Hi Readers,
I want to thank all of you for your positive comments regarding my new template. However, I am not happy with it for a number of reasons, but the main one is that it does not load properly into any browser. More accurately, it just does not always load on the first try. I've been experimenting with this theme and I have to hit the refresh button way too many times. I have no choice but to stick with this template until I can move over to something else. I appreciate your patience.
On a brighter note, I registered the domain name mrgrudge.com. As the Internet is the world's largest network, it may take time for this new domain name to propagate throughout all of the root DNS servers and various search engines. In the meantime, Blogger still resolves http://mrgrudge.blogspot.com to http://www.mrgrudge.com. It may take a while to iron out these wrinkles too. I had to re-submit my blog for review at BlogCatalog and I will be offline there for a short time. Also, I have to update my URL on a few more places on the Internet.
I want to thank all of you for taking the time to visit here and read my posts. I value all of the wonderful bloggers, writers, creators of art, and purveyors of information who have come here to see what I have to offer. This is a tiny bump in the road, but I look forward to a future of continued friendship with my readers. Thank you.
November 29, 2007
November 27, 2007
First Dance, Final Goodbye
A lot goes into choosing a wedding song. For many couples, they know right away what to play for their first dance, for others they don’t make a big deal of it, and for my wife and I, we chose something we thought would be special. We both knew the song “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” by Roberta Flack and thought it was ideal for us. We imagined ourselves at our reception, embracing on the dance floor and gently swaying as the band played our song. Just talking about it made my then fiancé teary eyed with anticipation
During our long engagement of almost two years, my bride-to-be kept a loose leaf binder full of all the details, orders, plans, and receipts and the like for our giant, New York wedding. There were to be almost two hundred guests, a big band, bridesmaids and ushers, and everything you’d expect for such a festivity. However, we didn’t know that someone very close to us would not be there for our nuptials.
My fiancé’s Mom and Dad were invited over to my parent’s home for dinner so they could finally meet. My folks were much older, but my father and my fiancé’s Dad bonded right away. They shared blue collar values and had similar childhoods as they each grew up in New York City, and they were both in the military. My father told me later after they went home that he noticed something wasn’t right when talking my future father in law.
“Here’s a man who worked hard his entire life, and he told me he just didn’t want to go to work in the morning.” he said.
“Yeah, but Dad, you say the same thing.” I told him.
He shook his head and looked away from me. “No, this is different. He kept holding his stomach.” Then he got up and went into the kitchen. To tell you the truth, I never gave his comments much thought.
Days later, my fiancé called me from work.
“My dad has a doctor’s appointment.” She was worried, I could tell. Her voice lacked that certain confidence she always had. Sure, she had the right to be anxious when it came to her father and his health. But, she works in the medical field. Her job is to diagnose people with diseases; and her specialty is cancer.
I’ll never forget the day her father returned from the last battery of tests to diagnose his problem. For months, he’d been unable to eat or sleep, and he had a feeling of extreme “discomfort,” as he described it” My fiancé did her best to keep from bawling out loud when learning of his prognosis. Yet, it was difficult to hold back.
He had a very curable form of Lymphoma; but he went without symptoms for so long, it was too late to do anything. Because of his relative youth, he was only fifty two years old, they tried chemotherapy, but to no avail. Hope and constant care turned to grief and worry. Soon enough, we kept a vigil at his bedside. In September he lay dying, and we were to marry the next July. I asked my fiancé if we should marry in his hospital room and just have the reception which was already booked and paid for when the time came. She cried and hugged me and said she’s would run the idea past her Mom. The answer came the next day; and as only a father could put it “My daughter will have her day, and I will be there.”
On our last day on Earth, we all want something special to happen. Maybe we want to see angels in our final moments. Or, some look for loved ones who passed away earlier. My father in law quietly fell asleep with his family looking on. My fiancé hurried into the busy hallway just outside his door in tears. She held on to me and sobbed. It was at that moment I heard music.
“Do you hear that?” I asked.
She looked up, as the source of the song playing came from loudspeakers in the ceiling over our heads.
“Oh no,” she said. “Daddy, oh daddy…” Again, she fell into my arms and cried hard. I stood with my bride to be and listened to the last piece of music I never imagined would be playing at that moment; and that was “The First Time Ever I saw Your Face” by Roberta Flack, our wedding song.
We eventually chose a different song for our wedding day as neither of us could bear to listen to a tune which played at the exact moment my bride’s father passed away. After all of that, I like to believe something special did happen for my father in law at the moment of is death. As he arose from his body to his final place of rest, he looked down and saw his daughter embraced in the arms of the man she would marry, swaying back and forth to their wedding song.
wedding song bride groom lymphoma Roberta Flack band
Pardon Our Appearance! Mr. Grudge Is Having A Makeover
Pardon Our Appearance! Mr. Grudge Is Having A Makeover. I am adding space with a third column and should be up and running by the end of the day. Thanks for your patience.
November 26, 2007
An Amazing Blogger
Dear Readers,
Recently J.D., the author of the creative, as well as exceptional blog "The Uneasy Supplicant" gave me the "You're An Amazing Blogger" award. It is my turn now, and my privilege to hand this award over to a truly amazing blogger, Kristyn, who authors three blogs (Kristyn Writes, Ya Don't Say, Ya Don't Say at Vox) who is a wonderful and prolific writer. I have a difficult time as it is maintaining one blog, I couldn't imagine authoring three of them. She seems to do this with ease.
Kristyn was one of the first people to stop by Mr. Grudge on a regular basis and offer very insightful and valuable comments on my posts. Kristyn doesn't just drop in and write "great post," or "nice blog;" she adds to the conversation, and always has an interesting fact to go along with it. Her blogs reflect that sort of writing. She is grateful to her readers and writes from the heart. So, without anymore rambling, I humbly present Kristyn with the "You're An Amazing Blogger" award! Step up Kristyn, and take a bow.
November 23, 2007
No Dreamers Allowed
Three days ago I called a buddy of mine I hadn’t spoken to in a while to wish him a happy Thanksgiving. Though we don’t get to talk or visit each other often anymore, our friendship is such that we can pick up the phone anytime and pick up where we left off. I’ve known him for twenty six years, and we’ve experienced a lot together, and I’ve watched his two sons grown from mere babies to young men in their twenties.
During our conversation, we ended up discussing dreams. He told me that his oldest son’s girlfriend bought a book on dream interpretation and has taken to asking everyone, including him, about their dreams to analyze them. To know my friend Nat, you have to understand how he is and what he looks like. He was born and raised in Brooklyn, is in his early fifties (he’s ten years older than me), is very large with a close cropped beard. He looks like someone the director of a movie would order up from central casting to play a mafia hit man. Ask him his dreams? His son’s girlfriend is "lucky she’s good looking", he told me jokingly.
The subject of dreams hit a nerve with me. Nat fully knows after over a quarter of a century of friendship that I’d rather visit a dentist than hear someone tell me their dreams. He bought up the dream book his son’s girlfriend toted around because of an incident at his house over twenty years ago when me, Nat, my friend Mike, my other friend Mike, and my late friend Wade were seated at the kitchen table in Nat’s house playing cards. Yes, there were three "Mikes" in our group. Another guy, Danny showed up to play, but he came to the game late and to wait for a new hand to be dealt before he could join us. I really didn’t know Danny that well and he seemed like an alright guy, and we let him hang around because he always brought beer with him.
During the hand Danny sat next to me and tried to look at my cards. That annoyed me and I shifted myself to hide my hand. I had a full house and the stakes were pretty high. I’d say there were about two bucks in nickels in the pot (hey, it’s better than playing for matches) and I didn’t want to be disturbed as I felt the need to concentrate. Danny wanted to feel included so he started to talk… a lot. Worse yet, he started to tell us all about a dream he had the night before. Nat, Mike, Mike and Wade all buried their faces in their cards and Danny turned himself and talked directly to me, as if I gave a damn what he dreamt about. I was playing poker and I needed to place a bet and Danny was becoming annoying. Normally, I’d let it slide, but he was killing my concentration and I was becoming frustrated. After clearing my throat a couple of times (ahem) Danny didn’t get the hint. Right around the point where he was telling me about the creepy house with the crooked steps and the weird lights inside, I snapped.
“Hey look Danny,” I said, dropping my cards on the table. Nat, Mike, Mike and Wade chuckled as they knew what was coming. I didn’t want to be rude, but he couldn’t keep quiet; and besides, he bought Meister Brau. That’s the kind of beer you’d buy at a dog fight.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t listen to you tell me about your dream, okay?" I said. "I don’t care what’s it’s about, I don’t care if I’m in it, and I don’t care if you have a vision of me getting killed by a falling safe and you want to warn me. I just don’t care. Dreams don’t mean anything.”
Surprised at how harsh I sounded, I smiled a bit and smacked him on the shoulder in a playful kind of way.
“But, I think this dream does mean something. My Grandfather was in it and he died five years ago.”
“Tell me later.” I said.
“But, I think you’d appreciate this Mike, you know about like, psychology.”
“Hey Dan, what I know is that we’re trying to play cards. I need to concentrate. I don’t know anything about psychology, and I can’t stand to listen to other people tell me their dreams, okay? The only time I will listen to anyone tell me about their dreams is if her name is Heather Locklear and she dreams that we're in a hot tub together, and we're both naked."
To this day, Nat still laughs about that because his wife, Angie walked into the kitchen at the exact second I said “we’re both naked.” It was a bit awkward explaining to her what I was talking about.
My thoughts on dreams stood for decades, including all the way up to that phone call and in spite of my slight awkwardness in front of my friend’s wife. That was until the other morning after I woke up my eight year old son to get him ready for school. He came downstairs for breakfast after getting dressed looking a bit glum. I was on the couch with a cup of coffee and the newspaper and I called him over. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that he had a bad dream and it was bothering him. My typical response to an adult would have been to immediately hold up my hand and warn them that they were entering hostile territory. Dreams aren’t welcome here.
I sat up listened to him talk. He told me that he had a dream about Grandma and it was really sad. My son has had a tough time dealing with the loss of my mother and there have been more than a few times where I had to cuddle him in my arms as he cried to sleep. That morning, after hearing him tell me he had a bad dream about my mother, I pulled him close to my side.
“I dreamed that Grandma was dying, and all of the doctors went away, and I was alone with her. There were all these machines and I didn’t know how to use them and I told grandma not to die, but she did.”
This little man of mine had so much love for his grandma he dreamed of wanting to save her. He leaned on me and cried muffled sobs as he pressed his face into my side. I held him and stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head. My boy, my son, he was breaking my heart.
I thought back to my phone call with Nat, his son’s girlfriend and her book of dreams, and Danny asking me what his dream about is dead grandfather meant. I was rude and immature back then. With my young boy’s tears falling on my shirt next to my own, I told him that his grandma loved him so much; and that she was in his dreams because he missed her. It was okay for him to dream about her, I told him.
We sat for a while before I carried him to the kitchen for breakfast. If I had to do it all over again, I still might not have listened to Danny. I was a young man who wasn’t very touchy-feely and didn’t want to get emotional during a card game. But, over two decades later, Danny managed to teach me a lesson although he wasn’t around to watch me learn it. Dreams do mean something. They mean something to the person who experienced them. Still, I’ll only listen if you’re a child of mine who wants to tell me about the scary house with the creepy lights or if a safe is going to fall out of a building on my head.
dreams cards phone call psychology
During our conversation, we ended up discussing dreams. He told me that his oldest son’s girlfriend bought a book on dream interpretation and has taken to asking everyone, including him, about their dreams to analyze them. To know my friend Nat, you have to understand how he is and what he looks like. He was born and raised in Brooklyn, is in his early fifties (he’s ten years older than me), is very large with a close cropped beard. He looks like someone the director of a movie would order up from central casting to play a mafia hit man. Ask him his dreams? His son’s girlfriend is "lucky she’s good looking", he told me jokingly.
The subject of dreams hit a nerve with me. Nat fully knows after over a quarter of a century of friendship that I’d rather visit a dentist than hear someone tell me their dreams. He bought up the dream book his son’s girlfriend toted around because of an incident at his house over twenty years ago when me, Nat, my friend Mike, my other friend Mike, and my late friend Wade were seated at the kitchen table in Nat’s house playing cards. Yes, there were three "Mikes" in our group. Another guy, Danny showed up to play, but he came to the game late and to wait for a new hand to be dealt before he could join us. I really didn’t know Danny that well and he seemed like an alright guy, and we let him hang around because he always brought beer with him.
During the hand Danny sat next to me and tried to look at my cards. That annoyed me and I shifted myself to hide my hand. I had a full house and the stakes were pretty high. I’d say there were about two bucks in nickels in the pot (hey, it’s better than playing for matches) and I didn’t want to be disturbed as I felt the need to concentrate. Danny wanted to feel included so he started to talk… a lot. Worse yet, he started to tell us all about a dream he had the night before. Nat, Mike, Mike and Wade all buried their faces in their cards and Danny turned himself and talked directly to me, as if I gave a damn what he dreamt about. I was playing poker and I needed to place a bet and Danny was becoming annoying. Normally, I’d let it slide, but he was killing my concentration and I was becoming frustrated. After clearing my throat a couple of times (ahem) Danny didn’t get the hint. Right around the point where he was telling me about the creepy house with the crooked steps and the weird lights inside, I snapped.
“Hey look Danny,” I said, dropping my cards on the table. Nat, Mike, Mike and Wade chuckled as they knew what was coming. I didn’t want to be rude, but he couldn’t keep quiet; and besides, he bought Meister Brau. That’s the kind of beer you’d buy at a dog fight.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t listen to you tell me about your dream, okay?" I said. "I don’t care what’s it’s about, I don’t care if I’m in it, and I don’t care if you have a vision of me getting killed by a falling safe and you want to warn me. I just don’t care. Dreams don’t mean anything.”
Surprised at how harsh I sounded, I smiled a bit and smacked him on the shoulder in a playful kind of way.
“But, I think this dream does mean something. My Grandfather was in it and he died five years ago.”
“Tell me later.” I said.
“But, I think you’d appreciate this Mike, you know about like, psychology.”
“Hey Dan, what I know is that we’re trying to play cards. I need to concentrate. I don’t know anything about psychology, and I can’t stand to listen to other people tell me their dreams, okay? The only time I will listen to anyone tell me about their dreams is if her name is Heather Locklear and she dreams that we're in a hot tub together, and we're both naked."
To this day, Nat still laughs about that because his wife, Angie walked into the kitchen at the exact second I said “we’re both naked.” It was a bit awkward explaining to her what I was talking about.
My thoughts on dreams stood for decades, including all the way up to that phone call and in spite of my slight awkwardness in front of my friend’s wife. That was until the other morning after I woke up my eight year old son to get him ready for school. He came downstairs for breakfast after getting dressed looking a bit glum. I was on the couch with a cup of coffee and the newspaper and I called him over. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that he had a bad dream and it was bothering him. My typical response to an adult would have been to immediately hold up my hand and warn them that they were entering hostile territory. Dreams aren’t welcome here.
I sat up listened to him talk. He told me that he had a dream about Grandma and it was really sad. My son has had a tough time dealing with the loss of my mother and there have been more than a few times where I had to cuddle him in my arms as he cried to sleep. That morning, after hearing him tell me he had a bad dream about my mother, I pulled him close to my side.
“I dreamed that Grandma was dying, and all of the doctors went away, and I was alone with her. There were all these machines and I didn’t know how to use them and I told grandma not to die, but she did.”
This little man of mine had so much love for his grandma he dreamed of wanting to save her. He leaned on me and cried muffled sobs as he pressed his face into my side. I held him and stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head. My boy, my son, he was breaking my heart.
I thought back to my phone call with Nat, his son’s girlfriend and her book of dreams, and Danny asking me what his dream about is dead grandfather meant. I was rude and immature back then. With my young boy’s tears falling on my shirt next to my own, I told him that his grandma loved him so much; and that she was in his dreams because he missed her. It was okay for him to dream about her, I told him.
We sat for a while before I carried him to the kitchen for breakfast. If I had to do it all over again, I still might not have listened to Danny. I was a young man who wasn’t very touchy-feely and didn’t want to get emotional during a card game. But, over two decades later, Danny managed to teach me a lesson although he wasn’t around to watch me learn it. Dreams do mean something. They mean something to the person who experienced them. Still, I’ll only listen if you’re a child of mine who wants to tell me about the scary house with the creepy lights or if a safe is going to fall out of a building on my head.
dreams cards phone call psychology
November 21, 2007
Honored & Thankful
Dear Readers,
To say that the following announcement is an honor is an understatement. Those who know me personally are aware that I have been writing since I was in elementary school. I can remember the first story I ever wrote in vivid detail, including where I was when I put pencil to paper, who was with me at the time, and what the weather was like outside. Writing is more than my past time; it is my passion. With that said, within the past twenty four hours, two very special and extremely talented writers have honored me with the above pictured awards.
J.D., the author of the creative, as well as exceptional blog "The Uneasy Supplicant" has given me the "You're An Amazing Blogger" award. Let me say that J.D.'s blog is the place I go to when I want to read something that is written beautifully. His poetry is enigmatic, yet spiritual, his fiction is full of drama and emotion, and he is a fabulous photographer. For J.D. to find me worthy of any award, and for him to read my blog on a regular basis is humbling to me. I thank you J.D. for this award. Because you're one of my readers, I will always strive to maintain high standards and deliver quality writing and not get complacent.
Lisa McGlaun, who is the author of the inspirational and life-affirming blog "LifePrints", has honored me with the above pictured "Shibumi" award. Shibumi - The Japanese concept of effortless perfection, a state of mind in harmony and awareness, a noble cause. In her post announcing her own acceptance of this award, Lisa names me as one of "a few bloggers who I think are lights in the darkness." I cannot imagine how it is that my humble works here have had a positive influence on Lisa, a person whom I consider to be such an influential writer. LifePrints is a blog I visit when I need to find hope in the world. She has the uncanny ability to find inspiration in even the darkest tragedy, and find heroes in a world of villains. To me, Lisa is a journalist, a story teller, and a teacher rolled into one; and her blog, LifePrints represents that to me. I am deeply flattered that you gave me this award, Lisa. Thank you.
Both Lisa and J.D. have become two important bloggers in my life, and I only hope my relationships with them continues to grow. For this Thanksgiving, I have two more reasons to be thankful. Happy Thanksgiving to all of my readers, and, as always, "thanks for stopping by".
Sincerely,
Mr. Grudge
award blogger Blog inspiration poetry Writing writer journalist announcment Thanksgiving
November 18, 2007
Kindness Has A Ring To It
Lisa McGlaun, who is the author of the inspirational blog,"LifePrints" has inspired me to write this post. After reading her article "New York Wedding Ring -Do It Yourself", I recalled what a bittersweet experience it was buying my wife her engagement ring so many years ago. In this week of Thanksgiving, I have a special story to tell. Ever since this happened to me, I've been inspired to be a better person.
In July of 1989 I was a raw recruit in the New York City Police Academy. It was then that I decided to propose to my girlfriend. New officers in the police department do not make a lot of money, especially back in the late 1980’s, so finding a decent engagement ring proved to be a bit of a challenge. The meager savings I had up to then went to paying upwards of $250 a month in train fare to commute back and forth every day from Long Island to Manhattan where the academy is located. By chance, I had a conversation with my brother in law Mark’s step-father at my sister’s home. We were seated at the dining room table for dessert.
“So, you are getting engaged?” he asked in a heavy, Polish accent. Ziggy was in his early seventies, and in ill health. I’d known him for many years up to that point, and he was a gentle, affectionate man who enjoyed family. My parents and my siblings all loved Ziggy and we were are close to Mark’s family, sharing our Catholic and Jewish heritages from one holiday season to the next.
“Yes, I’m excited. I’m shopping for a ring.” I said.
“Where did you go? You didn’t go to the mall, did you?” I noticed a look of alarm on his face.
“Uh, I was going to?” I said, almost as a question. Also, I think I gulped.
“No, no, Michael. You go see my friend. He’ll show you what to do, how to buy a diamond. Don’t even buy from him if you don’t want to. He’ll just make sure you don’t get taken advantage of.” He took a piece of paper and produced a pen from his shirt pocket.
In moments, I had a lead for a jeweler in Flushing, Queens who was described by Ziggy as “a man I play cards with every Tuesday.” After thanking him, I put the paper in my pocket.
The meeting with the jeweler took place that Saturday. I couldn’t wait to see what my options were, and though I had a modest amount of money to work with, I was still a bit cautious as I didn’t know how much of a favor this was going to be, and I did not want Ziggy to feel beholden to this man on my account.
“So, you know Ziggy? I better treat you right, then.” The man said as soon as I walked in. “Ziggy told me to look for a cop, a strong, young man with a crew cut. You must be Michael.” He shook my hand vigorously and welcomed me into his shop. We spoke for a minute or two about Ziggy and it was apparent that the jeweler had immense respect for him and that they did more than just play cards together. He repeated what Ziggy said about not having to buy from him, and that he just wanted to teach me about buying gems, diamonds in particular.
“You never buy a ring that’s already made. You buy the diamond first, and then have the ring made from the stone.” His voice was authoritative, and I listened to him because Ziggy trusted this man. I was given a lengthy tutorial on choosing the perfect stone, then I was told that I didn’t have to make a decision that day. So, I left his store, grateful for the knowledge I picked up from his lesson and returned to what was left of my brief weekend and another grueling week at the academy.
The next Saturday, I arrived early at the jeweler, cash in hand, to buy a stone. After at least two hours examining diamonds with a loop, and comparing them to the ones I already picked out, I found the perfect, one carat, white diamond, nearly flawless; and then I chose the setting and the smaller diamonds for the setting. The ring, which was made within the week, is gorgeous. To this day, my wife is complimented on the quality of the stone and other jewelers have said that I got “one hell of a deal” on the diamond.
I remember thanking Ziggy profusely and he waved me off as if he did nothing. But I also recall one scene which played out at my sister’s home, shortly before Ziggy passed away. It was Thanksgiving. The conversation was about family and what we should be thankful for, and I mentioned to Ziggy that I was grateful for the help he gave me in finding a reputable jeweler. His intervention was important in making our experience perfect. The ring, flawless and more valuable than what I paid for, is a cornerstone of our marriage in both symbolism and value.
Ziggy listened to me and challenged my assertion that anything he contributed was such a big deal. After a few more protests on his part, I saw him become soft in his composure, resting his arms on the table.
“That is why I tell people that whatever they do they have an effect on somebody. Who would have thought that this small thing, this little phone call I made to a friend would have this lasting effect and would have brought this much happiness? You’re welcome Mike, It was my pleasure.” It was then that he turned to the rest of the family and began to speak.
“I need to tell all of you this, because it is important. I have seen horrors, lost everything. And we all need to learn that just a little kindness…” he paused just to wipe his eyes.
You see, Ziggy survived the Holocaust. His family lived in Poland before WWII and he was a young man forced into hiding in the countryside with his family to escape the Nazis. His younger sister, who was sixteen years old at the time, was taken in by a Catholic family who hid her in their home. The townspeople informed on the family to the local authorities. When Ziggy learned of the betrayal, he watched helplessly from the woods as the family, his sister, and the family’s two year old daughter were executed in front of their home. When he, his parents and his brother were later cornered and arrested after a search by the locals looking to root out the “Jews” who were hiding in the forest, they were all deported to Auschwitz. Immediately, Ziggy was separated from his family and put to work only because he was a baker, and he was used as slave labor in the camps. The rest of his family all were murdered.
At Ziggy’s funeral many years later, a Rabbi told us all of the many acts of kindness and generosity Ziggy performed throughout his life. After immigrating to the United States after the war, he moved to the Bronx and worked for a baker and saved enough money to eventually open his own shop. If, as the Rabbi explained in his eulogy, Ziggy learned of someone who needed glasses and could not afford them, somehow they found the money for glasses through Ziggy. The same was for folks who could not afford heat, food, medicine, and even life saving surgery. He was a man who lived through Hell and still had the faith in mankind to help all those in need. We were told by the Rabbi that in the camps, Ziggy risked his own life to smuggle crusts of bread to the dying for sustenance. In the Bronx, with his own bakery, he continued to provide for those who needed help, giving from his own plate, if you will, to make sure others did not suffer or live in need. The man was a model of kindness which was born not of misery, but in spite of it.
I learned something after Ziggy told us his story that day, and I had my faith in humanity re-affirmed upon hearing the Rabbi offer his tribute to such a wonderful man. During this week of Thanksgiving here in the United States where Ziggy made his home, we all need to take a lesson from an unselfish man; a person who saw his small acts of kindness as inconsequential, but recognized that even a crust of bread can save a life.
Thanksgiving Holocaust jeweler diamonds Bronx WWII Rabbi Catholic Jewish family blog police department Police Academy engagement ring
In July of 1989 I was a raw recruit in the New York City Police Academy. It was then that I decided to propose to my girlfriend. New officers in the police department do not make a lot of money, especially back in the late 1980’s, so finding a decent engagement ring proved to be a bit of a challenge. The meager savings I had up to then went to paying upwards of $250 a month in train fare to commute back and forth every day from Long Island to Manhattan where the academy is located. By chance, I had a conversation with my brother in law Mark’s step-father at my sister’s home. We were seated at the dining room table for dessert.
“So, you are getting engaged?” he asked in a heavy, Polish accent. Ziggy was in his early seventies, and in ill health. I’d known him for many years up to that point, and he was a gentle, affectionate man who enjoyed family. My parents and my siblings all loved Ziggy and we were are close to Mark’s family, sharing our Catholic and Jewish heritages from one holiday season to the next.
“Yes, I’m excited. I’m shopping for a ring.” I said.
“Where did you go? You didn’t go to the mall, did you?” I noticed a look of alarm on his face.
“Uh, I was going to?” I said, almost as a question. Also, I think I gulped.
“No, no, Michael. You go see my friend. He’ll show you what to do, how to buy a diamond. Don’t even buy from him if you don’t want to. He’ll just make sure you don’t get taken advantage of.” He took a piece of paper and produced a pen from his shirt pocket.
In moments, I had a lead for a jeweler in Flushing, Queens who was described by Ziggy as “a man I play cards with every Tuesday.” After thanking him, I put the paper in my pocket.
The meeting with the jeweler took place that Saturday. I couldn’t wait to see what my options were, and though I had a modest amount of money to work with, I was still a bit cautious as I didn’t know how much of a favor this was going to be, and I did not want Ziggy to feel beholden to this man on my account.
“So, you know Ziggy? I better treat you right, then.” The man said as soon as I walked in. “Ziggy told me to look for a cop, a strong, young man with a crew cut. You must be Michael.” He shook my hand vigorously and welcomed me into his shop. We spoke for a minute or two about Ziggy and it was apparent that the jeweler had immense respect for him and that they did more than just play cards together. He repeated what Ziggy said about not having to buy from him, and that he just wanted to teach me about buying gems, diamonds in particular.
“You never buy a ring that’s already made. You buy the diamond first, and then have the ring made from the stone.” His voice was authoritative, and I listened to him because Ziggy trusted this man. I was given a lengthy tutorial on choosing the perfect stone, then I was told that I didn’t have to make a decision that day. So, I left his store, grateful for the knowledge I picked up from his lesson and returned to what was left of my brief weekend and another grueling week at the academy.
The next Saturday, I arrived early at the jeweler, cash in hand, to buy a stone. After at least two hours examining diamonds with a loop, and comparing them to the ones I already picked out, I found the perfect, one carat, white diamond, nearly flawless; and then I chose the setting and the smaller diamonds for the setting. The ring, which was made within the week, is gorgeous. To this day, my wife is complimented on the quality of the stone and other jewelers have said that I got “one hell of a deal” on the diamond.
I remember thanking Ziggy profusely and he waved me off as if he did nothing. But I also recall one scene which played out at my sister’s home, shortly before Ziggy passed away. It was Thanksgiving. The conversation was about family and what we should be thankful for, and I mentioned to Ziggy that I was grateful for the help he gave me in finding a reputable jeweler. His intervention was important in making our experience perfect. The ring, flawless and more valuable than what I paid for, is a cornerstone of our marriage in both symbolism and value.
Ziggy listened to me and challenged my assertion that anything he contributed was such a big deal. After a few more protests on his part, I saw him become soft in his composure, resting his arms on the table.
“That is why I tell people that whatever they do they have an effect on somebody. Who would have thought that this small thing, this little phone call I made to a friend would have this lasting effect and would have brought this much happiness? You’re welcome Mike, It was my pleasure.” It was then that he turned to the rest of the family and began to speak.
“I need to tell all of you this, because it is important. I have seen horrors, lost everything. And we all need to learn that just a little kindness…” he paused just to wipe his eyes.
You see, Ziggy survived the Holocaust. His family lived in Poland before WWII and he was a young man forced into hiding in the countryside with his family to escape the Nazis. His younger sister, who was sixteen years old at the time, was taken in by a Catholic family who hid her in their home. The townspeople informed on the family to the local authorities. When Ziggy learned of the betrayal, he watched helplessly from the woods as the family, his sister, and the family’s two year old daughter were executed in front of their home. When he, his parents and his brother were later cornered and arrested after a search by the locals looking to root out the “Jews” who were hiding in the forest, they were all deported to Auschwitz. Immediately, Ziggy was separated from his family and put to work only because he was a baker, and he was used as slave labor in the camps. The rest of his family all were murdered.
At Ziggy’s funeral many years later, a Rabbi told us all of the many acts of kindness and generosity Ziggy performed throughout his life. After immigrating to the United States after the war, he moved to the Bronx and worked for a baker and saved enough money to eventually open his own shop. If, as the Rabbi explained in his eulogy, Ziggy learned of someone who needed glasses and could not afford them, somehow they found the money for glasses through Ziggy. The same was for folks who could not afford heat, food, medicine, and even life saving surgery. He was a man who lived through Hell and still had the faith in mankind to help all those in need. We were told by the Rabbi that in the camps, Ziggy risked his own life to smuggle crusts of bread to the dying for sustenance. In the Bronx, with his own bakery, he continued to provide for those who needed help, giving from his own plate, if you will, to make sure others did not suffer or live in need. The man was a model of kindness which was born not of misery, but in spite of it.
I learned something after Ziggy told us his story that day, and I had my faith in humanity re-affirmed upon hearing the Rabbi offer his tribute to such a wonderful man. During this week of Thanksgiving here in the United States where Ziggy made his home, we all need to take a lesson from an unselfish man; a person who saw his small acts of kindness as inconsequential, but recognized that even a crust of bread can save a life.
Thanksgiving Holocaust jeweler diamonds Bronx WWII Rabbi Catholic Jewish family blog police department Police Academy engagement ring
"Be the Blog" Award!
When I began to blog, I never imagined that I would meet so many wonderful, creative, and talented bloggers. Mike French over at "The View From Here" is one of them. Mike has honored me with the above "Be the Blog" award. The award was created by Mark from "Me and My Drum" who stated (these words are from his blog):
"Earlier this year I was tagged with the blogging tip meme in which the tip I offered was “Be the Blog“. That phrase stuck with me because I think that really sums up what a successful blogger does. And what I mean by successful is that they make it their own, stay with it, are interactive with their readers, and just plain have fun.
Since then I’ve been thinking about creating an award of my own, but with so many out there, it’s hard to find a niche that remains untapped for recognition. So I said, “What the heck?”, and decided to shape the phrase into an award called (you guessed it): Be The Blog."
To be considered a blogger who deserves this tribute, I am deeply honored. You can read Mike's Blogs "The View From Here" and "Tales From the Tree" by clicking on the links under "Friends of Mr. Grudge." Remember, that every 15 Diggs brings out a new chaper of Mike's novel "The Dandelion Tree." Break out your shovels and start digging! Thanks again, Mike.
blogger award Be The Blog Digg
November 16, 2007
Five Things About Blogging Meme
Hi Readers,
It has been a very good week here at Mr. Grudge. Articles have been piling up for future publication in this space, I broke a personal “visitor” record on Thursday (my readership is increasing, thank you!), I’ve chosen a new, three column design for this space to roll out in the next week or two (Thanksgiving is next week and there’s a lot of preparation for this holiday), and I’ve been tagged twice by two talented, prolific bloggers (see the previous post below). Mike French, owner and proprietor of “The View from Here” tagged me with a meme the other day, right after I was tagged by Eng Foo Tiam over at “Beautiful World.” Mike is a talented writer who is releasing his novel “The Dandelion Tree” on his other blog “Tales from the Tree,” where as Mike puts it “The Digg the Tree: An interactive readership where every 15 Digg votes rolls out another chapter from the book ‘The Dandelion Tree’.” So, get out your shovels, visit “Tales from the Tree” and start Digging.
The meme Mike presented me with is a very good one. There are five questions which I can’t possibly answer as artfully as Mike did with his video on “The View from Here.” However, I am a writer, and I pride myself on being able to “show, and not tell.” Anyway, without any further adieu, here are the five questions of this meme:
1. How long have you been blogging?
I’ve been a blogger for a little over a year. Originally, Mr. Grudge was a baseball blog. I am a huge baseball fan, an unabashed follower of The Bronx Bombers (that’s the New York Yankees, for the un-initiated) and I prefer the American league over the National League. One of my favorite reading topics is the history of baseball, and the business of the sport. I’ve amassed a substantial amount of essentially worthless baseball cards; worthless only to collectors, yet valuable to me. My blog was noticed by the owner of Gotham Baseball Magazine, and on a semi-regular basis, I submitted my posts to their fine publication where they were published online. I grew tired of blogging about baseball and eventually stopped submitting my less than stellar baseball observations to the nice folks at G.B. and closed my blog from June until late September of this year. That month, I began to blog again, but this time about my true passion: writing. What’s funny is that my original baseball blog attracted about two to three readers a week, including the traffic from the baseball magazine’s website. The new Mr. Grudge had more readers in the first week of it’s re-creation than it had in an entire year as its former self. Now, I have more visitors in a day than I had all year. It’s gratifying and marvelous at the same time.
2. What inspired you to start a blog and who are your mentors?
My blogging was inspired by my desire to write about something I am enthusiastic about. My mentor, if you will is my good friend and talented artist Stephen Ingram. Please visit his fine blog and view his painting, drawings, and illustrations. He will be posting more soon. Stephen was the person who originally guided me along the way when I launched Mr. Grudge as a baseball blog. Though he was supportive of my original concept, he told me I should create it as something a little more tailored to my personality. This new blog format reflects me as my alter ego, and allows me to examine my goals as a writer and test my skills in this public format.
3. Are you trying to make money online, or just doing it for fun?
Everyone would like a little extra money. With that said, I am not trying to make money from advertising on this blog. I did have a couple of Google ads here and there but I removed them because I need the space and I can live without the approximately 35 cents I earned from clicks. If I ever do earn anything from this blog, it will be experience. There is always the small hope that I will somehow connect with someone in the literary world who would like to see my lengthier works and perhaps offer me a publishing deal. That is unlikely, of course, but I believe that anything is possible. I do have some plans as far as that is concerned, though (secret stuff). Still, I am going the traditional route of querying agents with letters and sample chapters of my work. So, while I do have fun doing this, I am doing this because I am passionate about my writing, and it would be nice to earn some sort of financial compensation for my efforts, but not from advertising revenue.
4. Tell me 3 things you LOVE about being online.
Well, I never really thought about this because my experiences are still very new, but I’ll give it a shot. I really love the comments I receive from readers. I take my time getting back to folks because I want to treat their comments with respect and return their remarks with more than just a “thanks.” I love the other blogs I’ve discovered while traveling throughout Blog Catalog. There are so many talented folks out there who make me wonder why I bother to write at all when I compare my stuff to theirs. In all truthfulness, I have become a fan of several blogs, and I admire the people who are able to create such fine work. The other thing I love about being online is the knowledge that people are actually reading something I wrote and taking it seriously. Whether I am trying to be funny, or when I publish something serious, or post articles on writing, I feel a sense of pride when I look at my site-meter and see people landing on Mr. Grudge. When the first comments roll in, I get a bit anxious, wondering if this person is going to like what I wrote, or even get it. Overall, my responses have been extremely supportive and positive.
5. Tell me 3 things you STRUGGLE with on-line.
After some thought, I struggle with dealing with some of the online social blogging communities. So far, Blog Catalog has been the absolute best social networking site I belong to and participate in. My interactions with other bloggers there have been rewarding and beneficial for me. Much of my traffic comes from referrals from Blog Catalog. Other blogging sites, especially book marking sites, have a hostile feel to them, and I get the sense that many of the users are cliquish and gang up on newbies. In spite of the allure of drawing more readers, I avoid blogging sites where users feel free to browse around in un-moderated fashion and leave comments with no real contribution of their own other than profane remarks. I also struggle with proposals from entrepreneurs have found my “site” and absolutely love it and want me to offer my readers some “great” product or service they have. I do my best to shield my readers from such blatant hucksterism. Hey, I was a member of the NYPD, and I believe my B.S. detector is much more acute than they average bear. That is why it is insulting to me when I receive e-mails telling me how “cool” my site is and would I be a sport and use valuable web page space putting up links to sell their junk. I also struggle with someone adding me as their “friend” and it is obvious that they never actually visited my blog, but they simply clicked the “add this user as a friend” button and hope that I do the same. Actually, I usually do add them as a friend in the hopes that they do eventually find my blog. It surprises me when I visit their blog and find out it is nothing but a link farm full of banner ads and articles on nothing but how to make money on line. Hey, I am all for people earning cash, I just don’t see how thousands of people can all have the same blog or website telling others how to make money with their blogs and they all have essentially the same advice and advertising. Apparently, the way to make money with a blog is to absolutely cram it with banner ads, Google text boxes, and every other form of advertising including getting paid to review other blogs. I’m not sure who’s making money reviewing Mr. Grudge, but I can save you a lot of time by telling you that I am great. Here’s two bucks, post that.
I want to thank Mike French one more time for tagging me. Whenever I am tagged, I consider it a compliment. Please visit Mike’s blogs and support the terrific work he is doing there. Next up for tagging? Hmmm, I am going to spin around with my eyes closed and choose Kathy Frederick over at “The Junk Drawer.” She runs a link farm crammed with banner advertising, and useful tips on making money...I'm kidding! Kathy is a very funny blogger who recently began a series called “Food That Looks like Stuff” which has me laughing. Hey Kathy, if you’re too busy or you don’t feel like doing this, it’s okay. I would appreciate it, though, if you place a link on your site (Ha Ha, joke) for my paid, subscription newsletter for your readers to be able to buy my branded Mr. Grudge merchandise. Look for the Mr. Grudge bobble head dolls for Christmas. Thanks again, Mike.
meme Writing Blog MLB Website Baseball baseball cards make money online
It has been a very good week here at Mr. Grudge. Articles have been piling up for future publication in this space, I broke a personal “visitor” record on Thursday (my readership is increasing, thank you!), I’ve chosen a new, three column design for this space to roll out in the next week or two (Thanksgiving is next week and there’s a lot of preparation for this holiday), and I’ve been tagged twice by two talented, prolific bloggers (see the previous post below). Mike French, owner and proprietor of “The View from Here” tagged me with a meme the other day, right after I was tagged by Eng Foo Tiam over at “Beautiful World.” Mike is a talented writer who is releasing his novel “The Dandelion Tree” on his other blog “Tales from the Tree,” where as Mike puts it “The Digg the Tree: An interactive readership where every 15 Digg votes rolls out another chapter from the book ‘The Dandelion Tree’.” So, get out your shovels, visit “Tales from the Tree” and start Digging.
The meme Mike presented me with is a very good one. There are five questions which I can’t possibly answer as artfully as Mike did with his video on “The View from Here.” However, I am a writer, and I pride myself on being able to “show, and not tell.” Anyway, without any further adieu, here are the five questions of this meme:
1. How long have you been blogging?
I’ve been a blogger for a little over a year. Originally, Mr. Grudge was a baseball blog. I am a huge baseball fan, an unabashed follower of The Bronx Bombers (that’s the New York Yankees, for the un-initiated) and I prefer the American league over the National League. One of my favorite reading topics is the history of baseball, and the business of the sport. I’ve amassed a substantial amount of essentially worthless baseball cards; worthless only to collectors, yet valuable to me. My blog was noticed by the owner of Gotham Baseball Magazine, and on a semi-regular basis, I submitted my posts to their fine publication where they were published online. I grew tired of blogging about baseball and eventually stopped submitting my less than stellar baseball observations to the nice folks at G.B. and closed my blog from June until late September of this year. That month, I began to blog again, but this time about my true passion: writing. What’s funny is that my original baseball blog attracted about two to three readers a week, including the traffic from the baseball magazine’s website. The new Mr. Grudge had more readers in the first week of it’s re-creation than it had in an entire year as its former self. Now, I have more visitors in a day than I had all year. It’s gratifying and marvelous at the same time.
2. What inspired you to start a blog and who are your mentors?
My blogging was inspired by my desire to write about something I am enthusiastic about. My mentor, if you will is my good friend and talented artist Stephen Ingram. Please visit his fine blog and view his painting, drawings, and illustrations. He will be posting more soon. Stephen was the person who originally guided me along the way when I launched Mr. Grudge as a baseball blog. Though he was supportive of my original concept, he told me I should create it as something a little more tailored to my personality. This new blog format reflects me as my alter ego, and allows me to examine my goals as a writer and test my skills in this public format.
3. Are you trying to make money online, or just doing it for fun?
Everyone would like a little extra money. With that said, I am not trying to make money from advertising on this blog. I did have a couple of Google ads here and there but I removed them because I need the space and I can live without the approximately 35 cents I earned from clicks. If I ever do earn anything from this blog, it will be experience. There is always the small hope that I will somehow connect with someone in the literary world who would like to see my lengthier works and perhaps offer me a publishing deal. That is unlikely, of course, but I believe that anything is possible. I do have some plans as far as that is concerned, though (secret stuff). Still, I am going the traditional route of querying agents with letters and sample chapters of my work. So, while I do have fun doing this, I am doing this because I am passionate about my writing, and it would be nice to earn some sort of financial compensation for my efforts, but not from advertising revenue.
4. Tell me 3 things you LOVE about being online.
Well, I never really thought about this because my experiences are still very new, but I’ll give it a shot. I really love the comments I receive from readers. I take my time getting back to folks because I want to treat their comments with respect and return their remarks with more than just a “thanks.” I love the other blogs I’ve discovered while traveling throughout Blog Catalog. There are so many talented folks out there who make me wonder why I bother to write at all when I compare my stuff to theirs. In all truthfulness, I have become a fan of several blogs, and I admire the people who are able to create such fine work. The other thing I love about being online is the knowledge that people are actually reading something I wrote and taking it seriously. Whether I am trying to be funny, or when I publish something serious, or post articles on writing, I feel a sense of pride when I look at my site-meter and see people landing on Mr. Grudge. When the first comments roll in, I get a bit anxious, wondering if this person is going to like what I wrote, or even get it. Overall, my responses have been extremely supportive and positive.
5. Tell me 3 things you STRUGGLE with on-line.
After some thought, I struggle with dealing with some of the online social blogging communities. So far, Blog Catalog has been the absolute best social networking site I belong to and participate in. My interactions with other bloggers there have been rewarding and beneficial for me. Much of my traffic comes from referrals from Blog Catalog. Other blogging sites, especially book marking sites, have a hostile feel to them, and I get the sense that many of the users are cliquish and gang up on newbies. In spite of the allure of drawing more readers, I avoid blogging sites where users feel free to browse around in un-moderated fashion and leave comments with no real contribution of their own other than profane remarks. I also struggle with proposals from entrepreneurs have found my “site” and absolutely love it and want me to offer my readers some “great” product or service they have. I do my best to shield my readers from such blatant hucksterism. Hey, I was a member of the NYPD, and I believe my B.S. detector is much more acute than they average bear. That is why it is insulting to me when I receive e-mails telling me how “cool” my site is and would I be a sport and use valuable web page space putting up links to sell their junk. I also struggle with someone adding me as their “friend” and it is obvious that they never actually visited my blog, but they simply clicked the “add this user as a friend” button and hope that I do the same. Actually, I usually do add them as a friend in the hopes that they do eventually find my blog. It surprises me when I visit their blog and find out it is nothing but a link farm full of banner ads and articles on nothing but how to make money on line. Hey, I am all for people earning cash, I just don’t see how thousands of people can all have the same blog or website telling others how to make money with their blogs and they all have essentially the same advice and advertising. Apparently, the way to make money with a blog is to absolutely cram it with banner ads, Google text boxes, and every other form of advertising including getting paid to review other blogs. I’m not sure who’s making money reviewing Mr. Grudge, but I can save you a lot of time by telling you that I am great. Here’s two bucks, post that.
I want to thank Mike French one more time for tagging me. Whenever I am tagged, I consider it a compliment. Please visit Mike’s blogs and support the terrific work he is doing there. Next up for tagging? Hmmm, I am going to spin around with my eyes closed and choose Kathy Frederick over at “The Junk Drawer.” She runs a link farm crammed with banner advertising, and useful tips on making money...I'm kidding! Kathy is a very funny blogger who recently began a series called “Food That Looks like Stuff” which has me laughing. Hey Kathy, if you’re too busy or you don’t feel like doing this, it’s okay. I would appreciate it, though, if you place a link on your site (Ha Ha, joke) for my paid, subscription newsletter for your readers to be able to buy my branded Mr. Grudge merchandise. Look for the Mr. Grudge bobble head dolls for Christmas. Thanks again, Mike.
meme Writing Blog MLB Website Baseball baseball cards make money online
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