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  Ramblings of a Retired Mind The Award I knew she was sick. Her body was frail, but her mind remained sharp. She may have been down to ninety pounds, but nothing was going to stop her from seeing her beloved grandson receive his award. The trip from Chicago to Washington, D.C., would be difficult—airport lines, cab rides, and long days of exploring our nation’s capital. She knew her limits. She would go slow, steady, and never let anyone rush her. From an early age, everyone recognized my son’s remarkable artistic talent. It came naturally to him, and his grandmother was his biggest cheerleader. Her house was filled with his drawings, proudly displayed for anyone who visited. The award—presented by Hallmark through the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards—recognized his detailed drawing of a busy street scene. She couldn’t have been prouder. The trip to Washington would be unforgettable. The Journey The winning artwork was to hang in the Corcoran Gallery of Art, home to the Co...
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Some Weeks

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  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Some Weeks In my retired life, the weeks often pass with predictable regularity. A text reminder tells me it’s garbage day, so it must be Tuesday. When I finish brushing my teeth and see my pillbox is empty, I know it’s Sunday—time to refill it again. Most weeks go by like this: small routines, simple markers of time. Yet each day still brings something new—a fresh idea to write about, a new book to start, or a grandchild who needs a ride home from school. But the past few weeks? Anything but ordinary. So unusual, in fact, that I sometimes wonder if they really happened. The Mini Cooper Incident It all started about six weeks ago when I decided to clean my beloved Mini Cooper convertible. During the winter, I keep it in the garage with the top down—mostly so I can track where dust, dirt, and stray candy wrappers (thanks to my grandchildren) have settled. One day, I spotted a wrapper poking out from under the back seat and decided to retrieve ...
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Esther

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  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Esther A Move and a Memory Seven years ago, my wife and I left Chicago—the only home we had ever known—and moved to Polson, Montana. Retirement and the pull to be near our daughter and four grandchildren brought us West. Leaving behind friends, family, and the familiar rhythm of city life was no small undertaking. Before the move, I found myself at my parents’ graves, saying a quiet goodbye. I knew they weren’t truly there, but I felt the need to honor their lives and the life I was leaving behind. Graves matter. They are touchstones of existence, proof that a life once was. Too many leave this world without such a marker. The Pull of Genealogy Decades ago, my wife and I became absorbed in genealogy. With much of the older generation already gone, we pieced together names, dates, photographs, and fragments of stories. We visited cemeteries, photographing gravestones as if gathering the last whispers of lives once lived. But some left no trace at...
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Price to Pay for Free Speech

  The Price to Pay for Free Speech Free speech has never been free. Throughout history, those who dared to voice unpopular, offensive, or unconventional opinions often paid a steep price—sometimes with their careers, sometimes with their lives. We like to think today’s climate is uniquely divided, but the silencing of dissent is hardly new. Voices Silenced in History Socrates was condemned in Athens for “corrupting the youth” and questioning authority. His sentence? Death by hemlock. Centuries later, Giordano Bruno was burned at the stake for believing in an infinite universe. The Enlightenment didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat for free thinkers either. Thomas Paine, hero of Common Sense , was cast aside after criticizing organized religion in The Age of Reason . Voltaire spent years exiled or imprisoned for his sharp attacks on church and monarchy. The Artists and Rebels In the nineteenth century, Oscar Wilde’s wit and openness about homosexuality clashed with Victoria...
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Love, a Lifelong Journey

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Love, a Lifelong Journey Love—that elusive emotion every human longs for. For most of us, it begins with the love of a parent. Yet not all parents set the stage for a child’s future search for love. Love wears many forms, but perhaps the purest is the unconditional devotion of a mother to her newborn child. It’s a force of nature—indescribable and undeniable. A Mother’s Love I never doubted my mother’s love. From the moment I arrived in her arms, she embraced me with a gift I would spend my whole life trying to return. Only when I became a parent myself did I truly understand: a mother’s love asks for nothing in return—it simply is . Childhood Lessons As children, we cling to family love, the only love we know. But once we step into the larger world, we begin an endless quest to fill the void left by that primal bond. We seek friends, connections, even attention, all in search of belonging. In grade school, I had a few close buddies. We played,...
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Will I Wake Up?

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Will I Wake Up? Ever since I turned sixty-eight, I’ve gone to bed each night wondering: Will I wake up tomorrow—or not? You see, sixty-eight is something of a cursed number in my family. My grandfather died at sixty-eight. So did his son. And so did my mother, his daughter. Naturally, I couldn’t help but obsess over it during my own sixty-eighth year. Every night, the thought gnawed at me. Every morning, waking up felt like a small victory. When I turned sixty-nine, I was overjoyed—almost like when I finally reached sixteen and could drive. I could breathe again. The Thoughts That Creep In at Night My nightly ritual goes like this: lights out, head on the pillow, and then… the thoughts start. What if this is it? What if tomorrow, there is no more me? We humans are masters at feeling immortal—at least when we’re young and healthy. Think of an eight-year-old kid flying down a ski slope, fearless, not a thought about death. At that age, immortal...
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How Far is Too Far?

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind How Far is Too Far? When is it too far—truly too far? That question has gnawed at me like a vulture on a carcass for the past two weeks. A Lifelong Big Mouth I’ve always had a big mouth—not in size, but in words. As a child, I grew so accustomed to hearing, “Why would you say that?” that the question barely registered anymore. Now, at seventy-two, I still hear it. Perhaps the real question I should ask is: “Why do I say aloud what others only think in silence?” Yet, if I’m honest, I rarely ask it at all. How the World Sees Me vs. How I See Myself To the outside world, this makes me look selfish. Inside, I see myself differently. I am forever telling myself: “Question everything. Challenge others to prove they are awake.” One small point of pride: I never challenge another’s faith. Religion is too personal. Still, since reconnecting with the faith of my ancestors, I’ve wondered why all Jews didn’t embrace Christianity in its time. Was it st...
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