After I graduated law school, I took off for three weeks to travel with my college roommate. Given the state of domestic and foreign relations at the time my parents- whom I was still living with- were very nervous about “two young girls travelling alone.”  To appease their concerns, I promised to keep in touch.

It’s Summertime and for this correspondent, it often means politics and anyone who checked out my Friday Promo via Gotham’s Promolistserve; but even more so it involves music; live music.  

Ever been driving behind a car on a one lane road only to find they stop for seemingly no reason at all? Then, much to your suprise, they make a left hand turn. No blinker, hand signal or even a smoke signal.   This non-blinker using driver is most likely thinking (or not thinking) "I know where I'm going, I don't need to use a blinker." What they are failing to grasp is that the blinker is not for them - it's for everyone else!  

I have been taking the subway to work for 50 years and have had many experiences, both good and bad, in my travels.  However, last week I had a poignant, unique under ground experience as I entered a crowded car on the way into work.  As I entered a younger man gestured to me and offered to give me his seat.  Despite the fact that it was unexpected and unsolicited, I did not hesitate or waiver.  I surprised myself by accepting the seat. 

I was reminded of Rona's blog of a few weeks ago about armrests when I went to an off-Broadway last week. (Rona's armrest incident was on an airplane.) As I found my seat in the small theatre, I could have been mistaken for taking the seat already occupied by the woman in the next seat. When she re-arranged herself, her coat and her pocketbook, I was able to sit -- only to encounter the challenge of the armrest between our seats. As I tried to get comfortable, my arm settled on the armrest only to be bumped by hers. And then came the unexpected.

This is a re-working of my blog from November 2015. Still true. I needed the reminder.

  I am in charge of laundry.    

 Growing up, my parents spoke Yiddish to one another when they did not want my brother, sister, or I to know what they were discussing. My parents didn’t know, however, that I slowly began to understand Yiddish and, ultimately, could understand what they were saying to one another. I would, secretly,  then tell  my brother and sister what was being said. I didn’t tell my parents  about my secret ability to understand their Yiddish conversations until I was married with my own family.