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Please describe a relative, family friend, or neighbor who frightened you as a youngster. (Alternate): Please describe a relative, family friend, or neighbor whom you were especially drawn to during childhood.

The answers included an uncle and aunt who were always interested in their niece and whom she could talk to in strictest confidence; a female cousin, two years older with the same name, who taught her how to smoke, play tennis, and make out with boys; and an older brother who delighted in torturing his 4-year-old sister by hiding in closets, leaping out from bushes, squashing fireflies on her nose, convincing her she should sleep with raisins to protect her from animals hidden in the walls, and taking her to see The Fly instead of going to catechism.

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Please describe a time when silence spoke louder than words.

A Train Connection (2:36)

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On the subject of No Good Deed Goes Unpunished, we heard about a cat rescue followed immediately by a rabies scare, and a presentation on Office 2007 to senior citizens sitting at computers loaded with Office 2003.

N≈ pulled the question, “Please describe an obsessive or irrational thing you sometimes do and try to explain what it’s about.” He explained how the opening lines of a song will pop into his mind and remain for 2-3 days, after which, they’ll be replaced by another set of lyrics. In order to keep track of them, he keeps a file on his computer called, “Songs in My Head.”

His answer definitely struck a responsive chord (pun intended). Other participants spoke about internal melodies as revelatory — either of previously unnoticed emotional states, or as comments on personal affairs. In the course of discussion, a number of songs came up that taken together cover quite a musical range. See if you don’t agree after checking out the clips below.

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Mandy Patinkin’s simply amazing version of “Younger than Springtime.” (Click on YouTube link in second window to play):

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“Stairway to Heaven,” by Led Zeppelin — considered one of the greatest rock-n-roll songs, ever:

“Forty-Hour Week,” performed by Alabama at the Farm Aid concert. It’s especially interesting given what’s happening today:

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“It Ain’t Necessarily So” from Porgy and Bess and the Gershwin brothers. Here, it’s sung by the legendary “Hi De Ho Man,” Cab Calloway, who starred in the 1952 touring production as Sportin’ Life. The role was written with him in mind:

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N≈ also presented a radical alternative to birthday or anniversary dinners: try breakfast instead. No cakes or candles, just scrambled eggs and champagne. (Sounds like a great way to start the day.)

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The question, “Please describe a quality time spent with a child or someone younger than you,” involved another stop on the musical tour:

A Grandfather Comes to the Rescue (2:00)

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Ending on an even lighter note (also pun intended), how many of those who were absent for this month’s Noodle Night know what academic jokes are? Not many, I guess, so here is one that D≈ told:

Two + Two (:33)

(1) Suppose that love was not an emotion (or volatile mix of neuro-chemicals) but an actual substance, object, or imaginary location. Please describe its most salient properties or scenic features.

(2) If it’s true that it takes work to maintain a loving relationship, what would you say in the job description for domestic bliss?

(3) If you were the commander-in-chief of the army of love, where would you deploy your troops?

Answers to #1 included: dark chocolate infused with red chili pepper (sweetness balanced by spice); the womb with its sense of floating, freedom, and total unity of mother and fetus; a gas or gravitational force that leaves one feeling lighter, buoyant, and able to do things more easily (“good love”) — contrasted with Karo syrup (“bad love”) whose stickiness keeps one trapped; a thatched-roofed cottage staffed with loving people who make you tea and cookies and support you in discovering your truth — the one place where no one bullshits you; a pair of hands that embrace your face in total acceptance.

Several entry-level job descriptions in the field of partnership development covered pretty much everything:

1. Know when to keep your eyes closed.

2. Know when to keep your eyes open.

3. Know when to keep your mouth closed.

4. Know when something must be spoken. Then, have the courage to speak it.

5. Speak with your heart, which must always be kept open.

6. Share tasks. Make them lighter by doing them together.

7. Sleep together.

8. Touch each other often.

9. Be solid alone. And together.

10. Laugh a lot. (Maybe this one should be #1.)

Try to make the other happy and focus on your partner’s positive points. Be creative and break routine in every aspect of your relationship.

A third took the form of an acronym, D-E-L-I-G-H-T, in which each letter represented the following:

D: Desire (for intimacy and working hard to maintain and grow the relationship)

E: Esteem (and sense of self)

L: Liveliness

I: Intentionality (dealing with each other by thinking about the implications before speaking)

G: Growth (growing together and as individuals)

H: Happy (joie de vivre)

T: Tenacity (stick-to-it-ive-ness about getting through the hard times)

Two people spoke as 4-star generals in the army of what Italians call, amore. R≈ would assign her soldiers to the parents of unborn children so that loving relationships would be passed from one generation to the next. D≈ had an even more radical idea: requiring Trenton evildoers to sing their most hated love song to a victim before committing their crime. (One can only hope that by the final line their hearts would have melted rather than being even further inflamed by a song they detest.)

Two years ago, we created a playlist of songs we most associated with what Germans call, liebe. This year, perhaps because we’re older and wiser, we’ve started one that takes a more realistic view, i.e., what happens once the initial period of romantic passion and infatuation is gone:

Do You Love Me? (Fiddler on the Roof)

When I’m 64 (The Beatles, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band)

Feel free to suggest others in the Comments section below. Dylan must have a slew of them.

Before leaving the topic of what Swedes call, kärlek, there was an extended discussion about its good and bad aspects. Unfortunately, your blogger cannot begin to summarize what was said.

Readers can be forgiven for thinking that an early question pulled —”Recall the first time you had a particular experience and describe what it was like for you” — would return us to the subject of what the Chinese call, ai qing. Since Noodle Talk is rated G for General audiences, however, that wasn’t the case. Instead, we were treated to this beautiful story by L≈:

A Mother’s Death (8:19)

Two other questions were about personal journeys, one imaginary, and one, all too real:

In preparing for a journey back in time, what items would you pack to distribute as gifts along the way?

Time Travel (1:00)

Please describe what happened on a memorable journey?

Starting Off on the Wrong Foot (3:35)

At the end of the evening, our own journey came full circle in the most unexpected way:

What parts of the natural world would you be interested in experiencing as one of the primary organisms or elements in that setting?

A Birder’s Wish (3:13)

Other answers included: water in all its forms (e.g., rushing/trickling, rain/oceans); a kangaroo; and Michael Douglas’ new wife.

One of the opening-round questions — “Being as expansive or imaginative as you like, and without concern for reality, what kind of physical birth would you have preferred?” — evoked a number of trauma-free fantasies: being born in a liquid state that solidifies afterwards (à la the T-1000 Terminator); mimicking the way bacteria multiply through binary fission (“forget about growing up and the whole childhood thing . . . [plus] it solves the weight problem”); materializing on Earth as a mature adult from another civilization whose consciousness was more evolved (thus avoiding everything that’s wrong with the human race).

Several of us were willing to accept a more conventional birth as long as we were greeted with a bonding and acceptance that was missing on the first go-round: to be held by our actual mother rather than shunted among relatives, or to feel a father’s pride, “Son, you’re a chip off the old block . . . and just the kind of boy I want to have. You and me, we’re going to do great things together.” One individual imagined that newborns are better integrated into primitive societies than they are in ours.

At the end of the evening, when time remained for an extended free-form discussion, the subject of birth was still very much on our minds.

Natural Childbirth (3:47)

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“Wouldn’t it be nice,” someone said, “to be handed a manual, or list of instructions explaining what and what not to do,” when being discharged from the hospital with our parents.

Looking for Answers (1:03)

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The parent/child relationship also figured prominently in response to this question: “What is one of the more memorable things that have been said either to you or about you?” For one woman, it was her daughter’s response to the mother’s compliments on her parenting skills: “Well, I had a very good teacher and role model.” Another mother experienced a daughter’s validation when her citified 28-year-old exclaimed, after visiting an organic farm, “Oh Mom, you just find the greatest places.”

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The following reply describes a comment all of us might take to heart:

Service (2:46)

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Perhaps the most beautiful story of the evening came in a fourth sharing when a woman recounted a relationship that had its start in high school. During a history class in her senior year, the boy behind her gave what she thought was an excellent answer to the teacher’s question. She turned around and said, “Gee, you’re really smart.” Even though they had hardly spoken to each other before, they began to date. He had a bad reputation because of the crowd he traveled in — and her mother distrusted him — but she enjoyed his company anyway. In the fall, she went off to college. To everyone’s surprise, he decided he would do the same, albeit to a different school. They stayed in touch for awhile but eventually went their separate ways. Now, fast forward to the eighties: She is married with a family and he is living overseas as a successful executive. He calls her out of the blue one day to thank her for being the individual who turned his life around. He still has the sweater she gave him back in high school.

The fact that a new year was coming up in just a few weeks inspired this question to kick off the evening: “Psychologically speaking, and using common driving habits as a metaphor, how are you approaching 2011 (e.g., Speeding up? Slowing down? Going in reverse? Switching lanes? Idling until the light turns green? Stuck on the shoulder with a flat or overheated radiator?)” It seems like everyone felt the need to slow down and proceed cautiously. D. spoke literally about her ongoing efforts to get better gas mileage from her new car; a more figurative discussion, i.e., how to get more mileage out of our own vintage bodies, is on hold for another day.

In the course of imagining sculptures that honored our individual selves, we learned about a Hell’s Delight Road outside of Smithsburg, Maryland and a town in Michigan called Hell. Perhaps that’s where M. could still find the sandwiches made of cream cheese and dried, smelly black bananas that her mother sent her off to school with, or the dirndls she was forced to wear in her youth. Which just goes to show that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, especially when parenting is involved.

Hell in the form of a domineering mother-in-law figured prominently in B.’s mid-life change of career. The older woman came to stay with him and his wife to assist in her daughter’s recovery from a brain aneurysm. To escape her oppressive presence, the couple left the house whenever they could. At a community theater group they belonged to, B., who had been an engineer for twenty years, was drawn to a book about transactional analysis entitled Own Your Own Life, by Richard Abell. He quickly enrolled in a training program led by the author, underwent several years of analysis, and became the psychotherapist that he is today.

As residents of central New Jersey, many of us are also part of the B&T (Bridge and Tunnel) crowd, those masses who live in the ‘burbs but commute to New York City for work and entertainment. The fear of getting trapped in the Lincoln Tunnel is, I have no doubt, something that comes with the territory but how many of us have actually had to live through such a nightmare? L. did, and shared that experience with us as Noodle Night drew to a close. The audio clip below is about 9 minutes long and has a light at the end of the tunnel that makes it especially worth listening to — the coming together of cars and the holiday spirit after all.

Lincoln Tunnel

This was the story that A., a Holocaust survivor, told at November’s Noodle Night. The following day was the 72nd anniversary of Kristallnacht (“Night of Broken Glass”), the two-day, Nazi-led rampage against German and Austrian Jews, synagogues and Jewish-owned businesses that was a precursor of Hitler’s Final Solution. Devoting the entire Noodle Night to A.’s experience was the first time many of us had heard a first-person account of one of history’s darkest periods.

Following are audio excerpts from the evening. A frequent voice, apart from A.’s, is that of J., his second wife, who guides the narrative along whenever there is a language problem or details have been overlooked. Photographs and text from Internet resources have also been added to provide additional context.

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A First Job

Although A.’s family was confined to a different ghetto, these images from the one in Kraków graphically show what his mother was trying to spare him from. The Kraków ghetto was prominently featured in Steven Spielberg’s film, Schindler’s List.

The main entry gate of the Kraków ghetto. The wall, designed to look like tombstones placed closed together, was a form of psychological torture. The Hebrew words say: “Jewish Residential Area.” — http://history1900s.about.com/library/holocaust/blpkrakow24.htm

Forced to relocate to the Kraków ghetto, Jews move their belongings in horse-drawn wagons across a bridge over the Vistula River. (Circa 1940) — http://history1900s.about.com/library/holocaust/blpkrakow16.htm

A German police officer examines the identification papers of Jews in the Kraków ghetto, circa 1941. — www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/holocaust/timeintron01.html

A member of the German SS supervises the boarding of Jews onto trains during a deportation action in the Kraków ghetto, Poland, 1941-1942. — http://isurvived.org/Holocaust-definition.html

A German soldier in the Kraków ghetto, standing beside the bodies of Jews laid out in a row.
 — www.holocaustresearchproject.org

A. was taken to two different labor/concentration camps in Poland. At the second camp, in Mielitz, he was taught how to make parts for airplanes. To be sure, this was no ordinary vocational school. A year later, as the war progressed and the Russians advanced, he was put on a train to Germany that stopped at Auschwitz.

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Next Stop Auschwitz

Selection at the arrival ramp in Auschwitz-Birkenau. At the arrival, the deported Jews were either selected for work or for immediate gassing. In the background, a group of people on their way towards gas chamber No. II. — http://isurvived.org/Holocaust-definition.html

Over the next several months, A. was shifted from one German labor camp to another. He spent most of the war at Flossenbürg, where Messerschmidt ME-109 fighter planes were being manufactured.

Messerschmidt ME-109 — www.kilroywashere.org/009-Pages/Woody/TheBattleofBritain.html

View, through barbed wire, of the prisoner barracks in the Flossenbürg concentration camp. Flossenbürg, Germany, 1942. — www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10005537

Night Shift

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A Pot of Soup

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Failed Apprenticeships

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No Room for Error

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Washroom Obstacles

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The Living Dead

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As gruesome as A.’s situation at Flossenbürg was, it may have been even worse for the thousands of German political prisoners and criminals, and international prisoners of war that were also housed there. Flossenbürg was not a pretty place:

During World War II, most of the inmates sent to Flossenbürg, or to one of about 100 sub-camps, came from the German-occupied eastern territories. The inmates in Flossenbürg were housed in 16 huge wooden barracks, its crematorium was built in a valley straight outside the camp. In September 1939, the SS transferred 1,000 political prisoners to Flossenbürg from Dachau.

In 1941 – 1942, about 1,500 Polish prisoners, mostly members of the Polish resistance, were deported to Flossenbürg. In July 1941, SS guards shot 40 Polish prisoners at the SS firing range outside the Flossenbürg concentration camp. Between February and September 1941 the SS executed about one-third of the Polish political prisoners deported to Flossenbürg.

During World War II, the German army turned tens of thousands of Soviet prisoners over to the SS for execution. More than 1,000 Soviet prisoners of war were executed in Flossenbürg by the end of 1941. The SS also established a special camp for a load of Soviet prisoners of war within Flossenbürg. Executions of Soviet prisoners of war continued sporadically through 1944.

There were over 4,000 prisoners in the main camp of Flossenbürg in February 1943. More than half of these prisoners were political prisoners (mainly Soviet, Czech, Dutch, and German). Almost 800 were German criminals, more than 100 were homosexuals, and 7 were Jehovah’s Witnesses.

During the war, prisoner forced labor became increasingly important in German arms production. As a result, the Flossenbürg camp system expanded to include approximately 100 subcamps concentrated mainly around armaments industries in southern Germany and western Czechoslovakia.

On 1 September 1944, Flossenbürg became a training camp for extremely large numbers of female guards (Aufseherinnen) who were recruited by force from factories all over Germany and Poland. All together, over 500 women were trained in the camp and in time went on to its subcamps.

By 1945, there were almost 40,000 inmates held in the whole Flossenbürg camp system, including almost 11,000 women. Inmates were made to work in the Flossenbürg camp quarry and in armaments making. Underfeeding, sickness, and overwork was rife among the inmates, and with the harshness of the guards, this treatment killed thousands of inmates.

It is estimated that between April 1944 and April 1945, more than 1500 death sentences were carried out there. To this end, six new gallows hooks were installed. In the last months the rate of daily executions overtook the capacity of the crematorium. As a solution, the SS began stacking the bodies in piles, drenching them with gasoline, and setting them alight. Incarcerated in what was called the ‘Bunker,’ those who had been condemned to death were kept alone in dark rooms with no food for days until they were executed.

Amongst the Allied military officers executed at Flossenbürg were Special Operations Executive (SOE) agent Gustave Daniel Alfred Biéler (executed 6 September 1944). As Germany’s defeat loomed, a number of the SOE agents whom the SS had tortured repeatedly in order to extract information, were executed on the same day. On 29 March 1945 13 SOE agents were hanged, including Jack Charles Stanmore Agazarian and Brian Rafferty. — en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flossenb%C3%BCrg_concentration_camp

Ten days later, on April 9, after a drumhead court martial inside the camp, the SS hanged several prominent prisoners linked, however tenuously, to the July 20, 1944 conspiracy, including former military intelligence (Abwehr) chief Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, his deputy, Major-General Hans Oster, and Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, whom Oster had recruited into the Abwehr in 1939. The Gestapo had arrested Bonhoeffer and Oster in April 1943, and Canaris in the aftermath of the failed attempt to kill Hitler in July 1944.
 — www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10005537

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The Allies Bomb German Railroads

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Liberated!

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Perspectives

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Several years ago, R. interviewed more than 80 Holocaust survivors as part of Steven Spielberg’s oral history project, Survivors of the Shoah Visual History Foundation. She shared this brief anecdote midway through the evening:

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Nothing Routine

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A final comment from J.:

Incomprehensible

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Crimes against humanity since the end of World War II:

China (1949-1987): 40 million deaths

Cambodia (1975-1979): 1.7 million/2 million deaths

East Timor (1975-1999): 200,000 deaths

Sudan (1985): 200,00-400,000 deaths; millions dislocated, raped, and beaten

Rwanda (1994): 800,000 deaths

Bosnia Herzegovina (1995-1999): 200,000 deaths; systematic rape; beatings and torture

Kosovo (1998-1999): 400,000 displaced; deaths unknown

Democratic Republic of the Congo (1997-Present): 6 million deaths; rape, beatings, destruction of property, and forced dislocation.

— www.religioustolerance.org/genocide4.htm

In the realm of unexpected discoveries were a husband, a wife, an old family letter, and $100 (while hunting for a misplaced MetroCard). L., a newcomer, told of visiting Vietnam as part of her research into the healing practices of countries that send us large numbers of immigrants. Ten years later, she was still there, living in Ho Chi Minh City and teaching and practicing psychotherapy. She had fallen in love with Vietnamese culture and a population that was “beautiful, warm, kind, and gentle.”

E. described a hospital stay that wasn’t quite what he anticipated:
(Click for audio): Hospital

As for cross-country traveling companions, the list included: Falstaff, Piglet, Leopold Bloom, Scheherazade, Peter Pan, Dr. Dolittle, and last but not least, Adam:
(Click for audio): Adam

[We now interrupt this blog to bring you an unsolicited testimonial on behalf of one of our Facebook fans, Lucy Gott. Lucy has written The Fictional 100: Ranking the Most Influential Characters in World Literature and Legend, which has chapters on four of the personages mentioned above. Reading about all 100 subjects is like having a houseful of utterly fascinating guests! For those who had trouble thinking of females they'd like to share a journey with, this book may have some suggestions.]

A third opening-round question was unrelated to any holiday observance: “Please describe any bedtime rituals you had as a child.” Here too, the answers covered a considerable range: listening on the radio to Uncle Wip’s bedtime stories and The Shadow (followed immediately by prayers); sucking on a younger sister’s diaper; self-pleasuring at the age of 3; and reciting a distinctive mantra that went like this:

Oh Stan the man that Musial,
How great he is on thee.

(D. was neither a Cardinal or Stan Musial fan and had no recollection of where these lines came from or what they meant. Reciting them over and over again though was the only way he could fall asleep each night as a frightened 8-year-old.)

Speaking of baseball, we spent several minutes debating the attraction of big-time professional sports around the world. A few of us didn’t think it was warranted, especially in relation to other human accomplishments, but others disagreed. Eventually though we had to end the discussion since sociological commentary and analysis divorced from actual experience isn’t Noodle Talk’s raison d’être.

Interestingly enough, when another question was picked — “What celebrated group achievement in any field would you have liked to have participated in? Why?” — no one mentioned an athletic championship or sports endeavor. Instead, people spoke about the Mars probe and moon landing, performing in a play, building on the Camp David Israeli-Palestinian peace accords, and — this blogger’s favorite —being one of the back-up singers at a huge Rolling Stones concert.

The biggest achievement of them all, Creation (albeit not a group effort), figured in another question: “Given the type of person you are and the way you approach large projects, how would Creation have taken place if you were in charge?” Among the ways H. would have gone about it were: having Adam get pregnant (lots of support for that in the group!); and making the world a more hospitable place for intellectual and artistic passion, community involvement, and tolerance.

It wasn’t meant as another commercial but the 2009 Pulitzer prize-winning book, Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout, came up for glowing praise. M. “found community” in the novel itself and recognized her own parental failings in the chapter about an adult son who finally starts speaking to his overbearing mother. Strout, she felt, had a profound understanding of human nature and of the things we keep hidden from ourselves.

H. had read the book too and completely concurred with M.’s opinion. A few minutes later, she told this joke about a different type of well-meaning but misguided mother:
(Click for audio): Mother and Son

At the opposite end of the humor scale was another story about mothers that R. told in response to the question: “When have you been unfairly or unjustly blamed?”
(Click for audio): Coming Home Late from School

Next month, a departure from our usual format: A personal account of twentieth-century genocide.

Our opening round consisted of only one question: “With whom would you like to collaborate on a project? Please explain why.”

The answers included well-known celebrities, spouses, or close friends with a particular talent. The first group outnumbered the other two but not by much. Some local jingoism may have been at work because Einstein received twice as many votes (2) as anyone else; George Gallup got another nod. Other notables included: Joni Mitchell, Steve Jobs, Steven Spielberg, Alice Waters, StoryCorps, and Bill and Melinda Gates. Even Adolph Hitler made the list, a selection that sent more than a few eyebrows crashing through the ceiling. We were assured however that a neo-Nazi wasn’t in our midst, just a well-meaning American citizen intent on helping the Third Reich restore German dignity and economic health without resorting to war and crimes against humanity.

The prosaic subject of shopping, i.e., what we like about it or don’t, evoked two very different global perspectives. E. said that when he walks into a giant supermarket, he’s sometimes reduced to tears by the sheer abundance of food and choices. Looking back on where we’ve come from as a species, it feels to him like the culmination of human development and civilization. J., on the other hand, can barely take it all in, sensing the glaring inequities in global food distribution. The fact that Americans have so much while millions in the Third World have nothing strikes her as eminently unfair.

Revenge figured prominently in answers to the question, “If you were free to commit, without risk of punishment or retribution, a crime that caused no personal injury, what would you do?” Many thought that entertaining vengeful fantasies was all too human, and even satisfying as long as it never got out of hand or became all-consuming. D., perhaps exhibiting a more evolved consciousness, believes that seeking revenge is a form of attachment that leaves us at the effect of another person’s behavior — “manipulated” was the word she used. In her experience, it is far better to move on than to let a wound fester.

In response to a question regarding recent insights one may have had, we heard the following nuggets of wisdom:

If you want your children to do something, tell them just the opposite.

Underneath the rage that is being directed at Muslims and the federal government is a fear and sense of vulnerability that are rarely — if ever — acknowledged, much less addressed.

I developed a great appreciation for the people in my life — even those I’ve had issues or problems with — when I realized that out of nearly 7 billion beings on this planet, these were the individuals that Central Casting chose for my biopic. Without them, there would be no movie.

When the lack of civility in public discourse was cited in an answer, your blogger mentioned an experiment he and his wife conducted this summer. The catalyst was coming across two news items reporting on total communication breakdowns at a McDonald’s in Ohio and a Starbucks on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

Because I couldn’t do justice to the experiment at Noodle Night, I promised to post another description of it here that I had previously sent a colleague, Susan Bird. Susan, is a connoisseur of conversation (among her many claims to fame), and blogs about it regularly. Her post on these incidents appears at: http://wf360.typepad.com/bev/2010/08/has-steven-slater-made-polite-debate-an-oxymoron.html

This is what I wrote her afterwards:

My dear and esteemed Lady Bird,

I hope this missive finds you in full recovery from yesterday’s distressing news concerning the scandalous conduct of two compatriots at nearby eating establishments. By all that I hold true and everlasting, I am certain that the more erudite half of the brazen pair has, by now, realized the folly of her ways and eaten her loathsome words, bitter though they may be. As to the other who was taken into custody by our constable, a pox on her!

What I have to report now though should fill your heart with great delight. Last evening, during our repast on the parapet overlooking the moat, Lady G. and I endeavored to address each other as I am doing now with you — in the language of Civility, whose study we have only just begun to apply ourselves with earnest diligence. It may surprise you to learn that I, despite my hunting skill and astronomical knowledge, found it to be the utmost challenge. As with any strange tongue, one must search at length for the proper words to express one’s thoughts, a delay, I confess dear Lady Bird, that did not sit well with my restless nature. How it wanted to move speedily ahead before the words even passed my lips, and how unaccustomed I was to the actual words and phrases that finally emerged to mingle with aromas from the roasted goose.

In the end though, Lady G. and I were quite pleased with our modest adventure in CSL (Civility as a Second Language). Our speech became filled with lyric, and dare I say, loving and uncharacteristically noble sentiments such that at one point we looked around to see if others had joined us. The more we spoke, the lighter and more affectionate our spirits became. I do not believe in magic spells or incantations but I am confident that CSL, when practiced as a daily regimen, has the power to transform relationships throughout the land for the better. Had the two hussies who brought such shame upon themselves been schooled in this ancient and nearly extinct language, I dare say their stomachs would have thanked them.

Lady G. has requested that I convey her fondest regards to you and Lord Campbell, and hopes that we will see you at the races soon.

Until then, I remain as always your devoted friend and colleague,

Lord G.

Strangers to Noodle Night may be relieved to know that on a scale with whales at one end, ticks at the other, those in attendance admitted to having egos no larger than a donkey.

“Who were you jealous of as a youngster. Please explain the reason(s) why” produced the usual suspects, i.e., siblings who got all the attention or seemed to have things easier. B. told a beautiful story about the relationship he has with his brother:

(Click for audio): Brothers

Later in the evening we were honored to discover that a Noodle Night newcomer may be the next Saint Zeno of Verona, or Saint Nicholas of Myra (the model for Santa Clause). In answering the question, “If you were to become the patron saint of something based on your natural aptitudes or personality, who or what would be the most likely beneficiaries?” C. revealed that she had saved “a lot of children,” not through extraordinary powers but by often being in the right place at the right time. She told us about one incident in which a two-year-old girl in diapers was wandering alone in the middle of a road. C. rushed out from her house to rescue her and brought the child home. Her mother had no idea she had been missing. As C. spoke about her remarkable talent, it was like listening to Superman describe just another day at the office.

From super powers to diminishing ones, one of the last questions of the evening was: “On those occasions when you think you’ve lost your mind, how do you go about finding it?” For the older attendees at Noodle Night, it helps to have a sense of humor. M.#2 described flirting with a man her own age and thinking, wow, things were really perking up in the romantic realm and who knows how far this could go. On their first date at a museum in Philadelphia, both were really excited to be talking and getting to know each other over lunch. Unfortunately, neither could remember critical parts of the stories they wanted to share. M. cracked up laughing. “So, I guess it’s too late,” she told us. “I can’t even make conversation, let alone handle whatever happens next.”

M.#2, you have a long, long way to go if the two jokes that ended Noodle Night are any indication:

(Click for audio): Jokes

D. began on a light note as he responded to the opening-round question: Please describe a special moment you have shared with a relative who wasn’t part of your immediate family. He told of being taken to Shea Stadium as a child for the 1964 All-Star baseball game. With Willie Mays as a runner on first, D. informed the uncle who had brought him that Mays would soon be stealing second — which promptly happened. His uncle had no idea that the legendary Giant center fielder was being coached by his nephew.

Other answers followed:

A pregnant S. was with her Russian-born mother-in-law when she felt the baby kicking. In an effort at maternal bonding, she lifted her blouse so her husband’s mother could experience the fetal movement herself. To say that the gesture went entirely unappreciated would be an understatement.

M.’s daughter was married to a rabbi. For many years, both sides of the family would gather in Kansas, where her daughter lived, to celebrate the Jewish high holy days. Though she never felt close to her son-in-law’s mother and stepfather, she always looked forward to the visits — until the stepfather started coming on to her. In lieu of mentioning it to anyone, she gave up the annual Midwest pilgrimage. Its termination gives new meaning to the famous line, “You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Another M. described her grandmother’s beautiful friend who was an important figure in her life. Mariasha was a wealthy businesswoman of Russian descent who lived on New York’s Upper East Side. (She and her husband had a business selling stylish bras and hats.) Unlike her sisters who never stopped talking, she was a woman of great reserve who showed impeccable taste and caring, When M.’s mother was mixed about her daughter’s choice of a husband, it was Mariasha whom M. turned to for support.

In her eighties, the elderly woman came down with cancer. The initial surgery failed to remove all tumors so her doctors recommended another. She refused and made a conscious decision to bring her life to a peaceful end. M. described the elegant way that Mariasha lay on her deathbed playing host to family and friends. As greedy relatives looked on, she bequeathed an original Georges Braque painting to her therapist, as thanks for all he had done. Within two days, she was gone. One of her lasting gifts to M. was demonstrating how to die.

When C.’s favorite aunt was nearing death, she couldn’t bring herself to visit her for months — it was much too painful to see her condition and have to contemplate her loss. Finally, she wrote a lengthy letter telling her how much she meant to her. After sending it, she felt strong enough to resume the visits. The letter was hardly mentioned, and C. was comfortable not bringing it up.

G., a newcomer who also doubled as a species rarely sighted in our midst, i.e., a twenty-year-old male, loved to have his cousin’s husband tickle him when he was young. As a three-year-old, he thought this man was the epitome of cool but now, almost two decades later, he can barely relate to him. It was sad, G. thought, that there was no longer a bond between them.

Several of us older types could easily relate to what G. was saying, albeit from the opposite perspective: as ones who enjoy(ed) the sheer delight of hanging out with children or grandchildren, only to be shunted to the sidelines when the teenage years kick(ed) in; or being consigned by young adults to the bin of social irrelevance once the hairline started to recede. Ironically, those of us in our 50s and 60s had to also admit that we often treated older seniors just as cavalierly, dismissing them as “old fogies” who had nothing valuable to offer us, despite their accomplishments and life experience.

Such rejection can be particularly hard because our conscious self refuses to age in sync with our physical self and defies all efforts to assign it years. L. told a bittersweet story about hanging out one afternoon with her 19 year-old daughter and her friends. Although she was having a great time and considered herself one of the girls, she suddenly stopped to wonder how everyone else felt about her presence. They assured her they didn’t mind but whether it was out of politeness or genuine feeling, she couldn’t tell — it was obvious to her though that the time for considering herself a teenager had long since passed.

B. had remained silent for most of the evening. When he finally spoke, he explained why he had nothing to share: The whole “constellation” of relating to older or younger generations touched on painful childhood experiences that made him tense and uncomfortable. Hiding in acute discomfort was all he could do. Finally, something shifted inside: the emotional pain continued but he was no longer at its effect. It was as if he had stepped into another awareness — that of the witnessing, detached self whose nature is constant and unchanging despite external circumstances. It was this self, seemingly afloat near the ceiling, who could now take its wounded sibling for a playful, healing ride on the seesaw.

B. added that he had just finished three years of analysis as part of his training in that field. He went on to give the most lucid explanation of psychoanalytical work this blogger has ever heard — and to point out, in response to a question from the group, that no parent can meet a child’s every need. Realistically, B. said, the most an infant could hope for are “good-enough” parents. He ended by announcing that, “I’m still fucked up! But now I know how to get out of it.”

[A week or so later, M. and I happened to meet while grocery shopping. We both agreed how refreshing it would have been to hear the adults in our lives speaking with such open honesty when we were teens.]

Two food-related questions brought August Noodle Night to an end:

(1) Name the foods you refused to eat as a child. What was so distasteful about them?

L.: Sour cream. When I was at camp, I wrote my parents a frantic letter which said: “Mouse in trunk, sour cream in dining room. Bring me home this instant!!!!!”

D. (male): Tuna fish, yogurt, and cottage cheese — because that’s what girls ate.

(2) Please describe an unusual meal you had. Sleeping place?

S.: A cucumber that another hiker gave me when I had nothing else to eat on the ascent of Masada in Israel. Camping out overnight on the summit and catching sunrise the next morning.

Such was the case at our July gathering. It began with one of the three opening-round questions: “Please describe a time when you had to start completely over from scratch.” Ranking high on the list were divorce, job loss or business failure, the break-up of a long-term relationship, and moving around the country as an army brat. Some transitions were painful, others full of hope and new beginnings. G. spoke about reinventing himself on numerous occasions. It was how he aligned himself with a benevolent universe that has only our best interests at heart — provided we get out of the way. (Apologies if my paraphrasing does injustice to the notion.) He asked everyone to buy into that concept but few did or even understood what he was talking about. Other thought-provoking questions followed: Was there a difference between reinventing ourselves and becoming more true to ourselves? And at what point do we recognize hardship and struggle as signals from the universe to “cut our losses” vs. tests of character or a chance to heal psychological wounds. Without being rooted in experience however, the discussion left much to be desired.

Each of us struggles, at various points in our lives, to discover what it means to be human. Some people are confident they’ve found the answer, others are still working at it, and still others have given up. M.’s response to a question she pulled later in the evening can be a wonderful metaphor for the search. For her, life had become like a crossword puzzle — filling in the blank spaces based on available clues, and trying to understand how it all fits together. What happens though once the puzzle is completed? Or does it last a lifetime? True to the spirit of Noodle Talk, it would be interesting to hear, in the comments below, how this metaphor resonates within your own life.

Another opening-round question asked about cherished family stories passed from one generation to the next. Two involved tales that explained why certain relatives stopped attending church; a third described how a pound of raw liver, unknowingly left for a month in the trunk of a car that was parked in a Manhattan garage one summer, impacted the vehicle’s resale value. The story reminded Y. of a time when she was a young expat in Greece. Her introduction to an elderly neighbor came when her errant attempt to feed cats on a nearby roof resulted in a chunk of spoiled liver splattering on the hood of the woman’s car.

Two reunion accounts offered engaging perspectives on the passage of time. R. told of attending her husband’s college reunion several decades after graduation. As she was attempting to find the tent where his class was gathering, she peeked into one and saw many gray-haired seniors. “Oh, that can’t be his class,” she thought. Her husband had to tactfully point out that it was not only his class but that the two of them didn’t look all that different. At Y.’s high school reunion, she met one of her early boyfriends. Both of them had been happily married for years but there was still a spark between them. After asking her permission, he kissed her passionately. Y. made a point of saying it was a wonderful moment that went no further.

And that, my fellow noodlers, is as good a note to end on as any.

This is a lightly edited version of what she wrote:

Today is the 9th of June. I am sitting in New York University and it’s around 3 p.m. It’s raining outside and it’s a beautiful view. Rain has always inspired me . . . but not more than my dad has. I was supposed to be at the meeting that you are holding Monday, but I won’t be able to make it. Today is my second day at work and so is my dad’s. We leave together at 5 a.m. and come home around 9 p.m. As you can see the hours are long and we have to sit at different road intersections to survey the number of vehicles and pedestrians that are crossing. Yesterday it was hot, today it is raining but we’ve been told we have to carry out the survey no matter what the weather conditions are. Sometimes it becomes tiring but with my dad it can become a circus. During the whole day, he keeps entertaining me so I won’t get bored. When we get our two-hour break, he becomes my personal tour guide who doesn’t know the directions himself. We keep walking and exploring the same streets again and again, amusing ourselves with things that we have seen just ten minutes earlier.

I know that I was supposed to give just a brief explanation about what I learned from my father but I guess I just love writing when it’s raining. Like I said, it inspires me.

I love my father and during the last 15 years of my life I have learned a lot from him and I guess I will keep learning more. The thing is I think it’s wonderful that people do beautiful things on Father’s and Mother’s Day for their parents. But I think that a child shouldn’t take just that one day to tell their parents how much they love them. It should be every day. And that doesn’t necessarily mean that you have to keep telling them every day how much you love them. You can express your love in many different ways by helping them, spending quality time with them, doing some work for them, cooking, etc.

The things that I have learned from my father are just so many that when I am doing something I don’t realize that this quality has developed in me because of my father. I have learned to be honest in all of stages of life, to be friendly with all people no matter what religion, culture, family, etc. they belong to because we are all equal. I should always be strong and bold as an individual. He has taught me to never be afraid to ask anything, even if I am wrong (especially in mathematics), not to think of everything negatively and most importantly, to keep trying and never give up.

I think that 90% of things that I have mentioned above are said to every child by his/her parents but when it’s coming from your parents, it means a lot.

I wish I could have been there at the Noodle Night, but I really do apologize. So this is what I have learned from my father.”

Others reported that their fathers taught them to ride a bike, throw a baseball, wrap a package, drive, be kind and gentle, talk with anyone, and become anything you wanted. A daughter developed a lifelong love of music listening to her dad’s singing on the porch; he was an immigrant who greatly admired this country and its political system. Fathers were also role models for how not to be: the crankiness and constant complaining of one led his daughter to embrace eastern spirituality; another’s coughing convinced his son to never start smoking.

A newcomer, P., chose to talk about her mother instead. She described her as a very religious woman who never had a word of praise for her. A hard taskmaster, everything had to be done correctly — or repeated until it met her standards. P. harbored no resentment, trusting that her mother had only her best interests at heart. When she was grown, her mother said she had turned out exactly how she wanted her to be.

M.’s answer to the question, “Please describe a special moment you have shared with an animal,” was quite moving. She found herself alone on the canal towpath when no one else showed up for a group walk. “This is my life,” she thought, “alone in the world. I can’t do this.” Off in the distance was a solitary egret mirroring her circumstances. A few minutes passed in silent communion with the magnificent creature. A couple walked up to her and joined her in admiring the bird. When they left, she realized that aloneness doesn’t have to exist: the world is always poised to take one in. Returning home, she met a friend on the path and found a stone in the shape of a heart.

Question: If God sent home a report card for you, what comments would accompany your grades?
Answer: D. refuses to accept that I can help him with his problems.

The two answers shared in response to the question, “Please describe a situation that you wouldn’t have believed if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes,” were everything one might expect. B. gave a vivid account of being scared to death as a 13-year old listening to the Orson Welles radio broadcast of “War of the Worlds” with his family. D. found himself in Palmer Square talking to a woman he didn’t know who suddenly kissed him passionately on the lips before hastening away. If anyone was confused about the difference between an  experience that’s out-of-this-world and one that’s out-of-body, now you know!

In lieu of the Welles broadcast (October 30, 1938) ever becoming a national holiday, it was very sweet listening to others explain how they’d want a holiday in their honor to be observed. The answers envisioned days when everyone would say “hello” and smile at one another, or be thankful, or have their travel be restricted to smart cars, public transportation and human-powered locomotion, or engage in wild, unrestricted fun as long as no one would be harmed. It’s also somewhat bittersweet to consider what a gap there is between our deepest aspirations and the usual ways we celebrate our secular holidays.

By the end of the evening, we were venturing into Larry David/Jerry Seinfeld territory as several of us confessed to behaviors that — at first glance — would appear quite noble and considerate but might actually mask the darkest of unconscious urges (e.g., crossing to the opposite sidewalk late at night in order not to frighten the person walking ahead.) Since Noodle Talk isn’t therapy, the issue was never explored beyond the laughs that it evoked.

If this makes anyone fearful now of ever attending Noodle Night, rest assured it’s perfectly safe.