Sleeping on the Edge

Choosing the Right Path

The room had become silent.

The only previous sound, Molly’s doctor’s soft and comforting tone, had disappeared when the doctor exited the room. The physician had given a short soliloquy about choices, personal decisions and living with dignity. The doctor had been kind; she had a warm smile and seemed to have a genuine interest in Molly’s well-being. But she finished speaking, rose slowly from her chair and left Molly alone with her thoughts and the faint breeze of the air conditioning vent.

And the three small pills on the table. Continue reading “Choosing the Right Path”

A Fifth of the Way to Gold

Someone gave me a card on my tenth birthday that read, “Congratulations on hitting double digits!”

I remember being caught off guard by the phrase.

I knew, of course, which birthday it was. I was still looking forward to getting older at that point, to gaining more responsibility, to hitting a “real age.” I was ready for the progression from the odd to the even, the complicated to the comprehensive, the quirky, idiosyncratic nine to the well-rounded, straightforward ten.

And yet, there was something about the idea of adding a digit that struck me. I was leveling up, reaching a milestone, no longer able to be contained by just the ones column, Common Core be damned. My bar mitzvah was still three years away but I was moving steadily toward adulthood and the respect and admiration that I knew would come with it. Continue reading “A Fifth of the Way to Gold”

The Final Judgment

The mattress was firm, as many were in those days. It was not the most comfortable bed he had ever felt, but it was certainly better than the wooden planks of his study table; he had woken up with splinters in his forehead after late nights of struggling through difficult texts more times than he would have liked to remember.

The rabbi awoke but did not open his eyes immediately. He could feel the sheets hugging his skin and the soft feather pillow cradling his head. He could hear the not-quite-soft-enough whispers of his students who had come to be with him during his final hours and, though he appreciated their devotion and their efforts to care for him, he was not ready yet to force himself to face their despondent and pitying facial expressions. Continue reading “The Final Judgment”

Lines

The lines sit, seemingly idle between sidewalk panels, floor tiles and adjacent cubicles. They pass through the sights of passersby and disappear from view, constantly present but barely registering in the busy minds of commuters, shoppers and frazzled parents trying to keep up with frustrated toddlers.

The lines create definition. They yield shapes through their intersection, giving life to triangles, parallelograms and dodecahedrons and providing purpose to Pythagoras and Euclid and Mrs. Lambert in seventh grade math.

The lines are dichotomous, simultaneously uniform and opposite. They point out barriers, the ends of the road, the final destinations and signs that read “Do Not Enter.” All the while, they also show us the way forward, leading us to detours over, around and through, lighting the way to the nearest exits or the means to our ends. They separate spouses and connect lovers; they give power to our worst impulses and make us laugh in spite of our sadness. Continue reading “Lines”

Through the Looking Glass: a Visit to the Corning Museum of Glass

My family and I were hosted by the Corning Museum of Glass for a visit in August. We received complimentary admission and passes to create our own glass sculptures. As always, the views expressed here are my own.

I’ve worn glasses since I was five years old.

My first few pairs were thick, dark brown frames that somehow managed to disguise the Coke-bottle thickness of the lenses they held inside. They were the polar opposite of fashionable, though I cared very little about such things back then. The important thing was that I could see the chalkboard, my friends and, one time, the brick wall on the playground just a fraction of a second before I slammed into it at top speed. Continue reading “Through the Looking Glass: a Visit to the Corning Museum of Glass”

Making New Memories With Toyota

This post was written by my wife, T Turk.

When I was a child, my parents and I would take a road trip every summer after I finished camp.

The three of us would pile into our Toyota Camry, my parents in the front and me spread out in the backseat. We drove to Boston, Lancaster, Williamsburg, Quebec and Toronto, just to name a few of our destinations. There were no iPads back then and I couldn’t read in the car because after five minutes I would feel like I needed to vomit. I slept, my mom read and my dad drove. After a few hours I would wake up, bored, full of replenished energy and eager for entertainment. Continue reading “Making New Memories With Toyota”

A Vehicle For More Than Just People

The quiet parts of the trip are always the hardest.

When the white lane dividers disappear beneath my hood as the tires rumble with varying degrees of severity over the asphalt and the bucolic mixes of patriotic farmland and unincorporated forest rush past in green blurs.

When the black and white dairy cows mix together with the brown workhorses and occasional goats or sheep, each making their respective moos or neighs or bleats that all get swallowed up by the wind.

When the only sound in my ears is the popping from the changing altitudes or the drone of the occasional tractor-trailer as I pass.

When the ride is so smooth, despite driving a Toyota Sienna minivan that’s significantly bigger than the RAV4 to which I am accustomed, that I almost forget that there are five other people with me. Continue reading “A Vehicle For More Than Just People”

Fading Memories

This post was written by my wife, T Turk.

My birthday has always been a day of mixed emotions. If you’ve been following Aaron’s blog for some time, you know that I am adopted. Being adopted means that I end up having conflicting feelings about my birthday. It has always been a great day where my loved ones celebrate me and, come on, who doesn’t love that? As a child, I would wake up on my birthday morning to a house filled with balloons and neatly wrapped presents stacked against the fireplace. I would get an early morning birthday phone call from my Papa (my mom’s dad), a fun-filled day packed with activities, a birthday dinner with friends and family and, to top it all off, I would get a giant chocolate cake filled with chocolate pudding, fresh whipped cream and strawberries (and in more recent years a Brooklyn Blackout Cake). Continue reading “Fading Memories”