Gail's Blog

Christ Church, Alexandria, VA. In this sanctuary, both of my children were baptized. One daughter was married here. We look forward to baptizing our grandson here, also. My husband and I have been members since 1977, when we came from Cleveland, Ohio. A choir member at our old parish suggested Christ Church, having visited as a tourist. The Christ Church choir director just happened to have openings for both a baritone and alto soloist (paid soloists being the thing in many Episcopal churches). So we sang in the choir for many years, and my husband still does. In the beginning, all of the exotic southern culture involved in living in Alexandria felt like wearing new, slightly itchy clothing. We found ourselves living in a foreign country that spoke a version of English. Some people drawled, like in the movies! Others, being transplants like us, did not. As for food: Just as casseroles, I'm told, are the holy food of Methodism, ham biscuits were here. Church receptions al

So now it is our fault that so much gas has been consumed, and that we will cost the country so much in Social Security. That we paid into Social Security all these years, and that our parents embraced consumption, and schooled us in it, are not relevant. We tried. Ours was the first Earth Day (the year I graduated high school).We marched against the Vietnam War. Many of our brothers, cousins, friends died in that war--the last generation to be drafted. We rebelled and revolted against our parents' Mad Men values. Yet we are being pilloried in the press and on the web as being greedy, selfish, youth-smitten black holes of consumerism. How did this happen? Why was my parents' generation the "Greatest", when we were also drafted, and also threatened by the world's madness?  I know. They suffered the Depression (mom still saved foil, and I did, also, when newly married). They were terrified of being conquered by the terrible despots of the time. We fear

Mom as a child. My Mother had a secret war. She didn't take it to the streets, or join with others to wage it. In her heart she held beliefs that were mightily opposed to the popular opinion of her time. She taught me that African Americans were not N****s, as the neighbors said. They were "colored people, or Negroes". They were people like us. But she taught these things quietly, as if fearing someone would overhear. The most powerful, long-lasting oppression she held within her was the oppression of Anti-Semitism . She falsified her applications for work after she quit high school because they asked for her religion. She wrote, "Protestant", instead.  In one of her first jobs she was routinely called the "Jew Girl" . This she wanted to avoid in the future. When I was small, she counseled me to never tell anyone I was half Jewish. We lived in a second-generation Roman Catholic neighborhood in Willowick, Ohio. I told, anyway. I thought, if

My mother, before she learned to run like a girl. My mother taught me how to run like a girl. I was outside (we were always outside) playing with girlfriends. We raced each other, and my mom came out from behind the screen door. She said, "You shouldn't run with your fists clenched! You are a girl. You should be more feminine. Here, let me show you." She demonstrated a few adorable steps with hands flapping listlessly beside her.  She stopped and glared at me. "See?" I dutifully practiced, feeling terribly frustrated. How fast can someone run if they to think about how cute they look while doing it? Not very.  I was never able to integrate that pretty, graceful girl my mom had in her mind's eye. And I suspect that those women who were raised in the days of segregated women's and men's employment newspaper ads, and women's news, mostly had difficulty with these superimposed requirements. So when I read Judith Martin's In defense

I have to admit that I have been obsessing about my age lately. I've allowed my hair to go grey because I want to dare to be myself, as God has me right now. Yet I am wondering if God cares that I look older than my peers who color. I don't think she does. Also, I am reasonably fit but I still have droopy skin and a crinkly neck. I work with people who are ALL YOUNGER THAN I, a first in my life. I feel alternately hot and over-the-hill depending on how I'm feeling at any given moment. It is unsettling to feel hot when I really am not. Gail as Older Person I simultaneously want to be as fit and up-to-date as possible to offset my age as well as to just be as I am, sinking into comfortable sloth, gluttony, and evil humor as befits my status as a senior citizen. So I'm ambivalent. My close personal friends from high school might remember that I've always been this way. In adolescence I was a hippie (not going into details) but as a performer I was glamorous.

Watching Ken Burns' "The Roosevelts" on WETA was a deep dip into the wise waters of liberal progressivism, While no one wants government to be "Big Brother", and we all have varying opinions on what Big Brotherism is, I have always had positive feelings about the New Deal. My parents' memories of their own poverty during the Depression, and their belief that FDR was responsible for their being moved to the new, clean public housing projects where they met, certainly influenced my thinking. One of FDR's signature programs in the early '30's was the Works Projects Administration. The above is one of the WPA mosaic tiles built into the walls of the North End Pavilion at Spring Lake (NJ) Beach. That pavilion was totally destroyed by Hurricane Sandy. The tiles, we heard, had been removed for safe-keeping before the storm. The new pavilion is an almost exact replica of the old one, which is such a joy to those of us who thought that a new construc

I'm ashamed to say I don't remember the exact date my friend died. It had to have been in 2008. Maybe someone will correct me. Another family member died a week after her, and it all became a blur. Helen was eighteen years older than I and we met when I was in my early twenties singing professionally at Trinity Cathedral, E. 22d Street in Cleveland. I had hosted a choir party at the house I shared with other students. At that party I got to know Helen and her amazing husband, George (more on that later). Primarily, aside from her honest, direct, passionate personality, I found out that, like me, she was addicted to chocolate. She personally conquered the bowl of M & M's in the living room. She laughingly referred to that event many times, especially when she resorted to Macrobiotics for her Tic Douloureux later. For Helen suffered mercilessly from this little-known neurological illness almost from the day I met her. Helen, George, Ridge (my husband) and I began soci