It's funny. When the New York Islanders were in the semi-finals of the Stanley Cup, your post about how ice hockey brought back warm memories of you and Daddy, brought back a vivid memory for me, too. | |
I have never known you to be interested in ice hockey. Full stop. Or, should that be "full hockey stop"? | |
Cute. And although we both skated as kids, and Daddy tried teaching me the hockey stop, I never could do it. But my memory has nothing to do with professional ice hockey or even skating. Instead, it's how you handled a bunch of high school ice hockey players. |
I know you cannot be talking about when I considered joining the girl's ice hockey club. Or, how although I was one of the faster skaters, I quit when I realized the girls were not as interested in playing the sport as they were in "taking out" other skaters. Especially those that showed up for practice with figure skates. | |
Of course, you did. But I didn't even know you had done that, and it seems out of character as you've never been a team sports kind of person. When Sawyer was in her figure skating years, there was a girls hockey team at the rink that seemed competitive, and while I knew that plenty of girls played ice hockey, I still would've been scared of her losing her front teeth or getting seriously injured. But that's not the memory. | |
Well, the only other thing I can think of is when we were all at some family-style restaurant, it could have been Friendly's or IHOP, and I "confronted" those big, burly, and smelly hockey players that just could not stop acting, well, like tough hockey players. | |
Exactly! Although I was only a kid at the time, I remember you coming back to the table laughing and Daddy asking, in that loving and bemused way he had when it came to you and your "antics", what you did this time. | |
I cannot remember what led to me encountering them when they walked in, but I was probably coming back from the bathroom. Anyway, I could not stop staring at them. | |
No surprise there, you were pretty boy crazy at the time. | |
Not for these boys. They were loud and obnoxious. And, I was staring because they were wearing full hockey uniforms, including skates! Granted, they had blade protectors on, but instead of looking tough, they looked silly. | |
They must have towered over you. Plus, they probably weighed at least twice what you did. | |
Including the gear, maybe more, as I probably weighed about 90 pounds. Anyway, they saw me staring, and one of them asked, with attitude, "What are you looking at?" | |
I'd bet just about anything that you gave them what I now refer to as "The Look" – that facial expression of yours that's a combination of "Are you kidding me?," eye-rolling, and "silent" sarcasm. I know as a grown woman I don't want to be the recipient of it, but can only imagine what a group of arrogant high school boys would've made of it. | |
Whether it was "The Look" or just me staring at them, they definitely did not like it. But, what did they expect walking in dressed like that? | |
There's no telling, but it's safe to say they probably didn't expect you to respond to their question like you did. But, to this day, it's one of the most memorable things you've ever said and one of my favorites. It was just perfect. | |
All I know is that it seemed the obvious reply … Puck you! |
| Shoes. Seemingly endless shoes. That’s all I can think about. |
| I know you cannot be talking about my closet. |
| Far from it! It’s an image that’s forever burned in my memory. A pile of shoes, each one representing a life lost. Each one a story onto itself. Each one proof of something we should never forget. |
| Normally, I would ask you to tell me what you are talking about or accuse you of being overly dramatic. But, not this time. |
| When you sent me the article about the United Nations recently issuing a strong message against the denial or the distortion of the facts surrounding the Holocaust – the first thought that came to my mind was the shoes. How can you ignore the piles of victims’ shoes?! |
| The same way you can ignore the documentary footage of the liberation of the concentration camps, and all the horrible evidence that was left behind. How do you ignore the many books on the subject, not to mention the first-hand accounts of survivors? |
| I’m not saying that can be ignored. It’s almost unimaginable and horrible and heartbreaking. But there’s a difference between learning about history and literally standing feet away from thousands of shoes that had been worn by the victims, each representing not only a life but a family, a community. |
| I understand. I read The Diary of Anne Frank in school, but when I walked through the actual house in Amsterdam, it became real. And overwhelming. That is why there are Holocaust Museums and memorials around the world. And, unfortunately, there were enough victims’ shoes to allow them to be displayed in many places. |
| I remember the first time I went to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. It was only a few weeks after it opened in 1993, and although I was 30 years old and had learned about the Holocaust in school, it was still overwhelming. I’ll never forget that the exhibit with the shoes was filled with visitors, yet it had an eerie silence. |
| Yes, it is a haunting experience. I remember you telling me, decades later, that after you and Sawyer visited the museum, of everything on display, that also was what struck her the most. And, I am guessing she probably heard less about the Holocaust in school than we did. |
| Growing up, I remember hearing about the loss of 6 million Jews during the Holocaust, and that the world should “ never forget .” But it seems that people are not only forgetting, but many are now denying it ever happened! Why else would the United Nations have to issue a statement?! |
| A statement that also urges social media platforms to take active measures to combat antisemitism and Holocaust denial or distortion. |
| What scares me the most is that the more people deny the Holocaust ever happened, the more likely such horrors can happen again. That history will repeat itself. |
| You are the lover of history, not me, and for years have told me that not acknowledging history dooms you to repeat the mistakes. But, that is also true of all of us. If we do not acknowledge mistakes, then we are apt to repeat them. |
| Fine, but how do you combat not only hate, but lies, lies that are accepted as truth. Tell me how you do that. |
| There is no easy answer. That may be why there is an International Holocaust Remembrance Day . But, one day a year is not enough for each of us to focus on seeking the truth, and not repeating things if we are not sure they are true. And, sharing what we know to be true. |
| Like the overwhelming emotion brought on by piles and piles of victim’s shoes? Shoes that scream out, “Never forget“ or, maybe more accurately, “Never forget me.” |
| The only way to make sure we “never forget” is for us to “always remember” and help others do the same. |
New Year’s Eve is one of those nights (Black calls them “forced” celebrations) that often have great expectations attached to it. Many people make a big deal of it, but we prefer a lowkey approach, making the evening “special” by spending it with special people – for Red, her daughters, and for Black, close friends.
Some years it can be a bittersweet celebration (if loved ones have passed or no longer live close to home), but that can remind you of what’s most important.
So, let’s all toast to the promise and hope of a new year … and to champagne and toilet paper.
New Year's Eve seems like the perfect time to stroll down memory lane, although I'm guessing your memories are much more interesting than mine. | |
"Interesting" is a subjective word. Regardless, are you talking about memories in general? Or, New Year's Eve celebrations? | |
Actually, it was just a passing comment. But since you've always seemed to make a bigger deal out of New Year's Eve than I have, are there any years that really stand out? | |
Truth is the most memorable ones are the ones spent with celebrating with closest friends versus crowds. In fact, I think I have spent more than half of my New Year's Eves with John and Diana. Although, I will never forget bringing in 2000. |
Oh, this should be interesting. Where were you? What did you do? | |
I do not remember the details. But, I do remember everyone was panicked about Y2K. In fact, for almost the entire year leading up to it, people were certain it would create havoc with computers and computer networks. It turned out to be a non-event. | |
That's it? I thought you were going to talk about some major celebration to mark the turn of the century. | |
No, although not always successful, I always tried to avoid major celebrations. Anyway, 1999 was when I was collecting wine and many of us were certain there would be a shortage of vintage Champagne. And before you ask, vintage Champagne means it is made with grapes from a single year's harvest which happens only three or four times in a decade. | |
Was 1999 one of those years? | |
I will not bore you with the details, but Champagne is aged in the bottle (vintage for significantly longer than non-vintage releases) so it was from earlier in the decade. Anyway, collectors starting buying large quantities of vintage Champagne, which can last decades when stored properly, thinking it was "now or never" … | |
I know better than to ask how much you bought. | |
Enough to last a lifetime. Maybe two lifetimes. Which was a good thing as I lost most of it in the divorce. Anyway, the interesting thing was that because so many wine collectors were stocking up on vintage Champagne, the shortage became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Similar to when people were hoarding toilet paper. | |
Only you would compare the two. One's a luxury item and one's a necessity you'll ultimately use. I guess the good news though is that now you'll never run out of Champagne. | |
Except, my offsite wine storage was broken into years ago – and they stole all the Champagne. Good news is John and Diana still have their stash. | |
So, are you going to spend New Year's Eve with them? | |
Not the entire evening, but the three of us plan to toast love, friendship, and the end of 2020 … with masks, social distance, and some vintage Champagne. |
We appreciate that not everyone celebrates Christmas, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a favorite Christmas memory. Interestingly, or is it ironically, Black, who barely tolerates the “forced” celebrations associated with holidays (and birthdays) and prefers to look forward to the future vs. reminisce about the past, likes to tell the story of the “Jewish Santa”. Black may see a deeper meaning to it, but for Red, it’s a favorite and heartwarming Christmas story, although she’d never tell Black that …
BLACK: I do not know at what age my Christmas memories began, but I do remember being very young and in awe of a very large – and very well decorated – Christmas tree in our family room. I even remember peeking down the stairs late one evening and seeing my mother standing extremely close to Santa Claus. OK, you might not find that an unusual memory, except my family is Jewish.
Apparently, my parents thought it was easier to decorate and give gifts for both Chanukah and Christmas than to try and explain why religiously they only celebrated the "smaller" holiday, although I must have sensed that. (Children usually do.)
And, I remember exactly when I came to the realization that Santa was not real. I was five years old and in the hospital with pneumonia and in the middle of the night, a Santa came by giving out Christmas gifts. I must have sensed his presence because when he arrived at the foot of my bed, I sat up and immediately told him that I could not have any Christmas gifts. He questioned why not (maybe thinking I was going to state I had not been good all year, which probably would have been an accurate statement), and I told him it was because I was Jewish.
He leaned over my bed, pulled away his fake beard, and whispered in my ear, "It's ok – so am I." And without his beard, I immediately recognized him as one of the doctors who had checked on me several times during my stay. We smiled at each other, knowing that we had a special bond, and he left me a gift.
Now, older and wiser, I have come to the conclusion … Santa does exist. You just have to believe …