Rainey Blogs on Some Days

Saturday was the first day of vacation for me, and so I awoke to come downstairs. Marcia made coffee today, which is one of the most wonderful things she does for me. When I hear her hit the coffee filter against the wall from inside the Shop Rite paper-inside-plastic garbage bag to loosen the used grounds from the day before, I know she is giving me a gift and I feel loved. She was then off to run with her friend Nancy, so I got up at 6:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning to an already-made pot of coffee and a quiet house. Saturdays have a special stillness to them for me that makes getting up early desirable. The house is quiet with just a few birds sing-songing each other outside in the neighborhood and an occasional car driving by can be heard through the open windows. No one revs up a lawn mower at this early hour. It's as if we are a Jewish neighborhood on this Shabbat  morning. Today I read the Mary and Martha passage in Luke 10:38-42 this morning on my journey through  A Harmo

When I was growing up, there were only two bald-headed men in the world: Yul Brynner and Telly Savalas . It was so rare in those days. But now, it seems like every man is bald, shaving and shining their heads. Even Yul and Telly wouldn’t stoop to having grungy-looking facial hair, but now every man seems to want a little facial hair to complement their golden domes too. This is terrible! I have always done the opposite--keep off the facial hair but keep the turf on top. Still do, even now in middle age. But it would figure that I have to be the one to reach middle age WITH HAIR in a time when it is NOT POPULAR.  Who would have known “bald is beautiful” would take over the world just when I should have an advantage. To be honest, I didn’t even try that hard to keep my hair. I used the cheapest shampoo--usually the 99-cent Suave (with a coupon)--and never used conditioner. I wore a baseball cap whenever I wanted (even though I wasn't covering a bald spot), an act that is universall

The sun just ducked behind the tall oak tree that signals its final descent toward the west on this Memorial Day weekend Sunday. The pool here in Leonia opened to nearly ninety-degree heat. The children are yelling and splashing in the pool behind me. My chair back is toward them as I face the sun and trees whose leaves shimmer and glisten in the summer breeze that has come early early to Northern New Jersey. Summer has a gentle beauty and pace that brings the soul to life if you let it. The rest of the year life's pace is relentless, but these two scantily clad months of untucked shirts and flip flops refreshes us weary ones from winter's discontent. Summer is the season that belongs to youth, who haven't a care in the world while the pool is open and the schools are closed. At least on the way home from work, adults can roll down the car windows, turn up their stereos, and remember their careless summers of days gone by. The heat that arrived in May has stayed and the su