NY Gov Andrew Cuomo said about Hurricane Irene, “It could have been worse, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t significant damage.” There was a time when everyone was talking about what kind of epitaph they wanted on their tombstone, that I said “It could’ve been worse.” Everyone would always laugh, but not everyone got the point. Bob’s Grandfather Sam, got on the boat from Russsia to follow his first love, Etty, and towards the end of his life he wrote about his journey to America. In Yiddish. And its title was “Better it Couldn’t Be.”
Sam brought with him a sewing machine and a few shekels, eventually he owned the coat company in Brooklyn. Only in this country can the Jewish Grandson of an immigrant tailor become a physician and marry the Daughter of an Irish Flapper. My husband, Bob, had Sam’s book translated and bound for all the relatives who attended the Bride’s Bat Mitzvah. Needless to say, his love for Etty figured prominently in the narrative. And it spoke to weathering the myriad storms of life with the love of your best friend by your side.
I’ve pretty much tried to get rid of those modal verbs of probability, the “woulda, coulda and shouldas” since my early Catholic School years. They imply criticism and condescension. But I’d have to agree with Sam about this past week. I survived my very first earthquake with Bob out of town. And the Rocker came home. He evacuated his Asbury Park house with his girlfriend after emptying their basement and parking her car on the second level of a garage. Hurricane Irene spoiled our plans for some white water rafting, but gave them some time to fly around the Blue Ridge with our resident Ambassador Pilot. We get to look at the big picture sometimes, and it couldn’t be better!
Dave and Caitly
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