Veterans Day

Today is Veterans Day. Despite, or maybe because of, the events of this week, it would be a shame to overlook the importance of this recognition of those who have given so much to defend our country.

Veterans Day originated as “Armistice Day” on Nov. 11, 1919, the first anniversary of the end of World War I. Congress passed a resolution in 1926 for an annual observance, and Nov. 11 became a national holiday beginning in 1938. In 1954, President Eisenhower officially changed the name of the holiday from Armistice Day to Veterans Day. Veterans Day pays tribute to all American veterans–living or dead–but especially gives thanks to living veterans who served their country honorably during war or peacetime.

Veterans Day is not to be confused with Memorial Day–a common misunderstanding, according to the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs. Memorial Day (the fourth Monday in May) honors American service members who died in service to their country or as a result of injuries incurred during battle.

Just one question: why are we still adding to the ranks of war veterans?

We awoke this morning to the sad news of the death of Leonard Cohen. It sure has been a difficult week.

Have a peaceful weekend.

Love,

Rebecca

Time to try to laugh again

Little to say

I ended my post yesterday saying, “Whoever wins, may we Americans come together and continue to work for peace and prosperity for all.”

Today, that is all I have.

Love,

Rebecca

Lost in the shuffle

Lost in the shuffle of this presidential campaign has been something that, under different circumstances, would have been an incredibly big deal, namely, that we may well be breaking an enormous glass ceiling in electing a woman to the highest office in our land. Many other countries have long since passed this milestone, but here in the United States of America it remains but a dream.

When it comes to human characteristics, most thinking and sensitive people strive for color blindness. Gender blindness, however, is not so simple. There is, at the end of the day, that bottom line difference between men and women in continuing the species. But the question remains whether that difference must or should influence anything other than the act of reproducing ourselves. The election of a woman president is a clear statement that it does not have to.

So I cast my vote this morning mindful that future generations may be looking back on this day and admiring that the American people had the strength and courage to step outside of their long-nurtured comfort zone and elect the first female president of the United States. Whoever wins, may we Americans come together and continue to work for peace and prosperity for all.

Love,

Rebecca

VOTE!

I sat down this afternoon and started to draft a post for tomorrow. Of course, not knowing the outcome of the presidential election, there is only so much I can say short of writing two versions. The only common ground is that I will be able to start with the same sentence: at least it’s finally over!

But just to lighten things up a bit, here are a few things that came to mind.

The name Donald, which is of Celtic origins, means “proud chief, world ruler.” I am only surprised he has not made more of a point of this.

I am not sure if anyone has pointed this out, but in medical jargon, DT (Donald’s initials) is used as a shorthand for Delirium tremens, which are severe alcohol withdrawal symptoms such as shaking, confusion, and hallucinations. Without the alcohol, Mr. Trump has certainly engendered plenty of agitation in the American people.

The name Hillary comes from the Latin for “cheerful girl,” perhaps not quite as good a fit as Mr. Trump’s name.

In the Twitter world, @HRC is the name for the Human Rights Campaign, an organization which represents a force of more than 1.5 million members and supporters nationwide. As the largest national lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer civil rights organization, HRC envisions a world where LGBTQ people are ensured of their basic equal rights, and can be open, honest and safe at home, at work and in the community.

Whatever else you do tomorrow, VOTE!

Love,

Rebecca

Long story short

Everyone who knows me knows that I have a difficult time telling a short story. I appreciate that all of you who read my musings are busy people, and in the interest of trying to respect your time I try to keep the stories short. But I may have done a bit of injustice to the tale of the baby shoe charm.

I still feel no need to walk you through every step of that day, but what I failed to say was that the entire process took the better part of the day. The first half hour was the trip to Mount Sinai for my appointment early that morning. Then, more than 5 hours passed between the time we left Mount Sinai for 47^th Street and the time we arrived home. So, in total, we spent 5½ hours securing that little shoe.

As we recounted the detailed story to Dina, she made an interesting observation: it took us more time to obtain that little charm than it took Dina to complete labor and give birth to an entire new human being!

Love,

Rebecca

Back in order

Early this morning, I headed into The City with Barry. While he taught his class and got some work done, I waited for my appointment for my Sandostatin injection at a nearby Starbucks. I had started with a partially filled oxygen cylinder, so had brought along an extra one in a second canvas bag that fits the size tanks I use.

You do not see too many folks out and about with supplemental oxygen. And I sometimes wonder whether people might feel nervous watching me take an oxygen cylinder out of a bag, screw the regulator on top of it, and open the lever to allow the oxygen to flow. I am happy to say that I have never had such reactions, but in these somewhat dark days I found myself pondering whether my behavior might look suspicious, and how I would react if it did.

In general, the only people who routinely stare at me with my oxygen are children, and I often find myself explaining to them before they even ask, because I think it is less frightening to look at this as a more routine part of some people’s lives.

After my Sandostatin injection, we headed down to West 47^th Street, the “jewelry district.”  This is always quite an experience. The long block of 47^th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues is full of jewelry stores, some stand-alone but many places where multiple small jewelers peddle their wares from individual stalls. We had bought the baby shoe charms and necklace after our first two, Joshua and Eliana, were born from one of these vendors our friend Judy had told us about, and we have gone back to the same vendor each time. When Maya was born, we saw that four charms just were not hanging in a very attractive way, and the jeweler suggested we separate the individual shoes with gold balls. When Julia was born, we were fortunate that Judy still had the contact information for the jeweler, so we were able to return to the same place. And they are still right there last saw them 2½ years ago.

As I mentioned before, in the interest of symmetry I had reordered the little shoes to put the boy in the middle flanked by two girls on each side. But now that we have both an oldest and a youngest boy with four girls in between, it was only natural to put the children back together in birth order. The jeweler was busy so he said that if we wanted to get this done today, perhaps we could string the balls and the charms ourselves. He removed the slasp so the balls and charms would easily slip off the chain. Getting the chain through the tiny holes in the balls turned out to be a bit challenging but helped ensure a true 47^th Street experience. So here are our six charms, in birth order, on the necklace.

I can hear you all saying “may you wear them for many years in good health!”

Love,

Rebecca