My Mom

Here are some of my favorite Mom stories:

The Egg

When I was a kid, I didn't like eggs. Not that I had ever actually eaten or even tasted one. I just didn't like the way they looked, or smelled. Yuck. But my parents were always trying to get us to try new things. 'Just taste it, you may find you like it. As you get older your taste buds develop.' Not my taste buds.

One sleepy spring morning I shuffled down to the kitchen where Mom was fixing my breakfast before sending us off to school. I sat down at the table expecting my usual bowl of Cocoa Puffs or Cap'n Crunch. Instead I was shocked to find a horrible yellow eyeball staring up at me. It was an egg. Sunny side up -- the most disgusting of all. A quivering bulbous mass of icky yellow stuff rising from a creepy circle of fried white gunk.

'Just taste it,' my Mom said. 'Just take one bite. If you don't like it, you don't have to eat any more. I just want you to try one little taste.' It was early and my defenses were down. And her request seemed fairly reasonable. Plus she was being so nice about it. She had a big smile on her face.

So I tried it. One little bite. I scooped up some of the white gunk with my fork and cautiously put it in my mouth. It was... Wonderful! Sweet and creamy and... cold?

I looked at my Mom. 'It's good,' I admitted. Mom laughed: 'April Fool! It's ice cream! And the yolk is an apricot!' 'Huh?' I didn't get it. 'It's not an egg?' 'No,' she said, 'I wouldn't give you an egg for breakfast, you hate eggs.'

I finished up my ice cream egg, one of the best breakfasts I've ever had, and went off to school where I told my friends about how my cool Mom played an April Fool's trick on me. Everyone was amazed.

The funny thing was, after that I wasn't afraid of eating eggs anymore, and eventually grew to enjoy them. But now I have them scrambled. Sunny side up still looks a little creepy to me.

The Shy Kid

When we kids were all in high school, my Mom decided to get a part-time job. As a graduate of the Katherine Gibbs Secretarial School she had no problem getting a position with a local psychologist who needed an assistant.

The psychologist worked out of a restored log cabin behind his house and Mom's desk was in the outer room that also served as the patient waiting area. Most of the people who came in to see the Doc ended up talking with my Mom before they went in.

One time this kid showed up who seemed very withdrawn. He was a little early for his appointment so Mom had a little more time with him than usual. She tried to make him comfortable, asked him a few simple questions -- the usual stuff. But this kid seemed really reluctant to talk. Mom didn't give up though, eventually she can get anyone to open up. Finally the kid warmed up to her and she got him to share a few things about himself. By then it was time for his appointment.

After his session was over and the kid's mother had picked him up, the Doc came out and stood in front of Mom's desk. 'What the hell did you say to that kid?' Mom immediately assumed she had crossed some doctor-patient boundary or breached some confidentiality. 'I'm sorry,' she said, 'I was just trying to make him comfortable. He seemed so shy.' The Doc was astounded: 'He's not shy, he's autistic. He's been coming here for years and I haven't ever gotten so much as a peep out of him. Fifteen minutes with you and suddenly he's chatting away. It was a tremendous breakthrough. What did you say to him?'

Mom tried to remember what she had done that was so special. 'I don't know,' she said, 'all I did was talk to him like anyone else.' The Doc shook his head. 'Why didn't I think of that.'

Mom stayed with the Doc for several years. Even though she didn't have a degree, she probably knew more about psychology than most PhD's. They don't have a school for Moms. But if they did, my Mom would have graduated summa cum laude.

Blue Ice

My Dad has an old college buddy who has made a ton of money over the years. Now that he's near retirement, he's been spending it on his friends. Every year he takes a bunch of them on some really cool trip like rafting through the Grand Canyon or a train trip through Baja California. One trip they took was a cruise to Alaska.

Most of the activities on the cruise involve looking at all the cool stuff you can see from the boat, like whales and eagles and icebergs. Unfortunately, most of the trip the weather was kind of gloomy and rainy and there weren't many eagles around and it was hard to find the whales. My Dad's buddy was a little disappointed, having brought all these folks out to Alaska just to watch it rain. But they all stood out on deck anyway to see what they could see.

One of the things they did see were these amazingly beautiful ice formations. The ice took on an incredible blue color that almost seemed to be lit from within. The guide pointed out that in the bright sunlight, this color would be nearly impossible to see, but in the cloudy half-light it really stood out. My Mom turned to my Dad's buddy and said, 'We're so lucky to have been out here on a day like this or we never would have seen this beautiful blue ice.' He smiled with absolute delight, 'Pattie,' he said, 'I love you. I wouldn't make another one of these trips without you.'

Of course after that the sun did come out and they saw whales and eagles and lots of great sights. But my Mom's favorite was still the blue ice on the rainy day.

Happy Mom's Day

Love, Rich

Bluebonnets

Two weeks ago I flew to Austin for David Hamburger's wedding. The last time I was in Austin was about 18 years ago when my sister lived there. I spent about a year there building swimming pools with my then brother-in-law. It was great to go back and see the place, and especially for such a wonderful occasion. There was something special about this wedding, maybe it was the people, maybe it was the place, maybe it was the timing, maybe it was the bluebonnets...

I was met at the airport by my old pals Kevin and Rob -- we were all in men's group with Dave back in New York. We adopted Texas nicknames for the weekend: Bubba, Hoss and Slim. I was Hoss.
We hung out around the hotel that afternoon, eyeing babes by the rooftop pool and resting up for the rehearsal dinner. As you can well imagine, three pale/balding/paunchy forty-year-olds made quite a hit with the ladies.

At the rehearsal dinner we got split up, being singletons. The best man took it quite well when I suggested he seat me next to his sexy Cuban wife. I ended up sitting across the room.

During the toasts, the bride's younger sister got up and read a letter written by the bride several years ago, listing all of the qualities a man would need to have before she would consider marrying him. It sounded like she had written it coming off of a bad relationship and was trying to conjure up the perfect mate by way of contrast. It was pretty funny and probably pretty embarrassing, except the weird thing was, Dave really was the guy she described -- her perfect man.

After dinner we had drinks on the balcony of the Stephen F. Austin Hotel and flirted with the best man's sexy Cuban wife, who turned out to be a lawyer from Cornell. By the end of the evening we were all smitten and/or drunk. Fortunately it was a short walk back to the hotel.

The next day I hooked up with Bob Sweeney who was my roommate in San Diego before I went to Austin and in D.C., before I went to Brooklyn. Bob is a lawyer also, who works for the state of Texas defending shrimp. He is married with two boys and looks like he could beat me in a roadrace without even trying. We had lunch with another old roomie, Johnny Goodman, who is also married and a father and living in Austin.

In case you hadn't noticed, there seems to be a pattern emerging here: Everyone's married.

The wedding of David Hamburger to Catherine Berry took place at the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center just south of Austin. The setting was incredible. The ceremony took place outside, surrounded by fields of blooming wildflowers. The reception was in a Spanish-style courtyard with fountains and more flowers and some really excellent music. It felt like we had been transported out of the present to a timeless place where all the things you hope are true really are true and all of the things you worry about don't exist.

It was all a little too much for me, so after dinner I went and sat on a bench outside the courtyard and looked out at the wildflowers.
The bluebonnet is the state flower of Texas. The legend says that many years ago, before the white man came, the hill country was home to the Comanche Nation.

One year there was a great drought that brought famine to the Comanche. Many died that year. The people prayed and prayed to the Great Spirit, but there was no relief. The medicine man went up into the hills seeking a vision to tell them what to do. When he returned, he told the people that they must build a great bonfire and cast into it their most cherished possessions as a sacrifice to the Great Spirit.

The bonfire was lit, but when it came time for the people to give up their possessions, they hesitated. Their possessions meant too much to them, they did not want to give them up.

One young girl watched as the others turned away from the fire, unable to make the sacrifice. She was thinking of her own most cherished possession. It was a cornhusk doll made by her mother and decorated with a headdress made from bluejay feathers collected by her father. The doll meant the world to the little girl because it was all she had left of her family. Both her parents had died in the famine. But they had always taught her to think of others and not be selfish. She knew that the drought must end before others lost their loved ones.

She went back to the tent to get the doll and waited until everyone else had left the bonfire. The she walked over the fire and with a final look the beautiful blue feathers, she flung it into the fire.

That night the rains came, and they kept up for days. When they finally ended and the sun came out, the people came out of their tents and were amazed to see all around them the fields were covered with thousands and thousands of azure flowers. When the little girls saw the flowers, she knew that the Great Spirit had accepted her sacrifice and given this gift in return.

And each spring the beautiful blue flowers bloom again in remembrance of the little girl who gave life to her people.

Years ago, when I was a kid, I was in a group called the Indian Guides. One summer night we had a big bonfire and we were supposed to bring our favorite toy and throw it into the fire. I didn't want to do it. I cheated. I picked out a toy that I didn't really care about and pretended it was my favorite. To this day I still remember the toy I threw into the fire, but I'll be damned if I can remember the one I kept -- even though it was my favorite. I wish I could remember it, because I think it's about time I threw it away.

When I got back to the party, I went up to this lovely young woman named Sam and asked her to dance. We ended up dancing the rest of the night. I never even got her last name. Slim disappeared with a blond psychologist from L.A. and we didn't see him until much later. Bubba and I helped the bride's family pack up the presents. I collected a bunch of roses and gave them to Sam. Bubba and I were about the last ones to leave.

Thank you Catherine and David for reminding me of how sometimes things can be the way I hope they are. I wish you all the best.

Love, HWD

Guilty

A couple of weeks ago I finished up a month-long stint on jury duty. I was pleased to fulfill my civic duty, and tried to do my best to uphold the principles of our slow-grinding yet fair-minded system of justice, ever mindful of the tremendous responsibility I faced, deciding the ultimate fate of another human being. Plus it beats working for a living.

One of the reasons I was picked for this case was because my employer pays my salary no matter how long my jury duty lasts. It's kind of a goodwill thing that some law firms do. Since this case was scheduled for three weeks, they had trouble finding people who could afford to serve. A friend of mine at work considers jury duty part of her benefits package.

As an added bonus, the case was fascinating: The defendant, Jim, was accused of assaulting his hooker/drug-addict girlfriend, Joy, with a toilet plunger and threatening to inject her with hydrochloric acid. Jim thought Joy was sleeping with a cop named Todd and that she was ratting on him. Fortunately, Joy had called 911 and the cops arrived before he was able to follow through on his threat. Jim was tossed in jail, where he became acquainted with a fellow inmate called "Clown."

Clown is a member of the notorious 18th Street gang where he was a fairly successful hit-man, having racked up 15-20 contract killings in his day. He has never been arrested for any of those killings, however and was in jail on a rape charge. He was just the kind of guy Jim was looking for.

Jim asked Clown to get in touch with Topo, the head of the Mexican Mafia, to arrange to have Joy and Todd "taken care of." Jim passed Clown handwritten notes with information and instructions on how to carry out the murders. They used notes because they (rightfully) feared that the jail cells were bugged. Clown, however, wasn't too sure if he could trust Jim. And besides, being a family man, Clown had decided to try and turn his life around and maybe get away from the whole murder and rape thing. He decided to pass the notes to a deputy and then agreed to continue to play along to help the police nab Jim in the act.

Jim, meanwhile, got in touch with a drug-addled, dimwitted single mom named Renee to act as his liaison on the outside. Clown was supposed to get the hit man to call Renee, who would then pass along information and take care of the "fee." Only the guy who called Renee wasn't a real hit man, he was an undercover cop who called himself "Silent," and all the calls were being taped. Apparently, Renee found Silent's voice overwhelmingly appealing and could barely keep her mind on the job at hand as she flagrantly offered her sexual services to this complete stranger who professed to be a hired killer and who was in fact gathering evidence that could put her away for many years.

Do you start to get the feeling that these lowlife losers are lowlife losers for a reason?

To her credit, when they played the tapes back in open court, Renee did at least appear somewhat embarrassed.

Meanwhile, I'm sitting there listening to all of this with fourteen other people (three alternates) and I'm just dying to tell someone -- anyone! But you're NOT ALLOWED TO TALK ABOUT IT. Not even with the other jurors, the people you see every day, have lunch with, sit next to, walk to the parking garage with, and who are practically the only other people in the world who would not only understand you, but would be able to talk about it too. Who came up with this ridiculous system? It's unhealthy. Don't they know what can happen to a person when they have a really great story to tell and they aren't allowed to tell anyone? That's how people develop personality disorders and imaginary friends. Believe me it took all my resolve and discipline to last a whole month.

Finally the case ended and they put us into the jury room for deliberation. We had all of the evidence in front of us, including the handwritten notes and the taped phone calls. But what it came down to was, whom did we believe.

The prosecution had plenty of witnesses: Joy the hooker who admitted that she was shooting up each day before court, that is until she O.D.'d and ended up in the hospital where she was promptly arrested on another charge and wound up in county jail. There was Joey the alcoholic stool-pigeon who used to show up at Renee's house completely wasted and waving a gun around in front of her kids. There was Jeff the burnout who picked up Joy one night and the next morning awoke to find her psychotic ex-boyfriend busting down his bathroom door and threatening to shoot her up with acid. We heard from Renee the horny speed-freak who testified that she was only coming on to Silent because she wanted him to do her a favor and kill Joey too. And there was Clown, who is now serving a life sentence for rape but apparently has gotten away with murder so many times he can't count them all. The prosecution also had several cops, a handwriting expert and a woman from the phone company.

The defense had one main witness: Jim. He had an explanation for everything and most of what he said was plausible. But there was something about his story -- it was too good. It reminded me of writing a screenplay, how you have to make sure everything fits together and all the loose ends are tied up and nothing comes out of nowhere. And he was masterful. But when we got into the jury room, everyone felt the same way I did: Jim was a lying sack of shit. We didn't believe a single word. The drugged-out morons and degenerate scum were far more convincing.

We deliberated for about a day and found Jim guilty on every count. According to the D.A. he should be looking at about twenty years. It felt pretty good to help get that scumbag off the streets. I was proud to have done my part. Now I'm back at the law firm helping big fat insurance companies keep their big fat reserves to themselves. It's not quite as satisfying as my experience on jury duty. But we do have a great dental plan.

Be good.

Love, HWD