I sit on my patio, in a white plastic lounge chair craning my neck over its top edge, listening to the crunching of  my spinal cartilage and staring into the sky.

I count: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven buzzards.

Seven New World buzzards soar several hundred feet above my head.

Performing  an aerial ballet.

Gliding and floating through patches of blue and white.

I spot accompanying these turkey vultures (Floridian buzzards), but much closer to my being, my vitreous floaters darting across my field of vision. They careen off of the vultures as if they were sub-atomic particles.

I count: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven floaters swimming in my vitreous fluids.

Yes, these are the annoying black and gray shadows caused by the aging of my eyes.

“Yes, I see these as two ominous election signposts.”

“But isn’t the number 7 a lucky number.”

“Wow! They’re counting votes and I am counting buzzards and floaters.”

They’re counting votes and I wondering, “Which of the two Promethean presidential candidates deserves to be chained to a rock and punished by having his liver eaten on a daily basis by these large, ugly, angry birds?”

They’re counting votes and I’m closing my eyes and thinking “Does either candidate have a vulture’s keen sense of smell?

With the ability to sniff out victory.”

I doubt it.

But while they’re counting votes, I sit in my lounge chair absorbing my daily dosage of Covid-fighting vitamin D and wondering which 2020 candidate will end up in the trash heap of history where he will  be eaten by buzzards.

But they’re counting votes and it’s taking forever.

Please Lord, grant us rachmones/mercy and speed up the counting of votes.

Help us end this nightmare.ABOUT THE AUTHORFlorida

Mein gut, what a shonda!

I attended  a Zoom telephonic conference, when I noticed a Jewish participant from a major news network and a major American magazine “spilling his seed” on the screen.

I immediately recalled Genesis 38:9, “And Onan knew that the offspring would not be his; so it came about that when he went in to his brother’s wife, he wasted his seed on the ground, in order not to give offspring to his brother.” G-d killed Onan for spilling his seed on the ground.

I thought, “G-d was pretty tough on those ancient Hebrews.”

Still curious, I wondered, “How tough the American rabbinical community would be on this modern-day onanist?

To find out, I decided to view my favorite rabbinical message board.

Here is what I read in verbatim:

This guy is an embarrassment to the Jews people around the world!

I’m in a state of shock. Why is it always happening to us Jews?

Where did this guy attend Hebrew school?

If he is still a member of a shul, he should be shunned and excommunicated.

Does this meshugenah need to be housed in a mental institution?

Should all computers in his home be confiscated?

Did he learn this abhorrent behavior at Harvard?

Are his parents still alive—to chastise him?

What type of  network would allowed this schmendrick on TV?

Has he committed any Zoom crimes?

This is a schlimazel of the highest degree. I bet his career is fartig.

We are a forgiving people but this guy has gone way over the line.

He says he made an embarrassing stupid mistake, believing he was off-camera. But will G-d forgive him?

The last rabbi wrapped it up nicely, “The Jewish world is full of tsuris.—A plague, rampant Anti-Semitism in America, Hamas, Hezbollah and Iran attacking Israel, European Jews living in fear and this is what you talk about.

Shame on you!

Get a life!

“Dad, do you have any keepsakes from Grandpa and Grandma?

“Travis, what do you mean by keepsakes.”

“You know small items that you kept in their memory.”

“Yup, every day I touch two keepsakes in their memory.

Two cherished reminders of the love they gave me. Trav, take a guess at what they are?”

Travis scratched his head and replied, “Sorry Dad, I give up.”

“Well one is your grandma’s key chain and the other is this watch that they bought me for my bar mitzvah.”

Pulling my keys out of my pocket, I flashed the key chain before Travis’ eyes.  “Twenty-two years ago, I inherited Grandma’s car and her key chain. The car is long gone but here’s her tarnished key chain. It’s still holding my keys together.

Every day, I unconsciously rub this key fob between my thumb and index finger, like worry beads. But instead of worrying,  I picture my mom holding this key chain.

I doubt that grandma ever thought that every day when her son leaves his house he would hold her brown, aged leather key chain. See it’s key fob with her initial in gold, the capital letter “H” for Henia. I doubt Grandma ever pictured me discarding my UM key chain. But this fob is my personal statement of my maternal love.

Pointing at my wrist Travis asked, “Dad, what about the watch?”

“Well, in 1962, Grandpa and Grandma were traveling back from Israel and they stopped in Switzerland. They needed to buy me a bar mitzvah gift; Grandpa had a thing for quality time pieces. So in an Omega store, they bought me this watch. In that shop, I can hear them saying:

He is only 13, will he appreciate this gift?

Will he take good care of it?

Will he ever understand the importance of time?”

Well, I doubt  my parents knew that 58 years later, I’d be winding this watch on a daily basis. Rubbing my thumb and index finger against the watch’s crown. That I’d be staring at its face and thinking about them. Feeling their presence, seeing their smiling faces, and knowing that they once held this watch in their hands.

“Well, Dad, you certainly appreciated that watch and took good care of it. That watch is and was a great investment. I’d bet Grandma and grandpa never ventured a guess that 58 years later, you’d still be wearing the Omega. But now you got me thinking about family heirlooms. Dad, one day, I’d love to wear your bar mitzvah watch on my wrist and attach Grandma’s key chain to my keys. I promise to take good care of them. They’ll be  constant reminders of the love that flows in this family.”

“Son, all in due time.”