TheBanyanTree: Another Indian letter

[Tobie Shapiro]

September 4, 20000006


Dear Tree,

	Much is happening in my life.  I couldn't tell you all in one 
lump without it getting stuck in someone's throat and I don't want to 
be responsible for a fatal choking.  It's stuck enough in my own 
throat.  I don't want it, but here it is, obstructing my breathing. 
I wrote a letter to my friend in India keeping him more or less up to 
date.  And so shall you be kept more or less up to date.  I titled my 
letter, "What Meyshe Said".  It will all make sense.

 
{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

September 1, 20000006


Dear Phiroze,

	I think it's been a while since I wrote.  I haven't checked 
in my files.  You are there, toasty and warm in the summer heat, and 
I am listening to the workers saw and hammer, hack and spray on my 
house, as they get it ready for the upcoming sale.  I have yet to 
find a suitable rental.  I am getting desperate.  Still, desperation 
doesn't mean that I'll take a place in a crime-riddled neighborhood, 
or that I'll take a place that won't fit the piano (can't put it in 
storage.  It's too delicate).  I have some sort of crazy faith that 
something will turn up in time.  Why do I think this?

	In the meantime, life hurtles on with all the detritus stuck 
to its tail as we are flung in orbit.  This morning I got up extra 
early because I had to go get blood drawn for a blood test that 
required the blood be drawn before 8:00.  My doctor told me a place 
that opens at 7:30, so I set up Meyshe's pills and breakfast, the 
makings of his hot chocolate in the refrigerator next to the milk 
jug, wrote him a note reminding him where I'd gone just in case he 
arose while I was gone having the early blood sucked out of me, and I 
slunk outside to the car.  There was no chance that Feyna would rise 
up early.  Unless she has someplace important to go, she can sleep 
through a day.  So I didn't write her a note, but I wore my beeper. 
I mean, what if she does, for some reason, get up and need me early 
in the morning, then doesn't find me at home?  She'd want to locate 
me.  And since I don't have that homing chip installed subcutaneously 
in my forehead (that would be, metaphorically, the right place), the 
beeper would have to do.

	I drove out into the empty air, very few cars on the road, 
and pulled up in front of the "Labcorp" door.  I'd brought a book in 
case there would be some wait.  And there, in bold lettering on the 
glass door, their hours were clearly posted.  They didn't open up 
until 8:00.  Abort launch.  I turned the car around and went directly 
back home, shuffled up the stairs, removed the note from the 
breakfast table and descended into the basement.  Now I have to find 
another place open earlier where they can yank the juice out of me in 
time for the test to be accurate.  This will be a bit of high level 
planning, as Meyshe will be back in school, and his taxi comes at 
8:30.  I'd have to be sure to be back by 8:20 to make this work.  We 
have just gotten to the point that I can leave Meyshe in the house 
without my watchful eye for an hour or two at a time.  But he's not 
ready to go solo in preparing himself for school and meeting the 
deadlines to be out there for the taxi.  He is very dependent.  Next 
year he will be in college, and he's still very dependent.  There is 
a lot of work to do to get him ready for a whole day of unsupervised 
classes, going from one room to another in different buildings, 
keeping his assignments straight, communicating with the other human 
beings.  Surviving in the big bad awful world.  In many ways he is 
such a child.

	And then, in others, he's a seer.  Recently, I asked him a 
question, just to see what his response might be.  I asked him what 
he thought love was.  We were at Alta Bates Hospital's cafeteria 
getting him a snack before his appointment with his therapist across 
the street.  This is a tradition now.   We get our snack to boost his 
blood sugar level, and then we go sit in the little chapel for a few 
minutes before walking back to his therapist's office.  The chapel is 
a small room with a back lit fake stained glass window on the far 
wall.  There are chairs and a coffee table, a couple of benches with 
cushions.  It's dimly lit.  The room is open 24 hours all the time, 
every day of the year.  We've found people making business calls on 
their cell phones in there.  We even found someone eating lunch and 
clipping her nails.  But when they see the serious persons walking 
in, they fold up shop and go elsewhere.  Meyshe and I meditate for a 
few minutes and then we get up and leave, calmer.

	So I asked him what he thought love was, and first he asked, 
"What kind of love?"  We went through some of the kinds of love that 
exist: passionate love, universal love, familial love, love for a 
friend, I love your hat, a few others.  Then he opened his mouth and 
this is what he said:

	Love is the realization that everything is sacred.  Nobody's 
right or wrong.  That differences are gifts not curses.  To 
appreciate everything around you.

	This is when you take off your hat, place it over your heart 
and revere the spot that Meyshe leaves on the floor as he passes 
through your life.

	And I can't leave him alone without adult supervision for 
substantial lengths of time.

	If I asked you what you thought love was, you'd give me some 
sarcastic answer, wouldn't you.

	But that's what Meyshe said.

	Love,

	Tobie
-- 




Tobie Helene Shapiro
Berkeley, California   USA

tobie at shpilchas.net