Nov 08 2005 A good friend took us out to dinner for my birthday at a Brazilian restaurant. The food was good, but it was a weird experience overall. Our waiter came over and asked if we wanted something to drink. Three imported beers were listed with one of them Corona. So, I asked about the other two and whether they were light or dark. He said that one was light and one dark, but he did not know which was which. I told him to bring me the light one. He got about 20 feet from the table and said: “You want the dark one?” I told him I wanted the light one. Then, about two minutes later, he said again: “The dark one, right?” I said: “This is the third time I have told you I want the light one.”

When it came time to ask questions about the menu, he was clueless. This, it seems, was his second night on the job and he “hadn’t learned the menu yet.” So, with every question we asked, he had to ask someone else. And he had some really helpful explanations like: “We have two dressings. One is a vinaigrette we make here and the other is a creamy one we make here.” No clue what was in either of them. Time went by and we got our main courses. I had rack of lamb and the other two had different Brazilian fish. All dishes were excellent. Our friend had asked for beans instead of rice, but she got beans and rice. This was after the waiter asked another waiter how to note on the ticket that this was a substitution.

About five minutes after we had been served our main courses, the waiter showed up at the table and said something like this: “Would it be okay if you paid your bill now? They want to send me home and I cannot go with an outstanding bill.” I asked if it could just be transferred to another waiter and we could specify a tip for him. No, that was not possible, but he would be willing to stay until we were done. We told him we were not willing to pay in the middle of our meal.

While we were eating, he came by again to say how he had worked in a Vietnamese restaurant and how this place was all about celebrating life. Hmmmm. Then, while I was still eating, he wanted to know if we wanted dessert or coffee. We told him to wait until we were all finished. He came back. I asked for a dessert menu. He said that dessert consisted of three flavors of a custard cake and that they were out of everything else (which we learned was not true).

Our friend went and talked to the resident manager about our experience so far. About this time, our waiter brought the check. It was wrong. He had neglected to charge us for a main dish. Our friend sent it back saying that someone should check it since it did not seem right. After about five minutes, the waiter came back and said, as he dropped the check onto the table and made haste to get away: “You saved me from paying for that. Just keep the tip.” Funny. We had just been talking about whether to leave him any tip at all.

After he had taken the corrected check and a credit card up front, the resident manager came back with the credit card and told us the meal was on them and how sorry they were about our experience. Another waiter came over and wanted to know if they could give us some dessert or coffee. On our way out, I heard our waiter telling another waiter that he had been fired.

Oct 16 2005 One of the wonders of this October in St. Louis with its too-hot-for-autumn weather is the raspberries that continue to grow on my plants. I go out each evening when I am returning from feeding the horses and dogs and collect a handful of dark, ripe berries that adorn and enhance my morning's cereal the next morning.

Oct 23 2005 I had the wonderful opportunity to work with a high school senior creative writing class a bit over a week ago. (It was the day after Yom Kippur. I had read some of my poems at the memorial service that day.) The students and I talked about how I became a poet, I read some of my work that is in print and some in process. At one point, a young woman asked what my favorite subjects are.

In response, I read the first few lines of a poem I am working on:

Marian cries in the back of the room
As I read my poems aloud.
They’re all about cancer, getting old, death.

And I said:
• I’m 65
• I get wine from California that says not to drink it for at least 15 years
• I have dogs that are seven and nine and wonder if I will ever have another dog
• Of the 42 boys who graduated in my class, three of us have died
• Some good friends near my age have died
• Both of my parents are gone
• I was operated on for cancer when I was 60

So, not being morbid, it’s just the stage of life I am in. It gives one pause. I do write about other areas. Some of my stuff is funny (even some poems about cancer, aging, and death). But there is no getting away from the idea of change.

Two days later, I read at the debut of an anthology, New Harvest, where I have one poem, “Escape Hatch.” It’s in the prologue to my book, Roots and Paths, and talks about why I write. Interesting tie to the question asked in the class.

And this past week, my dear mother in law went into the hospital with some heart problems. She is 91. Her poem to me about living in the present and enjoying each day (also in the prologue mentioned above) prompted my response poem. I met her when I was 18. So far, it’s been 47 years. So near is all of this to those who hold her dear. I had almost 46 years with my father and had a bit over 52 with my mother. So, while I think/write about other stuff, it all seems to come back to this.

Oct 06 2005 We went to the funeral of a friend's father today. In the entry hall of the synagogue are pictures of their past rabbis. One of them is my great grandfather (who died when my Mom was only two or so). The strange thing is that I have known all the rabbis of that congregation since my great grandfather, known them well, even though it's not the congregation we belonged to when I grew up or now. A strange link to my past that I only experience at life-cycle events there.

We then went to the cemetery and participated in the mitzvah of helping to cover our friend's father's coffin with dirt, to fill in one hole while another one remains open forever.