Tribute

I am a slave to social pressure, thus my habitual presence on a cardio machine most weekday mornings. A ritual that includes mindless observance of infotainment.  Specifically, the Today Show on NBC. For those of you who know me “in real life”, I admit my traitorous behavior, but, you’ll get over it.

I watch, infotainment,  because there isn’t anything that requires my attention, per se. I don’t even plug my headphones in to hear the audio. I sporadically watch the closed captioning and absorb what’s going on around the world. Today, I was caught in a surreal moment of recognition. A familiar face graced the screen. I smiled when I noticed it, remembering my connection with the individual and his family from my past. And then I read the caption. He died. He died of a cancerous brain tumor. Wait, he died?

I stopped, staring at the screen. I held the side-bars of the machine. It was a one of those cliché book moments. My breath caught in my throat, a lump formed, I felt a strange cold rush…you know the line. I panicked for one brief moment, frozen and unable to move as the machine beeped incessantly at me. What do I do? I looked back toward the screen, his image was gone. How could a news report be so callous, do they not understand the impact, the influence this man had on television and movies? He's special, amazing, kind, talented...damn it, you don't just move on to the next story! Where did he go?

I wanted to call someone, I need to call someone. The next person to come to mind was his beautiful daughter. But, I haven’t seen or talk to her in 15 years. I can’t call her. As my breathing quickened, I realized I was standing in a crowded room, sweating with tears running down my face. Ridiculous.  The fool I must look. So, I called the pseudonymous hubby and sought out an obscure corner. I think I just needed to tell someone. Someone who knew and understood the past connection, a brief conversation as hubby tells me he’s so sorry but, of course, he can’t talk, he’s in a meeting.  He'll try to find someone he knows to help contact the family. Right now he has to run, "Love you", he says. What do I do? How do I tell this beautiful passed soul's family how very sorry I am?

The reality, I don't know how. So I’ll do the only other thing I know to do. I'll do this. I’ll write. However banal and dry, however awkward and poorly expressed, this will be my condolence to them. My eulogy, of sorts, to him. My, way to, grieve? I can't write or express anything as well or as beautifully as he could, as his daughters can. Although, my only connection in 15 years has been the internet, and the New York Times society page, I will write and put it into the ether. Given the abilities of Google and modern technology,  I know what the girls are doing. They are married. They look happy and successful and certainly the pride of both their parents. I’ve watched all of this through news and television. I’ve cheered at their successes and I cried for them this morning. This can't be real, can it. People like him, wonderful, amazing people like him, they all live to ripe old ages. We don't hear about their deaths at 68. Sixty eight, he's younger than my Dad. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/06/24/gary-david-goldberg-dead_n_3488463.html And, let's be honest, it's strange, the "connection" we perceive having seen something on the internet, or on television. We don't REALLY know that person. I did, a long time ago. But, not now. Not really.

And Cailin; kind, soulful, lovely, grounded. I remember a beautiful girl who knew only kindness to everyone around her. A beautiful soul who grew up in privilege, a fairy tale life, and yet only knew how to be the most genuine, happy, kind, giving person I ever chanced to meet. A girl, woman, a lovely, honest soul whose gift is to eloquently capture in words the emotions, the events of life that we all see, every day, and cannot express. She is, just like her Dad a talented writer, whose face lights up with his smile and the crinkly eyes. She is everything her Dad raised her to be. Amazing. He loved his girls. He taught his girls how to love. She is, a girl who relished her time with her family and valued the most important things in life, beautiful memories. Christmas with a house full of crazy cousins. Skiing at midnight on New Year’s with pots and pans in sub-temperatures. Her Dad making toast and eggs for breakfast, claiming it was all he knew how to cook. Wearing his funny leather Russian hat on cold days… And I was privileged enough to be included in some of that. Now? What now?

My love to you Miss Cailin Goldberg-Meehan. I raise my glass in honor of the beautiful soul who was your Dad. If you are still who I remember, then your heart is heavy today. Your heart has been heavy for some time, I am sure. A small part of it will forever be broken. But, in time, I know I will see the honor you and Shana will give his legacy. As I read, and re-read this post, it is so inadequate. So small. So insignificant for what I think and feel and for who Gary was. But, it is my buried tribute. I can hear his laugh......

Authentic Authority

We all love to think that we know what is best. For everybody, everything and every situation that arises. Your neighbor's kid has an issue, they should just ...(The dot, dot, dot, is deliberate.) Your sister has this issue. Well, she should just ... That guy in the grocery store is 150+ pounds overweight, he should just ... Candidate #1 (R) is running for office. The (R) or the (D) obviously make them more qualified than (C), right? Of course! Because why? Because, YOU KNOW. You, are the authority on it all. Duh, welcome to the United States, moron. Greece, Spain, Italy...shit, the whole of Europe has a crisis. And we know how to fix it? Okay, when in hell did the population get so damn smart? (If you haven't caught up to speed yet, PAY ATTENTION, facetiousness abounds dumb-ass)

What is it with this country? Oh, and don't try to tell me you aren't like that. Yes, you are. Hell, I, am like that. And, quite frankly, I know next to nothing. (I'm serious about knowing next to nothing). When did Americans decide that we were so much better than everyone else? When did we become entitled to EVERYTHING simply by our existence? And when did (R) or (D) dictate whether you and I can have a civil conversation about the realities of government? I'm not sure what the answers are, but, I can tell you, I have had it with hypocritical experts. The hypo-critical, the hypocrites and the experts. And I'm really fed up with all of them telling me 1) that I'm doing it wrong 2) how to do it 3) assuming they have all the answers 4) assuming they have the best answers.

If this all seems to have come about very suddenly, it hasn't. It's just been latent for the last five or six years. Each of the birthdays that I have celebrated in the last six or so years has, strangely, drained me of certain aspects of, what shall we call it? A "give-a-shit" cell in areas of my life. Think of it as similar to Jay-Z's song Off That. There are things in life that I was positive I was supposed to be passionate about when I was younger. And now? It requires far to much effort anymore. Now, a return to the plethora of authority that we have been so generously steeped with in this country.

My most recent encounters with applications to varying private schools in the greater city area gets my panties into a twist. I feel like, even with enough money, my choices are limited to the scrutiny of others. Public education is in dire straights. In a word, it sucks. Private school is great, but only if you can pay for it and if you pass their litmus test. Either way, I'm screwed and so are my kids. I don't fit into the mold, I don't fulfill the checklist, I. Am. W.R.O.N.G. Never could seem to get the right answer anyhow. So, onward and upward with our home school adventures. I never thought I would be learning trigonometry, but a  girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. You be right, I'll be wrong and I'll try be okay with all your stellar advice and authority. Or, I'll do what I'm really good at, ignoring you.