'Say Her Name': Love, Loss, and Letting Go

I think someone once said that the shortest distance between two minds is a book or, if they did not, they should have. This observation is never more apparent than it is when reading Francisco Goldman’s Say Her Name. In this book, he opens a doorway into his heart, mind, and soul and invites you to partake in a luminous and lasting tribute to his young wife, blossoming writer Aura Estrada, whom we learn right away he has lost in a tragic accident. The book, though, is never maudlin or overly sentimental even when the author explores his deeper feelings of loss and the yearning for what might have been. Rather, he wants you to know this woman as a living, breathing person whose dreams and drive once filled his life and still do. His prose, which dances off the page with a lyrical beauty even when conveying the bitterest reality, brings both she and the short time they had together to brilliant and technicolor life.

Aura Estrada and Francisco Goldman on their wedding day in 2005 in Mexico

In reading this book, you will know that the writer succeeded in his quest to keep both her memory and their beautiful love story alive. You will feel that you know both of them as you would two close friends, and you mourn her loss along with him even as you both celebrate her life. Ultimately, you feel enriched for having opened the book and welcomed them both into your life.

A++

The Little Country That Could

What do you picture when you think of Israel?


For some, thinking of Israel conjures images of the desert, men dressed in traditional Bedouin garb riding camels, and bustling, colorful street markets embued with exotic sights, sounds, and smells. For others, it is the promised land—the land of milk and honey—to which Moses led his sun-soaked, matzoh-stuffed people who had been wandering the desert for 40 years. Still others have a more sobering picture of uzi-wielding Israeli soldiers guarding sensitive borders and news images of violence and bloodshed. For yet another group of people from no less than three of the world’s mightiest religions, Israel is the Holy Land and it contains for them important religious sites and significant archealogical finds that date back to biblical times. For countless others, the land of Israel was once Palestine, an ancient Jewish land that in modern times became a safe haven for tens of thousands of immigrants fleeing a hostile, mid-20th century Europe, a land whose arid desert they turned—with a back-breaking pioneer spirit not unlike the settling of the American West—into a fertile and flowing garden.

Which of these images represents the real Israel? Of course, they are all real, but the truth is that there is so much more and it is much more than the world ever sees.

Dr. Tal Ben-Shahar’s enlightening new documentary Inside Israel: How A Small Nation Makes A Big Difference illuminates that “so much more,” presenting us with amazing aspects of his country and its people that may surprise and delight even the most fervent Zionist. He begins by telling us a bit about his life as a psychology professor at Harvard University and why, after 14 years, he decides to return to Israel, the place he was born. The reasons why are at the heart of this fascinating documentary as Ben-Shahar deftly interweaves these reasons with the positive qualities that he believes enable people, businesses, and countries alike to flourish and accomplish great things. He makes a compelling case that these qualities are possessed by Israel and its people and explain why this tiny, desert country (barely bigger than the state of New Jersey) leads the way in making huge and positive contributions to the well-being of not only its own people, but to people all over the world.


Please do not miss this documentary. It is the modern missing piece of an ancient puzzle that has been a long time coming. We can all use a good public relations firm at times and for Israel that time is now and that firm is Dr. Tal Ben-Shahar. His documentary paints a modern, comprehensive, honest, and beautiful portrait of an oft misunderstood and much maligned people.

The Table

Once upon a time there was a table.

It was an ordinary table - plain, brownish, rectangular - that seated six comfortably and eight or nine cozily. It appeared one day in a quiet, but open corner on the 9th floor of a large, downtown office building. Some nearby cubicle dwellers took note of it, and it got them thinking and talking. Wouldn’t it be nice to have this table here for informal meetings, brainstorming sessions, and even lunch? Yes, they decided that was a great idea. They watched the table every day and hoped that no one would come to take it away.

And no one did.

So, every day, five or six, or sometimes more, colleagues would stop whatever they were doing in the middle of the day, bring a lunch or order in as a group, and gather at the Table.

You might think that this is the beginning of a quaint story, but the story of the Table is anything but quaint. It is a story with enough drama, intensity, emotion, intriguing plot lines, clever innuendo, one-liners, improvisation, hilarity, and cliffhangers to keep a sitcom going for years. It is, in fact, a story full of adventure, flavor, and fun.

What gave it flavor and fun was people chemistry. We each brought something else to the Table every day in addition to our lunches. We brought ourselves and our lives. Like a variety of spices and flavors that you stir into a pot, our colorful personalities and rich stories made a fascinating and delicious stew each and every day. Some days that stew was hot and spicy. Other days it was cool and fresh. Still other days it was bubbly and tickled our noses. That is where the adventure comes in. We never knew what we would cook up at the Table every day.

What made our stew especially delicious was that there was not a subject we would not throw into the pot. Nothing was taboo. Not divorce, love, life, politics, history, media, religion, science, plastic surgery, celebrities, serial killers, society, getting older, the human condition, our fears, our hopes, our dreams. Not sex. Not drugs. Not rock ‘n roll. You name it. We talked about it. We shared anything and everything that we thought about, read, saw on TV or in a play or in the movies, dreamed of, or experienced. If talk could move mountains, we would have started a whole new range. We gossiped, too, of course. It was friendly, benign gossip that was about sharing and learning and understanding. Nothing malicious. That was not our style.

We did not just talk, either. We did crossword puzzles and picture puzzles, played board games, did Sudoku, exchanged books and recipes, made candy, brought in projects, pictures, and hobbies for show and tell, shared our family histories, and planned office parties as well as field trips to museums, movies, and plays. We challenged each other with Trivial Pursuit questions. We even learned how to quilt!

The thing we did best, though, and most often was laugh. No matter what we were talking about or how serious the subject, someone always interjected something funny and we ended up holding our bellies, shaking our heads, and wiping our eyes in uncontrollable, roaring laughter. Sometimes we laughed at each other. Sometimes we laughed with each other. It did not matter. It always felt good.

The Table was not a private club. Not by any means. It was open to everyone and anyone. Like the watering hole in the jungle, all different types of office species — managers, assistants, analysts, accountants, and writers — were all drawn to the Table. Some people stopped by every so often for a sweet treat or a joke or just to see what was going on at the Table. Others brought their lunches and tried the Table for a while. The Table, we learned, was not for everyone. Some found they just could not spare the time. Others had trouble handling the raw honesty and openness of the Table.

Over the years it became a special place for those of us who did come most every day. It gave us a sense of belonging and of being appreciated. We each felt embraced and accepted and maybe even a little loved. The Table was a place where we could bring our whole selves, our real selves — even the parts of us that one does not customarily bring to the workplace. We trusted each other. We learned from each other. We supported each other. What happened at the Table stayed at the Table. That was understood.

Some of the Table’s more outrageous and hysterical moments inspired talk of writing it all down or even writing a book one day, but we never did. When it was time to go back to work, we got up, cleaned the Table, gathered our things, and each went back to our respective professional worlds. We said our good-byes and looked forward to tomorrow’s Table adventures. The Table was closed for another day.

The Table, as you can see, was much more than just a table. Of course, to people passing by it did look like a simple table. Some of them even thought that it did not belong where it was. To us, though, the Table was not at all what it appeared. It represented an amazing opportunity to let our guards down and create special friendships in a place we never expected that to happen, and in a place where we did not really need that to happen. We certainly could have done our jobs just fine without the Table. We were professionals. We always did our best. But maybe — just maybe — that Table helped us do our jobs a little better and with a little extra zest.

The Table finally ended one day in the Fall of 2009. By that time many of us had already relocated or had been laid-off. Today, the Table is just a pleasant memory of a special time and place once shared by a group of work buddies. I would like to think, though, that there are other Tables out there somewhere, like ours, creating opportunities for people to find each other and to find themselves in the midst of often impersonal and hectic daily lives.

So, here’s to our Table, and here’s to all those other Tables that might be out there. Here’s to you finding a Table one day, too. If you do, pull up a chair. Stay a while.





This blog is dedicated to Amy, Carolyn, Lisa, Sally, and Sue.

Cat Tales 102: Kitties' Day Out

I am on a beach chair far from the beach, sitting instead at the edge of my driveway where it meets the garage door. I plant myself there because the kitties like to hang out near me and I do not want to encourage them to go too far.

At the moment they are both moving slowly toward the other end of the driveway. The cool and intrepid Remington Steele, also known as Remy, is way out ahead of his more high-strung brother, Prince Cameo the Cautious.


Suddenly, a neighbor’s car starts and they both spring into action, coming back toward me. Cameo races to just inside the doorway of the house while Remy moves more slowly and ends up behind my chair, both of them craning their agile necks to watch the four-wheeled beast disappear down the road. They are learning fast about this outside world. In the meantime, I am glad that their instinct for protecting themselves is deeply and genetically entrenched.

After the car drives off, Remy immediately resumes his explorations. Cameo, on the other hand, takes his time coming out again and when he does, he decides to stay near me. What if one of those noisy monsters returns? Clearly, Remy’s fear threshhold is much higher than is Cameo’s.


Observing their behavior, with their very distinct personalities, fascinates me to no end. And being outside allows me to see them in the special situation of also being outside the safe and comfortable territory of our home.

One of the things I notice when we are outside, and enjoy, is how they run to me for comfort and safety. It is not that they do not express affection when inside. They certainly do, but they already feel comfortable and safe at home. If something happens at home that frightens them, they do not run to me. They run to their customary hiding places behind the couch or under the bed. Outside, though, they have no hiding place, and the most comfortable place is me.

Yesterday, a neighbor came over to chat. Cameo ran immediately back into the house, of course, but not Remy. He started to run, but then stopped and stayed about four feet from her. She cooed and called him over to her, but all he did was lower his head, sniff a few times and run closer to me. Rubbing up against my leg and chair, he continued to watch her like a child who stares curiously at a stranger, but holds mom’s hand for reassurance. Seeing this reaction makes me realize just how much our bond is very similar to a mother-child bond. From me they get shelter, love, food, and protection—for life! In the cat’s understanding of the world, I am the big momma cat.


Unlike dogs who are naturally pack animals and "see" us as the leaders of the pack, cats do not naturally live in a hierarchical family group. It is true that lions live in family groups called prides, but they are the exception in the big cat world. The common housecat is probably more closely related to the big, solitary cats. In the eyes of our naturally solitary housecats who are forced to live in our "family" scenarios, we become momma and poppa cats and they the baby cats, dependent on our care. They maintain this juvenile role throughout their lives, even when they are senior cats.

A hawk flies overhead and a jet seems to follow close behind. Because of the proximity of the bird and the distance of the jet, they appear for a moment to be the same size and travelling in the same direction. Suddenly, the hawk veers sharply north and the jet continues on its westward course. They are no longer flying mates.

Remy relaxes by my feet and sniffs the ground while Cameo chirps a little, bird-like meow-melody and pushes his nose lovingly into my leg. They both stop and stare at the sudden sound of voices in the distance. The voices get louder and are joined by a gritty motorized sound like a buzz-saw. Cameo does not like this at all. He jumps up and, in a blur that can barely be recognized as a cat, races back into the house.

Remy watches his brother disappear into the shadows of the doorway. He apparently decides that this is a good idea because he picks himself and, at a much more dignified speed, follows his brother. No more kitties to observe. Time for momma cat to go back in, too.

Photo credits: Jade, the leopard, courtesy of Big Cat Rescue (http://bigcatrescue.org/) in Tampa, Florida.