Happy Father’s Day 2010

Americana, Psychological Musings, What's a man?

 

Daddy-1-0029

Last Thursday, I went to see my daddy’s grave. He died 42  years ago and I have only been to his grave a
couple of times – if that is the right word for a filedrawer in a marble wall – but I was in the neighborhood taking pictures for Michele, had some time, and Father’s Day was coming up.

He is at the Gardens of Eternity, a Jewish cemetery, in the necropolis of Colma. The first time I went to see him, I couldn’t find him. When I got to where I thought he was and looked up at all the 2’ by 2’ niche covers with
people’s names on them, I saw my grandparent’s niches, I saw my aunt Minette’s niche; but  not my daddy’s.  I
must have walked around the area 3 or 4 times, looking at every name on every
niche.

I finally found him around the corner from the family. At the time, I wrote, There, around the corner from the rest of the family, was
Daddy. Alone, in this small little
space. It was so sad. Just standing there, looking at my daddy’s
little niche with

Alfred Joseph

1906-1968

Stern

It felt like he was not there; that he was very,
very, gone. I touched his neatly bifurcated name with my
fingers and I felt so alone.  The letters
were cold and unequivocal. 

Last Thursday, I had the same feeling. I was more prepared for it, but I still had the same feelings of loss. I never
really knew my father. I wish I had. He was what we used to call a proud man meaning he was not a person who talked about his inner life. So his fears, hopes, disappointments, and dreams were all unknown to me – and, I think, everybody else. 

Now, I am more than eight years older than my daddy was when he died.

Israel’s Ultra-Orthodox Protest Schools Ruling

Uncategorized

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I really just want to post this article from the New York Times – or, as Beth keeps telling me. The Times – because the picture is so great. It just looks like a still from a very funny part of a Woody Allen movie.

It is a richer and more complicated article than I am going to summarize but, basically, the European  Orthodox Jews – boy, I hate using Jew or Jews: I was brought up to use Jewish because Jew was derogatory – don't want their daughters going to school with the daughters of Arab and North African Orthodox Jews. The Israeli Supreme Court ruled that that was racism and this is a protest against that ruling.

Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to me.

Americana, Current Affairs, Evolution, San Mateo County

Yesterday was my 70th Birthday. It is a bigger deal than I expected. Michele suggested that we celebrate -partially – by weeding. It was a great Idea.

Part of the rebuilding of the Portola Valley Town Hall was digging up the pipe and re-naturalizing part of a creek that used to flow through the Town Hall area – only sort of re-naturalizing because, here, the creek was probably a flood plain. The new creek fragment has been planted with natives by Acterra a self-described Environmental education and action nonprofit.

The new plants are thriving but so are the invasive non-natives. The good thing about natives is that the native bugs1 like them. In the past, I would have thought that was a bad thing, but now that I am over 70 – and wiser – I realize that it is a good thing. Bigger bugs and birds like the little bugs and need them to survive. Bugs eating plants is the first step of the food chain.

Because bugs haven't yet adapted to and don't eat – in general – non-native plants, a great looking South African bulb like Crinum macowanii might as well be plastic. They look great but are not part of the food chain. 

Crinum macowanii 

So we spent a couple of hours, under Acterra's tutelage, weeding. It turns out to be a great way to spend a couple of hours on a birthday: getting rid of those things that – while they may look good – don't add to our lives. Sort of like taking stock….with action points. And, when we were finished, the creek looked like we hadn't been there.

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TownHallGarden-2-4635
 

1 bugs as in insects, not bugs in the more limited sense of beetles only.