Aviva's ABCs

Aviva actually recognizes almost all of the letters now (mostly thanks to Professor iPad), but her singing of the ABCs song is, well, creative.  She also enjoys toddler breakdancing while singing.

Aviva the pianist, cat, and hide-and-seek champion

As many of you know, we have an upright piano here.  I took many years of piano lessons and love playing it.  Most of the time Aviva is not very interested in the piano (unless, of course, other kids are playing it), but occasionally I catch her "playing."  I love that she actually peers and points at the book  in this clip, as though she she's reading music.



Aviva loves this special dress that our friends Roger and Barbara bought her, and demands to wear it to parties, even when it's a bit cold.


Hide-and-seek has moved out of Aviva's bedroom and into...well, every other room.

Halloween!

Last year, Grandma Ellen bought a Dumbo costume for Aviva's cousin Seamus, and it didn't fit him well, so we inherited it from Seamus.  It was a huge hit!

You probably can't tell from that adorable photo that the sleeves and legs of her costume are taped up because they are so long.  At least the tape was gray and matched Dumbo's skin!

Here, I am trying to hold up one of her fabulously large ears.

Aviva was very excited about her costume, but possibly even more excited the "DOGGIE DOGGIE!" in costume.

You can just barely hear Aviva try to say "trick or treat" in this clip.


Peter and I were too tired to even repeat our half-hearted costumes from last year.  This year we dressed as Tired Parents.

Miriam, in our words

Here is the speech that Jeff and Peter gave together for their paternal grandmother, Miriam.

J: I believe most of you know that it has been a tough week for Peter and me, losing both of our grandmothers within 2 days. But, while we are mourning their loss, we also remember how lucky we were to grow up with the support and love of four grandparents for so much of our lives. 

After Grandma Mimi passed on Wednesday-- the last of the Ehrenkranz siblings and spouses of the WWII generation-- I made the comment to Dad and Aunt Cheryl that Grandma always liked to be the last at the party … and there in the midst of so much sadness it made us all smile.

P: When we think of Grandma Mimi, we keep coming back to images and impressions—of love, of warmth, of beauty, of kindness, of grace, of laughter.  Grandma enjoyed life.  And she enjoyed being with others as they enjoyed.  She would come back from parties and tell us how she had such a good time—and then describe what everyone else was doing—dancing, swimming, laughing.  When we were little, she would call every Sunday morning and we would pass the phone around— I would describe whatever math test I had just faced or soccer game I had just played and no matter what adventures I described, she always wanted more: “and what else?” she would ask.

J: She was a great listener and as I say that, I know that all of you are thinking about the conversations you had with her… the advice she gave, the full attention she always gave to whomever she was speaking with-- like you were the only one in the world…

And her sisters, Rose, Lily and Huvy.  Who could’ve been closer?  How many times did they talk each day? They knew the details of each others’ lives so intimately, the family would joke that when one of them left a location, the others would mentally track her progress home on a GPS-like map-- light bulbs flicking on as the car passed each intersection until the destination was reached and a phone call confirming arrival was received.  While we joked about it, they treasured this intimacy.  It defined them.

P: She was a storybook grandmother.  She made cakes and chopped liver, she brought Jersey Bagels to CT where there was nary a bagel to be found. She gave unconditional love and support and an open door.  One summer while in college, I found myself in the area with a friend after a late night at a concert at the Meadowlands.  We were in desperate need of a shower, a bed and a meal.   I suggested that we go to Grandma and Grandpa’s.  We arrived at 8am and despite being unexpected, were welcomed with open arms and much more.  My friend, who didn’t have any grandparents, couldn’t get over it.  I am not sure that he’d ever before realized how much he was missing out.  When she retired, she volunteered at the hospital and was given the perfect job for her—rocking the babies.  A surrogate Grandma to those who needed one.

J: She had a storybook engagement and marriage.  A dashing soldier and a beautiful young woman.  They met in a youth group before he went to the war.  The story is that she was engaged to someone else, but took a liking to him.  She started send him letters and care packages, apparently including salami(!).  He came home on leave to “get engaged.” And next thing you know he was AWOL, they were having a small wedding in someone’s apartment, and within a few days, he was back to work in England.

P: On his return, they have two kids in the late forties (one boy, one girl, of course).  They move from Newark to the suburbs.  He starts his own business.  They go to the cabana club.  They complement each other.  He is a ham.  She laughs at his jokes.  When they dance, it is as if time stands still.  She was President of the PTA multiple times, began work as a bookkeeper at Springarn insurance company when Dad went to college, and still made sure that the family had a nutritious meal each night.  OK, every Monday was steak and Tuesday was spaghetti and Friday was chicken.  

J: Always chicken…

P: By the time they were married 40 years Grandpa Bob said no more chicken… and there was a “moratorium” on chicken.

J: Since Bob passed Grandma has slowly slpped away...without his partnership, his patter, his blue eyes, she started to shut down… In 2006, she moved to CT where Dad and Susan did an amazing job making her part of their life and Cheryl and Stuart were able to come down regularly. She perked up when she was at parties in Hamden.  Even if she would disappear in the middle to curl up for a nap by the fire, she would always come back to the party for some pistachios, a sip of wine and a good laugh at whatever the great grand kids were doing.

The last 8 weeks have been tough watching her get weaker, but Brianne the boys and I have been lucky enough to have a couple of good visits including getting to celebrate her 93^rd birthday with her…Seamus is a big fan of what he calls Happy Cake and I will never forget the joy Grandma showed while she fed him

P: Grandma Mimi, Aunt Mir, Miriam, our mother, our sister, our friend, will be missed by all of us… but we will all remember her and Bob together smiling, joking, dancing… She was beautiful inside and out and she will stay alive in our hearts inside forever.

Frances, in our words

We know most of you didn't know Frances, but she was very, very special to Peter and to all of us.  Here are the speeches Peter and Jeff gave at her memorial service, as well as the poem I (Callista) read.

From Jeff

Today is hard, but I am not sure it is harder than a few months a go…..

One of the most difficult things I ever had to do was go down to Florida to take Grandma’s car away… it was June and she had been in and out of the hospital a few times, her diabetes was all over the map and she was putting up a fight to keep her independence….and no surprise to anyone she wasn’t giving it up easily…  as you can imagine it wasn’t fun… we yelled, I cried… Grandma was not a big crier… we ended up going to the grocery store two or three times… she never really gave up.

It was awful, but it was Grandma…the force of life, the strident independence, that had kept her going for 93 amazing years… and despite the tension and strong words I never questioned our love for each other.

Some grandmothers make the best chicken soup or chopped liver; others are well known for their knitting or singing… Grandma Frances did all of these things well… except maybe singing, that was Umpa’s domain-- but I bet if you ask everyone in this room what our Grandma was known best for it was doing simply doing ….she loved new experiences, traveling, great restaurants, movies, books, plays, the ballet, a day on the farm… she rarely sat still and she was lucky enough that she had you her family and friends who were willing to do with her.

She took Peter & I to our first Broadway show, our first rated R movie, our first amusement park, bowling alley and miniature golf course… she got me my first golf lesson (and then got yelled at by Ellen for it), taught me to steer a sailboat with no hands and she thought she bought me my first drink… and then there was that time when I was down in Florida visiting when I went with her and the girls – you were there, too, Jane --  to see a play about the Marquis De Sade complete with very adult language and full frontal male nudity.

As Peter and I started traveling the world she didn’t sit at home in Florida and wait for post cards. She jumped on an airplane and visited us… she met me in Japan and came on a business trip with me...not surprisingly she was the hit of the day, especially at lunch when a waiter who spoke no English rescued her by using a rubber band and some card board to tie together her chop sticks in a way she could use them … she met me in London and we went off to France on a wine tasting adventure and had a number of memorable meals…

When Sam & Dean were born she didn’t miss an opportunity to head to St Maarten at the drop of a hat and with the birth of her great grandkids she was front and center at all occasions whether in CT or Swaziland.

Sitting in high holidays service a few weeks ago, I found myself flipping through all of the snapshots of the experiences Grandma Frances and I had together… some made me tear up, some made me smile….and the best part was that I never got to the end of the list… I talked to Peter yesterday and he said he had done the same thing…we started to share notes and realized not only that we had each missed things we had done together, but also how many special experiences that we had alone with Grandma Frances.

A sampling of a few or the most memorial snapshots

• Second row seats for the show Barnum on Broadway our first (she spoiled us so) and lunch at Mama Leonni’s
• Dinner at Window’s on the World for her 80^th birthday in the fall of 1999 when a sailing trip to St Maarten was cancelled due to a Hurricane
• A Saturday morning phone call when I was in college… around 7am … I groggily picked up the phone only to hear the declaration “Jeff, we have a problem.”  Seconds later, now wide awake, I learned that she and Umpa had mistakenly put something in the Trash on their computer… needless to say I was relieved
• Sailing in Raritan Bay, Long Island Sound, Maine, Florida and the Caribbean
• Countless phone calls to Grandma Frances from wherever I was, whatever was going on… whether opening ceremonies of the Olympic Games or after my first date with Brianne, the experience wasn’t complete until I shared it with Grandma.
• Spending New Years eve with her in 1998 after I had broken my knee skiing… she made me Prime Rib…we stayed up to 10pm and although I couldn’t walk without crutches I don’t remember ever being more content  on Dec 31st.
• Her love for Umpa and their partnership, her matchless friendship with Bob and the look on people’s faces when I told people that she met him online
• The joy in her face when Brianne and I told her she was going to be a great grandmother
• The smile that holding Rory brought to her face when he and I went to visit her over the last few months

And finally… When we visited Grandma and Umpa when we were young and she was tired at the end of a long day…and ready for us to go to bed she would announce in her most authoritative voice that the Kitchen was Closed…as a six or eight year old who wants a glass of water or another oreo this was a little hard to get my mind around …over the years it became one of those phrases we used over and over again the ironic thing was that the kitchen was the only thing that was ever closed because Grandma was always there and ready to share another experience.

From Peter

Dear Grandma,

I am starting to think about you as if you are already gone.  I know that you don’t want to be living like this.  In a nursing home, dependent on others to give you food, move you from room to room, turn out your light at night and turn it on in the morning.  Since Umpa died in 1996—16 years ago-- your love of independence has grown and grown.  You created a life for yourself—a boyfriend, a fancy car, tickets to the ballet, new restaurants, mah jong games, Sunday morning breakfasts with the ladies, taking care of your second generation of grandkids, enjoying your great grandkids and loving all of us.

You were amazing when you were with Umpa, but your life started anew with a trip around the world less than one year after he died.  I was working in Ethiopia at the time and Jeff was in Japan.  So, first you met me in Egypt so we could explore the pyramids.  Then we traveled to Israel to have Passover with your cousins (and Mark came too!).  Then you went on to China and Japan on your own.  Wanderlust temporarily satisfied, you moved to Florida full time and started your life.  You were quick to start internet dating.   I might be making it up, but I think you described yourself in one of your blurbs as “foxy lady.”  And you were.   Eventually you found Bob—and what a lucky woman you were.

In the last 16 years, you and I had adventure after adventure.  I used to say that wherever I went, you’d come meet me.  We took a boat down the Nile, visited the Dead Sea, had brunch on the Amazon, tracked leopards in Botswana, challenged elephants in Swaziland, saw the Namibian desert at sunrise by hot air balloon, explored castles in Scotland and much, much, more.

In Germany, we went to the concentration camp, Dachau.  We walked in the gate and we both immediately wanted to run away.  But we steeled ourselves and talked our way onto a private tour that had already started.  We paused for a long time to look at the map that showed the routes by which the Jews were transported to camps during the war.  “There, but for the grace of God, go I,” you said.  And we shivered.

In the middle of these international trips, we did our share of traveling in the US.  One of our favorite things to do was to be on the water.  We even took up fishing.  Not that either of us were very good at it—but it was a good excuse to be outside, do something a little physical, and was something we could enjoy together, each at our pace.   We went flatboat fishing in the Everglades, deep sea fishing near Atlantic City, and flyfishing in Colorado.  Except for the flyfishing, we always caught something to eat for dinner. On one trip to Arizona, we tried whitewater rafting.  You were 84 years old and our fellow passengers accused me of dragging you along with me, when really it was the opposite—I was there because you wanted to be there.   Craziest of all—I went to visit you in Florida one year and you told me that you wanted to go parasailing.  To this day, the memory of us floating around hundreds of feet in the air- and deciding that we both were bored-- is one of my favorites.

That story also found its way into family legend because shortly after that experience, your hip was hurting you and you went off to see an orthopedist.  Instead of sending you to rehab, as you had expected though, the orthopedist talked to you as if you were an old lady with her latest aches and pains and sent you off with a cane.  You called me as soon as you left the place—furious, indignant and still without your prescription for rehab.  So I took the photo that I had of the two of us landing on the back of the parasailing boat and sent it to that orthopedist with a letter on official stationary from the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania.  I don’t remember exactly what I wrote, but I reminded him to see his patients as individuals.  Not every 85-year old lady in Ft Lauderdale is, in fact, an 85- year old lady.  As soon as he received that letter, that orthopedist was on the phone calling you to apologize and offer you that prescription for rehab.  Sometimes I think of that doctor and imagine that he keeps that picture of you on his bulletin board to this day as a reminder of how medicine is supposed to be practiced.

Grandma, you used to say: “You and me, Peter, we’ve had lots of adventures.”  And your tone would be wistful, as if those days were done.  Then we’d find an excuse to go on another adventure.  I think you thought that when I got married, that would be it.  But then Callista (and then Aviva) only added to our fun.  And we always followed your rules: every vacation day deserves at least one beer and one ice cream.  Always have afternoon coffee in the fanciest hotel in town—you were the one who introduced me to cappuccinos after all.  Take time to sit on a bench and “watch the Joneses go by.”  And always look out for random paths—just to see where they lead.

We never talked about it, but we had a silent agreement that if neither of us treated you as “old” then you wouldn’t get old.  But in the end, time caught up to you.

I have been steeling myself for the end of your life for years.  After every adventure, after every visit, I said to myself—enjoy it.  This might be it.  She is going to overdose her insulin or underdose her insulin and at least she will go quickly and quietly while she is still independent.  With her glow of magic and strength.   After all, at 91 years old, you were flying by yourself to meet us in Israel.  And when we reunited with your first cousin Ilana anyone would’ve have thought you were 75.  Full of energy, telling stories—the life of the party.

And that is how I will remember you.  Full of life and vigor and everyone always asking me in wonder: how old is she? 

Grandma, we were so blessed to have 4 grandparents for so much of our growing up.  And even more blessed to have had you so active for so many years.  Thank you for the adventures, the many conversations, the lessons I learned from you on how to live and how to treat others.  You are an inspiration.  

Love,

Peter

From Callista

WE REMEMBER THEM

In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we remember them.

 In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we remember them. 

In the opening of buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them. In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer, we remember them. 

In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them. 

In the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them; 

When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them. 

When we are lost and sick at heart, we remember them. 

When we have joys we yearn to share, we remember them. 

So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.

--Rabbi Jack Riemer, Rabbi Sylvan Kamens

Frances and Miriam

***This post is a bit long, but it describes part of a difficult and important chapter in our life.***

In October, we traveled home for the funerals of both of Peter's grandmothers.  Both of them were almost 93 years old.

On Tuesday, October 9, 2012, we found out that Peter's maternal grandmother Frances, was about to pass away.  Her health had been steadily declining over the last several months, so we had been expecting bad news at anytime.  We cancelled our commitments for the next two weeks, bought plane tickets, and packed to go home.  Later that night, we heard that Frances was gone.

The next morning, as we were preparing to fly home, we learned that Peter's paternal grandmother, Miriam, had been moved by ambulance to hospice.  She had lived with dementia for a number of years and a her physical health had declined rapidly in the previous month, so we were prepared for this news.  After our first short flight from Swaziland, while we were waiting at the Johannesburg Airport, we learned that Miriam, too, had gone quietly, in her sleep.

After we arrived at JFK on Thursday, October 11, we rented a car and drove straight to a hotel near Frances' funeral in New Jersey.  Peter's brother Jeff and his family met us there. We dressed, left the kids with a babysitter, and headed to the funeral.

The service was very simple.  Peter and Jeff's mom, Ellen, spoke, as did Peter and Jeff.  Brianne (Jeff's wife) and I read poems.  Here are the speeches Jeff and Peter gave, as well as the poem I read.  We cried, some loudly, some quietly, but we also smiled and laughed.  My favorite moment—if one can say such a thing about a funeral—was when the rabbi was describing Frances' extraordinary achievements.  He spoke of her spirit and strength, about how she traveled the world to meet her grandsons, about how she lived independently for so many years. "She even did karate!" he exclaimed.

We (her family) all giggled a little as the rabbi had clearly misunderstood an aspect of Ellen's description of Frances' interests.  Frances did take pilates, even until very recently, but she would have enjoyed that some in the audience thought she was breaking boards in her free time.

After the service, we went to Ellen's cousin Jerry's home.  It was a beautiful fall day, warm in the sunshine, with leaves scattered across still-green lawns. When the sun set, we felt a chill in the air.

Unbelievably, we then went to a hotel nearby, where we met Richard and Susan (Peter's father and stepmother) and Peter's aunt, Cheryl, and her partner, Stu.  On Friday morning, we gathered with Richard's family for Miriam's service, at a different funeral home nearby.  This service was also very sad, though also warm and kind.   For some reason, I was the most touched by the anecdotes about Miriam and her three sisters, who spoke to each other every day.  Only one of them, Huvy, (Evelyn) is surviving.  The eldest, Rose, was one of Aviva's namesakes.  Peter and Jeff gave a lovely eulogy together.

After the rabbi spoke at the burial, one of Miriam's girlfriends spoke up, very briefly.  She and Miriam had been friends for more than 60 years, I think.  Sixty years.

At the luncheon afterwards, Richard gave a toast to his mother's life.  We looked at gorgeous black and white photos of a twenty-something Miriam and Bob (Peter's grandfather).  She, elegant and slender, he, a dashing soldier.

Both Frances and Miriam led long, wonderful lives, full of family and friends.  Aviva is lucky to have met two of her great-grandmothers, as am I.  What I wanted to say, at those very last moments in New Jersey—but I feared it seemed too self-centered—was thank you. Thank you, Frances and Miriam, for raising Ellen and Richard, just as they are, so that they could raise Peter, just as he is, so that he could help create Aviva, just as she is.

Gigi's Birthday and visiting with Kirsten

Although our trip home in October was for a very sad occasion (the passing of both of Peter's grandmothers) we did take the opportunity to celebrate Gigi's birthday.  Listen closely to hear Seamus' directions for cake distribution toward the end of the clip!




Also while we were home we took the opportunity to make a very quick pit stop at the home of my friend Kirsten.  Our good friend Vishal (whom we met in Liberia) came by, and you can see his legs and body (though not his face, due to my toddler-focused cinematography) in this clip:




As always, when we are in Westport, we try to let Aviva experience a few of Seamus' many activities - a music class at the Westport Public Library and a class at Kids U.