Theodor Herzl (1860-1904)
The father of modern political Zionism.
Long distance view from the park on the bluff in Santa Monica, overlooking the beach and the Pacific.
Yesterday I met my charming and eligible bachelor doctor friend G for lunch on the Promenade in Santa Monica. He had just attended temple services for Rosh Hashanah, which means literally "head of the year" and idiomatically means the Jewish New Year (see Ezekiel 40:1).
He was dressed up and looked very handsome and I asked him where his new sable hat was, which you would expect if we both still lived in New York. In New York we'd be expecting snow too maybe, right about now. He said don't press your luck, I just prayed for you -- and not to worry, I got you covered: you're set for the year. From your lips to G-d's ear, is what I said. So we were hungry, we sat in the window (why not, what'reyouafraidof?) of the Gaucho Grill and watched surfer dudes in nothing but board shorts read magazines at the newsstand across the way. I said something about planning things in advance because then you always had something to look forward to. Who needs breadcrumbs to find your way back, I asked rhetorically. I throw them ahead of myself. I dramatized the action by flinging my arm like an energetic flower girl. He said, when I call you some day and ask what you just said, you gotta promise you'll tell me. Because it'll be when I need to remember that. And I said, what you forgot already?
Then we were out in the sunny day again and he was headed back into town to see patients and I walked to the end of Arizona where the statue of Santa Monica is, and I watched the traffic on the PCH below, and one lone couple way out near the water's edge all by themselves. One last day at the beach. My mother used to have this saying, something about casting breadcrumbs on the water. It was a saying of hers. That, and "never love a robin" and "pearls before swine." I'm still not sure about what she meant with the breadcrumbs.
I can't decide if it feels like the start of a new year, or just the end of summer. I always feel this way this time of year. In this part of the country where seasonal changes are subtle and largely psychological, I think it's probably a mixture of both, of ending and beginning. At least, thanks G-d, it's not gonna snow. Happy New Year.
Long distance view from the park on the bluff in Santa Monica, overlooking the beach and the Pacific.
Yesterday I met my charming and eligible bachelor doctor friend G for lunch on the Promenade in Santa Monica. He had just attended temple services for Rosh Hashanah, which means literally "head of the year" and idiomatically means the Jewish New Year (see Ezekiel 40:1).
He was dressed up and looked very handsome and I asked him where his new sable hat was, which you would expect if we both still lived in New York. In New York we'd be expecting snow too maybe, right about now. He said don't press your luck, I just prayed for you -- and not to worry, I got you covered: you're set for the year. From your lips to G-d's ear, is what I said. So we were hungry, we sat in the window (why not, what'reyouafraidof?) of the Gaucho Grill and watched surfer dudes in nothing but board shorts read magazines at the newsstand across the way. I said something about planning things in advance because then you always had something to look forward to. Who needs breadcrumbs to find your way back, I asked rhetorically. I throw them ahead of myself. I dramatized the action by flinging my arm like an energetic flower girl. He said, when I call you some day and ask what you just said, you gotta promise you'll tell me. Because it'll be when I need to remember that. And I said, what you forgot already?
Then we were out in the sunny day again and he was headed back into town to see patients and I walked to the end of Arizona where the statue of Santa Monica is, and I watched the traffic on the PCH below, and one lone couple way out near the water's edge all by themselves. One last day at the beach. My mother used to have this saying, something about casting breadcrumbs on the water. It was a saying of hers. That, and "never love a robin" and "pearls before swine." I'm still not sure about what she meant with the breadcrumbs.
I can't decide if it feels like the start of a new year, or just the end of summer. I always feel this way this time of year. In this part of the country where seasonal changes are subtle and largely psychological, I think it's probably a mixture of both, of ending and beginning. At least, thanks G-d, it's not gonna snow. Happy New Year.
> Never love a robin
> Cause she'll fly away
> Though she says she loves you
> She can't stay
Well, and then there's the red breast.
George, you're retracing my steps. I used to love leisurely afternoons at Gaucho Grill, drinking Argentinian wine and spilling that oily green bread sauce all over the table. I could have used charming and eligible medical personnel.
[1904 replies: I never knew the source on that robin business, except I knew it sounded ominous. Edna St. Vincent Millay? You never cease to amaze me. Oh yeah, and don't ASK about that red breast. OR the Swallows of San Juan Capistrano. BTW, said charming eligible medical professional says to be sure and mention how he's available and on-call]