The Survivalist

My boss is a wealthy attorney who lives in an affluent suburb of Los Angeles. He appreciates luxury. In addition to his 9,000 square foot home, he has a 4,000 square foot beach house. He drives a luxury car. He wears a luxury watch. He collects and uses luxury pens.

One evening, he and his wife were going out to dinner with their friend B. and B.'s wife. B. was the IT manager for a big-five accounting firm. He was successful, intellectual and apparently quite urban working downtown in a large high rise building managing the computer systems and IT personnel.

The couples were going to a luxury restaurant, and even though it was not located far from their homes, they hired a limousine to drive them to the restaurant. They did not need to hire a limousine for any other purpose than to provide a greater sense of luxury as at least one person in the group did not drink alcohol so there was no need for a designated driver.

As the two couples were loading into the limousine, my boss noticed that his friend, B., who was wearing dress slacks and a jacket was also sporting a large backpack with all types of accoutrement hooked on. When asked, B. revealed that his backpack was full of various items that would help him survive in case of an emergency: a powerful flashlight, emergency Mylar blanket, packets of freeze dried food, a first aid kit, batteries, radio, etc. My boss asked B. why he had the backpack. B. explained he took it with him everywhere, all the time. "I am a survivalist," B. explained.

After much reassurance that they would probably survive dinner without the backpack, B. finally relented to leaving the backpack in the limousine while they dined.

Flexible Spending Account

My husband is part of the upper-management of a mid-sized, family owned business that employees approximately 100 workers in its warehouse/packing/distribution facility. Among other things, he handles human resources and insurance matters for the company. Almost all of the the employees are uneducated immigrants whose first language is Spanish. Many of the employees are clueless about how health insurance works.

The company recently started offering the employees Flexible Spending Accounts ("FSA") -- the tax deferred medical savings account that allows them to put aside pre-tax dollars to pay for medical and childcare services. For weeks, my husband tried to explain how the plan works to the employees, but no one seemed to understand. Eventually, he received some literature written in Spanish. My husband, with no self consciousness whatsoever, read the literature, in Spanish, to the employees. (My husband does not speak or read Spanish.)

The employees appreciated his efforts to read in Spanish. "Oh, you read better than my son who is in high school!," one employee exclaimed.

My husband was satisfied the employees began to understand the concept of FSA when one woman asked if the plan would cover boob jobs.

The Aneurysms

I went with my husband to a house party in honor of his 30th high school reunion. I was happy to go with him because there were a few people there who I am also friendly with, even though I am a few years younger than my husband and his cohorts. I was particularly pleased to see L.

L. is a bright, charismatic woman. She smiles easily, finding humor in almost any story. She is a renowned graphic artist who is about to launch her own stock photography business specializing in Hispanic images. She is intelligent, worldly, and a lot of fun.

L. met her husband (who is 20 years her senior) about five years ago while on a scuba diving trip. Not too long ago, they went to Jamaica for a vacation. While they were making love (he takes Viagra) she developed a mind splitting headache just as she was about to climax. She described the headache as the most unbearable pain she ever experienced -- like her brain was about to explode. They stopped and then started again later. Again, just as she was about to climax, she developed a mind splitting headache. They tried a third time, and it happened again. (He didn't climax either.)

When they returned to the United States, she saw a doctor. She had some tests done and was rushed to the hospital for surgery. It turns out she had twin aneurysms that were on the brink of bursting. Had she actually climaxed she probably would have died.

Since her surgery, L. can make love without fear of her brain exploding and she has a renewed appreciation for life.

Fish

My friends' daughter, S. is three years old. She is precocious, pretty, and loving. S. is curious about everything and her questions are very mature for such a little girl. Her mind works incredibly logically for someone so young.

S. has her hands in everything. She likes to touch. She likes to do. She is not at all shy. She takes the initiative to explore her environment, but is also polite and asks her mommy or daddy for permission.

One day, S.'s daddy took her to the pier. The pier was fully of early morning fisherman casting their lines into the water below. The buckets were filled with small, silver, pencil length fish.

One fisherman caught a fish and pulled his line back so quickly, the fish fell off the hook. It was flapping around on the wood planks of the pier. S. asked, "Daddy, can I get the fish?" Daddy told her to ask the fisherman. In her sweet little girl voice (with a slight lisp), she asked the fisherman, "Can I get the fish." The fisherman said she could.

S. started chasing the fish. She would reach for the fish, almost get it, and the fish would flap away. After a few attempts, S. caught the fish and held it tight in her little hand. "Now put the fish in the man's bucket," Daddy told S. S. proudly dropped the fish in the bucket, her hand splaying open as she released the fish. Then, with a big, proud smile on her face, S. licked the entire surface of her palm where she had just grasped the fish.

When asked how her palm tasted, S. nonchalantly replied, "It was ok."

No Bondaries

My friend's niece is a troubled teenager. She has been acting out for a while. My friend attributes it to her parents who are the type of parents who want to be friends with their kids. Lots of leeway, few consequences. The girl is brilliant, topping the scores on intelligence tests, attending a high school for gifted students. Nevertheless, she is trouble. Apparently she's been getting high. She was suspended from school for cursing out the principal. While she has always been difficult and belligerent, her behavior has steadily worsened with time.

Today my friend's niece hit her mother, more than once. Her father tried to intervene and she hit him too. The parents, on the advice of their "tough love" coach, called the police. The police arrested the girl, locked her up and have her slated for a psych eval.

My friend was at a loss because he was not really equipped to help the family but wanted so badly to be able to do something for them.

Ham

I know D. from work. I do not know her too well, but I know her well enough to recognize that she is the type of person who is meticulous about entertaining. She prides herself on being a gracious hostess. A detail oriented person, D. is the type of hostess that thinks about what serving dishes she will use days in advance of a dinner party.

D. takes her dinner parties seriously. The morning of St. Patrick's day, she fell over her cat and suffered a major fracture in her lower leg/ankle. Nevertheless, she prepared her family's traditional St. Patrick's day dinner, even though she could barely stand.

D. told me one year she was preparing Thanksgiving dinner for her family and friends. One of her guests insisted on bringing something to dinner, although D. was reluctant to let her do so. The menu was carefully planned. D. is not comfortable relinquishing control of the party. She However, D. did not want to alienate her friend, so she told her friend she did not really need anything in particiular and asked her friend what she would like to bring.

"Honey-baked ham," her friend replied.

D. does not traditionally serve ham on Thanksgiving, preferring turkey with a variety of side dishes (her favorite), but acquiesed thinking at least her friend will be happy with ham. If nothing else, there would be left overs for ham sandwiches over the weekend.

D.'s friend asked how many people would be coming to dinner. D. told her eight.

Thanksgiving evening, D.'s friend arrived with a small packet of aluminum foil. D. was a bit perplexed because she was expecting a Honey-baked ham.

"What's that?" D. asked.

"Honey-baked ham," her friend said. "I brought eight slices."

Rachel Ezra

Tonight is Rosh Hoshanna. This time of year, Rachel Ezra generally begins baking treats for us to eat when we break our fast on Yom Kippur. Last year, Rachel Ezra passed away so we will not enjoy her treats this year.

Rachel Ezra was a dear friend of my mother-in-law's. She was one of the Indian Jews that came to the United States after the war. She was a tiny lady -- under five feet tall with high, prominent cheek bones that gave her an air of elegance. She was very chatty and told great stories with her lilting Anglo/Indian accent and expressive eyes. She was the guest you always wanted to have at a dinner party.

I first met Rachel Ezra when I was in my mid-20's. For some reason, Rachel Ezra loved me. Whenever she saw me, she would squeeze my face so hard my teeth scratched the inside of my cheeks. "I love you, you know," she would say with her face all scrunched up like she was talking to a baby. She did this to me throughout the 20 years that I knew her.

One day while she was still in Calcutta, Rachel Ezra went to a sanitorium to a visit a friend who was hospitalized there. She was told by a nurse to wait in the lobby area to be brought to her friend. There was a young man sitting at a desk in the lobby area. The desk was equipped with a typewriter. The young man sat there typing with great focus and concentration. He did not look up when Rachel Ezra came into the lobby area. He just kept typing. He took one completed sheet of paper out of the typewriter and put in a fresh sheet of paper, all the while maintaining a steady, typing rhythm. She waited for quite a while during which the young man just kept typing.

Rachel Ezra, being curious (and bored with waiting) got up and tried to discreetly looking over the young man's shoulder to see if she could tell what he was tying. But she couldn't so she asked him, "What is it you are typing there? You have been at it for long time already."

"A letter," he replied hastily, never stopping to type while he responded.

"A letter to who?" Rachel Ezra asked.

"To myself," he said.

"Oh," said Rachel Ezra, "and what does this letter say?"

In a thoroughly exasperated voice, he replied, "How the hell should I know woman! I have not yet received it!"

The Survivor

There is a man who works at the bakery I go to every Friday for my challah and Shabbat treats. I do not know his name. He is an Israeli fellow who is often on the phone when I come in to order so that I have to wait for him to finish his call, or at least his story, before he helps me. Sometimes, he stays on the phone, continuing his conversation while he is bagging my cookies.

This man is very animated. He has big, expressive eyes that kind of pop out of his head, which is barely covered with hair. I do not know if he shaves his head or he has advanced male pattern baldness that he keeps shorn. He always has a 5:00 shadow, no matter what time of day it is when I see him.

He has made bad, offensive jokes to me in the past which made me irritated with him. However, he is boisterous and chatty, and I do not think he means any harm.

Last week, I saw him at the local supermarket buying groceries. He started joking with one of the cashiers (who also has a second job working at the bakery where he works and who also is from Israel). He talked about taking a creative writing class at the local community college. When the cashier said she would like to join, he teasingly told her not to because he wanted no Israelis in the class with him. They had this conversation in Hebrew. He then turned to me to explain what he said to her, smiling and winking.

Today, when I went into the bakery there was a big sign up with his picture attached soliciting sponsorship for a marathon in support of leukemia and lymphoma research. I asked him about the run as my mother died from Hodgkin's lymphoma. My mother in law, and my sister in law, each had lymphoma as well. I also told him my husband had cancer last year.

"I am a survivor," he said.

He told me that he was diagnosed with lymphoma about eight months ago. They took a tumor out of his cheek. He lost four teeth, but he doesn't mind because they will fix it. He took a couple of doses of oral chemo, but that is all. The doctors wanted him to undergo radiation, but he refused. At his three-month follow up he was clean. He hopes he will need no further treatment.

I gave him a check and wished him luck.

The Obsessive Compulsive

E. came to visit us in our new office. She brought her husband R. with her. A group of us went for lunch, which was served in a leisurely fashion giving us plenty of time to visit.

R. is from Kentucky. Every other year or so, he and E. go back to Kentucky for a family reunion. This year it is especially important for them to go because R.'s aunts are over 90 years old and he would rather go back for a party than a funeral.

E. and R. were married while R. was still in college in Kentucky. E. is from the Los Angeles area. Being olive skinned, brunette, hispanic and urban, she was seen as "exotic" during the 1960's when she moved to Kentucky as R.'s pretty, helpful wife.

This year R. turned 60. He is fabulously fit -- a trim 60 year old with sharp features, blue eyes. He is an easy conversationalist and seems to be able to talk about anything, anyplace. As a birthday gift to himself, he took a two-week ski trip with his son, driving up the west coast to Canada, skiing on the way in Oregon. He thinks he has skied 40 days this year.

R. is an avid biker. He gets up at 4:30 am twice a week to take a long, long bike ride. He thinks little of riding 100 miles. He has fancy bicycles made of titanium and other special, speedy metals. He built a bike that is valued in excess of $8,000.

As R. talked about his bikes it was apparent that his involvement with biking was much more than a mere hobby. He described things about bikes and biking we never heard, including his routines. E. laughed at him, "He's obsessive compulsive." R. retorted, "Ah, yes, but better obsessive compulsive than obsessive repulsive."

An Old Flame Burns Brightly

X. is an attractive middle-aged woman. She has two kids -- one is grown up, and the other is almost grown up. She is a single, but in the beginning stages of an old relationship.

When X. was 20 years old she married Y. Y. adored her. He was smitten -- totally in love. X. couldn't really deal with that. She grew up in a home where there was no public displays of affection. Her mother barely hugged her, kissed her or said "I love you." Her dad was verbally abusive. So maybe Y. was a way out of that environment. You would think that was exactly what X. dreamed of -- a doting husband who loved her unequivocally. But it was just too much for her. Y. was also pathologically passive so that there was no foil for X. He just absorbed all of her behavior without any consequence.

Shortly after being married, X. had an affair with another man. She left Y. at the time. She married the other man, had two children, and they divorced soon after. Eventually she met Z. who she dated for over 8 years. Z. became a father figure for her children and even now maintains relationships with each of them.

20 years ago, when X. left Y., Y. lost it. He started doing speed. He became involved with a woman who was a user. She did speed with Y. She brought other men home and had sex with them while Y. had to watch. She eventually became pregnant, left Y. and had a baby girl. Y. knew about the baby but did not sign the birth certificate because the woman did not want him to.

Several months ago, X. found Y. on the Internet. They started corresponding. About this time, Z. who also adores X. (X. is adorable) took her for a romantic weekend. The problem with X. and Z. is that while they were very close friends and had been lovers for many years, X. was not at all physically attracted to Z. She found she always needed to have a drink before sleeping with him. So after this long romantic weekend, Z. asked X. to marry him. X. said "No, I just don't love you that way." They broke up. It was around this time that X. started reconnecting with Y.

Y. forgave X. for breaking his heart and causing him to become a speed freak. He is totally in love with X. She, of course, is still ambivalent because, while she has the benefit of maturity and experience, she still questions the veracity of any one's love for her. He wants to move to her town from across the country. She is not sure she can handle that. Also, her kids are very negative about this relationship, but probably because their allegiance lies with Z.

Nine Eleven

The most important story today is the story of 9/11. That's all.

The Potential Carpool Partner

I have never met Mrs. R. We became acquainted when the admissions office of my daughter's new school gave me her number as a possible carpool partner. I called her to see if she was interested in carpooling. I learned that she never picks up in the afternoon and that her son takes public transportation with a couple of other boys. She did not think it would not be a problem for my daughter to join them.

I do not know how old Mrs. R is. Her eldest child is 41 years old and her youngest is in 10th grade. Her husband died suddenly 5 years ago. He was a theoretical physicist. At the time her husband died, her son transferred from a very orthodox Jewish day school to a more modern Jewish day school. She told me the community at the new school was enormously comforting, kind, sympathetic, and were instrumental in helping her son deal with the loss. The director of the very orthodox school called her within a couple of weeks of the husband's death and said, "Now that your husband is dead, perhaps your son should return to school here." She was appalled. How inappropriate!

Mrs. R does not work. She is disabled. She did not tell me what type of disability she has. She did tell me she does not frequent one of the local synagogues because it does not have handicap access. I imagine she is in a wheelchair.

She takes care of her 86 year old father.

It turns out her daughter-in-law comes from the same part of the world as my in-laws.

Her first name is the same as my hebrew name.

I wonder what she looks like.

The Jigsaw Puzzler

My car is in the shop. My office is 23 miles away and not located on any convenient public transportation route. Luckily, K., who works for another tenant in our suite, passes by my house on her way to the office and agreed to give me a ride.

K. is a middle aged divorced woman who works as a legal assistant. She likes to eat. She munches on snacks all day long -- chips, crackers, pretzels. While she sometimes has something fuity, she clearly prefers salty/crunchy. By 10:00 a.m., she is thinking about lunch. She has beautiful, big brown eyes and smiles easily. She is a bit bored with making tukey on Thanksgiving. She would like new recipes for the crock pot. She drives a Nissan X-Terra. She looks forward to Christmas, although she doesn't know why since everyone she loved died around Christmas-time.

On the way back from the office, K. told me that she and her 25-year old daughter like to do jigsaw puzzles. K.'s daughter struggles with depression and just last year was admitted to a county facility for observation. She used to play softball. Now she works in the furniture industry and currently does not like her job. K.'s daughter is very beautiful. I saw her once when she came to the office. She was going to design the bosses office for him because she is learning how to do interior design. She lives with K.

K. likes big, complex puzzles. The bigger the jigsaw puzzle, the better. The current puzzle is a "Da Vinci Code" puzzle. It does not have the picture on the box. Clues to completing the puzzle are contained in a booklet that comes with the puzzle. Also, you can start figuring out color schemes to help put it together.

"That's a nice thing to do together," I commented.

"Oh, we don't always work together. Sometimes my daughter works on it for a while when I'm doing something else. Or sometimes I just work on it. The puzzle is out all the time -- I have a place for it."

Their favorite puzzle features a scene of nine medieval women in a forest. "We're gonna frame that one," K. told me. "That one's real nice."

K. and her daughter only do the hard puzzles with a minimum of 1000 pieces. When they are done, she keeps the puzzles intact. She builds the puzzles on a poster board, and then stacks them up, one on top of another, when they are completed. I did not ask if she keeps the puzzle box afterward. "You'd be surprised," she told me, "You can find puzzles everywhere. Toys R Us, K-Mart, Target -- nice ones too. Of course, you can find them on the internet too, but I haven't gotten into that yet."

The Mechanic

The mechanic came to my house to diagnose my car. It died on me -- a pretty violent death, I might add. This is the third time in just a few months. Only a month ago, the mechanic replaced the transmission. Not being mechanical myself, my first thought was that the mechanic somehow screwed up.

The mechanic came to my house late Friday afternoon -- a Friday right before a holiday weekend when traffic is at its worse. He drove up in his 1989 Honda Civic carrying some parts and wearing a smile.

While he was diagnosing my car, he told me that he is a drag racer. He modifies old Honda Civics to be raced. He only races on a track. He's been doing it for years and spends all his extra time and money working on his cars. He doesn't paint his race car because he doesn't want it to be a target. He is wary, living in a rough neighborhood where cars and bikes and anything on wheels is fair game. He had one really souped up car that was stolen. The police never found it. This one had recently been broken into. The vandals took the window of the frame and laid it gently on the back seat. They didn't take anything because the mechanic had nothing to take. He told me an engine for his little Honda Civic could cost as much as $10,000. Since he's been working on cars since he was 14 (he's 23 now), he can do all the work himself. That's what he works for -- to build and race cars.

What a nice guy this mechanic is! He drove all the way to my house to diagnose my car, and did so graciously. I really appreciated that.

Ultimately, the problem, as explained to me by the mechanic, is the air pump. Nothing to do with the transmission.

The Tow Truck Driver

He is late. I called for towing service over an hour ago. Fortunately, my car is broken in front of my house so I can wait inside where it is comfortable.

When the tow truck driver arrives, it is after 9:30 a.m. The light still has morning clarity and I can see the trees rustling in the wind. The beauty of the morning is deceptive. Already it is 100 degrees outside.

The driver is a heavy set black man, who immediately apologizes for being late. "First day of school and all -- man, it's crazy out there." He starts hooking my car up to the tow bar. He is sweating profusely. I offer him a bottle of water. "Yeah, I'd take a bottle of water," he says.

He says, "Yeah, I was even late today, first day of school and all. I had to run in, sign papers and stuff. Man, who knew there was so much to getting your kid in school." He told me he has a 12 year old son. He and his wife divorced about four years ago. She lives in Memphis. His son comes to stay with him every summer, but this year the son decided to stay and live with him. It's real different living here and not just visiting for the summer. The tow truck driver has sympathy for single moms now that he is a single dad. He's starting seventh grade this year. "Tough transition," I said. "Yeah, he'll be alright," the tow truck driver said. His boy is a good boy, and real mature. He'll take the bus home from school, won't be no trouble, and is ok on his own for a few hours.