A Slotted Spoon Can Catch A Potato

SMS has the next two days off from teaching due to Sukkot. (Yea Sukkot!) We're going away but SMS doesn't know where.

This is what he knows:

• We're leaving around noon on Thursday and we're getting back Saturday by dinner.

• The forecast (so that he can pack) is:
  Thursday, High 69/Low 50
  Friday, High 61/Low 49
  Saturday, High 65/Low 49
  

That's about it.

Here's what he'll know if he reads this entry:

We're using a gift certificate that was given to us for our wedding 3 years ago from a good friend of SMS' family ("Dotsie") and her partner. It's from a place called Select Registry which is really amazing: it's a gift certificate that you can use at any of a number of Bed and Breakfasts and Inns all across the country. It's a great gift and it's good for 7 years! We tried to use it a few times on the East Coast, but the Inns were never in the right place or they were too expensive or something else made it not quite right. But here on the West Coast I found a place that is reasonably priced (the gift certificate will cover most of the two nights) and in a great location, or so I've been told. I am very excited!

Dotsie is, unfortunately (too gentle a word), not with us anymore. In the years since her death I have gotten to know her children fairly well. They are amazing people. (See here, here, here and here if you need proof.)

Photo of Dotsie's kids and at her youngest son's wedding last month.

My love affair with her kids started just after her death when SMS and I paid a seven-hour Shiva call. No joke: seven hours. We got there around 7pm and left around 2am. We were, not surprisingly, the last ones there. I remember certain things we talked about, but definitely not all of it. I do remember having a good time, and feeling really guilty about that.

Regular readers and friends will know that even before my dad died, I had a mild obsession with death. I like true-crime books and tv shows. I am not afraid of hospitals or sick people. Even when it's hard or uncomfortable, I know it's important to visit the sick. But what I don't talk about much, what is hard to admit, to myself and to others, is that one of the things that I find fascinating about death (and grave illness and disaster -- all of which I have dealt with in the past 6 years) is the way it breaks up the routine of life. I know that sounds sick, alarming and gross. I know that people who have not experienced a tragedy up close might not understand it. I know that people who have experienced tragedies may disagree. And I respect that.

I should make it clear that it's not that I wish these things on anyone, it's just that I understand these tragedies are a fact of life and I know occasionally wonderful things can come out of them. If we miss the opportunity to appreciate the magical things then we become victims all over again, and we miss the opportunity to grow.

I am reminded of the night after my dad died. I was home in Pittsburgh with Susan P. and Mr. Happy. SMS and my New York friends had not arrived yet. I don't remember when we fell asleep, but I do remember waking up in the middle of the night only to find my mom and my brother awake, too. When I say that tragedies interrupt the monotony of daily life, this is what I mean. We wanted to be asleep; we needed to be asleep; but it just wasn't our time to sleep. Under no other circumstances would my mom, my brother and I be awake and chatting at 4 in the morning. I was so glad that the two of them were awake. I felt so close to them and, through my grief and my disbelief that my dad was actually gone, I was happy, a little, too.

When I think about using the gift certificate this weekend, I am a little sad. Sometimes I think the reason we never used it back east is because it was a little part of Dotsie that was still with us. Although we sent her and her partner Dan a thank you note before she died, I had always intended to send her another note after we used the gift certificate. I guess I need to find Dan's address.