Casados

(Cas-AH-dos)

San Antonio, Texas



I met a veteran at the Dunkin Doughnut counter, I needed Cappuccino badly. The flight out of Harlingen was stormy, seems to me every time I fly now there is plenty of drama and electricity. Great flight very hard landing, all flaps wide open full throttle, drop her like a stone, and brake for all she's worth. Saves fuel but is hell 0n the passengers. Back at the counter, army baseball capped this gent has one of the heaviest New York accents I've heard in awhile. Queued up he turns to me, grousing, how he hates Krispy Kreme, here is the other indication he is or has been a New Yorker, we tend to begin conversations with perfect strangers. Kreme's have been closing their stores all over so I am informed "somebody played fancy with the money." He only eats Dunken, orders three, two jelly and one glazed, a cup of Java. Brooklyn, he confirms not New York, Brooklyn a Brooklynite. In the late forties he moved to Mexico, been there ever since. Lives in an ex-pat community in Mexico City, very safe no problems. He wants to buy me a coffee, I decline, we exchange news of goings on and shake hands before we part. There was a nostalgic moment when I mentioned Prospect Park, he used to live in view of it.

Wish I had my computer this is one long lay-over. Packing light meant leaving my books back home. The constraints of traveling today leave a lot to be desired. Something else has become apparent to me, I am unable to do "without" these days. Pills, cremes, ankle wraps ...stuff... Can't go back to the old days traveling Europe with a tiny case of feather weight undies, drip dry mini dresses and a pair of sandals. A life time ago, no three. Different girl, long haired brunette, features so young, unmarked rounded full cheekbones skin fair and smooth,blue eyes wide open. Now, I see ghosts, ghost of my mother, my Aunts. My face is not my own, it is a hodge-
podge of woes, tears, hope, triumph and knowledge and ecstatically, finally, more than a bit of the sage, a crone. I am very proud to reach the status of healer, earth mother, elder, crone. Just wish there wasn't so much sagging involved. The fullness of face has migrated to my neck where it gathers happily upon my jowls and under chin. Dabs and dobs of green creme erase tiny red capillaries that dot the landscape followed by cunning liquid cover ups. Blush tries to revive the all too pale mounds of cheek bone that are now flattening planes. Pink on lids that are now crapier, darker, lower. Cover all with powder guaranteed to Glow. I don't need to "do" my roots as often, grey is taking over, it looks kinda silvery blond. I look at old pictures now and see myself in the long gone faces of my clans women. A comfort, continuity.

I've been channeling Anita a lot lately, she comes through without warning. I hear the tone, words, and I know it's her. I've become more flippant and irreverent out loud. Stunning are my words, never before would I utter these things. Talking to my Gastroenterologist, above the screaming of a child in the recovery area, he closes the door to chase the sound away, while commenting on his dislike for children, he doesn't "do" them. I quip "does your wife know about this?" Oh boy inappropriate on so many levels, funny yes but oy vey ANITA. He laughs dryly and says "that's a whole other story", good grief, I just blink and we get back to the discussion. My friend Geoff found it very funny to my relief. Anita visits more and more, I tend to have less inhibitions less to loose in so many ways. So much of her moments interpose my own, I am astonished that Michele as I knew her exists at all. I consult her often, and more often out loud. My dad Hal has always helped me "fix" things, work the broken, and summon the strength when needed. Fantastic assets to be sure, now Anita and her incorrigible humor, the don't give a damn 'tude has found a new home.

Looking at my double nickles birthday in the mirror, it is wonderful to realize I have come home to myself, I've made peace with my life and past. It's also a relief not to hold onto or care about the trivial mundane inanities of life. The other side of the coin is I am crankier, and have no trouble saying so. It's the whole earning the right to be fed up with BS and a panoply of the insufferable flotsam and jetsam in my life. Middle age plus has it's perks, being frank and not suffering gnats and their pettiness is a biggy. It seems to me I am smarter, faster, sharper more alive in every way. Physically I am stumbling a bit, but I still have energy and drive to spare. My mental acuity, aside from the loosing of reading glasses and misplacing a thing or two is truly better that it's ever been. Admitidly my spelling is just as bad. My former policy of think it, don't say it, is on the very back burner.

Funny, to finally figure it all out, all of it. I need my 18 year old body back dammit. NOT FAIR. Pigs are not flying with or without lipstick, so I look ahead, set my shoulders, and lean forward against the often not gentle wind of life and set my course to the future.



Union Station, D.C.

I haven't been on Amtrack since mom died. It was the trip down to D.C. after the funeral for Adams G.W.U. Law school graduation. The whole week had taken it's toll and I arrived with Bronchitis. At the time he was living with Shepard and Tui. A.J. took me to a clinic, that turns out to be on the same block as Goli's clinic. They must have passed each other all the time, but it took the Internet and deployment in Iraq for them to "meet". Just the other day they put a bid in for their new home, a large place as they hope to start a family. When the question came up I acquiesced to being called Bubbie. If I ever get a face/chin lift and loose those damn fifty pounds it sure as heck gonna be Bubbles. Grandpa or Pop used to call me Cookie, I wouldn't mind that. Or some other language version of it. Bubbie just hangs there, I see the picture of Mollie my Great- Grandmother, tiny, stout, bust, waist and hips all melded together, multi chinned, heavy bye- bye arms. This mother of twelve children and legions there after, with her Austrian accent, no English, she was a Bubbie.

Neither of my Grandmothers were. Ruth Schick Bernstein was a mover and a shaker in her day. Big busted, tiny, plain, she regaled me with stories of her past. Modern dance classes in the twenties, reading and adhering to modern child psychology books, her disdain of formalized religion of any kind. She carried the first woman's drivers licence in NY, and in defiance of the law with great personal conviction she handed out diaphragms to the poor women in the tenements. She was a bookkeeper who was a working mother and until she had a mishap with a sidewalk at seventy five, continued to work. Slowly there after her life and strength began to unravel. The recipient of one of the first knee transplants, she suffered quietly as she relied more and more on television for her view of the world. Grandma Ruthy believed in free expression, women's rights and modernism. Grandma was no beauty, yet she had a spirit of confidence that was profound. When first married she blew off the Orthodoxy that both she and Herman were raised in. She refused to sleep separately from her new husband shocking her mother-in-law and distressing both sides of the family with her break from the traditional role of Jewish wife. We were often offered a Hanukkah Bush from Ruth, and my father although never mindful of the traditions of Judaism would not allow one in our home. Her father, Rabbi Bernard Schick of Hungary, was by all accounts a tough often brutal man. I got the sense that Grandma, blamed his awful temper and insensitivity on his fanatical religiosity. She was the youngest of sixteen children, Great-Grandpa had four wives and my Great Grandmother was wife number three. He emigrated a second time, to Palestine in his seventies to become a freedom fighter for Israel, married again and lived past one hundred.



My mothers mother Etta, no nonsense, aloof and beautiful. A woman of style and sophisticated taste. Another liberated, smart albeit quirky woman who was certainly before her time. She was a terrific cook but I always thought she would have been happier running a business. My mother used to call me the throw back, perhaps, I make no apologies for being a "throw back". I make no apologise for my talents. They do lie with the more domestic side of life, although there is the "woo, woo" as Adam coined, side of my nature. Do I throw back to Bubbie though, four generations back?



Margo and Rick will meet me at Penn Station, the bride wants to shop. I am just along for support. This will be my first face to face with my new son. Adam sprang Goli on me without warning. Jean Marie and I were besieged at Adams welcome home soldier ceremony by this diminutive, beautiful woman. I had no clue who she was, Goli, Goli? Who, when, what and why. Poor Goli my reaction of startled blankness, she thought I hated her on sight, she also thought my son had told me all about her! What a beginning and how typical of Adam. Jean-Marie somehow gently interrogated Dr. Shadlin Goli , my soon to be daughter-in-love. The shaky start to firm foundations. This drop dead gorgeous, brilliant, loving, down to earth woman has brought such richness and energy to our family. Now Richard Louis Casados, so loving, so patient, and talented. A perfect fit for Margo. Neither of my new kids are the old norm. Not from New York, culturally very different. Bringing change to our old European Jewish centric energy.



As my train pulls me closer to a new era in my life, a new child to love and worry about, a new family to embrace and meld. I note a sign welded to a trestle bridge spanning the river it gives me pause...Trenton Makes the World Takes. Is that still true? I don't even want to think about where we are going and where we are in the world. Not this weekend, I am taking a break from my running feud with the Idiot Bush and all that beleaguers the U.S. at the moment.



We had dinner at Adam's favorite place Marks Duck house at Seven corners. Nothing fancy but the best duck and great Chinese food. Probably the best South of the Mason Dixon line. Self proclaimed high brows need not come, we however enjoy it. Yes, this is a dig.



I need to feed upon Bagels/lox, Deli, real New York pizza, Pho and if we can Hungarian. Anita's all time favorite was Malkas. Indian is high on the list here, so much food so little time.



I miss my chanclas my feet haven't been in shoes well, in forever. I live in the tropics. I own chanclas of every color, high heels and all. Flip flops for every occasion. Now I am shod in break the bank loafers that gleam and shine and I pine for my Old Navy chanclas. Sexy bare toes with fresh really red polished toe nails a thin curvy line intersecting the big toe from the first toe, are black thongs for the feet. Stilettos are over rated, when bare skin with a strap of silver,or bronze, all colors of the rainbow show off smooth bare legs, and the satisfying smack, smack, smack, as I go about my business with rhythmic accompaniment, striding along Terra Firma all seems right with my world.

New York, New York

We three share a cab and ride up to my sister in the 80's. Things are the same the crowds, noise, construction, yet there are differences. Many old shops restaurants are gone, and with in minutes of being above ground I see that the city does look different. During the next few days I realize there is no going home for me. Margo and Rick mention that they realize that coming back to NY may not be an option for them. The cost of everything, the changes, they no longer feel at home. These are middle class young people and they don't feel there is a place any longer for them here.

Ricks smile is magic and his energy is fantastic, I fall in love with my new son and the sense of relief is palpable. No worries here, I just hope they aren't too stressed about the wedding and the "families".

After spending some time with my sister Margo and Rick run off to do their chores and check out the restaurant Le Barricou, where the reception will be held. Harrison, my soon to be eleven nephew, Pam and I head to the new favorite Hungarian restaurant. I have a dish I hadn't seen on Malkas menu, this place is in the same section of the city it's the German Austrian and Hungarian. I learned to eat and cook it as a mothers helper with the Shelly's in their Hampton Bays home eons ago. Mrs. Shelly was a Hungarian Jew, and that summer her mother was visiting. Heaven help my spelling here Rococumpli, is a dish of potatoes quartered, hard boiled eggs sliced and with sausage, or hot dogs if feeding growing kids, and sour cream with lots of good paprikash and browned onions. It can be made in a casserole, as I make it layered, or all sauteed together slightly browning the eggs and potatoes. Food real ethnic food can't be beat. Hearty with overtones of the old country it helps me to feel well less alien to this world I took for granted. Ten years in the south has changed my eating in many ways.

The next few days I spend time with Pam and Harrison with snippets for the kids. Friday we get together with Ricks mom Carmen and sister Carmella. What sweet hearts, I am sooo happy and relieved that once again my new family are loves.We have all met to do a girls medi-pedi with Annick, Mary Margo Carmen Carmella and myself. After the other girls return to work, We have a late lunch at Katz' deli. I have a personality disorder. Mild mannered, well mannered until I go home. At Katz' I really let loose, hey I am not chopped liver, I eat chopped liver. I think they(Carmen, Carmella) are in Jewish/New York culture shock it's a whole different world from New Mexico. There are lots and lots of food stacked up in front of us. Margo's nervous stomach and some chicken matzoh ball soup click just fine. She runs off, as Craig arrives. He eats and I take off for Pam's to dress and ready for the "Family" dinner.

Dinner is in a new Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. The owners are young and hip, friends of Rick's and Margo. They have a wood fired oven and a very eclectic menu. BYOB. It's on a dark and rough looking street, yet our welcome is warm and they take very good care of us. A few cousins, Aunt and Uncle on both sides, siblings and parents. We are a surprisingly big crowd and a hungry one. Beer and wine appear and we begin the process of introductions and renewing old relationships although slightly estranged. It's fun to see many of my other nieces, nephews and their "dates" after all these years. It's always a little awkward for me around my former husband and his family. This time I am so far down the "road," I let go of the old feelings and just enjoy myself.

Margo and Rick enter and she looks like Marilyn Monroe. How cute are they and Margo is just glowing. I want to take her home with me though, wrap her up in cotton wool and put her to bed. Those days are long long gone, yet my mothers instinct takes over. I don't think my mother felt this way about my first marriage, but I know my dad didn't want to let go. For daughters it is so different.

Saturday, and we rush out to pick Margo and all her "stuff" up in preparation to take her to the Chelsea hotel where she and Rick will spend the next couple of nights. Adam is her chauffeur for the day. He drives us first to our hair appointment. It's fun to see Margo in action, this is her old hairdresser, before she moved to London. They are all so happy for her it is infectious. I've been sick for days now and last night was the worst I've had in a long time. I am exhausted dehydrated and hungry but I dare not eat. I cab it back to Brooklyn, Williamsburgh where we are renting a two bedroom one bathroom. Adam, Barry Goli and Sholeh share the space with me. We are trying to not step all over each other. Poor Sholeh slept on a foam whatsit, and Barry and I tossed and turned on a double mattress on the floor. It's cheap and convenient. The neighborhood is vibrant with lots of mom and pop stores and restaurants. In the city the chains have taken over and only a few independent food places still exist. Here the crowds flowing by look like birds of every feather. The mixed DNA on the street is astounding after living in such small towns with a homogenized look for the last ten years. No where is like NY. No where is like Brooklyn. My fathers home town. The outfits so outrageous so urban are parading the streets with aplomb. Even Adam and Goli see such a difference from the conservative look in D.C. Barry remarks often about the dark somber cloths of the valley. Florida was all about the bust and legs. Here the dress is less sexually obvious. Pompis or butts are big here, but usually sheathed in black.

I can hardly walk, my knee is totally out and my hip is screaming. Using the subway and walking all the stairs this past week have caught up to my liabilities. I just want to get through this with a smile on my face and to truly dance at Margo and Rick's wedding. I have been Reiking myself like crazy, popping pills and keeping my fingers crossed. I run through the shower, makeup and extra glue for my false lashes. We look splendid. I look at my house mates and kvell.

Saturday September 20, Prospect Park Brooklyn;

It is a perfect fall day in the park. The air is crisp and the crowd is in a festive mood (as well they should be). People are busy doing, lovers are intertwined, the athletes are doing hip athletic stuff, strollers are consciously strolling and being seen, parents are taking their progeny out for an airing. We gather under Erica's balloons slowly working our way through various parts of the city and Brooklyn to be here. I must say we are a splendid lot. Although the witnesses are few in number we are in high gear and grand spirits. The Facilitator is lovely and funny as well, she puts us at our ease. The main street through the park will open soon as the street fair is winding down. Adam and Margo are stuck in terrible bridge traffic and so we all make our way to the little copse that will act as back drop for the vows. It is quiet and lovely well treed and enough off the beaten path. Margo's second reconnoiters the area letting the few non party members who are enjoying the solitude know about the upcoming nuptials. They watch for anything that might become a nuisance ready to pounce and clean up. Erica, Margo's dear friend and wedding planner places rose petals along a soft undulating course up to the "spot" In due course the text arrives that they are indeed making their way to the party. Ira goes to the top of the stairs to escort Margo, I mount the last set so that we can flank her in the traditional walk to the groom. Rick bless him has been calm and kidding with us. He looks all Carnaby street and very much the Handsome groom. I hear cheers and applause, Adam rushes down and after a minute over the top I see Margo she is glowing in the dimness of the late afternoon. Her shiny head adorned with a tiara, The perfect white stole surrounding her shoulders as she and her father begin the decent towards me. The sound of the Violin begins tentatively at first and strengthens as they come nearer, bless Erica and her husband who is playing intently. I can't take my eyes off of my darling daughter. She is perfect and I am crying trying not to disturb this moment. At some point I am aware that I must give her up and I need to steel my self for this. I am speechless and can only kiss her and place her next to Rick. The young man on the bench has stayed and is with rapt attention watching the proceedings. Another elderly man tries to linger just beyond not intruding but there never the less. The sun is fading but the light continues to glow. It is a magical moment in the park as Margo and Rick exchange their vows. Max bears the rings and Mary reads a confirmation of their love. Mr. and Mrs. Richard Casados.

All in all one of the most moving and beautiful marriages I have witnessed. What a shame that we could not all assemble there in the park as witnesses, but the rules and regs were beyond even Margo and Erica's combined powers.

I will remember the light and the halo that virtually surrounded Margo that evening. When Rick and Margo stood together, a wonderful green haze of heart love surrounded them. I see that same glow when I see Adam and Goli together.

The party was fun, all who attended, this small band of happy souls, brought together out of love and friendship for the Casados, made the most of the evening. When it came time to toast the couple we had a great deal of laughter and all with such love and sincerity. There was true warmth and careing in that room.

Sunday, Chelsea Hotel New York,

We are at the venerable Chelsea, unchanged without regard to century or mod cons. It is fantastic, fun, legendary. Those of us left in NY have come for brunch before heading back to whence we came (ok,ok). The best damn lox I ever had and some great bagels as I hand out Memosas, and Carmen passes around chili bread made by an Aunt in New Mexico, such an incredibly sweet thing to do. Carmella also has special cookies to share, very much like the ones here in Mexico. We all try to fit on the enormous day bed, in front of the huge bow window. What I wouldn't give to own that baby and have placed in my bedroom in front of that window, wowza.

I see my children kibitzing and laughing together, my three kids and my two new ones and I am at peace. I know that it will all work out and they will remain close and keep the family together. Barry has kept close to me he knows that I have been in emotional hyper drive with one thing and another. It's great to have his support his solid strength. His love and understanding of my children makes our marriage all the more precious. It was worth waiting for.

New Yorkers don't "do" tourist, but we were straining to catch every bizarre picture, every nuance as we left her highness the Chelsea. Going back to spend the night with Barry's mom and then fly home was comforting, a good ending for a whirlwhind week. It still astonishes me to say I live in Texas, more astonishing still is the happiness I feel when I come home.

Thank You, to all who could not be invited to this intimate wedding, and sent their love and regards. Muchos Gracis, to all who put this adventure on at such short notice, a big Bravo to all of Margo's and Rick's friends.

As a post script Rick flew back to London Thursday October 9 with new Visas in hand. Margo needless to say after a days fasting was very content to have dinner with her husband.

Casados Spanish word for married.

Ike Ike, I do not like Ike

I have been caught up with getting ready for Margo's wedding, and I haven't even finished my last blog! Well now there is this bloke named Ike, who is trying to decide if he wants to "visit" Brownsville. Inconvenient doesn't even begin to describe this. I am cancelling my visit to Adam, Goli and Sholeh. Tomorrow Wednesday instead of flying out I will be boarding up, for real this time. Two scenarios, I shelter in place, or evacuate with the cats with or without Barry. My heart is aching.

I will do the water, hurricane run latter. Ernesto will screw down the pool works and I have calls out for help to board up the house and those awfully big leaky front doors. This time it is surreal, painful, waiting to find out what the track and intensity will be. My sense of humor is fighting my dread and disappointment. With a fellow local Reiki master we are trying to change the trajectory and intensity of Senior Ike.

Well, I will let you all know what is what until then Vio con dios

Post: It is Wednesday, No pre-storm headache, no rain, but some really great looking cloud formations. With Barry's assurance the storm is headed as of 3:00 central time today for Matagorda Bay, Houston and was still gaining Latitude I am less stressed. We have not boarded but I did run out with Rossana and get more ply-locks in any event. They are not cheap, but a necessary evil if you will. We have also cooled down from the high 90's to just 90 today.

Margo is feeling a bit helpless, she wants to be with me and not have me go through another hurricane alone. With her wedding and all the other stresses in her life, I have tried to reassure her. The Bolivia ferry it is being posted on The Weather channel will stop running. That's not something you hear every day! School closings, airports but THE ferry? WOW that's big. I am antsy enough to think about baking a shissel of bread! Hey how much is a shissel anyway?

The birds have been feeding in a blanket on the ground. We have a lot of them and many are new to me. There's one that sounds just like a crypt door slowly opening, and one that has a cackle cry. The butterflies seem to exist all year here, and darning needles rule the airways. All the buzzing, flying thingys seem very busy today. I'll take this calm before the storm...

Saturday, "There for the Grace of G-d"...

I am soaking Hibiscus (Flor de Jamaica) flowers in boiled water. The concentrate with water and ice added becomes a wonderful cold drink that everyone assures me from the grocery checkout boy to Rossana is a tonic for the Kidneys. Next to me is reheated rice, my stomach has taken a hit from the stress and energy of Ike. We are fine, no wind, no rain, no terror in the night. A major bullet was dodged. Barry went to S. Padre Island yesterday and this morning. There was no beach or dunes yesterday. Only huge waves washing over to the roads. Geoff and another co-worker checked in the afternoon, at the Island and was astonished by the debree and destruction of the beach. B reports that a lot of dredging and work will need to be done to restore our beautiful sandy beaches. There was absolutly no wind. Brownsville for the first time since I arrived ten months ago was earily still. The sky I can only describe as a pre snow storm Nor' Easter glow. When you grow up in the North east, it is a sky you note, and then begin to stock up with milk, bread, eggs etc. The rules are different down here, other than ominous signs we are unscathed.

Astonishingly enough as Ike continues to roar as a Cat1 through the Houston burbs with it's spokes spreading outward, the media report on all the residents who did not leave Glaviston/
islands, and all the A flood zones. It is estimated 40% of residents who were ordered to evacuate did not. These folks may not be tecnically in running for the Darwin awards, it is my belief that they are golden recipients of the Dodo.

Does anyone else remember the old black and white movies where a monster of some sort or unnatural disaster is loose(d) upon the populas? Wether it was a Japanese flick or an American, the army was out going around with bull horns ordering the evacuation. Those who did not obey were escorted from their homes by gun point and a nudge. The Japenese flicks had the peasents scurrying with bundles on their backs and grannys strapped to younger men like so many sacks of potatos. They seemed to be packed and ready to leave without the bayonet point. As the mighty monster/disaster decended it was to empty towns or city's filled with gridlock and yellow cabs and madly fleeing drivers and pedestrians as the army directs and hustles them off. My point? I always belived that the Gov't would do whatever it took to keep us safe. I now understand as a "free" Nation, we are free to be as stupid and suicidal as we want. Forget that they are endangering the emergency response people, or looking for their Andy Warhol moment. As the wife of a man who's sole mission is to keep people safe, with as acurate forecasting as he can, his sweeping, brilliantly written impact statements that the NWS offices as well as the EMS, and media have repeated over and over I see his pain and puzzlement. One death and he is affected, his energy saped he questions me WHY? I can only say for the most part man is a dumb animal. I could corrilate it to our political outlook/mess, and religous beliefs but I won't. We are just dumb. Post storm deaths are inevitable and numerous, those are often wrong place, foolish etc., but to die by drowning or mishap in your own home when you could be high and dry?

We need to donate to the disaster relief funds and Red cross, this is going to take a lot of money and man power to put back together. Tzedaka and Tikkun Olam.

Well, I hope to book a flight out of here Monday and put Ike behind me, while I celebrate my family and get to wear my new sleek sexy black mother-of-bride cocktail dress. Now should I wear my diamond studs or my big silver disks...