Nostalgia Gets The Best Of Me (at times)

I never said this blog wouldn't get sappy. Here goes.
We're nearing Passover, and it's one of the few Jewish holidays that I consistently enjoy. That's not to say that there haven't been a few years here and there where I've chosen camping over a Seder or have been uninspired when the date arrives on the calendar. Sometimes I felt like why observe it if I can't be there for Amma's briskit and matzo balls? For those of you who don't know, Amma is my maternal grandmother who is 87.
I just found out today that she is in what is called "late stage emphysema." Not a great place to be. In fact, it's going to get increasingly difficult for her lungs to get oxygen, and those lungs haven't exactly been having a picnic since I've known her. She was a chain smoker for over 40 years, but she quit a long time ago. It doesn't matter, the damage is done. The specialist told my mom that we can expect a year. If it weren't for that lung issue, she'd probably live well into the triple digits. Oh well, who's grandparents live forever...certainly not mine. I'm down to two; I guess that's pretty good to still have any at all. I really do need to write about Amma, but I don't feel like it's time to do that. It would feel like a eulogy.

I was walking around the Silver Lake Reservoir today with my son, Zev, my niece, Molly and my cousin, Jason. We were talking about a recording I had of him singing and playing the piano (he's a well-known pianist and composer now) with my brother at one of the parties we threw for my brother's Bar Mitzvah back in 1984. All of my relatives were at my house for that one. Grandma Chickee, Joe (my grandfather), Aunt Selma, Uncle Beast, Uncle Cupple and many others who have since passed away were there in all of their glory. I used to really get excited when my relatives from out of town would visit us in New Orleans. My parents were still married back then. Uncle Beast was cutting up, crooning "Swanee" by the piano and cracking the other guests' toes. I was such a show-off at 11, running around the house in different costumes and doing imitations of people. If you come to my house now, you'll see that I haven't changed all that much. I found the recording from the party, but it only had a few minutes of that party recorded. Unfortunately, I made the decision to tape a bunch of classic rock from B-97FM over it. Listening to that little bit of the party on cassette made my eyes water. It really brought me back. I was the youngest one in the room all over again.

I remember that feeling of having all of these relatives around who loved me and treated me like gold. There really weren't any whom I didn't like. At 11 years old, you don't think about them going anywhere (i.e., dying). I think it's called living in the moment, and it's something children and pets do. It doesn't come so natural for me, now that I've been burned by a few deaths. Well, deaths don't really burn you. They just make you armor yourself; you know it's coming and you're not going to let it destroy you when it happens. Some might see it as maturity. It's not all it's cracked up to be.

But now I look at Zev. It's his turn to be the youngest one that everyone dotes over. He will have many years of being the clown at the family parties, soaking up all of that attention like manna from heaven. I have a feeling he's going to be a lot like me, in that way. I'm happy to pass the torch. Zev, Molly, Lea, and Max (there are others in this generation of cousins, but these are the ones I'll know best) - enjoy being the stars that you'll inevitably be. Grab our attention, and make sure we laugh at your little skits.