The Mystery of Memories

Remember the show, Columbo? He was the quintessential detective who looked too sloppy and stupid to be able to solve the crime. And in a classic twist, we knew who the criminal was from the get-go. The fun was watching Peter Falk stumble in, guffaw, cajole, pester and finally ensnare the crook who was inevitably done in by his or her underestimation of Columbo's brilliance. How was it possible that this grungy, goofy guy could remember and notice the details that a mastermind criminal forgot?

Memories are like that. What we remember about our lives should be prime clues to our substance. What we remember should give a picture of who we are --because they should tell us of who we were. But I have an inner Columbo who keeps stumbling around in my brain. I remember the day a teacher yelled at me in second grade but can't recall the first words my twins said. Of course, photos help. And now that we live in an age in which we can digitally document every moment, most memories can be frozen forever to delight or indict us.

What makes me think so fondly of Columbo is that he is responsible for giving me one of my happiest memories. Well, okay, it wasn't really Columbo. It was a gifted actor and writer named Michael Pasternak, who began his career as a Columbo "impersonator." It was about 1988, and it was my father's 85th birthday. My parents came out from Baltimore to visit us here in California. We wanted to have a little party to celebrate. My sister and her husband and kids came out, too. My mother loved Columbo, and so did my dad. So when I saw the ad for Pasternak, I called. Quickly I realized that Pasternak was no ordinary celebrity impersonator. He spent about an two hours on the phone with me getting all kinds of details about the 85-year-old birthday boy--the more embarrassing, the better.

Susan and Erik Amerikaner, Hilary, Phil & Ilene Spector, Columbo, Jeannette and Fred (my parents)

We had just finished dinner that night when the doorbell rang. In sauntered Pasternak/Columbo. At first he seemed to be in the wrong place, but then he took out that notepad of his and started to give details about the life of Dr. Fred Glass that left the good doc, my mother and my whole family in complete hysterics. It was such a surprise. And surprises--good ones--are so hard to come by.

Of all the photos that were stuffed in boxes, this one above literally fell into my hands when we moved here to Leisure Village. I cried when I saw it. Look at my mother. Isn't she beautiful? Isn't she happy? What I didn't know was that it would be the last time I would see her alive. I now have the photo above my computer.

Recently I reconnected with Michael Pasternak.  I wanted him to know how he touched my life. I think you do a mitzvah (a good deed) when you let people know that. And guess what? He remembered me. And he is still doing Columbo as well as other unique, unforgettable entertainment for parties. He is a big success, and I am not surprised at that...because he probably has touched many families in similar ways. I don't want to give away the other entertainment Pasternak provides, because, as I said, surprise is key. You will have to go to http://www.pasternakproductions.com/ to see for yourself. I am no Martha Stewart, but if I were planning a party, I would want something that touches the soul instead of the palate. And you just never know what that will be...

The Smell of Funnel Cake and Freedom

Air Force Thunderbirds

My husband has always wanted to see an Air Show. Like many men, the sight of billion dollar aircraft doing fancy tricks has primal appeal. We have been married for 30 years, and every year he mentions it, and every year I say no. I finally got over my thing about wanting to go to Renaissance Fairs. I gave that up when I found out that instead of ten dollar churros, they have ten dollar turkey legs. In the past I have always clung to the irrational fear that if I did go to an Air Show, I would be in the crowd when something went terribly wrong and people were killed. But this time our neighbors were going and pointed out that this fear was ridiculous.  So we went to the Air Show at Point Mugu. The stars of the show were the Air Force Thunderbirds, who do some pretty fancy flying.

This is what I found out about air shows. There is actually a husband and wife act in which the husband flies a biplane, and his wife walks on the wing while he's doing all sorts of topsy turvy stunts. Now that's a marriage with trust. I also found out that if a show takes place near the beach, you wait for hours for the fog to clear. At one of the many breaks in the action, a large bird took the "center stage." It hovered and did all the tricks that the aircraft were doing. The crowd burst into applause. This was my favorite part of the whole show. I also learned that during breaks you eat a lot, and if you're me, that means a lot of funnel cake. (I would have been better off with turkey legs.) 

There was a man seated next to us who was an ex-marine and a real air show regular. When he found out I was an air show "virgin," he took me under his wing (pun intended) and explained everything to me. When the planes buzzed close, and I had to put my fingers in my ears, he yelled, "That's the sound of FREEDOM!" When they did a simulated bombing run and there was a wall of flame and waves of heat, he yelled, "That's the smell of FREEDOM!"

Frankly, I was mostly interested in the smell of the funnel cakes, but his testosterone-fueled enthusiasm and his genuine patriotism did make me think. The thinking was much worse than the deafening sound of the engines. I was thinking what freedom really does sound and smell like. I was thinking of the young men and women out there operating these machines in dangerous places. I was thinking that no matter how precise the aircraft is, bombs or bullets cannot differentiate between a terrorist or a civilian or a mother or child. I was thinking about how war never ends. I was thinking that I could never craft a light-hearted blog out of this experience, but I knew I had to write about it to relieve the pressure in my brain. If I didn't, some tabloid would have a true headline reading: Woman's Head Explodes At Air Show.

My husband agreed that it was our first and last air show. I wish I could say the same about funnel cake...