In the whirlwind of the confirmation, the subject of nicknames appears in the periphery. Specifically, the memory of nicknames from our youth. So, I’ll share my story. An attempt to obliterate my nickname of long ago. They called me Benjie. When I went off to college, I was determined to leave my nickname behind forever. I would answer to Ben and nothing else. My plan worked, or so it seemed. Through college and law school the old nickname remained in its dark place. It ...

We love to play Connect 4 and have several versions (including a  “Captain’s Game” that replicates the old game played at sea). We’ve had our travel version the longest. It is small, very portable and travels with us everywhere. Over the years, pieces have been lost and we are getting precariously close to not having enough markers to play to the end of a game that uses “all”. This was all going through my mind as one of the small black checker-like pieces slipped from on my...

Flo often admonishes me to “Stop and smell the roses.” There’s a Chasidic saying, attributed to the 18th century, “Just as the hand, held before the eye, can hide the tallest mountain, so the routine of everyday life can keep us from seeing the vast radiance and the secret wonders that fill the world.” As Flo says “Stop and smell the roses.” ...

Our neighbors are fanatics about coupons — asking us to make sure that those hallowed sections of the newspapers are not sent to recycling without their review. I was somewhat skeptical about coupons until a few years ago when certain prescription medicines became over the counter and I noticed considerable savings being offered by certain drug manufacturers. Searching for and cutting those coupons became a weekly event. Last week, any lingering doubts about coupons were put...

She was standing in the empty parking spot in Lenox, Massachusetts. I signaled that I was pulling in and she waved me off. My gesture of “Are you kidding?” was ignored. I parked around the corner. Saving a spot. The kind of behavior that might be expected in New York City. Might also get you killed. Unexpected in a small town in the Berkshire foothills. As I passed the spot a few minutes later, I noticed that the car parked there had New York plates. Put things in persp...

I met her at my Mother’s. Like my Mother, she is a Holocaust survivor. Hers was a different journey… a different story. She was born in Germany in 1934. As a young child, she escaped to France and was moved to a children’s detention facility in Marseilles. Incredibly, her Mother found her in Marseilles. A ship was leaving for the United States. Mother and daughter found their way onto the boat. While at sea, her Mother found her husband was also on the boat. She told us how...

We were having coffee at a little cafe. Small space. Couldn’t help but hear the conversation at the next table. One of the people was sharing a little issue she was having. Frustrated by her inability to find a solution. One of her friends offered the following: Your mind is like a TV. If you don’t like what your seeing, grab the remote and change the channel. As I heard the words, I smiled to myself and would have offered “And there are so many channels to chose from.”...

I have a plethora of T shirts emblazoned with names, messages and logos. Carefully chosen, assembled, maintained and stored over too many years. The messages they carry - some significant only for a moment - while others endure. Funny that one remembers every acquisition. Recently I’ve considered moving to plain t shirts. Then, over the weekend, I was having breakfast at a local place in the Berkshires and someone behind me said “I like your shirt.” The s...

We had the pleasure of seeing Audra McDonald in concert at Tanglewood with the Boston Pops. Great venue. Great concert. When I listen to music that touches me, I usually come away with a lyric that stays. Mostly because the message is pertinent and special,although sometimes it is just an “ear worm”. Since last Sunday, the lyrics of Jule Styne, Betty Comden and Adolph Green have been with me.... “Make someone happy, Make just one someone happy, And you will be happy too.” ...

I hadn’t given it much thought in many years, perhaps once or twice in passing since my father died almost twenty years ago. In the mid-1960s, my father went to Germany to testify at a war crimes trial against former guards in the Plaszow concentration camp. When he returned, he didn’t say much. However, he did tell me that the map of the ghetto in the courtroom was wrong. Streets were wrong. His testimony fixed the map. I must have had a certain amount of healthy tee...