Don't ask, don't tell

Hooray! One good thing has come from this lame [sic] session of Congress. No more "don't ask, don't tell." Still there are other areas of life where this is not a bad policy.

Dear family and friends,

Yesterday Merwin and I drove to our apartment; if we had thought to phone our loyal doorman earlier, he might have saved us one of the few free spots on W. 40th street. As it was, Laury had done the research for us—a web site that highlights all the parking garages in one's vicinity and their rates. We have a "don't ask, don't tell" philosophy: I don't ask Merwin how much he spent on parking, and he doesn't tell me. The event was the presence in the City of our cousins Elaine and Richard Blackman; they had come in from Maryland to attend a gala announcement/preview of their son Mark's film in progress. We had missed seeing them several other times when they had come to the City and were determined to see them yesterday. We had brunch at the Bryant Park Grill, expensive but OK for that meal at least, with a very good and generous bread basket. Mark joined us. He is excited about his film. He has many many friends who are participating and supporting him in all kind of ways. His parents got an ear-full from many people about his gifts and the way he brought a team together to work on the film.

It's great to be in Bryant Park, but I had to leave our table early so I could go across the street and rest. That's OK. Better than nothing. Elaine and Richard joined us in our apartment for a chat, while I lay on the couch. Later in the day, Merwin and I took a walk around, but I knew we couldn't plan anything else social for the day and didn't phone anyone. I am eager to see some of my other cousins in NYC to say nothing of my two granddaughters. But talking and listening can exhaust me.

We received a Yahrzeit notice (anniversary of a death) for my cousin Bert Shulimson the other day, with his name to be read at two services held at Temple Beth Zion and one at a another site (three mentions, then) in Buffalo. His estate evidently paid for this permanent memorial, and there is probably a bronze plaque in each of the two venues.

Bert was my first cousin, but we were barely in touch. I have stronger relationships with third cousins than I ever had with Bert. Our son Arthur would visit him when he traveled to Chicago on business. Earlier Merwin's cousin Henrietta, older than Bert, had a brief fling with his circle in Buffalo after she was widowed, but he soon moved to Chicago to work there—for UJA, Merwin tells me. He made a good salary and invested it wisely. His will named all his first cousins for bequests, and perhaps others as well. The remainder went to his executor, a man who lived in Buffalo and had been a friend. I think it is surprising that one can find out only after the will is read after death that he or she is executor. It was quite a job for this friend.

Bert perhaps thought of us belatedly. A cousin of ours ran into him some years ago, and their connection, though she was much younger than he, brought him to Buffalo for an occasional Bar Mitzvah or wedding. And of course he and I would chat for two or three minutes. He was always very shy, a terrific athlete, especially tennis. We all thought he was gay, but that was a time when it was not appropriate to tell, and we didn't ask.

My Uncle Al, Bert's father, was an important part of my life. One of my first jobs was working in Uncle Al"s fancy grocery store after school. Though the store was connected to his flat, I rarely saw my Aunt Mildred or Bert, their only child. Bert would dash in the store in his tennis outfit, very handsome, and quickly out again. His mother was not a favorite in the family circle, being sexy (no bra and low cut dresses), heavily made up, and very very stupid. My father was not above flirting with her, as some in my writing group may remember.

Uncle Al was such a bright guy, and perhaps for that reason the marriage was not a good one. So much to say about all of these people, but it would be a burden to you, dear reader. He married her because of her looks instead of another smart, beautiful woman who had gotten into a little trouble and was therefore "damaged goods,” is the way my mother referred to her. My mother thought it was a huge mistake for Al to choose as he had. What difference did it make if this girl who liked him had been in trouble?

Now that the military will work out a way to welcome gay people who want to serve, it's time to legalize gay marriage—and also to pass the Dream act, offering illegal immigrants a path to citizenship. Why are the Republicans so against this wise plan?

Love to all,
Bernice