968 THE LOOK OF LOVE Part 8 Aunt Risa's Version

As told to me by Aunt Risa:

Aunt Risa's version of her parents' separation goes like this:  My grandpa, supposedly a brilliant, young scholar, was being groomed to become the shtetl's next rebbe (rabbi) when fate stepped in, and he was conscripted into the Polish Army ... during peacetime.  (No discrepancies in this 'true' story as of yet)

As anti-semitism ran rampant throughout Eastern Europe, it was common for Jews, conscripted into the Polish army, to disappear without a trace, so, all on his own, my grandpa came up with this plan of action:  As soon as his bride was asleep, Yacob would silently steal away in the dark of night, and after making his way to America, where religious freedom reigned supreme and streets were paved with gold, he'd work to save passage for Bailey to join him.  Once safely ensconced in the new world, beyond the reach of the Polish authorities, he'd write his bride that he'd disappeared to offer them, both, a life free of persecution, and as soon as she was able to sail to his side, all their dreams would come true. (And so … The plot thickens … )

As Aunt Risa's version continues, rumors of having been abandoned by her bridegroom burned painfully into young Bailey's heart, thus causing my grandmother's anguish to deepen, immeasurably, for this reason:  The fact that her sweetheart had disappeared without so much as writing a note of explanation for deserting her and their unborn babe, left this nineteen year old utterly confounded and desperately bereft.  Though Bailey missed her beloved husband and had no clue as to where he'd gone or why he'd left her behind, this broken hearted, young woman walked about town with her head held high when negatively focused whispers of tsk tsk branded her and her unborn child, unloved—and as much as she did not want to believe that to be true, she'd privately wring her hands while wracking her brain as to what else could have made Yacob leave without so much as a word?

Whenever Bailey was questioned, over many months, my grandma lowered her eyes and stared miserably at the ground, because she had no answers for family, friends and busybodies, whose demonstrations of pity for the abandoned young mother-to-be caused her heart to feel as heavy as her body had grown heavy with child.  Thus did Bailey's distraught mind and saddened spirit suffer unimaginably at having no explanation for Yacob's unexpected disappearance until the blessed day when her beloved's first letter from the new world had been received, offering Bailey's heart reason to sing with joy at having been deeply loved, after all.

As to the naysayers, whose pity she'd despised, well, they rejoiced as Bailey, holding my father in her arms, gave voice to Yacob's desire to hold his beloved wife and their precious, newborn son in his arms, as soon as he had saved enough to book passage for mother and child to sail across the sea.  So all's well that ends well... except for this fact:  One detail, concerning booking passage has not yet been revealed, suggesting that this story, concerning my
grandparents' lengthy separation, is far from over, and if you are curious about that which fate had in store for my father's parents, next, please check out LOL, part 8, tomorrow, where once again, man will plan and God will laugh, or actually, in this case, God will thunder down from on high, flashing lightening bolts across the sky when armies defy his commandment, Thou Shalt Not Kill, here, there, everywhere ...

967 THE LOOK OF LOVE Part 7 Additional Details

As today, my time for writing is brief, may I suggest that you do as I did for this reason:

While rereading yesterday's story (post 966) about Grandpa Yacob's need to slip out of Grandma Bailey's embrace in the dark of one desperately distressing night, where he disappeared into the great unknown for a time, which seemed endless to this pair of young lovers, I added several details, which emerged, this morning, a bit tardily from my memory, and as these details, concerning Polish life, may prove to heighten your interest, I hope to tempt you to review yesterday's post before Aunt Risa's very different version of her parents' lengthy separation appears on your screen, tomorrow—as for right now, common sense suggests my giving voice to one insight that won't sit quietly inside my mind … 

The human heart's ability to love proves so profoundly expansive that unlike my father's fatherland, your heart and mine have no boundaries, other than those, which are self imposed, and if a life well lived is to be lived to the fullest then perhaps you can see why I cannot deny my heart the eye sparkling pleasure of communing with a loved one in a safe haven of our own making ... one-on-one ...

966 THE LOOK OF LOVE Part 6 Dad's Version of Bailey's and Yacob's Heart-wrenching Dilemma

Whenever my father related an adventurous tale from his East European childhood, I sat rapt while my ears drew in every animated word that flew so readily from Dad's memory, through his mind and out of his mouth.  Upon reflection, I was hungry to know my family's history on both sides.

My Dad's parents lived in a shtetl so small that everyone knew everyone else's business, or at least everyone believed self conceived assumptions to be facts, just as is true, from that day to this, of people the world over.

Though my grandparents were devoted to each other, to hear my father tell it, no one could have loved anyone more completely than Bailey adored Yacob.  So just as I'd seen Dad's spirit beam as bright as a sparkler whenever my mother walked into a room, my dad declared that his mother's spirit had electrified when in the presence of his dad.  And as memories emerge of my Grandma Bailey's sparkling, blue eyes radiating pure joy each time she and I enjoyed a sleepover, I've no doubt that what Dad had said about my dearly loved Grandma was true.

As mentioned in an early post, hero worship proved to be a popular family trait.  And having experienced the expansive nature of intuitive adoration, myself, I have sound reason to believe the human heart has no boundary tall enough or thick enough to stop Cupid's arrow from striking home when certain people, whose presence electrify my spirit, walk into a room ... I mean, when you stop to think about it, Cupid's arrow is not limited to striking a heart only once in a lifetime.  Personally, I've felt struck with love upon laying eyes on three new born babes ... know what I mean?

As the story goes, my grandpa, supposedly a brilliant, young scholar, was being groomed to become the shtetl's next rebbe (rabbi) when fate threw him a curve in that he was conscripted into the Polish Army ... during peacetime.  (I can recall my mother suggesting, under her breath, that her father-in-law grew ever more brilliant and scholarly with each telling of this story.). Though we may have considered the world at peace when Grandpa was conscripted, in truth, there's never been a time when every tribe, city-state or nation in the world has ceased marching toward gaining control over more territory on planet Earth, and that statement proves especially true of Polish history, suggestive of their army, fighting against one invasion after another, so often, that Poland's boundaries seemed to change more quickly than new maps could roll off the printing press.

Since anti-semitism ran rampant throughout Eastern Europe at that time, it was common for Jews, conscripted into the Polish army, to disappear without a trace, so my grandpa and grandma put their heads together and came up with this plan of action:  Yacob would steal away in the dark of night, and after making his way to America, where religious freedom reigned supreme and streets were paved with gold, he'd work to save passage for Bailey to join him, and all their dreams would come true.  (Though I've heard tell that Grandpa Yacob was a dreamer, after listening to multiple versions of that which had compelled Bailey's sweetheart to cross the ocean several times, I've come to see my hard working grandpa as a die-hard idealist ... yet another familial trait passed down from Dad's side to someone you've come to know ... And thank goodness for that, because in lieu of idealistic fires re-igniting intuitively within leadership's hearts, the human spirit would experience burn out, suggestive of the downtrodden masses having no light to guide them toward thinking so insightfully as to lay down weapons of mass destruction, climb out of foxholes, and place their trust in the human desire for peace amongst all people on planet Earth, if not today then when the sun comes out, tomorrow!  Whew!

After Jacob stole away, leaving everything he knew of life and everyone he'd loved behind, rumors of having been abandoned by her bridegroom burned painfully into young Bailey's heart, thus increasing my grandmother's emotional distress immeasurably, because she'd desperately missed her beloved husband, day after day.  However, as Bailey had no way of knowing whether her sweetheart had safely stolen himself out of Poland, this courageous, young woman held her tongue as she walked about town with her head held high while negatively focused whispers of tsk tsk branded her unworthy of Yacob's love, and whenever she was questioned over many months, my precious grandma lowered her eyes, stared at the ground, and stout heartedly offered family, friends and busybodies no explanation for Yacob's sudden disappearance until the blessed day when her beloved's first letter from the new world had been received, thus freeing Bailey's voice to rejoice, aloud, and as the truth, concerning the sacred place she'd held in her husband's heart became public knowledge, my grandma's soiled reputation was washed spotless for all to see, at long last.

As that's my Dad's version of his parent's separation, please tune in tomorrow when I'll reveal details, deviating from Dad's rendition, which Dad's sister, my Aunt Risa, believes to be the true tale of her parents' lengthy separation ...

965 THE LOOK OF LOVE Part 5 Bailey and Yacob Part Ways???

Some day, I'll seek out the expertise of an editor, empowered to condense my need to pen 'safe haven' from thousands of times to ten or twenty, but for now, those words will be expressed whenever my need for self comfort shields my heart from racing in an unhealthy manner as attacks on my character have not yet ceased ...

Again, please do not see this post as portraying your friend, Annie, as a victim wailing her fate but rather imagine a woman, who chooses to weather the thunder and lightening of emotional storms by standing under Gandhi's umbrella where she maintains her focus upon the inner strength of this sage's mantra:
Be the change you seek for the world ...

Interesting that, once again, loved ones are cautioning me to gain a pound or two, suggesting that, perhaps, Gandhi did not have to work at starving himself.  Perhaps, the heavy weight of unexpressed emotional reactiveness sat so heavy on his mind that the hunger center of his brain had naturally depressed all awareness of appetite, as is true of mine, at times when my intuition senses danger closing in, causing my energy source to concentrate solely on diving into the deep end of my mind until I can fathom my best course of action.

Sorry for postponing the story of Grandma Bailey's and Grandpa Yacob's earliest days of wedded bliss, which turned a corner, early on, when this pair of young lovers had been torn apart by a sudden, totally unexpected, seven year separation, the details of which will appear on your screen and mine, tomorrow.

Upon awakening each morning, I have to write what I feel the need to express, and today, this was it.

PS
Though love between two cousins may have been seen as wayward by many, experiential truth suggests that when love is as soulfully pure as that which had connected Bailey and Yacob, thoughts of waywardness do not make sense, especially when heartfelt reflection suggests that upon combining my grandparents' many strengths, their gene pool enabled their offspring to grow up to be as strong and smart as most human beings … and as an aside, my grandparents' descendants enjoy many in-jokes about the fact that all of us are each other's cousins, once, twice, or three times removed … for example, when my mom had reason to admonish me during my youth, I'd respond, tongue in cheek:  I don't have to listen to you, because everyone in our family has been related for generations—you're the newcomer, who married in … and as that always made Mom laugh, I'd be forgiven for small transgressions against family tradition, which had been upheld as though written in stone.

964 THE LOOK OF LOVE Part 4 Eager to introduce Grandma Bailey and Grandpa Yacob :)

So, if Bailey and Yacob were first cousins
And if marrying your first cousin was and still is taboo then
How did my grandparents walk down that sacred aisle with
The blessings of both families as well as that of the townsfolk, who'd
Danced at their wedding while wishing the young couple well?
Was the population of their shtetl (tiny village where
Those of the Jewish faith were designated
To dwell, separately from all others)
So small as to have sanctioned marriage amongst family members
As acceptable due to extenuating circumstances?

Well to tell you the truth, I have no clue

All I can tell you, in good faith, is my grandparents' love story as it
Had been passed down to me by my blond, blue-eyed
High spirited, loquacious dad—although, you may be interested
To know that one part of their story, as
Dad had related it to me, proved questionable for this reason:
After listening attentively to Dad's detailed version of
His parents' separation, I listened attentively to details
Which did not match his when Dad's younger sister, my Aunt Risa
Expressed her version of my grandparents' 'true' story to me after
My Dad had died, and since I have no clue whose version is correct
Let's look at both, with Dad's version coming first …

963 THE LOOK OF LOVE Part 3 Whoops! Not Quite Time for Bailey and Yacob to Appear

Rather than asking you to reread that which was added
To post 961 upon awakening, today,  I chose to
Copy additional insights, right here
I believe these added insights prove vital to the path that
I've consciously chosen as my own for this reason:
As stories continue to chug out of my mind
These insights, along with countless others
Will open your eyes as to why
The consummate pleaser in me will grow up to be
A compassionate woman who, step by step, felt eager to develop
A flexible mind of her own, and as working toward developing 
A sense of flexibility suggests intuition guiding me toward
Embracing new schools of thought, you'll get a bird's eye view of
Changes in many of my mind sets, which had
Rustled the feathers of the old guard, thereby causing
Annie to encounter years of stormy weather whenever
My expanded points of view set rosy or darkened lenses aside
In favor of perceiving of loved ones
Through the lenses of clarity, more readily than
Had been possible when the youthful version of me had
Focused on being accepted by this group or that group rather than
Setting my sights upon questing toward deeper truth on my own

As questing toward deeper truth creates unrest in
The defensive breasts of those whose
Feathers feel ruffled when confronted with
Details that reflect reality over traditional beliefs
You'll see a portion of my loved ones feel so threatened as to
Have disparaged my hard won, character traits in hopes of
Silencing my voice each time common sense deemed
Their perceptions as being so rosy or darkened
As to defy common sense

At this time, please note that my personal quest to
Embrace flexibility of thought (thus expanding
The narrow framework of my views) does not
Suggest that I go out of my way to shout out painful facts
Which spotlight the views of others as wrong; in fact
Quite the opposite is true in that
Rather than convincing others of the narrowness of
Their thought patterns, I tend to
Listen more attentively, today, than ever before, in hopes of
Enriching my mind with views of life that had escaped
My thought processing center during the days of my youth, when
I'd been unable to differentiate between
Personal perceptions, which had proved shallow vs.
Perceptions steeped in thought so deep as to have unearthed
A treasure chest filled with insights into empowering oneself
To love compassionately rather than
Defensively, judgmentally or self righteously  
And as you and I search through this treasure chest, overflowing
With golden rules and pearls of wisdom
We may create a sturdy bridge upon which we'll discuss
Differing points of view so calmly as to stumble upon
The humility and courage to meet in the middle
Where safe haven of our own making provides us with
A sacred place in which like-minds can
Walk and talk and gaze deeply into each other's eyes, because
Each time we open windows into our souls, our hearts will
Engage within a safe haven of our own making where the
Peaceful serenity of true love's spiritual purity offers
The minds of two individuals refuge from the noisy fray, where
Swiftly swirling rapids swallow up the maddening crowd, who
Bellow so fiercely at each other's shortcomings that
None can hear intuition imploring us all to seek insight into
Thinking deeply and wisely before our treasured friendships
Drown within self inflicted wounds in record time

Though once I'd felt the need to
Swim in the midst of an ocean of 'friends'
Today, a pond-like setting beckons my existential heart
To feel at home
Whew!

In addition to identifying myself as a person
Swimming, salmon-like, upstream, while working
To separate my mind sets from the darkened viewpoints of
The maddening crowd, swirling furiously around me
I refuse to allow any attempt to pull me down to drown
My hopes that, with positive focus intact
Change for the better will surely take place on
A global scope, and with that positively focused goal
On the horizon as well as in the forefront of my mind
I now embrace growing pains as gracefully as
Is humanly possible, while continuing to
Focus my sights upon gaining insight into
How best to weather darkened views that
Thunder down upon my hard earned character traits until
I am once again accepted as a person, who has
Grown to be uniquely individuated from those I love, and
As that has been the case, time and again, my pain, upon
Listening to tirades disparaging my character traits
Has lessened, considerably, not because
I've become tough skinned, but because
Attacks to my character bounce naturally
Right off my heightened level of self esteem, which
Acts LESS like a boomerang, more like
A trampoline, in that I feel no need to
Defend myself by attacking back
And BTW, as soul searching causes
My negatively focused traits
To grow more apparent to me, I've come to
Recognize a universal need for
Each of us to grow ever more self aware in hopes of
Identifying personal vulnerabilities, at
Our own pace, and as we glean insight into
Working, peaceably together, to
Repair heartfelt, yet strained, relationships, perhaps
Two people with differing points of view may rejoice in
Each other's presence while both
Are still on this side of the grass

Seriously, though my precious mother
Who was treasured by all who'd met her
Lived to dance through 100 years, I believe
She'd be amongst the first to sit on
My left shoulder (nearest my heart) nodding her
Lovely head in agreement each time Socrates
Sitting, like Jiminy, on my right shoulder
Implores me to Know Myself, more deeply, today, than
Had been possible, yesterday, because ...
Life's too short to look at our traits
Through rose colored lenses, while perceiving
The traits of loved ones through dark lenses, forever
Double whew!

And now, having sufficiently tired my think tank out
Tis time for your friend, Annie, to rise to
The challenge of greeting the rest of my life, knowing that
My precious Mom is holding hands with
My beloved Dad, while both confer directly with Socrates
As this trio of stout-hearted individuals hover over me
Directing my intuition toward remaining focused upon a path
That Mom and Dad had not always understood or
Agreed with when we three mortals had chosen
To march to the tune of our own drummers while
Each of us faced life's challenges by openly confronting
Our differences, hand in hand in hand

And rather than anyone of us growing so defensive as to
Burn bridges, the regenerative power of our love
Offered us countless opportunities to
Clearly say everything that was on our minds
And thus, before the end of life whisked
My cherished parents away
I felt free to clarify, aloud, everything
They'd each meant to me, while they'd had time
To clarify everything I'd meant to them
And thus have these enriching experiences
Taught me to appreciate this insight into
Loving each other ever more deeply rather than defensively:
Though understanding each other's views may
Remain unresolved, heralding each other's
Most admirable character traits far outweighs
Concentrating upon pointing out that which
You perceive of as your loved ones' personal flaws.

Hopefully, my stories provide you with clarity into
The fact that my primary goal is to encourage
More of us to identify and conquer
Our own defensive reactions, which tend to
Separate every one of us from
Experiencing love in its purest form
And having pulled today's train of thought into this station
My tired noggin says nuff said for one day

Hopefully, tomorrow, my time machine will
Whisk us back to Poland, where
We'll pull into station 1913
And hopefully
The sadness that weighs heavy in my heart, today,
Will lift while I offer you the pleasure of meeting
My beloved father Jack's parents ...
My Grandma Bailey and Grandpa Yacob ...
Who had been … Oy gevalt ... first cousins ...

Oh yes, here's one missing detail that completes
Today's train of thought, concerning the regenerative process
To which your mind must relate if the purity of love is to be yours:
If you've been attentive to the history of my blog, thus far
You may recall that Will and I had sound reason to
Separate twenty years ago …  (Uh, on second thought,
I've not yet revealed why separation had proved necessary
But you can believe me when I say that sound reason
Existed, and one day, when that story
Unfolds on your screen, as naturally
As stories, penned in the past, you'll have the opportunity
To judge for yourself as to whether
My perception is on target or not)
At any rate, as our impassioned differences had not
Caused us to burn bridges on either side
Will and I will enjoy dinner, together, tonight, though
I have no clue as to where we'll dine, because
On every anniversary, for the past twenty years
Will delights in surprising me
And the reason I mentioned our anniversary is because
Today happens to be our 48th :)
Tomorrow, Bailey and Yacov are sure to appear ...

962 THE LOOK OF LOVE Part 2 Ella and Harold

For some reason, intuition threw my time machine (which directs the path of my mind) into reverse, causing us to zoom back to several years before the birth of my precious mom.  As intuitive thought often guides the pathway of my mind, here's a bird's eye view of whichever train of thought is about to appear on my computer screen and yours … One caution, I'll have no time to edit, till later:

Sad to say, I know nothing of my Grandma Ella's and Grandpa Harold's childhood, other than this:
My passionate, robust grandma, the eldest child in a large family, grew up in Russia during the latter part of the 1800's.

As Grandma Ella had told my mom, who'd passed this information to me:
'My father and I were very close.  Since he did not place much faith in my mother's ability to run our active household, that responsibility fell to me, early on.  As pleasing my father pleased me, I worked to surpass his expectations.'

In this way had Grandma Ella been habitually primed to run the show wherever life took her next.

My grandma's dad, a strong-minded man, had a dear boyhood friend, who'd moved to London.  Before biding each other goodbye, these fast friends made a pact:  If one had a daughter and the other a son, they'd arrange a marriage between the two.

One day, a lovely, dark haired, young girl, on the verge of womanhood, was picking apples in her backyard when she sensed a presence behind her.  This presence happened to be a young man, staring at that which he liked, so far:  A long, wavy mane of hair, cascading freely down a young woman's curvaceous back.  With her apron filled with juicy apples as ripe and rosy as the blush of youth blooming on her cheeks, Ella spun around and brown eyes flashing, my grandma faced her intended, Harold, for the very first time.  As Harold was a well dressed, handsome lad, whose family had done well in London, Ella, whose inner strengths had longed to meet her match, looked upon this dapper, young fellow with favor until, my grandfather introduced himself and humbly uttered this request in reverence for the magnificent, young woman whose passionate nature had clearly been sensed, standing before him:  With hat in hand, Harold asked, respectfully:  Can I give you a kiss?  Upon hearing her intended's deferential request, Ella's welcoming smile turned upside down, and her fiery spirit shot off this reply:
If you have to ask ... NO!

Next thing Harold knew, an apron full of apples had been flung straight at his person, and before he knew what had hit him, this spirited, young woman, soon to be his wife, flounced furiously away—and from that day forward, their first interchange pretty much describes the tone of my grandparents' marriage until death did they part when Harold lost his battle with heart disease, at the age of fifty-two.

Pretty dramatic response [or not so pretty] from a young woman to her besotted betrothed during the first decade of the 1900's, when the fair sex was expected to react in demurely when responding to the man of the house, n'est ce pas?  And now I know why intuition suggested that I start my mom's story with this vinette, describing the blazing nature of her mom.

Having lived with my Grandma from the day of my birth until marrying Will, I'd witnessed the power of her strong, matriarchal spirit, first hand, countless times, most especially when Ella, who'd ruled Jennie's kitchen, felt defensive or displeased.  (As my sister, Lauren, and I'd absorbed a double dose of strength of spirit from Grandma and my dad, thank goodness, intuition channelled my mind to carve out a path, whereby I chose to seek out speaking and listening skills, which graced my think tank with temper-taming knowledge once motherhood challenged me to modify a two-year old's emphatic: 'No! No! No!' …)

Upon marrying Harold, Ella was not about to leave her family for foreign shores, so the young couple made their home in Russia, not far from that apple tree, where Grandma's mindset, concerning her intended, had taken root, and from that day forward ... dominance, concerning who would rule the roost, remained uncontested ...

Sometime before WWI broke out, Grandma's younger sister, Batia, had emigrated with her husband to the U.S., and acting as sponsors, they implored my grandma and grandpa to join them.  As to the whereabouts of the rest of my grandma's siblings, it's assumed that they'd perished along with so many of the Jewish faith during WWII, because eventually, all communication with her side of our family ceased.  Sadly, to this very day, if asked what fate had in store for my grandma's family, I'd reply, quite seriously, our family has no clue.

If asked about Grandpa Harold's family in London, we lost track of them for a very different reason.  The spelling of Grandpa's last name was changed when he emigrated to America by way of Ellis Island.  Oh wait ... Scratch that detail.  Though we'd thought they'd made their way through the endless lines if immigrants at Ellis Island, my niece, Jessie, recently learned they disembarked from the ship in Nova Scotia.  So, each time we'd tried to contact family when we'd traveled to London, we'd offered the authorities the wrong name.  How did we find that to be true?  Recently, we found my mom's long lost birth certificate, where her rightful birthday and rightful maiden name had been recorded, correctly... one hundred years ago ...

Eventually, Grandma and Grandpa had sound reason for choosing to leave mother Russia, behind.  During my childhood, Grandma's terrifying tales of hiding from marauding Cossacks made my hair stand on end.  One story described grandma as a young woman, huddling with her friend as the two lay petrified, hidden in the bushes whenever the thundering hoof beats of horses suggested that another drunken raid on Jewish life was imminent.  When the friend's baby began to whimper, a loving hand covered the frightened infant's mouth.  Once their belongings had been ransacked by soldiers, some tearing through the house still mounted on horseback, the two friends emerged from their hiding place to find the precious child, who had suffocated, lifeless in his mother's arms.

When Ella had a child of her own, it was no surprise that she'd longed to join Batia, who'd beckoned from the safe haven of the Midwest, where religious freedom offered liberation from persecution—though women, who'd not yet won freedom to vote, marched for their right to equality, while in later years, the persistence of color discrimination continued to rankle the minds of many until whites, aligning with blacks, for sound reason, marched with MLK as miscarriages of justice pierced hearts, for decades.  Why?  Because two sides of human nature fight for space within each mind ...

Somewhere around 1908 Ella and Harold, toting their small son, Allen, booked third class passage from Russia to the USA.  As their story goes, payment for their passage took them only to London, where they were forced to disembark, shocked and furious at having found their trusting nature taken advantage of so heartlessly.  Whomever they'd paid the full amount to sail to the new world had pocketed a portion of the money after booking them passage only as far as Europe, suggestive of each generation's need to grow toward maturity, aware of differentiating between friends vs frenemies.  ( As you shall see, I'll learn that sad lesson, concerning frenemies, as well ...)

Thank goodness, Harold's family took my grandparents and Uncle Allen in for at least a couple of years while my grandpa (who'd died before my birth) saved passage, yet again, this time just for himself.  Once Harold arrived in the states, on his own, he worked as a tailor to save passage for four more.  While seeking asylum with his family in London, Harold had fathered a second son, Jerry, and before he'd set sail for the new world, Ella had conceived my mother, Jennie.  Then, when my robust grandma (who'd become ill and thin during the many weeks in which she'd crossed the ocean in steerage with two rambunctious tots in tow) could not nurse her black eyed, raven haired babe, fellow travelers took turns holding my precious mother, Jennie, in their arms while spooning fluids into her sweet, hungry, bud-shaped mouth.  Thus was my tender-hearted mother, a one year old cherub, held in Ella's emaciated arms, when she set eyes on her father, Harold, for the very first time.

And now that you know a smidgen about my mom's family history, let's redirect our time machine to 1912, several months before my Dad's birth for this reason:  Before my parents' love story can unfold before your eyes, we need to transport Jack from Poland to the Midwest, where he'll grow up to attend a dance, and upon laying eyes on black eyed, raven haired, voluptuous Jennie, across a crowded room, my father will make his way to his beloved's side, where he'll literally sweep his sweetheart of sixty years off her feet, and after twirling my lovely mother around the dance floor and into his car, we'll witness my dad's thoughts and my mom's thoughts quickly part ways … and thus, when next we meet, I'll feel as curious as you to see where my stream of consciousness will direct the story-telling portion of my mind to travel back in time, next ...