Uncle Herbie's Plans

Uncle Herbie has asked me to arrange for his burial plot.
I will again engage with the seating arrangement of my dead relatives and project who will want to be where depending on variables that must be imagined in order to assess the proper location.

I will need to contact Kensico Cemetery and find the location for all the Cohen plots and then choose one for Uncle Herbie.  For now it is a fact finding task. Yes, I am that woman (out of the 8 nieces and nephews), but I am not completely comfortable knowing that this is my role.

Dr. Herbert I. Cohen is not leaving this to chance.
He told me that he just updated his obituary.
I couldn't resist, I asked...

How often do you do that? 

Every year, I may start doing it more frequently.

Do we need a plot for Daniel?

No, he doesn't want to be buried there. 

(PAUSE)

He wants to be cremated.

Do you want me to have his ashes sprinkled on your grave if you die first?

I don't care. I'll be dead. You do what you want.

(PAUSE)

ok

What else is there to say?

xoxo,

Bob's Daughter

Designing Life

By Design...
How can understanding  design be so vitally important?
Uncle Herbie has told me a story about his time in the Korean War. I will not tell it as well as he does, but I will give you the highlights.

Herbert I. Cohen is in a ditch digging trenches in Korea.
A superior officer yells out, "Does anyone here type?"
Herbert I. Cohen calls back, "Me!"
He didn't hesitate and tells me it was worth a try, the worst thing that could happen was that he would end up digging ditches when they found out he was a poor typist - and since he was already doing that, this seemed like a good idea.

"Report to building ****"
"Yes, Sir" said Herbert I. Cohen

After cleaning up, Herbert I. Cohen stood facing building ****.
He decided to go around to the back of the building and go in through that door.
Once through the door a doctor asked him, "What are you doing here?"
He replied, "I'm here for my assignment."
The doctor said, "Come this way."
And that is how Herbert I. Cohen stopped digging ditches and became a surgical assistant.
(He later went to Johns Hopkins and became a doctor.)

He laughs at this part of the story and tells me, "I knew if I went in the front door I'd have to type and they would know I wasn't very good, but if I went in the back door something else might happen."

Herbert I. Cohen went in the back door because as Uncle Herbie recently explained to me, "You basically know what happens in the front of a building, so I figured I had a better chance for something interesting at the back." This is about design and a certainty in the structure of an environment.

I kept thinking about my lawyer's office. I hate the building. In order to make every tenant feel that they have a "front" entrance the architecture rambles and it is unclear which door to enter and what stairway or elevator to use. This is not the sort of building that Herbert I. Cohen entered on his way to becoming Dr. Cohen and then Uncle Herbie.

I later asked him if they ever figured out that he never reported for typing. He said, "OH, yes, but it was months later and we were going home. They asked where I was and I told them 'I went to building **** and reported for duty.' And I had. And I went there every day."

"Didn't someone notice that you weren't typing?"
"Yes, eventually they asked where I was working and I told them 'surgery' and they said, 'Cohen, you were supposed to be typing!' and I said, 'this is what they asked me to do when I arrived.' and that's the truth!"

I love Uncle Herbie.
xoxo,
Bob's Daughter
aka Uncle Herbie's Niece

Linda's obituary was in the NY Times.

Mr. X wrote from Florida with condolences from he and his wife. He told me about his daughter (my childhood friend) and that she and her husband live 15 minutes from he and his wife - and how "fantastic" that is. That he would like news of Peter and I and that he and his wife miss both our parents.

I felt numb.
The obit asked that people contact Peter
if they would like information about a memorial service.

I used to hate Mr. X's wife.
I have grown to merely dislike her.

One day, when I was 12 or 13 years old,
after Bob had died, I saw Mrs. X in a bakery.
As I was taught to do, I said hello to Mrs. X.
She seemed startled and replied,

"Hello Emily, how are you? Is your mother still living in sin?"
She looked almost as shocked as I did that she had said these words
and publicly. I responded,
"Do you mean, 'Is she living with *** ?' yes, she is."

I left... and I cried. Bitch.
Linda had a boyfriend.

I called Uncle Herbie.
I tell him about the email.

He said, "I'm not going to tell you what to do.
(pause)
I can tell you what I would do..."

I replied,
"I don't want you to tell me what to do, I want an opinion."

"Well in that case, Fuck him, you don't have to email him.
I wouldn't!"

"Thank you Uncle Herbie, I feel much better.
That is just what I needed to hear!"

"Listen, you just can't take all this to heart!
I have to take this call, hold on please...
(beep, beep, beep beep, beep, beep, beep)
Who is this?"

"It's Emily
Uncle Herbie, that was the redial button not the flash button."

I LOVE UNCLE HERBIE.

XOXO,
Bob's Daughter

thinking about time...

Time is not measurable in my mind. It is a theory, a practice that a community agrees upon. Theater works in much the same way. When a play is well done the actors create a reality that the viewers believe and for the duration of that ritual the performer/s and audience engage in their own time. They play with time. I too am playing with time. I am playing with stories from my memory and finding new stories that may create present and future stories - and perhaps interrupt or interpret past stories.

I told my uncle, my father's elder brother what I am doing.
He said several things...
1. I don't know why you would want to do that.
2. Be sure you want to find things out. I know someone who did something like this and found out his relative was a "madam".
3. After telling him how excited I am about finding the patents he said, "Don't count money you never earned" and started laughing.

My uncle loves me very much and I love and adore him.
We do however think very differently.
xoxo,
Bob's Daughter