The Inside Press

Magazines serving the communities of Northern Westchester

Column

“How do you find peace during troubling times?”

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By Ronni Diamondstein and Illustrated by Naava Katz

Rachel Rosin

“During these difficult times, I find it important to focus on myself. I hope that doesn’t sound selfish, but I think taking care of my physical and emotional wellbeing is a necessity these days. I try to set aside time to do just that, whether it is working out, taking a walk, or just having a cup of tea.”

Rachel Rosin retired from her advertising career in 2001. She now works as a recruiter in the jewelry industry and is a volunteer for her synagogue.

John Diaconis

“When at Miller House, imagining the embattled colonial soldiers recovering under the shade of the sycamore tree, I feel it’s my duty to honor their sacrifices by choosing peace of mind and happiness in the present moment.”

John Diaconis is President of Friends of Miller House/Washington’s Headquarters, a charitable organization that assists Westchester County with respect to educational programs at the landmark Miller House located in North White Plains.

Cailee Hwang

“Peace isn’t the absence of conflict but rather the presence of grace.

In solitude, I quiet my heart, reach to the core, to reflect and remember.

With gratitude and humility, I free myself from pride.

To understand the past, embrace the present, and hope for the future.”

Cailee Hwang is a literacy specialist and a proud member of the Chappaqua Volunteer Ambulance Corps. She also serves as vice president of the Chappaqua Central School District Board of Education. She moved here in 2013 with her husband Kyu and 3 beloved boys.

Francesca Hagadus

“There are things that I can control and things that I can’t. Rather than force a solution, I try to allow myself enough time to determine what I can control and then on to what action I can take.”

Francesca Hagadus lives in Pleasantville. She taught French and Spanish in Chappaqua Schools for 32 years. She serves on the Westchester County Commission for People with Disabilities in the Mental Health and Autism areas. An active Democrat, she has held elected office. She has two grown sons.

Ronni Diamondstein is a journalist, photographer, retired school librarian and the author of Jackie and the Books She Loved. She lives in Chappaqua with her dog Maggie Mae. ronnidiamondstein.com

Naava Katz is an illustrator who lives with her family in Chappaqua. naavakatz.com

Comedy in the Time of Corona

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“Mind if we watch another Curb Your Enthusiasm?” my husband asks at midnight. Nobody has to get up before 8:30 a.m., so why not? It’s become something of a ritual: we started watching the new season of Larry David’s sitcom a few weeks ago, and then returned to the early episodes when Larry was – gasp – younger than we are today. And slightly less prickly than Bernie Sanders’ doppelganger is now in his seventies, making him expendable for the sake of the economy, according to some politicians. Turning off Brian Williams and turning to comedy has become a way to mitigate the stress of anxiety-tainted days. We sleep better when the night’s last note is hilarity rather than foreboding.

Comedy television is no panacea for a world on fire, but it does provide temporary relief from the flames. Some mornings I wake up and feel the weight of all the generations of my immediate and extended family. The most difficult has been my older sister’s failing health, and the barrier that the coronavirus has erected between her and a safer, healthier day-to-day life. She and her husband, who has Parkinson’s, were planning to move from Rhode Island to an assisted living community in Wisconsin near one of her daughters, a herculean effort for some of us in the days leading up to the move. The complex went on corona lockdown fifteen hours before her flight was scheduled to take off.

There seemed to be no humor in that moment– just disbelief at the unluckiness of our timing.

But isn’t that where humor is often buried? In irony, in bad luck and misfortune? My friend Eileen, one of the funniest people I know, helped me laugh at the absurdity of the situation for the first time. If you Google humor quotes, you’ll find the inspirational words of everyone from Erma Bombeck to Langston Hughes. Some are more profound than others. I like these words from (the also expendable) Mel Brooks, “Humor is just another defense against the universe.”

We need all the defenses we can muster these days. Cue Curb Your Enthusiasm’s clownish theme song. Larry David’s petty grievances, politically incorrect rants and personal interactions are so ridiculous and cringe-worthy that my husband and I can’t help but laugh for the twenty-five – forty minutes that each episode lasts. It’s enough time to forget that our college senior didn’t get to finish her final year at the school she loves and will probably have a hell of a time finding a job; or that our college freshman wasn’t able to complete his first year of independence and is now stuck with us for at least six months. (There is a silver lining in having our adult children home a little longer.)

Some people will be unable to find any silver linings in this time of crisis. Too many have already have faced unimaginable tragedy and thousands more will follow. As another elder statesman of comedy, 98-year-old Carl Reiner recently tweeted, “For the first time in memory I see nothing in this world about which I care to joke.” Agreed. But it is precisely the time that we can look to the fiction of television and film comedy for the jokes, for the respite.

Maybe Larry David the TV character can worry so freely about life’s nothings because he has no kids to worry about, and enough money to be insulated against economic anxiety. Oh to be wealthy and frivolous enough to open a coffee shop just for spite. That was so 2019.

2020 will be a year of financial reckoning for many. There is someone in our extended family whose company is struggling for survival. Another two who have been looking for a job – that task will be more difficult now than ever. We have two young nurses in our midst – one waiting for the dreaded peak, the other at home with a ten-week-old – my grand-niece – worried about going back to work in this inhospitable climate. And there’s the patriarch of our extended family who is ninety-two and in relatively good health for his age. But he is ninety-two – one can’t help but worry about him and his peers.

This virus is a multi-generational scourge: it may prefer the elderly, but it does not discriminate against the young, as we have begun to learn. And as the long arm of its economic fallout reaches into the 401k’s of our retirees, it also empties the wallets of the working class, feeds the instability of our hourly workers and undercuts the fragile economies of our newly minted high school and college grads. Many of our waiters and service workers are young or supporting young children. And many are society’s most vulnerable members.

Humor will not play a part in the economic stimulus package, of course. But humor can provide an assist in our psychological recovery plans that reaches across generations. Fleabag, Veep, Big Mouth, SNL, I think You Should Leave, Barry, Schitt’s Creek – their comedic social commentary can help us get through the night and redirect us to a future when this virus is in our rearview. (Save too-close-to-home dramas like Years and Years for post-pandemic viewing.)

There should be no guilt in alleviating the darkness of the moment for a short while, especially in the hours before we sleep.

With every episode we watch of Curb Your Enthusiasm, I hope HBO does a coronavirus season next year. Just imagine Larry David fumbling with this crisis – infuriating people, saying and doing all the wrong things, paranoid about every sniffle and cough. They probably won’t touch the subject for good reason, but maybe David is just irreverent enough that he will. And maybe it will be the balm we need when this is all over.

Snow Days Bring Winter Warmth and Community Bonding

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As my feet came out from under me and I started to fall backwards on the front stoop of my house the first thing I noticed was that time had started moving very slowly. My next thought was that this was not a good situation as I saw my unlaced sneakered feet elevate above the rest of me and found myself twisting slightly as my skull approached the waiting hard-brick top step. I didn’t feel panicked but was aware that there was something ridiculous about braining myself first thing in the morning while still in a bathrobe. Astoundingly, my body landed across the steps, as it would turn out, relatively unharmed. My head was the last body part to land and with acute clarity I felt it connect with the rock-hard surface about as gently as imaginable. As I lay there doing a toes to forehead assessment of any physical damage one thought crept through–I should have used more salt!

There are a myriad of realities to living in the snow-belt that is Westchester County north of 287. Better have all-wheel drive. A generator? Not a bad idea. Plow guy seems expensive and wakes your neighbors at 3 a.m. as they’ve communicated through strongly worded notes taped to your door? It’s still better than you shoveling the large wet snow-filled driveway and unwittingly flirting with your first heart-attack. May it only be mild.

The other big figurative snow-balls to contend with are the incessant snow days. In the past when the phone rang at 5 a.m. it was usually serious business. A health scare or worse. Fortunately, those shock-inducing calls were exceedingly rare. However, present day, anytime there is a hint of snow in the forecast you can expect the phone to ring at that same ungodly hour.

At best a two hour delay. Many of these calls result in full, no school, snow days. Which translates to no school for Bella and a day of professional productivity and otherwise being abruptly obliterated by a robo-call.

One morning early last winter the phone rang early and my wife dutifully answered it. I could tell by her expression that this was not going to be a two-hour delay. Outside the snow was steadily wafting downward and absolutely sticking. Ugh. I can’t recall specifically what I wouldn’t be accomplishing that day but I do remember being irritated that the heaven’s and Board of Education were annihilating my day.

Like any modern middle-aged man of responsibility I took my concerns to social media. The Facebook post went like this:

Like most kids I used to long for snow days which seemed exceedingly rare and elusive. The thought of sled-riding, pick-up snow football and a variety of potential misadventures all while not having to go to school made these days unbearably wonderful. Now, cynical and grizzled from life, I dread snow days like a looming medical procedure. There’s some kind of lesson here but I’m too engaged in my irritation to pursue it.

The comments and likes came quickly from friends, people I barely knew in high school and random acquaintances. The overwhelming theme was that I should stop being a snow-grinch and embrace the situation and the serendipitous opportunity of an unplanned day with my family.

So I did.

Laurie, Bella and I bundled up and headed up the cul-de-sac to see what was happening. It wasn’t crazy cold out nor windy so the little neighborhood hike would be not a frozen bummer. The fluffy snow was accumulating on massive pine trees and looked absolutely beautiful. Like a work of art. If you stood still you could hear the snow coming down relentless but gentle.

I did avoid one persnickety neighbor but after that it was like we walked on to the set of “It’s A Wonderful Life” (the happy part) and I was Jimmy Stewart reveling in the beauty of what’s all around me but often unappreciated.  There are kids sled-riding. The smell of a burning fire-place and smoke rising from an old stone chimney. We’re hugging neighbors and sincerely wondering why we haven’t seen each other for months. I joined a group pushing out a rear-wheel drive car stuck in the snow with gloved high-fives all around once the tires found firm footing.

As we looped back to our yellow house I couldn’t help but think of the contrast of how I felt before the walk and after. Through the simple act of a winter stroll I remembered the feeling of community that something like a snow day elicits. And, the winters here while challenging are most definitely communally persevered. It’s a long haul from start to finish but we all go through it and come out the other side ready for a beautiful spring.