For 10 years
in mid-June I’ve been a painted bicyclist at Seattle’s Solstice Parade. It’s
how I celebrate my birthday and get spiritually re-calibrated with the support
of 1,000 naked people. This year I went to San Diego instead for a Father’s Day
lunch with Sid at his favorite deli. We invited 4 of his former neighbors he’s
known for decades, none of whom are Jewish. Dad was very concerned about the
possible use of mayonnaise. Everything worked out. It was quite a caravan of
wheelchairs; one of the ladies is recovering from a shattered leg (gardening
accident) and Sid is still healing his ribs. We named them the Broken Bone
Association. We all shared matzoh ball soup, I convinced a Christian missionary
to try cheese blintzes, and Dad stole a reasonable amount of pickles.
Dad is adapting
well to the assisted living area at his community. He misses some of the folks
from the independent building – but not 101-year old Ida (“she’s too mean.”) Note:
Ida is currently writing a pamphlet for newcomers who don’t understand kosher
traditions, as she is horrified by their ignorance. I suggested the title “There’s
No Bacon Here.” Meanwhile, Sid thoroughly enjoys assistance in the shower when done
by attractive girls. I no longer worry about his safety and nutrition. It’s also
family therapy: his residential upgrade has relieved me of constant micromanagement
and it’s worth every penny. No more mystery pills exploding on the kitchen
table. There are still challenges (e.g., why do his hearing aids fall out when
he chews?) however it’s wonderful to once again have a phase of relative calm.
This is all bonus time, and I’m grateful. Yes, I made the right choice how to greet
summer.
