As you've seen how history, specifically WWI, had extended my father's separation from his father for a period of years, let's leap over my family's sojourn in Palestine, which proved hugely disappointing after the great depression caused their pioneering experience to fail to meet Yacob's idealistic expectations.
When this next chapter of history (which profoundly reshaped the path of my father's life) unfolds before your eyes, we'll watch the paternal side of my family plant roots in the same major Midwest metropolis from which my grandpa's idealistic state of mind had seen fit to uproot his wife and offspring less than a year before. However, before we move forward, I think it's fair to say that upon grasping a deeper look into Grandpa's changing mind sets, we'll see our patriarch's trains of thought growing ever more flexible in that no matter how often he'd flailed financially about, he'd never failed to stand up after falling flat on his face, so determined was he to meet familial needs, and the fact that this strong-minded man had the gumption to brush yesterday's dust off of his sense of pride offered Grandpa's spirit the strength and his mind the freedom to try, try again to set his sights upon accomplishing new goals, which his idealistic mind had deemed achievable, next :)
Right before The Great Depression hit hard, Grandma and Grandpa surmised that during times of prosperity or destitution, people of all ages had need to eat, and with that astute thought in mind, the scholar and his wife, opened a deli.
Upon returning from Palestine, that same plan, 'People need to eat; let's open a deli', filled my grandparent's minds with hope, again. And when all seems lost, hope is the mainstay that gets a breadwinner's spirit to rise from his bed.
Though money, during the 1930's, proved more than tight, all around, Yacob must have managed to invest what little he had left in paying the first month's rent on a storefront, facing a busy intersection, and as location is everything, business, if not brisk, began trickling in. Though the deli provided my family with income and nourishment, some time would pass before Yacob could afford an apartment large enough to comfortably accommodate his family of five. Even so, my family needed a place to call home.
Putting his immigrant's ever-inventive brain to work, my grandpa moved his family into the deli's back room, which, now, served a double purpose: Along with providing the fledgling business with storage space, Grandma invoked her sense of creativity, thus 'creating' a semblance of 'home' in which her three offspring could co-exist; I mean, seriously, any thoughts of privacy in this drab, dank, colorless storage room proved a figment of imagination. (Thus deepening my sense of insight into Dad's boundless delight while building his dream home for our family when I was ten.)
Though it was not unusual during the early 1930's for families to huddle, together, seeking safety, shelter and warmth from harshly frigid winters in one room while wind-swept sleet and snow piled high outside, the fact that my family called the storage room, home, proved a spartan existence for five people sharing a sink and toilet but no shower or tub. Thus did Grandpa prove exceptionally grateful when the candy man offered a timely suggestion for change, which saw the deli's cash register ring in a steady flow of cash …
As every human mind is programmed to unconsciously fill in a story's blanks with details born of imagination, I feel compelled to repeat this fact: If a story teller spares so much as one vital detail, your perception may fly off course, concerning that which is true from that which is not. And often times, we're unaware of those moments when our active imaginations turn fact into fiction. For example: When I wrote that no baths or showers were seen in the storage room, did you wonder where my family bathed? Did you picture parents and offspring taking turns sponging off in the sink? Did you wonder if my family showered elsewhere? At some point, did your mind stop wondering and begin to believe that thoughts you'd conjured up must be true? If so, then hopefully, on second thought, you may have reconsidered the fact that without asking pertinent questions, you had no way of knowing the honest to goodness truth. See what I mean when I say: Our first thoughts are not always our best thoughts, because so often our thoughts (especially defensive thoughts) prove imaginary in nature.
And what of sleeping arrangements? What might you have wondered about that? When a story told, leaves questions hanging in the air, how often do you listen, passively, with no clue as to when your brain is filling in blanks with figments of imagination rather than maintaining your focus upon processing information so deeply as to surmise when to ask pertinent questions, aloud? Though questioning can take courage, listening actively can clear up misunderstandings before they catch fire.
Please be aware that I'm not suggesting that my family had it harder than most. I'm suggesting that each one learns to cope with life's harsh realities in positively focused or negatively focused ways, and often times, that which we 'choose' as our way depends upon acquired traits, adopted while watching the people who raised us. If the person who seems to win the most arguments in your house yells louder and longer than anyone else, you might unconsciously 'choose' to win control over others in a similar fashion—unless Lady Luck, smiling in your direction, happens to open opportunity's door, welcoming you to consider logical reason to embrace change for the better for everyone concerned by filling your think tank with speaking and listening skills (Couldn't help that plug … it's just the way my mind has been re-trained to work, most especially when tested with duress :)
It's important to note that when neither story teller nor listener has reason to feel defensive, clearing up mysteries by asking for details proves easy. In the absence of defensive reactiveness, peaceful conversations are free of electrical sparks, which tense up the logical thought processing center of the brain, thus filling the mind with electrical static that interferes with listening acuity.
Since the storage room did not offer sufficient space for five to sleep or any sense of modesty, much less a moment of privacy, my grandparents rented a bedroom in a boarding house, where my aunts slept and showered. Fortunately, for an additional fee, the rest of my family showered there, as well.
So here is the first main point of today's post: If I've gotten any of these details wrong, none prove so vital as to mislead you to darken or lighten your perceptions, concerning the character traits of any of the hard working people involved.
As to the second main point: Clearly, the adults in my family had need to beef up their income with more than corned beef and salami. So, when the candyman had something of significance to say, Yacob, Bailey and Jack asked for details while listening closely, actively, avidly, and in no way did they defensively turn a deaf ear or allow personal thoughts to drift in and out of their minds, thus fogging up information imparted, which proved vital to the family's well being. At those times when accuracy proves necessary, common sense suggests that acute listening skills absorbs information offered in good faith with attention to detail. And here's why that's true: All too often, we hear what we fear or we hear what we want to believe rather than absorbing the good sense inherent in that which has actually been said.
As to offering you the detailed account of that which the candy man suggested to boost my family's business—Tomorrow is only a day away … :)
Your friend,
Annie
When this next chapter of history (which profoundly reshaped the path of my father's life) unfolds before your eyes, we'll watch the paternal side of my family plant roots in the same major Midwest metropolis from which my grandpa's idealistic state of mind had seen fit to uproot his wife and offspring less than a year before. However, before we move forward, I think it's fair to say that upon grasping a deeper look into Grandpa's changing mind sets, we'll see our patriarch's trains of thought growing ever more flexible in that no matter how often he'd flailed financially about, he'd never failed to stand up after falling flat on his face, so determined was he to meet familial needs, and the fact that this strong-minded man had the gumption to brush yesterday's dust off of his sense of pride offered Grandpa's spirit the strength and his mind the freedom to try, try again to set his sights upon accomplishing new goals, which his idealistic mind had deemed achievable, next :)
Right before The Great Depression hit hard, Grandma and Grandpa surmised that during times of prosperity or destitution, people of all ages had need to eat, and with that astute thought in mind, the scholar and his wife, opened a deli.
Upon returning from Palestine, that same plan, 'People need to eat; let's open a deli', filled my grandparent's minds with hope, again. And when all seems lost, hope is the mainstay that gets a breadwinner's spirit to rise from his bed.
Though money, during the 1930's, proved more than tight, all around, Yacob must have managed to invest what little he had left in paying the first month's rent on a storefront, facing a busy intersection, and as location is everything, business, if not brisk, began trickling in. Though the deli provided my family with income and nourishment, some time would pass before Yacob could afford an apartment large enough to comfortably accommodate his family of five. Even so, my family needed a place to call home.
Putting his immigrant's ever-inventive brain to work, my grandpa moved his family into the deli's back room, which, now, served a double purpose: Along with providing the fledgling business with storage space, Grandma invoked her sense of creativity, thus 'creating' a semblance of 'home' in which her three offspring could co-exist; I mean, seriously, any thoughts of privacy in this drab, dank, colorless storage room proved a figment of imagination. (Thus deepening my sense of insight into Dad's boundless delight while building his dream home for our family when I was ten.)
Though it was not unusual during the early 1930's for families to huddle, together, seeking safety, shelter and warmth from harshly frigid winters in one room while wind-swept sleet and snow piled high outside, the fact that my family called the storage room, home, proved a spartan existence for five people sharing a sink and toilet but no shower or tub. Thus did Grandpa prove exceptionally grateful when the candy man offered a timely suggestion for change, which saw the deli's cash register ring in a steady flow of cash …
As every human mind is programmed to unconsciously fill in a story's blanks with details born of imagination, I feel compelled to repeat this fact: If a story teller spares so much as one vital detail, your perception may fly off course, concerning that which is true from that which is not. And often times, we're unaware of those moments when our active imaginations turn fact into fiction. For example: When I wrote that no baths or showers were seen in the storage room, did you wonder where my family bathed? Did you picture parents and offspring taking turns sponging off in the sink? Did you wonder if my family showered elsewhere? At some point, did your mind stop wondering and begin to believe that thoughts you'd conjured up must be true? If so, then hopefully, on second thought, you may have reconsidered the fact that without asking pertinent questions, you had no way of knowing the honest to goodness truth. See what I mean when I say: Our first thoughts are not always our best thoughts, because so often our thoughts (especially defensive thoughts) prove imaginary in nature.
And what of sleeping arrangements? What might you have wondered about that? When a story told, leaves questions hanging in the air, how often do you listen, passively, with no clue as to when your brain is filling in blanks with figments of imagination rather than maintaining your focus upon processing information so deeply as to surmise when to ask pertinent questions, aloud? Though questioning can take courage, listening actively can clear up misunderstandings before they catch fire.
Please be aware that I'm not suggesting that my family had it harder than most. I'm suggesting that each one learns to cope with life's harsh realities in positively focused or negatively focused ways, and often times, that which we 'choose' as our way depends upon acquired traits, adopted while watching the people who raised us. If the person who seems to win the most arguments in your house yells louder and longer than anyone else, you might unconsciously 'choose' to win control over others in a similar fashion—unless Lady Luck, smiling in your direction, happens to open opportunity's door, welcoming you to consider logical reason to embrace change for the better for everyone concerned by filling your think tank with speaking and listening skills (Couldn't help that plug … it's just the way my mind has been re-trained to work, most especially when tested with duress :)
It's important to note that when neither story teller nor listener has reason to feel defensive, clearing up mysteries by asking for details proves easy. In the absence of defensive reactiveness, peaceful conversations are free of electrical sparks, which tense up the logical thought processing center of the brain, thus filling the mind with electrical static that interferes with listening acuity.
Since the storage room did not offer sufficient space for five to sleep or any sense of modesty, much less a moment of privacy, my grandparents rented a bedroom in a boarding house, where my aunts slept and showered. Fortunately, for an additional fee, the rest of my family showered there, as well.
So here is the first main point of today's post: If I've gotten any of these details wrong, none prove so vital as to mislead you to darken or lighten your perceptions, concerning the character traits of any of the hard working people involved.
As to the second main point: Clearly, the adults in my family had need to beef up their income with more than corned beef and salami. So, when the candyman had something of significance to say, Yacob, Bailey and Jack asked for details while listening closely, actively, avidly, and in no way did they defensively turn a deaf ear or allow personal thoughts to drift in and out of their minds, thus fogging up information imparted, which proved vital to the family's well being. At those times when accuracy proves necessary, common sense suggests that acute listening skills absorbs information offered in good faith with attention to detail. And here's why that's true: All too often, we hear what we fear or we hear what we want to believe rather than absorbing the good sense inherent in that which has actually been said.
As to offering you the detailed account of that which the candy man suggested to boost my family's business—Tomorrow is only a day away … :)
Your friend,
Annie
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