The Moment

When I was still very young, one of my bachelor uncles repeatedly cautioned me about “being a crybaby.”

His words, although hardly a threat, have never left my memory.

“If you don’t stop crying, you will be sent to the “Soup School.”

I must have been easily influenced even then because in the decades that have passed I rarely ,if ever, order soup. Nor do I ever ingest it ( if at all possible,) since it still resurrects Uncle Dan’s frightening prediction,.

It was many years later when I learned that indeed there was a “Soup School,” but not for annoying children. Rather good Samaritan’s served hot soup daily to the hungry in a NYC brownstone building on 50th Street and Tenth Avenue.

And now as the door to yesterday has slightly reopened, I also recall “Marm” (the family matriarch and Mother of the bachelor uncle.)

My Maternal Grandmother’s (Marm) oft expressed fear was of being sent to the “Poor House.”

Of course, both she and I worried needlessly since I never set foot in the “Soup School,” and Marm was well cared for financially by her devoted family until she boarded Charon’s ferry.

Twenty years later Marm’s two daughters (my wise Mother and her devoted sister) had equal fears of ending up in “An Old Age Home.”

Again, their fear was wasted since both died while living independently despite their advanced age (87.)

And if there is a moral in this saga it might be

“Enjoy the Moment” and I intend to try harder to do just that.

Possibly I might start by ordering soup for dinner. At least I will think about it