Dan had to work New Year’s Eve. He and his fellow officers walked around Times Square and kept people watching the ball drop from their pens safe. He did a FaceTime with Anat at midnight to wish her a happy New Year. She held up Jerry. She wasn’t sure if she should keep him up this late. But she figured it was New Year’s.
Alana and Marc did what they always did. They had sandwiches and beer. This year they chose roast beef from Brennan & Carr. Marc visited his Sheepshead Bay-based grandma earlier for her birthday. As usual, they watched Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve. All they watched was the ball drop. Every year the performers get worse and worse. This year they thought it was the worst of the worst. They dreamed of having up and coming new bands. Perhaps the Weird Wolves or Slooshy. And throw in some real talent. Maybe U2, Depeche Mode, Springsteen, Patti Smith or Sting? If only the Ramones were still around.
Just after the ball dropped Marc played the live version of “New Year’s Day.” He chose the Red Rocks version. Man, U2 in 1983. When music was still good. They did a Zoom beer with all their friends. All were in good spirits. By that time Jerry was fast asleep in his baseball pajamas. Anat didn’t know if she should put him in Red Sox PJs or wait till he chose his team. She wanted him to like Boston. But wouldn’t push it on him. If Alana ever gave birth the kid would probably pop out in a Yankee hat and Iron Horse jersey.
Things were quiet. No one knew where Jay was. He was laying low. But they knew he was preparing more havoc. He was still on bolos throughout the USA. No one has seen him.
Jay knew exactly what he was doing. He was living upstate NY in a cave.
The trio knew about Jay’s escape. Here it is Christmas Day and Marc is sitting at home. Normally, he’d go to the movies or be with friends. Alana was in the kitchen. The two were bored out of their minds. The pandemic was getting to everyone.
Marc was still questioning his beliefs. Today is a minor fast day and for some reason, he’s fasting. Later on, he will break it with a nice meal from his friend’s food cart. He picked it up yesterday.
Jay was hiding. He knew they’d find him again. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. He had to get out of the US. In his disheveled mind, he began to think of a plan to leave. He figured he could not buy an airline ticket. He had to be on a watch list. He thought of sneaking over the border to Mexico. But he’s in NY and he’d have to get there. The police would have put out a bolo on him nationwide.
Marc went outside in the pouring rain to the convenience store. He saw a few kids not wearing masks.
This reminded him of his episode in the pharmacy months ago. He looked at the kids and they laughed at him. Marc shot pomegranates at them. Marc was not one to use his powers if unattacked. But he felt people not following the PPE rules was attacking society. He used that for his justification. He really unloaded. The kids went down. He bought a few things and went home.
Anat, also fasting was warming up the food from the cart.
Anat was home with Jerry. Dan was over. They were playing games. Dan checked his phone and saw a text about Jay. It seems that he was seen running through the Bronx. The NYPD was searching. Anat texted Alana and Marc. They said they’d go out there if need be. Marc kept his interlude with the unmasked kids quiet for now. But he knew eventually he’d tell Alana.
Marc broke the fast while humming U2 tunes. The police were near Yankee Stadium. But couldn’t find Jay. They deepened the search.
Marc hadn’t been to weekday morning services in days. Yesterday, he sat through them. He wondered whether the religious scriptures were the first comic book? He read the different pages and wondered if Stan Lee looked to these for his influences. He figured when the scriptures were written how stoned the writers were.
Let’s face it if today someone said a serpent told me to eat the forbidden fruit, they’d be placed in Bellevue. Perhaps in those times, they didn’t have mental hospitals and psych evals. The times were more primitive. Marc dreamed on during services about the truth of anything.
He figured the stories were passed down through the years and like when someone wakes up from a drunken night they remember things differently than what happened. Plus, the substances they ingested changed their thoughts and vision. Marc still wanted to believe. However, he needed real proof. That is his problem. He’s a researcher. No stone goes unturned
Meanwhile, Jay was seated in the back of the squad car. He was being taken to a maximum-security prison. He was jittery. But was hatching a plan. He has done this before. He knew it was a matter of time before he pulled a fast one. His hands were cuffed. That will slow him down. But that isn’t a problem. The car drove along.
Jay knew it was time. He started aiming glass through the barricade at the driver. Glass shot out of his eyes and nose. He hit the driver in the neck. The glass sliced through his skin. The car started to swerve. The cop in the passenger seat tried to grab the wheel. As he did, Jay fired glass at his eyes. Direct hit. The car was moving in a such way that it’d be pulled over for DWI. As the car shimmied, Jay rolled over to the back driver’s side door and kicked the lock open. His foot opened the door and he rolled out. The car flew into a tree. There were two police vehicles behind it. They slammed on their brakes and came to a shortstop. Jay still cuffed shot glass at the tires of the cars. Those cars barreled into each other. Jay managed to get glass into the locks of the cuff. They snapped right off. He ran.
Marc saw the police car pull into the lot. He heard more sirens and figured more were on the way. Everyone knows the threat Jay is. Marc smiled when he saw the two cops. Jay was tied to a tree.
Marc was happy to see Joe and Kelly coming to the scene. Marc and Joe worked together as teens in a fast food restaurant. Shortly after college graduation, Marc briefly dated Kelly. They all exchanged pleasantries. Of course, they know Alana from back in the day. Other officers arrived.
Jay was shackled and dragged into a police vehicle. Marc and Alana held each other and kissed. Better late than never for those two to fool around in the park. They felt relieved, as the Sisters of Mercy played from Alana’s iPhone.
Alana was behind the wheel of her car with Marc stretching out in the passenger’s seat. He briefed Anat via text. Alana drove on to the sounds of Slooshy, Viva Gore’s band. Her sister’s band, Weird Wolves would play next. As they reached the BQE their dad’s band, Depeche Mode was playing “Behind the Wheel.” It was perfect music for the downtime after catching a criminal.
They knew their work was not over. No one expected Jay to remain in prison. No, it was not the judge that would release him. They knew he would hatch another escape plan.
Anat was still delivering groceries. She still wanted to help. She took Jerry along in his stroller. He was not going to need it much longer. He was always itching to get out and walk by himself. Soon enough. Anat wanted to instill giving back to Jerry at a young age. He enjoyed the ride and the candy he got for staying quiet.
Anat saw far too many people without masks and not social distancing. She was annoyed. She saw a few tough kids hanging out on Third Ave. None wore the proper PPE. She got angry. She tried to remain calm. But she knew she had a baby to keep safe.
She asked them to put masks on and think about the people in the neighborhood, especially the elderly. The kids laughed. One of the teen girls threw her lipstick at Anat. It hit her in the head.
She held the stroller and listened to the laughter of the teens. She smiled. She should have walked away.
But she fired raisins at the girl. The girl had no idea what hit her. One of the boys ran toward her. She fired dates and apricots. One pulled out his mobile to film this. Anat pushed the stroller like a Nascar and was out of the line of sight. The kids were scared and stunned. They didn’t know if they should post something. Or stay quiet out of fear people would think they would need psych evals.
Anat finished her work on an office project. They were respectful of her maternity leave. However, they knew she was the aptest at the assignment they needed to complete.
It took her a short period. She was going crazy over the Jay situation. But she thought it was best to stay home with Jerry. She didn’t want Jay to see Jerry. Jerry had no interest in seeing him. As a three-year-old, he didn’t come out and say it. But she could tell every time they encountered him, Jerry was scared and cried. Anat planned to end that.
Anat even had a phone call with Jen. Since Anat’s shower, the two texted a little bit. Jen was a good soul. A goofy kid. But she never really wanted to hurt anyone. Jen thought one day Benjamin could play with Jerry. The ladies decided they would say they met when they were younger and not get into their real story. The two seemed happy enough to place that into ancient history.
Meanwhile, Alana was deep into the woods behind Tottenville High School. She remembered the days when the headbangers would be there smoking their joints. The guidos weren’t too far behind with their stash and their Aquanet girlfriends. You could hear Motley Crue, Metallica and whatever dance music the guidos liked blasting out of boom boxes or the headphones of their Sony Walkman. A nicer time.
Alana never participated in any of that. She hung with Marc and all black-clad group and swore by Bauhaus, the Cure, Depeche Mode, Joy Division, New Order and U2. And don’t forget Siouxsie and the Banshees. The days when goth was goth. And new wave was new. Oh well. A better time it was.
She didn’t find Jay. She saw broken glass. But it looked like it was from beer bottles. Jay’s was usually from bottles of spirits.
Marc was on the trails of Wolfe’s Pond Park. As usual, there was construction. Much of the park was not habitable. He loved this park. He learned to skate there and attended Cub Scout picnics. Like the woods of Tottenville High School Wolfe’s Pond Park had similar characters. Sometimes the guys and girls snuck away from the school and came here to for their teen exploits. On warm nights several went skinny-dipping in the water.
He heard a strange noise near the basketball court. He remembered when the NYC Parks Department built that and the roller hockey rink. It was getting darker. He heard the sounds of the birds flying above him. He wondered why the NYPD wasn’t searching here. He figured they were concentrating on Amboy Road.
Dan just got off his shift and raced over to Staten Island. First stop was to his nephew, Smith in the hospital. His sister was in love with Robert Smith of the Cure all her life. Her husband was Robert. He too loved the Cure. They met during the Disintegration Tour at the former Giants Stadium on August 20, 1989. They shared a pack of M&Ms. Even though they were underage managed to get a Stella, which they shared.
Smith was doing better. He got stitches. Glass from the windows of his home tore into him from his home’s windows when they shattered by Jay’s extra strength glass.
Marc continued to hear noises and slowly crept up toward the site of them. He saw Jay curled into a ball and smoking a joint. He heard Judas Priest coming out his ear pods. Marc fired honey and barley. Jay was caught off guard. Marc texted Alana. She responded she was heading over. She knew where they were. She and some crazy guy in high school once fooled around over there to the sounds of New Order.
Alana sent a quick note to Anat. She quickly responded and said to keep her posted. She will try to get there. But not to count on it. Alana knew motherhood was keeping her at bay. Her heartbeat on. She knew her mission.
In the middle of his babbles, Alana snuck up and fired apples at his chest. She drowned him in wine. Jay kept firing. He finally nailed Alana in her left foot. She went down. But only for a few seconds. Marc glanced at her and kept firing pomegranates. He knew she was ok. Marc punched Jay in the face.
Jay got up and started to fire at Marc. He missed and it a few trees. The birds went nuts. Marc wondered if he should alert the NYPD? So far they’ve tried very hard. But were not strong enough for Jay’s powers. The two kept at each other. Jay started screaming incomprehensible things. You could tell he was stoned.
He called the cops. He told them he and his girlfriend found Jay.
Tzipora went into labor. Eran rushed her to Mt. Sinai. Interesting for her to be a patient there since she’s treated so many at this hospital. All went fine. She delivered quickly and felt ok. She had a baby girl. Happiness exploded between her and Eran.
They whipped out their iPhones and shot away. All of their family and friends were excited. Texts flooded their phones. They told everyone to watch the naming ceremony on Zoom in a few days. They already named her, Tamar Hannah after Eran’s great grandmother and Tzipora’s grandmother. But only they knew her name.
Late in the afternoon the day after she gave birth, Tzipora took her new bundle of joy home. Eran had their Second Avenue apartment sanitized. The baby’s room was bright pink. Alana helped picked some of the furniture and decorations. She pushed for black. But lost that argument. Alana gave them a case of Pampers and some other things.
Meanwhile, Anat was doing well with Jerry. She enjoyed meeting Dan’s family. They liked her. They made plans to meet again in a few weeks.
Jay on the other hand was stalking Dan’s parent’s house and found out where his sister resides.
Alana met the baby. She loved her. Again, her heart crumbled. But she knew her role in life is not motherhood. And Marc’s is not fatherhood. She knew if she decided to have a baby, Marc was the only person she would have it with. Those two were in their world. But they protected everyone else’s. So let it be.
Dan was listening to the police scanner while in his squad car midtown. He heard of dozens of officers being called to Huguenot. When he heard the Eylandt Street address, Dan slammed the brakes. That was his sister’s house. He heard the report of a crazed man firing glass at the house, which contained a woman and young boy. Dan called into the 123 PCT to see what he could learn. He texted Anat, who was home with Jerry. She did take maternity leave when Jerry’s adoption was finalized. However, she still checked in with her office. There were projects that she had the most solid grip with.
Anat knew what was going on. She texted Marc and Alana. They had to figure out how to get to Staten Island to end this. Marc was the closest. He was at Whitehall Street taking pictures of the Staten Island Ferry and other marine traffic. He boarded the Spirit of America and prayed he could get there. It would take forever. Once he got off the boat he needed to catch the Staten Island Railway. He had no idea if it was making all the south shore stops. And once he got to the Huguenot Station he had a 10-15 minute walk to the site. It was not good.
Alana jumped into her car and prayed the LIE and BQE traffic to the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge was not at its usual standstill. Covid-19 or not, those roads were still gridlock. Ah, NYC life.
Anat wanted to go. However, she could not take Jerry. That would amp up Jay more. Alana was making good time. She pulled off Exit 5 of the Pearl Harbor Veterans Expressway. She raced over. She saw two ambulances and plenty of NYPD cars. She didn’t see Jay. She hacked into the police scanner and heard he was on the run. She saw an ambulance pull away. Dan’s nephew was being transported to the hospital. The EMTs stopped his bleeding. He needed stitches.
Alana peeled her eyes for Jay. She figured he was probably somewhere in the woods by Tottenville High School or Wolfe’s Pond Park. Marc was getting off the train when Alana said she would go to the school and told him to head to the park.
Thanksgiving came and went. Marc and Alana had a turkey and all the usual fixings. It was quiet at Marc’s place. According to tradition at noon they listened to “Alice’s Restaurant.” For the remainder of the day they played a mix of everything from classic rock, goth and new wave.
Anat celebrated her first Thanksgiving since she used to go to her grandparents and be tortured by her mom and dad. She reminisced about those days and was still considering reaching out to her parents. Dan did a doubleheader on Thanksgiving. Anat’s for turkey with falafel and hummus and his folks for the more traditional meal.
Jerry ate lots. He smiled the whole time. He had no idea what this holiday is. Anat got him a few coloring books and they colored in the pilgrims and Indians. He was learning. This was his first real Thanksgiving. It was his first real celebration of any holiday. His parents were always too stoned no matter what day of the week it was and had no idea if it was a holiday or not.
Anat and Jerry drove out to Annadale to meet Dan’s parents. Dan grew up there. She was nervous. But she loved the guy and figured she had to meet his mom and dad. She brought flowers and a cake. Dan was already there when she arrived. She hadn’t been to Staten Island in years. She thought it was cute.
She and Jerry walked in. Dan’s mom greeted them. She picked up Jerry and gave him a big kiss. Dan’s sister, Ellen showed up a few minutes late. She’s loud. But sweet. She’s a typical Staten Island girl.
Anat went through the abridged version of her life story. Ellen thought her kid would love Anat. He’s a die-hard Yankee fan. Anat mentioned she went to school with Mike Mussina.
Mom figured they’d order a few pies from Gino’s Villa Monte. That happened to be Marc’s favorite place. There was a Giants game on television. Dan and dad were watching, while mom, Anat and Ellen chatted away. Jerry rolled around on the floor with Casey, Dan’s parents Labrador. The two instantly became friends.
All was going well. The pizza was perfect. Everyone got along well. In her heart, Anat was sad. She wished she could do this with her folks. The food would be different. It would be just as good. Anat’s mom despite her shortcomings was a great cook. She was leaning towards trying to make amends. But wondered if she went through enough of a transformation.
Meanwhile, Jay was riding his motorcycle down Amboy Road. He stopped near the Annadale Train Station, just a few blocks from Dan’s family. He turned in their direction and started to ride over.
I am thankful that when I walk into the gym my eyes are overwhelmed with signage informing me of its new policies to prevent the spread of Covid-19. The same situation exists in our stores and subways.
Similar material is found everywhere else, i.e., barbershops, parks and religious institutions. Hopefully, they stay open as the next rounds of closures are being determined. They are essential for our well being.
In most cases, the health club signs directing one to wipe off each machine before and after usage have always been present. Now they are more visible in both placement and amount placed. Social distancing is new. They even have social distancing signs at the sinks and urinals in the restrooms.
The Staten Island Ferry has social distancing signs noting where you can’t sit. I wish the subway did. While cleaner than ever before. In many cases, it is still every rider’s game. For the most part, people are following the rules concerning masks. People are trying to social distance. You still have your panhandlers. On Thanksgiving Day, I was on the “R” line from Forest Hills to Whitehall Street. For most of the ride, I was alone in the car. There’s nothing like a private subway ride. We had our one panhandler. She was asking for money to buy face cream. That was a new one. Usually, they say they need money to buy beer, cigarettes, coffee or a sandwich. We had our “entertainer.” She was dancing in the car and taking selfies with each step. She seemed to like to spin around the poles and grab the handrails. Imagine if we still had the straps? She could have had more fun.
The ferry terminal and Spirit of America vessel was empty. I spoke to a deckhand about the John F. Kennedy boat, which is being retired by year-end. A loss. It has been a reliable mode of transit since 1965. According to the deckhand still runs better than most of the other boats.
The cleanliness of these facilities, sites, etc., is great. But it does raise several questions. Around two decades ago, my mom was riding the ferry. Roaches were all over it. She called Staten Island Borough Hall. Mom was transferred to the “roach lady.” They had someone designated to handle these complaints. Thankfully this situation seems to have ended. The subway stations and cars have always been filthy. Not anymore. When riding the train, I now see MTA employees cleaning both the cars and stations. Plus an overnight shutdown is in effect to allow the MTA to super-sanitize.
The health clubs were generally clean. Of course, that also depends on whether the members do their part to keep it clean. Much of that is true with mass transit. Gym goers and riders must keep their area clean. In other words, people should have always been wiping down machines before and after use. We don’t need Covid-19 to smack that into our heads. Yes, there are still gym members who sweat all over the machines and walk away. Most are following the rules.
The containers from the food you wolfed down on the subway need to go in the receptacles in the station. Not the tracks. You might not get the chance to record a rat eating a slice of pizza and getting thousands of hits. Sure it made for entertaining news stories, t-shirts and NY moments. Hopefully, most would rather keep our environment cleaner and reduce the risk of disease.
Stay clean. Stay safe. Let’s work together to reduce the risk of our current pandemic and stop others in their tracks.
Original Post, 11/6/13 former ELEM-Entry NY — Sadly the problems still exist. Message me if you want to volunteer or donate, I can put you in touch with staff to make a difference.
When you think of Israel, the first thing that often comes to mind is the crisis over the disputed territories. Or perhaps, you think of pious Jews spending their time learning Torah. But how often do you think of the Holy Land’s growing problem with teen and adult age prostitution?
Probably not much.
While rarely spoken of or addressed, every year prostitution in Israel increases at staggering numbers. According to ELEM Youth in Distress in Israel, there are thousands of youth involved in prostitution. Most of Israel’s prostitutes were sexually abused while growing up. They came to believe that rather than staying in a home where they were forced to have sex with family members, they could get earn a living by entering the field of prostitution.
Their ages generally range from 12-24. In most cases, they are 16-20. Many still live in the homes they were abused in. These girls perform numerous sexual acts for their clients But in most cases they receive no or very nominal amounts of money for their service. Generally, close to 90 percent of the payment goes back to the pimps. The women work for food and drinks. In many cases, this is more than they got at home. Just recently, I spent time in Eilat at ELEM’s Erem Balayla (Awake at Night) house, which helps build feelings of trust that the girls working the streets have never felt. The small house, which just opened, is adjacent to a high school. Several nights a week ELEM’s volunteers gather there before they walk the streets to find women in need of their help. Currently there are about 10 volunteers at Erem Balayla and 15 working with other ELEM outreach projects in Eilat.
About 1,700 people volunteer with ELEM throughout Israel. Hila, a female volunteer in her early 20s, who is studying social work gave me a quick tour of the facility and we hopped into a taxi to go to the area where the prostitutes work. Upon exiting the cab she showed me the bars where the pimps send them to find clients. The streets were scattered with their “business cards”. These cards showed the prostitute’s photo and contact information.
I saw similar on the boardwalk at Frishman Beach, Tel Aviv. We strolled the streets and Hila told me that the working girls usually hang out in the bars. They know which guys will buy them drinks or something to eat. Once the hook up is made and the drinks and food are done they usually walk to the massage parlor or other locations. The bottom floor of the massage parlor is the Grand Central Station for Eilat’s prostitutes. It contains many doorless rooms and a shower or two. A person could walk by numerous rooms and witness sex acts being performed. The girls then will take a shower and move onto the next client.
The ELEM volunteers often wait in the bars or at the massage parlor. They see the girls exiting their shifts and approach them. ELEM has changed the paradigm of how they work with these people to change their lives. They never chastise them for working in this profession. They become their friends. They become a person they can talk to about any topic. The girls get cell phones from ELEM staff to use to call them. It is not uncommon for girls to meet with a volunteer once a week just to chat or have coffee. The volunteers call these girls regularly. They call just to say hello and to build trust. It takes some time for the girls to begin trusting ELEM’s volunteers. But eventually many do. It is not unusual for the girls to see 20-30 clients over the span of 10-12 hours. So in other words they don’t rest on Shabbat.
Sadly, Motzei Shabbat (the conclusion of Shabbat, when the work and other restrictions are lifted), it is not uncommon for many Orthodox Jews to go visit these girls. They line up at the massage parlor or in bars. They usually travel in teams of two. One will take off his kippah and long black coat and give it to his friend to hold. He will find a girl and when he is done, the friend will find a girl. And the one who just finished seeing a prostitute will hold his religious effects. Muslim dads will take their 13 year-old sons to a girl to ensure they lose their virginity. While some of the girls use drugs, very few become addicts. They may smoke a little or pop a pill or two. This is done to help them escape what they are doing.
Hila and I sat in the Beatles bar sipping beer waiting to see if any prostitutes would enter. None did. But that’s because we were there too early. We left the bar. I went back to my hotel. Hila went home. But somewhere on the streets of Eilat were young girls that needed help from ELEM’s volunteers and professional staff. Thankfully these people are out there donating their time.
Yes, I know it is the wrong poem. But to quote Rush, “I will choose free will.” So what are you doing tonight? “Thanksgiving Eve” for the last 20 or so years has been one of my favorite nights.
Tonight I was supposed to be at Lincoln Center to listen to the Philharmonic’s performance of Beethoven, Bronfman and Bruckner. Instead, I’m home writing and listening to Peter Katz, a Canadian folk singer I discovered during one of Jeff Pulver’s Zoom Zulas. I’ve seen Katz on Pulver’s Zooms several times. Always worth it. It’d be great when this over to see him at a venue in NYC. I’ll get some classical on soon. This is just the warm up. Or maybe a similar style of what I’d be listening to, while in PJ Clarke’s Lincoln Center.
Last Thanksgiving Eve, I was at Lincoln Center. The one before that, you guessed it, Lincoln Center. Years before I made Lincoln Center my venue the night before turkey day, I’d be somewhere in the city. It might be the theater district for one of Broadway’s dramas or musicals. Years ago, when I was much younger, my boys and I would meet up at the original Clarke’s on 55th and Third. One of the gang was a friend of the bartender. We got great deals. We had fun.
In 1996 we started there for a buddy’s bachelor party. We got back to my former home on Staten Island around 2 or 3 a.m. I had to be up in a few hours to go the then Newark Airport to surprise my dad, who was residing in Houston on his 50th birthday. For business reasons, he just moved there from San Francisco.
He knew people were coming for Thanksgiving and his birthday. But my sister and I were the last people he expected. We spent a few days in Houston and San Antonio and flew back to the rock. We had a nice holiday. Dad was thrilled we were the ones who arrived in the Lone Star State.
The night before Thanksgiving is always fun. The next day is, too. My favorites included ones when I was very young at my aunt’s house in Brooklyn. She served franks-in-blankets as an appetizer. I think I like that better than the turkey. My mom did it a few times. She followed my aunt’s routine. I spent many Thanksgivings at my cousin’s home in Manalapan. That was like going to a five star restaurant.
In 2011, I decided to skip Thanksgiving. But guess what? You can’t. I spent the holiday in Tel Aviv. I sat on the beach and called my family. At night I went to volunteer with ELEM Youth in Distress in Israel. That evening, I arrived at 9 Reshit Chochma Street. After hanging out on the street for a few minutes, the ELEM van loaded with social workers and volunteers who coordinate the “Someone to Run With” program arrived. Shortly after, teens and young adults who needed help from ELEM arrived.
As they were chatting, volunteers began preparing sandwiches. They asked me to join them. I was really excited when they handed me a turkey and hummus sandwich. My sketchy Hebrew and their sketchy English made for interesting conversations. Not really understood. But they passed me more turkey. I smiled.
In 2013, I went to my sister’s. She just moved into her new home a week before. Dad flew in from his last place of residence, Florida. We had a great dinner. We lost him a few months later. Thanksgiving was the last time we saw each other.
Well, this year I know that the night before and day of Thanksgiving is different for all of us. Most of us are stuck at home. Some are with family. Some are on our own. It has given me time to reflect on Thanksgivings of yesteryear and remember those who left us and those who are still here and trying to make the best of it. It’s tough.
As I close this piece to Mozart, I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving.
Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc. 