawing me to the Kotel. No matter what prosaic thing I may be doing, it’s always on the fringes of my consciousness. As I wander the streets of the Old City, inching ever closer, the pull becomes stronger.

As much for this reason as for any other, this is the essence of why a Jew makes a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.

Finally, we approach in silence, if not awe. I enter, keenly aware of those around me. Immediately I put my forehead against the wall, by hands above my head, feeling the heat of the rock. I instantly marvel: “How many tens of thousands – hundreds of thousands – of my Jewish forebears have prayed here in this very spot?” Suddenly, I am – as the poem goes – “alone amongst them.”

Candidly, my thoughts quickly turn introspective and soon lead to grief. I unbury my personal pain, the pains of my loved ones, the pains of the world. I consider each in turn. My emotional response is far from unique. It’s been written, “If tears could melt stone, the Kotel wouldn’t be standing.”

I brought little notes of prayer to place in the Wall; one is to my mother Doris/Devorah Rahel (z”l), the other is to my father Gideon/Moishe Gidon (z”l). What I know of unconditional love, I first learned from my mother. She was sick for a long time, suffering in acute pain daily for many years. I have often looked for meaning in her suffering; I have still not found it. On my father’s 90^th birthday, his last, I wrote him a card that said, “Whenever I have a tough ethical decision to make, I think, ‘What would my father do?’” It was true then; it remains true to this day. It’s a hard path; it has cost me. These are the mysteries of life; my road to travel. I consider the totality of their lives and speak my heartfelt prayers to them partially aloud, but sotto voce.

In this quiet period of meditation, I ask for guidance in solving my and my family’s problems, guidance on how to be a better man, a better father, a better husband. I seek guidance on how to best serve the interests of the Jewish community. It’s my career, it’s my calling, my hope is to do it the best I can. My single biggest remaining ambition is to bring my and my wife’s hopes for our Holocaust Awareness Initiative to full fruition. I pray unabashedly for help.

Time spent there sobers me up a little; I start to breathe easier and become more cognizant of the peace of the place; more aware of the simple grandeur of this plain stone wall, a literal wreck for thousands of years.  I begin to sense relief. I have put down my burdens.

I finally remember to pray for the Mets to win the World Series (it can’t hurt.) I don’t bother with the Jets anymore. That ship sailed long ago.

My feelings now drift towards an increasing feeling of serenity and joy. Look at this amazing place. This phenomenal tradition. The spiritual power of this Wall calls people of many religions to dip their toes in the waters of Judaism.

I no longer think of myself as an especially “spiritual” person. Figuratively, I’m the man who blocks the door, while others behind me pray, at least temporarily but blissfully unaware of the looming threat of the outside world. I choose to be alert while others seek transcendence.

But in this place, just before we greet Shabbos, its transcendental for me, as well. It has also been written, “If hopes and dreams could make these stones fly, there would be a wall floating around somewhere in space.”

Eventually – and I have no idea how much time has passed – I turn away.  The women of the wall (“My women of the wall”) have yet to emerge. I learn later my daughter went back to pray twice. My wife, who lost her mother just one year ago, finally emerges teary-eyed. I know precisely what she was praying about. But they are tears of joy. Her mother was a remarkable, powerful woman. My wife is the living embodiment of her mother’s very strong Jewish values. Ina Frey/Chaya Tsura (z”l) looms over our lives every day.

We leave, refreshed. Renewed. Reinvigorated. More inspired by our faith than when we entered. We exit more committed to our cultural imperatives of Tzedakah (Charity) and Tikkun Olam (Repair the World).

Such is my “tongue’s poor speech” on praying at the Western Wall.

Shalom. 

Note: David Drimer shared this piece with me. I read it on what would have been my 42nd snniversary. (October 8, 2022) So beautifully crafted. And for me incredible timing. Dave - you are amazing. So many stories that might begin "A wise dude I knew in college..."