Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Taking Risks


The other day, I read a blog that focused on the image of ladies waving away the dessert tray while dining on the Titanic. Playing it safe with their diets, priding themselves on their tiny waists. The writer wondered, hours later, how quickly their priorities must have changed. I have to disagree with the writer, though, when it comes to his opinion that they would have regretted passing up the cherries jubilee. That had to have been far from their minds. But, I thought it was a striking example of the dilemma of how much should one plan for the future and how much should one live for today?

The question has been on my mind for some time. More so now, when there are increasing instances of peers suddenly dying, their long-term goals never to be met. Often, not even their short-term goals. My own mother died in an accident decades ago and I'm well aware of all the sentences she'd say that began with, "Someday...". The problem is, no one knows if their "someday" plans should be pulled a little closer.

For me, I've found my risk tolerance seems to grow each year. Having played it safe and cautious most of my adult life, I've asked myself, "Why not?" with some frequency. You know, when it comes to positive things. For me, that means kicking my writing into action. NaNoWriMo, a challenge to write a 176 page novel in a month? Okay. NYCMidnight--short screenplays written in 48 hours? Sure. Enroll in the highly recommended ScreenwritingU ProSeries? Why not? And, while I'm at it, I'll work on my novel as well. I finally reached the point of being tired of my own excuses for delaying things. My mantra has become, "If not now, when?"

And, to be honest, the musing over the ladies on the Titanic is a little bit forced. I would never wave the dessert tray away, whether I was on the Titanic or not.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

My Badass Great-Grandfather


So, it's Father's Day this weekend and I realized that my last post had been about my paternal grandfather. The one before that had been about my Dad. Okay, so I looked to my maternal side. As many of you know, my maternal grandfather is Mr. X...that man with the unknown identity I am determined to eventually discover. But, I DO have a paternal relative on that side of the family who I know something about...my great-grandfather. Sam Bloom.

I honestly don't know how else to describe him in one word other than badass. Born in a Lithuanian-Jewish shtetl, Sam Bloom was a young man when a military officer came to his home to give him conscription papers to the Russian Army. Knowing that, as a Jewish male, he'd be used as cannon fodder, he promptly hit the officer, knocking him out before immediately leaving home. He traveled around Europe for a few years, spending enough time in Greece that he could still speak the language fluently decades later. In about 1903, he met his future bride in a small Jewish community in Norway. Together, they immigrated to America, his wife pregnant with their first daughter.

There are some spotty years where we don't really know what happened. But, by 1920, he was the owner of a large, successful scrap metal business in a major city. He and his wife had two children, both daughters---ONE of which is my grandmother, but the odds on which one have been fluctuating lately. And speaking of odds, Sam Bloom loved to gamble. Compulsively. And drink. Compulsively. But, so did his friends, some of whom were among the most notable bootleggers, gamblers, and goodfellas of the 1920's and beyond. Again, some facts are foggy, but Sam later moved to Miami Beach, where he made frequent gambling trips to Havana. His wife died in 1927, and it appears he married three times after that. In the 1930's, he moved back to his former city and business. In newspapers, he's described as a successful, charismatic person, known for his light-colored suits and expensive cigars. And shrewd business practices.

It's odd to have so many fragments of information about a person and not quite be able to know where they all go. When I think of Sam Bloom, there's a montage of images as I try to envision his life in Lithuania, his quick financial rise in America, his notorious circle of friends, his charm, and, from other accounts, his extreme cruelty.

Within a year of discovering my mother's birth family, four years ago now, we happened to visit the city where they'd lived. I visited Sam's grave. Doing my research, as always, I learned of the Jewish tradition of leaving a few stones on top of a headstone, to show someone had visited that grave, someone had remembered that person. No one had been there before me. As I put the stones on the bare surface, I wondered what Sam would think...he was being remembered by the daughter of a granddaughter he'd never known. But, it felt important that I make the gesture. And, on Father's Day, he's not really the kind of paternal relative I would honor. But, now that I know so much of his story, he's someone I will never forget.