A thin slice of crazy…conversations with my husband

This was a real conversation the captain and I had just before he left on his latest assignment.

“Where’s your Super Glue?”

“What did you break?”

Worth saving, don’t you agree?

“A seashell

“Why don’t you just throw it away?”

“It’s one of my favorites.”

“Who glues seashells, I mean who does that?”

“Why are you giving me a problem about this?”

“Because you have at least a thousand of them that look just like that.”

“Who are you, the seashell police?”

“I mean, really, why glue a broken shell. Who does that?”

“You said that already. You should get some new material. I hear what you’re saying, but I could still use it someday, it came from that dumpster in Nantucket, remember the one that had mounds of scallop shells around it?”

“Oh, right.”

“Yeah and remember it was raining and freezing and I found a plastic bag on the beach and filled it up with shells and wanted to come back with a box and you told me that I had enough and I was bordering the line over to crazy and I said enough was when I had them ALL, and you made me leave, remember?”


He gives me a look.

“Well…if you had let me take as many as I wanted (all of them), I wouldn’t be so attached to this one but you made me leave all of his brothers and sisters behind so I feel obligated to rescue this little guy.”

‘What are you looking like that for? You knew I was like this twenty years ago; it’s not like this is new information. Stop stalling and hand over the glue.”

“Why don’t you use your glue gun?”

“OMG, what is your problem! Cos its not as precise and…geez. why are you giving me such a hard time? Are  you like a prosecuting attorney or something? Maybe you missed your calling; you could quit being a captain and go to law school.”

There’s that look again.

“OK, you are trying my last nerve. Just hand over the glue before you get hurt or you’re not gonna get buckwheat pancakes for breakfast!”

“Here ya go,  just don’t glue your fingers together like you did last time.”

This is what it’s like around here. Do you see why people say we’re like two peas in a pod?

Pretty good repair job, not perfect, but OK.


Jews arrested during Kristallnacht line up for...

Jews arrested during Kristallnacht line up for roll call at Buchenwald, 1938 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

From The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum: On November 9–10, 1938, the Nazis staged vicious pogroms—state sanctioned, anti-Jewish riots—against the Jewish community of Germany. These came to be known as Kristallnacht (now commonly translated as “Night of Broken Glass”), a reference to the untold numbers of broken windows of synagogues, Jewish-owned stores, community centers, and homes plundered and destroyed during the pogroms. Encouraged by the Nazi regime, the rioters burned or destroyed 267 synagogues, vandalized or looted 7,500 Jewish businesses, and killed at least 91 Jewish people. They also damaged many Jewish cemeteries, hospitals, schools, and homes as police and fire brigades stood aside. Kristallnacht was a turning point in history. The pogroms marked an intensification of Nazi anti-Jewish policy that would culminate in the Holocaust—the systematic, state-sponsored murder of Jews.

My brother sent me an email today and I got his permission to reprint it as a post. It’s brief but powerful and reminded me that we must always be vigilant against hatred.

This week my wife and I went to the Oregon Holocaust Memorial. We had an intense and unsettling experience.  The memorial is in a hilly wooded park near downtown. We started off in a European town square setting, a cozy stone bench. Everything was covered in leaves from the trees around it. We noticed a doll (sculpture) had been left behind on the bench. As we walked down the cobblestone path other items had been left. The cobblestones gradually turned into railroad ties. The path ends at a large curved stone structure with the story of the Holocaust. It has powerful quotes from some of Oregon‘s Holocaust survivors. The structure rests on a huge boulder that covers dirt from each of the death camps. On the back of the structure are names of some Jews who died in the Holocaust and their Oregon relatives. The names are engraved on shiny black stone. As I walked along reading the names I could see my own image reflected in the stone. We’ve been wanting to visit this memorial for years, but kept putting it off. For me, part of being a Jew is finding the courage to walk around while carrying a heavy load of vulnerability and grief inside.  State sponsored anti-Semitism “could” happen here. It probably won’t. But if it does, I won’t go passively to the camps. We all have developed ways of coping that work for us.

Laughing and crying
You know it’s the same release
Joni Mitchell

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas