Today is NOT the End of the Decade

Here we go again. Television sportscasters and news readers are saying that today is the end of the decade. They were wrong at the end of 1999 proclaiming 2000 to be the start of the 21th century and they’re wrong again.

Let’s think about a child born on 12/31/2000. So, on 12/31/2001, the child would be one. And, going along that same line of reasoning, the child would be ten on 12/31/2010. His second decade would begin on 1/1/2011. The end of his first decade would be at the end of 2010. Get it?

Aw, phooey. I know I’m knocking my noggin against a brick outdoor lavatory.

Cousins

Our daughter-in-law, Donna, has been working on finding family links from before her marriage to our son, Jeff. The vehicle for recording all this is ancestry.com. She’s been successful in discovering people we didn’t know existed and, because of the searches others do, we have had long-lost relatives contact us. Many of these new-found relatives are from a maternal line dating to my paternal grandfather. So, without current searches or curiosity among us all, we never would have connected since the name “Hirsch” disappeared in my grandfather’s generation except for my father’s direct line (and I am his only son).

I now have a whole new set of second cousins and second cousins, once removed on both my maternal and paternal side. Most of these people we really did not know they existed. So, it’s been a blessing to find each other, share stories, talk on the phone.

Just today I have been corresponding with the great granddaughter of a sister to my paternal grandfather (so, she’s a second cousin, once removed). Her father was a Maurice Jr. as I am. I’m guessing that her grandfather was also Maurice like my father was. And there are other men named Maurice sprinkled around the family, directly related or married to those directly related. There also seems to be a thread of writers/poets.

Right now, Jeff and Donna are in NYC where they will meet with my second cousin and her daughter from another sister to my paternal grandfather. And we’ve had the grandson on my great aunt, Tillie, contact us through his searches. Tillie was a sister to my dad’s mother.

It’s important to me to not only make these connections and tie together a far-flung family, but also to hear the stories. To compare ones we know together. To find out new stories. Who were the good people and who the rascals? How did we lose track of one another starting with my dad’s parents’ generation?

I am looking for you and want to hear your stories, fables, tales.

This Is What $$$ Looks Like

Saturday evening, before we went out, Marian noticed I had a dent on my car and paint chipped away. It looks like someone with a 4WD truck smacked a door into my left-rear wheel well. I had not seen it when I got into my car after it must have happened on one of the three parking lots that I visited on Friday or when we were at a gymnastics meet earlier on Saturday. There was no note left on my windshield by the perpetrator taking responsibility.

Well, I thought, it’s just a small dent that can be suctioned out. Sure, a few hundred dollars, but no biggie. Wrong! It’s not the dent that’s the problem. It’s the chipped paint. The repair shop has to:

• Remove the rear quarter panel window
• Take out the tail light
• Drop the bumper
• Fix the dent
• Paint/blend the left passenger seat door and the entire panel (which extends up and over the windows on both doors)

Cost? $930 plus a car rental for six days all out-of-pocket.

Happy holidays. And a big thanks for the jerk(s) who didn’t take accountability for his/her deed.

An Open Letter to "The St. Louis Jewish Light"

Dear editors and development staff:

Today I made our annual contribution online to your wonderful paper. It was easy to navigate through your web pages. However, when I got your confirmation both online and in an email, I noticed something interesting at the bottom under the heading Gift Information as follows:

“This donation will be made in memory of Bud Hirsch. Acknowledgement of your donation will be sent to …” and here it lists my home address.

Since I am the Bud Hirsch at the address shown and since I did not fill out any part of the donation form regarding memorials, I am concerned. Certainly if you were to publish a gift given in my memory, it would cause consternation among friends and family I have not seen in a while. “When did it happen?” “Who knew?” “Wonder what got him?”

So I hope this was just an error by whoever does your web page coding. I’d be glad to stop by the office to attest to my still being alive, but who knows between now and then?

Cordially, Maurice L. (Bud) Hirsch, Jr.