Grandma

(see also; two posts below)

96

Nothing really prepares you for seeing your 96 year old grandmother. My mother and I got off the elevator on the third floor of the retirement center. As soon as the automatic doors crack open and the fluorescent lights reflect off the linoleum floor the stench of old punches you in the face. The smell is sour, sticky and humid, nearly dead.

We walked past a reception area where the elderly, unmoving, almost drooling slumped over bean bags of people stared into space or seemed lost in a perpetual daze. Hanging above them was a sign that read "non-ambulatory."

My mother, having done this every other day since we moved my grandmother up from Florida last summer, was used to it. I, who had only visited my grandmother a few times, had to mentally deflect the surging thoughts of life and the inevitable approaching mortality. "Non-ambulatory" throbbed across my brow. My mother, sensing the onslaught of emotions from her sensitive son, grabbed my arm the only way a mother knows how. Delicate, soft, encouraging and lead me into a big open room with a dot-matrix printed sign above the door. "Rec Room."

The elderly all sat in circle. The wheels of their wheelchairs touching one another. Some rolled back and forth wanting a better angle around the perimeter of the circle. An overweight Hispanic woman with too much make-up and a heavy accent were encouraging the elderly to throw weighted balls on to a target on the floor. It was a game, like darts, where the elderly limp-lobed their balls on to the target gaining a score or hoping for a bulls eye. There my grandmother sat, her back to my mother and I.

"Excuse me," my mother said politely squeezing herself through the wheel chairs trying to get to my grandmother. She placed a hand on the back of my grandmother's shoulder and my grandmother turned to greet the hand with a delayed response. She placed a hand on my mother's, thankful she was there to relieve her of this game she hadn't been paying attention to anyway. My mother backed her wheelchair out of the circle in a k-turn and reminded her I was there to visit. When my grandmother's eyes met mine she smiled, dentures oddly placed, as a child would to a shiny object. She had grown older since the last time I had seen her just three months ago. A little thinner, her hair more disheveled.

"Well hello dahhhh-ling," she said as she had done so throughout my childhood. I bent down smiling to kiss her cheek and as my face met hers my heart cracked sending a surge of emotions to my eyes. My trembling lower lip the only protection against producing real tears. I cleared my thoughts while my mother and I walked her to a nearby table. We pushed her in and I sat very close.

"How are you, Gram" I asked. "Stuck in this place," she said dryly but jovial. My mother rolled her eyes. I pulled myself even closer to her because, for the last 10 years, I always went on the assumption that this might be the last time I would see her. My grandmother, too, for the last 10 years has been telling my family that she's ready to die. Her birthday is next week, March 21st so I wished her a happy 96.

"I never thought I'd live this long," she said aloud to myself and my mother but more so as a reminder to herself. Her brain is completely functional but her body is struggling to keep up. Fearing this might actually be one of the last times I see her I dug in with questions.

Born in 1914 in the Lower East Side of New York City my grandmother, Sarah Papish, was the daughter of Russian-Jewish immigrants. Growing up in a tenement on Delancey St. my grandmother was the third of four children. Two boys and two girls. Sarah at the age of 5, like many children her age, was given the responsibility of taking care of her younger sister, a job which she loved having. She went to school but states she mostly hung around and socialized within the Jewish community of the Lower East Side. "We were insular in those days. If you spoke Yiddish, you spent time with those who spoke Yiddish. We went to school together. We went to temple together."

"And how did you have fun," I asked wanting to hear something I haven't heard before hoping I'd peel back an unseen layer, a secret tidbit from within my ancestry. But it's always the same answer, "We didn't have fun like you have fun these days. We were poor. We worked. In those days girls didn't socialize with boys!"

"Yeah but Gram....Did you drink, smoke?"
"Who do you think I am?!"
My mother chuckles.

"Ok fine. Then, tell me about Grandpa." Grandpa Manny, Emanuel Lesser, the man from whom my name derives, died in the summer of 1980. One year before I was born. I never met the man and it stands as one of my mother's greatest sorrows that he was never an influence in my life.

"He was a great guy...a great, great guy," my grandmother remembers through a giant smile. Again my heart slingshots emotions to my eyes. I hold the forming tears back. It's funny how my grandmother has trouble remembering the name of her roommate in the retirement center but the memories of 70 years back are as clear and present as ever. "Oh! He was so handsome," she says reaching across the table and grabbing my mother's forearm. "You have his eyebrows and nose," my mother says to me.

"I met him at a party," my grandmother continues, "he was quite the man at the time because he had his own car. My friend Meryl introduced us and that night he offered to drive me home. He was living in New Jersey, taking care of his father and I was still in the Lower East Side taking care of my mother. I was old for a single girl. I was 30 and unmarried! He was 33 and single! I accepted the ride which was a little...daring. Women.... didn't accept rides from strange men in those days. But I took the ride and pretty soon we were dating. Before too long he was shipped out to the army but refused to marry me because he didn't want to leave me a widow with a kid, which was happening to couples all around us. Our relationship really began when we started writing letters back and forth to one another. He was overseas in god-knows-where and I was in New York taking care of my mother, but every day I would write. When he came back, we were in love. We got married." She quickly offered and aside, "He loved to dance. He loved to tell jokes. He was a great guy," she added once more.

"Maybe that's where you get it from, Eric," my mother suggested to me, knowing I love to tell jokes and love to dance. "Maybe," I responded knowing I'll never know the answer to that question.

Being around my grandmother and in the center of all this old made me think about life. How we go from infancy to adulthood to only return back to infancy. Again and again this cycle replayed itself in my head. Slumped over, old, achy with everything we did, and everyone we know, dead.

My grandmother's entire family is dead. At 96 she is the only one left alive. Her children now bear the responsibility of carrying the memories of her life. It seems impossible, unimaginable that I'll be there too one day. A place in life where all your artifacts, friends and family are gone. Memories become the only thing that validate your existence. My grandmother was incredibly well liked during her life, she knew so many people, but at her funeral there will only be a handful. My grandfather died nearly 30 years ago. More years than I'm alive now. This person, this love of hers, has been gone for nearly a lifetime.

This immediately made me think of my own life. What I have, don't have, what I've done, what I haven't. My heart suddenly grasped at the desire for a boyfriend, a husband. My confident independence no longer seemed like an asset. I craved somebody. Somebody to share this existence with, someone whose existence will be shared by mine. It's what we do now that matters because in the end we're all liable to be sitting in wheel chairs, throwing weighted balls at a target on the floor, just as a means to pass the time until our heart stops beating and our eyes no longer open. I thought about the stories I haven't written. The video projects I've left incomplete. The loves I've had and had not. I thought about the stresses in our lives, the achievements and for a moment it all seemed worthless and pathetic.

It's not like we have any other option. We must live. We must complete this cycle. Having a boyfriend or a husband isn't the benchmark of our lives, it is neither a success nor failure whether we fulfill that societal norm or not. The same goes for completing that project or getting to that level of success but to try is to live, and to play the game is to experience and when all is said and done and the decades of my life flash by like chapters in a book, I'll know what is written on those pages and those pages will be what I know of life.

L'shanah Tovah

Challah!

Happy 5769!
This is Mom and her Brisket. Her brisket is beyond...It's Beyond.












Sister Meredith being all "Barukh attah Adonai..."









Apples and honey for a sweet new year









(Dinner Top: Asparagus, Kasha & bow ties, turkey. Bottom: Brisket (beyond,) Tsimis)









If I am leaving anything out, Little David, please back a brother up.

Mama Jump

Mom at the piers "fiercing out" the rope.
Fam 1
Fam 2Beautiful Sunday in the sun.
Brunch was great, Thanks Dad.

Hanukkah with The Levens

Sunday night I headed 20 minutes west of the city to my parent's home in suburban New Jersey for a family Hanukkah celebration. My oldest sister Meredith, husband Jeff and Baby Max came up too from their home in South Jersey to enjoy potato latkas, light menorah candles and spend time with "the fam."

Family time was a huge catalyst in my decision making to move from Los Angeles back to NYC. After spending 4 and a 1/2 years in Arizona going to college and two years in Los Angeles, paying "industry" dues, it was time for me to come back "home" before my family changed and evolved too much without me. My oldest sister was pregnant with my first nephew, my older sister Rachel, was just married and there I was on the other side of the country missing it all.

Now back in NYC for almost a year and a half family time has become a once-a-month, if not more often, occurrence. Usually I head into New Jersey where Mom makes me dinner and I spend the entire day consuming everything that is on-demand cable television and practically eating the entire refrigerator, yes- handles, magnets and all. Plus it's only 20minutes from Manhattan by bus and the suburbs are always a breath of fresh air from the exhaustiveness that is city life. Sometimes though Mom and Dad will come into the city and I'll take them to new restaurants I've read about in the Village Voice or the around-town food blogs. Whether Jersey or the city, it's always nice to see them.

Hanaukkah was just the same- a wonderful, pleasant time. Baby Max, being the newest addition to our family has proved to be a stronger and thicker glue holding my family together. I've become an Uncle, my parents have evolved to grandparents, and my sister and brother-in-law, now parents. Between us all, crawling around the floor, we have this tiny piece of human, coming to life before our eyes and aiding to the stronghold that is The Leven Family. And this is how life works, changes, evolves and morphs- inevitably. Suddenly the lyric's to Fleetwood Mac's Landslide become truer than ever and rips it's way, through flashes, into my soul.
"But time makes you bolder
Children get older
I'm getting older, too..."

My Mother laid out a tremendous Jewish-cultural spread of cold cuts, (turkey, pastrami, roast beef) Rye bread, spicy mustard, pickles and of course potato latkes, cooked in oil, to remind us of the oil the Maccabees used to keep that flame for 8 days straight. We lit the candles on the menorah sat down and enjoyed dinner.

At some point in the evening we exchanged gifts. I bought Baby Max an adorable set of bear paw mittens (like his Uncle) which, like anything else, were covered in drool in moments. My sisters and I chipped in to get Mom and Dad a new set of dishes and aimless houseware supplies they requested and Meredith and Jeff bought me a fresh new Journal. My Mother then handed me a wrapped gift and I tore away at the silver paper covered in Star of David's and dreidels. Inside was a book entitled: "Mama's Boy, Preacher's Son" and when I studied the cover further and read, "A memoir of growing up, coming out, and changing America's Schools" I felt a crack in my heart and my eyes begin to well up. I looked up at my family, my mother and father, and in a tremendous effort tried to utter the words "thank you" without a waver in my voice or a tear desperately wishing to fall. But I couldn't. The "thank you" came out wavered and the tear did fall. Written by Kevin Jennings, The Founder of GLSEN, an organization which sets up gay-straight alliances in American Public Schools, the book proved itself to be more than a gift, more than a holiday surprise, but a token of unyielding support and love from the two people who matter most.

We ended the evening by having dessert. Cheesecake, marble poundcake, coffee and Hanukkah gelt. My brother-in-law and Father retired to watching more football, my mother and sister cleared the table and I sat around watching my family, noticing change, age and growth and watched the Hanukkah candles flicker down into yet, another year.

Happy Hanukkah.

The Family
(L to R: Brother-in-Law Jeff, Oldest Sister Mer, Me, Mom, Dad, Baby Max missing: Older sister Rachel, Brother-in-law Jamison)

Faux Thanksgiving

left to right: Ryan, Scott#2, Scott, Me, Erika (black,) Brynn (white)

My close friend Scott invited me to an official faux Thanksgiving dinner last night. The dinner, hosted by the outrageously beautiful couple of Erika and Brynn, welcomed all those who weren't getting together with their families for Thanksgiving this year.

I had never met Brynn and Erika before but since Scott has the most interesting, intelligent and eclectic cache of friends over anyone else I know, I knew the night would be fun, festive and abnormal to say the least. Before going to dinner I was excited for two reasons. One, food always makes me happy and, two, Brynn and Erika live in the 190th St. range, and despite having grown up in and around Manhattan my whole life, I had never once made it that far north on the island.

Everyone who has ever told me, "Gosh, you just have to go up there! It's absolutely stunning," is absolutely right! Although I didn't get to see very much I did get the feeling that it was a city away from the city and the pace felt relaxing, communal and unrushed. Also, for the size of Erika and Brynn's apartment, there's definitely reason as to why people make that seemingly long but not-so-long subway ride up there to live. I definitely plan on taking an exploratory trip up there again in the near future.

Upon arrival Scott and I were offered drinks and vegetarian sushi. We scarfed down a few bites, took a few sips and got acquainted. Erika and Brynn are a long time couple, stunning and Erika is currently pregnant with their first child. In their petite and gracious manner I hadn't finished chewing my third sushi roll when I already felt as though I were about to have dinner with a family.

Scott's boyfriend Juan-Jo was next through the door. I hadn't seen him in awhile and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, a huge hug and a tug on his adorable mustache. Next through the door was our friend Ryan and Scott #2. We were all acquainted, filled our glasses and sat down to dinner. Everything was perfect and vegetarian and quaint. I'm not a vegetarian myself but I do have a profound respect and like for vegetarian based foods. This would be the first Thanksgiving I would ever experience where I would leave the table not feeling overwhelmingly, if not sickeningly, full. The portions were just right. Everything phenomenal. Bean soup with stewed tomatoes, mashed potatoes, butter-nut squash puree, gooey mac & cheese, stuffing and string bean onion casserole. Mmmmmm...Thanksgiving..

After dinner and dessert the gang intermingled between games of Guitar Hero (love it!) and two full rounds of Celebrity (otherwise known as "The Name Game".) We drank we laughed we screamed we shouted and by the end of the night I had gotten more out of this Thanksgiving: that feeling of home, of autumn, of thanks, of friends, of love than many other Thanksgivings in my past. (Don't worry Mom and Dad, you're not doing anything wrong. I love you too!)

There was one thing I kept coming back to again and again throughout the night. On Erika and Brynn's wall hung a black and white photograph of the two girls after just getting married. Both wearing beautiful white gowns and rushing past the pews with smiles which gleamed love and excitement. There was an expression of such ultimate truth within that photo, a symbol of such purity. The purity of two girls, on the best day of their lives, holding hands and walking together toward the future. With every glance it seized my heart and made me melt.

Thank you for the faux Thanksgiving, although what was designed as faux, proved to be more real than most previous dinners I have ever had.

Scott #2, Ryan and I "kicking it."









Juan-Jo and Ryan

Eric, What's With All These Bear Sites?

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Adventures in Unemployment

Day 38...

New Jersey Transit Train to Hamiliton, NJ

...Meredith, my oldest sister, knowing I have nothing to do and nowhere to be, invited me down to her house in Hamilton, NJ to spend time with her and my 7 month old nephew, Max. She said my company would be appreciated as her husband (my much loved brother-in-law Jeff) is out of town on business. Having a desire to be the fiercest Uncle this side of the Mississippi I gladly accepted her invite.
I hopped the 12PM express train to Trenton, NJ out of Penn Station and was in Hamiliton, NJ by 1:15PM.

Meredith (Mer) picked me up at the train station and took me home to change into my bathing suit as Max loves the local town pool. It's been an awful while since I have been to a "town pool" and I was excited to go and spend time with her and my nephew.

I know people must say this about their newborn relatives all the time but Max truly is the cutest and most well behaved baby I've ever met. He doesn't cry all the time, nor act grumpy, or displays an unreadable manner. I swear, at all times this baby is smiling, playing, and making happy sounding noises every time I see him. (I've already gone ahead and taken care of buying him the cutest baby shirts possible: see pic to the right.)

I ventured with Mer to the town pool and took Max for a swim. The whole place was so white and suburban I couldn't help but feel guilty when I asked Mer if smoking was allowed. Mer didn't know if it was or wasn't so I decided to stave off my addiction and spent the time with Max. He and I played on the grass for awhile and then worked on our dance routine until it was time to go into the pool when I mentioned to him that (like a handsome Patrick Swayze to a young Jennifer Grey that,) "The best place to do this is in the water!"

Mer said Max and I should go for a swim and I nervously but gladly obliged. Max and I went for a swim and the whole event was completely nerve-racking (but entirely enjoyable.) I've just become comfortable with holding Max without feeling as though I'd drop or break him at any given moment. But, Mer is a fantastic, roll-of-the-eyes "you got it" type of coach and had me swimming with him in no time. Mer gave me one note- to hold his face above the water, which no matter how much she reassured me I'd be fine, still scared the living shit out of me. Max and I enjoyed our time together as we played "Jaws" and "Shark week" and she finally took him from my arms to dry him off and watch me jump and flip off the kiddie diving board.

It's been a long time, maybe since the 6th grade, since I've attempted to run and jump off a fully loaded spring diving board. None-the-less, I put my fears aside and attempted my best efforts. Fortunately I neither belly-flopped or set a bad example for the youths around me while doing so. Mer, the Super-Mom that she is, was able to dry off Max (in his Elmo robe) and document me at the same time.

Soon enough both Mer and I grew tired of our ultra-white suburban sun bathing and headed back home for dinner and rest. (Yes, don't worry- when Max was eating I asked, as John Bender and "Breakfast Club" as possible, if he "was a messy baby and did not like his strained peas and carrots.") After dinner I ducked out to the backyard to suckle from the teet of my nicotine-filled smokey friend and realized the beauty and quiet of the picture-perfect NJ suburbs. In that moment, as I sat outside, I realized that once my career is stabilized and I find "him," I'd like to leave the city and find a place just like this, in the tranquil suburbs, with the barbecue, lawn chairs, and chirping crickets, making a life for ourselves and leaving The City behind in an idea of "those were the days..."

Mer and I spent the rest of the night playing with Max, catching up on the Top Chef marathon and enjoying the benefits of saved Tivo programming. Ahh, what a vacation from a vacation this all was...