In real time, his birthday in 2009 was on a Friday; we had a rollicking Shabbat dinner...complete with the traditional angel food cake with chocolate frosting. My folks had flown in, the Senior Son was home for the weekend, and the Junior son and future Mrs. Junior Son were going to have their tenai'im...their official betrothal....on Sunday. It was a heck of a weekend. Ziggy witnessed the document, we all signed around him, my machatenista and I broke a plate with a hammer, and everyone yelled MAZEL TOV, even though our hearts were all breaking because we all knew he would not be at the wedding in the fall.
My Steve left the building the next Sunday evening, after sunset.
This year, the timing just seems too eerily close. And I don't feel like writing much of anything at all. So here's ZJOD published from May 29th, 2002.
The Tip o'the Day is eerily prescient.
Adjusting for time zone differences, I was born, almost to the exact
hour, on the 500'th anniversary of the fall of Constantinople to the
Turks. This coincidence is a triviality of such small historical
import that even my mother, who took her master's degree in history,
never mentioned it.
To memorialize that long-ago military victory in our family's own
special way, I was unwittingly duped into accompanying the wifely
person and junior son to a 500+ person surprise party. They enticed
me there by claiming it was the local high school's annual athletic
awards banquet. On the way to the venue, I bluntly told the wifely
person that this event had better not be a front for some sort of
surprise party because, at my newly advanced age, I just couldn't
take those sorts of surprises any more.
She just smiled and said, "Oh, Honey... I know how you hate that
sort of thing. I would never do that to you."
This woman can't lie to save her life.
But I have to tell you, I was almost sucked in.
Upon being seated, we were all treated to rubber chicken followed by
a nearly endless array of coaches, each describing in exquisite
detail the determination, work ethic, forthrightness and true grit
of this year's crop of student athletes. The junior son's name was
even mentioned a couple of times.
Just as the event was apparently winding down, Matt, the school
athletic director (who I've known fairly well for most of the junior
son's high school tenure, and who is a fairly accomplished jokester
in his own right), stepped to the podium. The entire room grew
silent as he scanned the crowd. Finally, his gaze swept in my
direction... and stopped. Without saying a word, he held my gaze
while he reached into a shirt pocket and took out a folded sheet of
paper.
"Oh, Hell!" I thought. "The wifely person's put him up to this.
Now he's going to announce it's my birthday and then 500 people are
going to sing that stupid `Happy Birthday' song and I'm going to
have to sit here and act like I enjoy it."
He adjusted the microphone.
In near panic, I began to wonder if it wasn't too late to dive under
the table before the spotlight swung in my direction.
Finally, he spoke. "Hey, everybody!" he said with a big grin while
staring right at me, "Thanks for coming!"
Boy! Was I ever surprised!
On that cake-coffee-and-presents-at-home-later-with-Walter-Mitty
moment, Ziggy's Joke o' the day is from Wendy:
A man's perfect breakfast:
He's lying in bed.
He just got laid.
She just left.
He is on the cover of the Wheaties box.
He's single,
and his girlfriend is on the cover of Playboy!
A woman's perfect breakfast:
She's sitting at the table.
Her son is on the cover of the Wheaties box.
Her daughter is on the cover of Business Week.
Her boyfriend is on the cover of Playgirl,
and her husband is on the back of the milk carton.
Ziggy's Tip o' the day:
Next time you think that getting older is bad, consider the
alternative.
May his memory continue to be a blessing.
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