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captainsblogSpent essentially the whole workday in, to and from Rochester. Things were mostly okay once I got there, but it's the getting there that's less than half the fun.
I had an 11 a.m. dental appointment there. Yes, I've stuck with my dentist from over 30 years ago- the last among the three of us to still go there. He's a friend and has a long history of both forgiving my bad habits (I've gotten better in recent years) and overcoming the ills of my first 25 years of complete neglect (the final six or so of which are on me). He does, however, occasionally make a bad hire: I didn't go back for over a year after he placed me with a particularly Nurse Ratchet-ish hygeniest, and when I got there 15 minutes late today, I got a dose of passive-aggressive from the receptionist: "Well, your appointment was for 11 but she can still see you." See? As in I can see the empty waiting room inside and the horrible rain outside that slowed down the trucks and made me late (along with my own clients before leaving)? No matter; the cleaning went fine, and Ron and I are embarking on a Plan to fix 30 years of gradual cosmetic decay on my front seven.
Before I got there, though, I made a bittersweet lunch date for a mile or so down the road toward our old house.
----
In recent years, I became friends with a couple who live near that onetime Rochester suburban neighborhood. They were my companions at the Springsteen concert last February, and at my first Red Wings game in ages last August. This invitation, though, was more pointed: a Jewish cemetery near Rochester, final resting place of Scott's grandfather, had been vandalized; and the local Jewish Community Center became one of many in recent weeks to receive a bomb threat. He invited friends of all and no faiths to join him and there we were- two lifelong Jews, a lapsed Methodist and an agnostic-at-best- supporting love and tolerance in the face of the electoral empowerment of the exact opposites.
Two tables away, we had at least one, each, of a minister, a priest and a rabbi- and the supervisor of the Town of Brighton. Apparently the bars don't open until later, so they couldn't walk into one:
Photo courtesy of Scott's rabbi; hashtag #Tunafishresistance. Not only is that kosher, as Eleanor pointed out, it fits for Lent:)
We talked. We noshed. I offered sympathies, not only for the current political climate, but for the apparent imminent closing of my favorite Jewish deli in the whole universe. I felt blessed. For someone who's been in an indoor church once in over nine months, it's a nice feeling.
----
Before arriving for the nosh, I had enough time to detour through our old Brighton neighborhood. I had to stop at the house that was our home before and just after Emily was born. When we found out she was coming, and then again after she arrived, we planted two young trees on the front lawn. We named them "Minnie" and "Max" after a song from an Ithaca folk singer we'd come to love. A quarter century later, they're still there, and more beautiful (if barer) than ever:
Life grows on, given the slightest chance:)
----
The day ended with a successful court appearance. I'm now back home in Williamsville, and here for two straight days without courtus interruptus. Life still has good, and good will prevail.
I had an 11 a.m. dental appointment there. Yes, I've stuck with my dentist from over 30 years ago- the last among the three of us to still go there. He's a friend and has a long history of both forgiving my bad habits (I've gotten better in recent years) and overcoming the ills of my first 25 years of complete neglect (the final six or so of which are on me). He does, however, occasionally make a bad hire: I didn't go back for over a year after he placed me with a particularly Nurse Ratchet-ish hygeniest, and when I got there 15 minutes late today, I got a dose of passive-aggressive from the receptionist: "Well, your appointment was for 11 but she can still see you." See? As in I can see the empty waiting room inside and the horrible rain outside that slowed down the trucks and made me late (along with my own clients before leaving)? No matter; the cleaning went fine, and Ron and I are embarking on a Plan to fix 30 years of gradual cosmetic decay on my front seven.
Before I got there, though, I made a bittersweet lunch date for a mile or so down the road toward our old house.
----
In recent years, I became friends with a couple who live near that onetime Rochester suburban neighborhood. They were my companions at the Springsteen concert last February, and at my first Red Wings game in ages last August. This invitation, though, was more pointed: a Jewish cemetery near Rochester, final resting place of Scott's grandfather, had been vandalized; and the local Jewish Community Center became one of many in recent weeks to receive a bomb threat. He invited friends of all and no faiths to join him and there we were- two lifelong Jews, a lapsed Methodist and an agnostic-at-best- supporting love and tolerance in the face of the electoral empowerment of the exact opposites.
Two tables away, we had at least one, each, of a minister, a priest and a rabbi- and the supervisor of the Town of Brighton. Apparently the bars don't open until later, so they couldn't walk into one:
Photo courtesy of Scott's rabbi; hashtag #Tunafishresistance. Not only is that kosher, as Eleanor pointed out, it fits for Lent:)
We talked. We noshed. I offered sympathies, not only for the current political climate, but for the apparent imminent closing of my favorite Jewish deli in the whole universe. I felt blessed. For someone who's been in an indoor church once in over nine months, it's a nice feeling.
----
Before arriving for the nosh, I had enough time to detour through our old Brighton neighborhood. I had to stop at the house that was our home before and just after Emily was born. When we found out she was coming, and then again after she arrived, we planted two young trees on the front lawn. We named them "Minnie" and "Max" after a song from an Ithaca folk singer we'd come to love. A quarter century later, they're still there, and more beautiful (if barer) than ever:
Life grows on, given the slightest chance:)
----
The day ended with a successful court appearance. I'm now back home in Williamsville, and here for two straight days without courtus interruptus. Life still has good, and good will prevail.