No sooner do we lose Tom Wolfe than Philip Roth shuffles off this mortal coil. But I never did read Philip Roth; I was too busy raising my children and reading Barbara Tuchman. You see, I don’t read fiction other than mystery stories, which are my reading-to-fall-asleep by. Even less would I read contemporary fiction, and for me, Roth was contemporary so he’s not in the pantheon.
Our street, 69th Street (aka Bay Ridge Avenue), had trolleys running in both directions. Same goes for Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn. I remember vividly how boys used to delight in placing pennies on the trolley tracks, then they would wait for the coins to be totally flattened. But this was during the depression so they only used pennies. A nickel was a real money!
At my age, one prefers photos taken from a great distance away. Here is a recent photo of me taken by my daughter. She takes after my husband who would pose me against a backdrop such as a vast landscape and tell me that I was needed “just for scale”.
You would not believe the week I just had. It was beyond belief.
But now back to the blog: Below you will see a very old photo of my mother and me taken on the rooftop of our building on 69th Street in Bay Ridge. I won’t reveal my age due to security reasons but this photo was taken in the early 1920s.
If you have moment, I also wanted to tell my mother’s favorite joke. Please click on the audio player below the picture…
What is time? Is it real or did we invent it? I’d have to say we invented it. What does the universe need with units of time? Only man marks the passage of time. But does it exist outside of its measurement?
To answer the question, let’s consult Einstein. He said, “people who understand physics know that the distinction between the past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”
With that in mind, we must remember to spring ahead this weekend and reset our clocks or the illusion will strike us right in the face.
I am not going to spout my opinion of the President. I won’t politicize or pontificate. I will bite my tongue and not say a word. But my mother, if she were still here, would have said something in Yiddish at a time like this:
Es iz a lebedike velt.
Click the audio player below to hear me explain it as best I can…