I don’t want to shock any of my regular readers, nor attract any of a particular other kind, so the asterisks are in order.
We got a message on our phone machine that someone who used to live in our neighborhood back in Queens was visiting the area on business and found out that, sure enough, we’re the same people from that long ago and they wanted to wish us a Shabbat Shalom.
It took a while to track them down, and we asked if they wanted to join us for lunch. They thought they would try and we were excited.
The problem was, who were they?
We sort of remembered them. Actually, ironically enough, I remembered their house! I also remembered that he had some strange customs and she was very laid back, so she just laughed them off, knowing that that wasn’t who he was. But I couldn’t really remember their faces…
After all, it had been 32 years since I saw them.
Oh yeah, I tried the Facebook and the Google. They were imageless–can you imagine? It’s probably because they had moved to Israel and so if I had looked in Google Israel maybe…
Nope. Just checked there. Nada.
So in the morning, after synagogue services (okay, honestly, during services), I surveyed the room and found the person who must be my old acquaintance and sure enough, everything fell into place. I remembered all kinds of other details about our connections and it was a great feeling. We reminisced enough to feel connected again and we’ll be in touch now through the magic of the internet and then hopefully, we’ll be able to get together when we go to Israel.
I think I felt nervous about seeing her–would I feel old? Would she/they be old? What does 32 years look like?
Ironically, she did look up ISHI’s photo. After all, it’s all over the place. And she wasn’t sure he was the same person they knew. He looked so very different.
What’s ironic about that is that I think he’s changed less than most people I know. And most people say that, too, while not saying anything about me. But it felt very natural, the 32 years, at least with this couple. So I was relieved. A lot.
And so what’s that bit about the glasses, you are reminding me?
On my way into services, I caught up with someone and I mentioned how much I liked her new glasses. She was very happy, since apparently, not everyone agreed.
In fact, her children thought they looked too out there. She wasn’t going to wear them to go on interviews, was she???
But this is what she wanted. She needed to make a statement.
When she went into the optician’s, she said, “I need a pair of bitch glasses.”
Now she’s a very diminutive, eternally optimistic and happy (on the outside); not the kind of candidate for that kind of demand.
And the optician was–
well–he just didn’t know how to react.
When he got over his shock, he tried his best to find something for her, but she ended up getting a pair somewhere else.
She walked into that optician chain and said, “I need a pair of bitch glasses.”
They found a pair for her right away and she took them back to our local guy to finish.
I really think I’m going to go to our guy and say, “I need a pair of…”
But I will go and tell him that I’m going to the other place and bring back a pair for him to finish.
After all, at a certain age, we can do that.