Women's Weekend With Men

While the wind is still fresh on my face and my abdomen is still aching from laughter, I have to take a moment to recollect what was. A rock hop on the beach, with the waves lapping slow on the shore, Marta and Dan on either side of me as we shared a collective experience and collected a shared memory. A reunion of many, introduction of some, as eight willing and eager souls gathered together to embark on an emerging tradition. Many hands make light work. Lazy sods make impressions in the sofa. What is the sound of seven goofballs squished into one Odyssey, with only a concentrated pilot making any sense? Did I mention the vapors? Here a pair, there a trio, solo screeners, group creators in the kitchen, whispered remembrances, revelatory revelations. Two syllables short of a haiku. The beauty of reconstituting leftovers to a culinary excellence not previously thought possible makes old age seem exciting. The abundance of sharing; humor, recipes, loved ones, wishes, dreams, talents, wisdom, money, energy, admiration, compliments, elbows (billandchris), and belly laughs. If this was all there was, it would be enough. But there was so much more.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. And I don’t even like turkey. What I love is the gathering. I love that we have family to celebrate. I love that every year my uncle (my father’s brother) would place the family on the living room fireplace hearth, set the camera timer and snap our portrait. There were ten of us when we started; my Mom, my Dad, my two older sisters, my aunt, my uncle and three boy cousins. The reason we gathered at my house, and it was always at my house, was that it was my parents’ anniversary. They were married on the Saturday night of Thanksgiving in 1948. Over the years, as we grew, we added to the family portrait. Boyfriends came and went, my aunt and uncle (GASP) got divorced (although both always came to Thanksgiving), and in 1986, we welcomed the third generation. My middle sister’s son was the first addition, and seven years later, my daughter joined in. After that, it seemed the kids just kept on coming until by this past year, we had eleven grandchildren. A lot more bodies to squeeze on the hearth, but my uncle persisted. Oddly enough, in 1995, my oldest sister met and fell in love with her husband. It seems his parents had the exact same anniversary as our parents, same date, same year. It seemed fitting then that they too would marry on the Saturday night of Thanksgiving. It was the only year we had Thanksgiving anywhere but at my parents’ table. In subsequent years, we added new in-laws, second husbands (mine thank goodness) and a few assorted dogs as well. And the portraits continued unabated, documenting the changes year after year. I don’t know how many cynical jokes we made at my poor Uncle’s expense, complaining about being herded into the living room and forced to sit in our usual places, but we have those annual portraits to document our family’s progress. The outtakes were sometimes better than the final winning picture. Over dinner, we celebrated our various successes, shared our triumphs and misfortunes and when one family had to miss, we speaker phoned them in for dessert. This coming year will be a very different experience for all of us. It’s been a hard and sad year for my family. We’re missing our elders. My aunt, my uncle and my father have all passed in this past year. For the first time, we will raise a glass to toast my mother, but we won’t have my Dad, her partner of 64 years. We will toast all their memories, honor their legacy, and give thanks that our families are still able to gather together and share a meal. If only we could speaker phone the absent loved ones in. We know they are with us in spirit. Uncle Larry My DAd Aunt Ellen

Eulogy for My Father

Nothing, but nothing, was more important to Dad than his girls. And we knew it. He made sure we knew it. He and Mom made us their number ones. Not even one two and three. We were all his number ones. There's no quantifying his love for our Mother. You might think 62 years of marriage says it all, but it really doesn't. You can't put words to the depth of his devotion,( their mutual admiration and the example of love everlasting.) That they got married on Thanksgiving is apt. And though we were each supposed to be named Jonathan, he thrilled to have three girls. He instilled in us his thirst for learning and education, an insatiable curiosity, passion for travel, culture, and books, and fierce devotion to and love of family. He may not have produced the physician he was hoping for, but he got two PhDs and an MBA. 

Having Art for a Dad meant we lived in an environment of warmth, humor, conversation and community. We had temple friends and neighborhood friends. The more the merrier. And Dad’s colleagues and their families mingled in. I remember one time coming into the living room where Dad and a bunch of his friends were watching the latest 8mm Open Heart Surgery. I think Mom served banana bread and Sanka to go along. 

 There were road trips every school vacation, everywhere you could go by car or train. We even ventured as far as Mexico City by train. Train travel used to be glamorous. Ever the law abiding citizen, Dad wanted us to play blackjack in our little compartment, but whenever the porter knocked on the door we had to pack up our pennies. No gambling for 12, 10 and 7 year olds. Eventually Dad overcame his fear of flying because his flock had scattered cross country, and he wasn’t about to lose contact. He wanted to see where we lived, what we were doing. He wanted to talk to us about our careers, our plans. He embraced all our husbands, Rob, Barry and Dan and mined them for all the conversation he could. Finally, some men around the house. Not only did he entice them to converse about subjects interesting to him, but he always appreciated the new topics that they brought with them. He was never done learning or exploring.

 Nothing was more wonderful for Arthur than the era of Grandchildren. Sam, Alice, Ruby, Milly, and AnnaLeah. Grandpop loved to hear about their studies, their friends, their interests, their art, their everything. Joan and I never thought we were imposing when we left our kids with the Grandparents. We knew we were doing them a favor. And each of the children’s lives was so enriched in knowing that kind of fiercesome love and appreciation. And, lest we forget, (and we didn’t), his current crop of 4 legged grands, Jacob, Stella, Ari, Nugget, Buffy, Yoyo and Juneau. Never much of an animal lover before, he was an attentive and devoted petter. I never thought I’d see Dad holding his hand out to let a 1000 pound furry friend take a carrot, but we have the picture. 

 A loss like this is unlike any other. We have the unrelenting mourning of never laughing with him again, no more puzzling something with him, no more questioning something and looking it up in the OED, or that internet thing. There was no piece of technology that didn’t flummox him. But he persevered. 
We will miss him more than words can say. We will carry his memory with us daily, and know the bond is never broken. The love will never die. Arthur D. Silk 11/12/1924 - 8/12/2012