my funny Valentine | mom joel dad carol

Unlike my prompt father, I got around to Valentine's Day—that extremely meaningful Jewish holiday—late.

I celebrated last Tuesday by taking my most beloved Valentines—my parents—out for dinner, and then taking my mom to see Ellen Snortland's one-woman show about HER midwestern mom. (For more about that show, see my previous comments at "go see theater.") Ellen was doing a repeat fund-raising performance at the offices of Ms. Magazine, raising money to take her show to the United Nations Conference on Women. This location put us squarely in Beverly Hills.

So where could I take my folks to dine? Nate & Al's, of course.

Not having been to Nate & Al's for 15 years, I was shocked at how good the food really was (their whitefish salad ROCKED, and even their coleslaw!!!). Until then I would have argued that the best Jewish deli in Southern California was Brent's in Northridge. Now Brent's takes a close second.

But I digress.

While we chowed down, who should sit down in the booth directly behind me? Carol Burnett and Joel Grey.

Living in Southern California has meant constant celebrity spottings. After a while, they become a big yawn. But I grew up on a combination of Star Trek and The Carol Burnett Show as a kid, and who wasn't blown away by Joel Grey in Cabaret?

Anyway, I was sitting with my back to two real childhood heroes of mine. If I threw my head backwards, I would knock skulls with Carol Burnett! So I called the waitress over and whispered to her to bring two Doctor Brown's Cream Sodas to the table directly behind me, and put it on my bill.

A few minutes later I hear murmers behind me. "But there must be some mistake.... We didn't order these....."

And a moment after that, Ms. Burnett leans backwards, twists around, and thanks us. To which I replied "Actually, thank you, for all you have ever done all these years."

My funny Valentine.

heart belongs to Daddy

WHO sent me a card for Valentine's Day?

My Dad, of course.

Naturally, he signed it from mother AND dad, but I know that handwriting. My Dad. My ever-loving Dad.

I have been receiving so much love, and caring, and appreciation these days. My brother, who in his funny, biting, punning, teasing, big-brotherly way reminds me that I am not blogging enough and not resting enough. My CPA brother-in-law, overworked during tax season (i.e. RIGHT NOW), but always able to laugh (or at least smile) with me on the phone. My students, helping me schlep stuff when my arm is about to give out, and working like the heroes they are at making the best art they can make. My friends, filling my email box with e-cards, reminders, invitations, jokes, information, evidence of life lived.

But my consistent, generous, loving Dad will ALWAYS come through with hard copy. None of this electronic stuff. A piece of printed matter. A stamp. A signature.

When I went away to college, my Dad cut out the Doonesbury comic strips EVERY SINGLE DAY. Once a week Dad would send me the stack, along with a newsy letter. My girlfriends would gather around a breakfast table on Tuesday morning and we'd pass around my Dad's Doonesburys. My ever-loving Dad.

Mom rarely wrote. She picked up the phone.
Dad's little ritual taught me more about love than nearly anything else.

I guess I am more like my Mom. I pick up the phone, too. But I really appreciate, more and more, the person that my Dad is. So my heart REALLY belongs to Daddy.