Dublin Ireland, March 2012

London, March 2012

Holocaust Memorial Day 2012, Yom HaShoah

I am reading a book titled Kristallnacht by Martin Gilbert, about events in Germany leading up to the Holocaust. Reading it makes me thankful that my parents had the initiative to get in a timely manner all the documents needed to emigrate. The book also made me remember my personal recollection of the day known as Kristallnacht, Nov. 8, 1938.

____________________________________Erica Stux

Daddy (that is Max) was among the Jewish men rounded up and shipped to Dachau even before Kristallnacht.

On that particular day I and a few schoolmates took the taxi that always brought us to school. On the way, we were astonished to see store fronts smashed and mechandise such as yard goods and clothing thrown helter-skelter onto the sidewalk. Arriving at school, we were told "No school today, go back home." Of course we kids had no understanding of the significance of what had happened.

Daddy was away for six weeks. The story we were later told was that someone told the authorities that Daddy's patients needed medical attention, they need him in his office. But this doesn't make sense - all Jewish medical and law offices were officially closed as of Sept. 30, 1938. Most likely, Daddy's patient Mr. Klieforth, the American consul in Cologne, interceded. So Daddy was let go and came home. He never talked about his time in Dachau. But he then redoubled efforts to get all the documents needed to emigrate.

The previous July '38 when we applied at the American consulate in Stuttgart for visas to settle in the U.S., Mr. Klieforth had written to his colleague there a recommendation to expedite matters for us. We received our visas on Dec. 15, 1938. We had previously gotten permission to be in England, but had to promise our stay would be temporary, only until our number came up to enter the U.S. Before leaving Germany, we had to turn over 20% of the family's assets, plus some other payments. We left for England in January '39.

Our furniture was packed up and put in storage until we should need it. Maternal grandparents remained living in our house in Cologne, but later they were forced to move into a small apartment. Grandpa died of natural causes in '42 or '43. Grandma was deported to Theresienstadt (we found out after the war), and died there.

Vroom

I can't believe it is almost time to leave. The toy Ferrari Jeff acquired in London has had some amazing adventures, all over Dublin. Jeff has made lots of friends with it, including an Italian guy who didn't speak English, except for "Ferrari . . . . Vroom."

On the Liffey

The jury is still out on how successful this new iteration of "Travels with Jeff" is. After several lovely days in London with Martha and her family, we are here in Dublin without knowing any of the locals. This means I must rely on maps, guidebooks, and, hallelujah, my iPad, for ideas and directions. It's a greater challenge than relying on a native.

Jeff's initial experience with a traditional Irish breakfast this morning did not go down well, and he spent the morning in bed. I hied myself over to the Chester Beatty Library to see the collection of rare manuscripts. It was terrific but probably not of interest to Jeff. When Jeff felt better, we walked over to see a more interactive museum about the Viking and Medieval history of Dublin, and its next-door neighbor, Christ Church Cathedral. We were befriended at the church by a group of senior citizens on a day trip of Dublin.

One thing has not changed, ever. All photos of Jeff show him holding a toy car. The car of spring trip 2012 is a large Ferrari he acquired through intense negotiations with Martha a few days ago.

Senioritis

I have been thinking about senior year. Jeff and Hart are not done with their education, but this is Jeff's last year Cove School. He has been quite conflicted about it. Sometimes, he has parroted the other seniors who profess to be glad to be getting out, at other times he has been wistful, saying, "What will I do after Cove?" I feel the same way. Jeff has been at Cove School eleven years, longer than any other student there. So, in essence, I have been there eleven years. This is has been my community, too, my safe haven among other special needs parents and caring teachers who love my son and are committed to his well-being.

Last night I attend the annual Cove School benefit. My last one as a Cove parent. It was lovely, and I know many people there. Of course, I am a veteran of many of these, eleven of them. Fun, but bittersweet.

But, lest I get complacent about the future trajectory for Jeff, here I am, as I write, sitting in the emergency room of the hospital. Things had been going very well for Jeff overall, although he started developing some worrisome tics a few months ago. His doctor suggested taking him off of one medication. He did fairly well, although the doctor warned us that he might be irritable, which he was! Then last week, he started having paranoid delusions, which has NEVER happened. I was summoned to collect him from school. Then a visit to the neurologist and he was back on track. However, tonight after getting home from dad's, Jeff sent some troubling emails to his teacher, and got aggressive and upset when asked about it. After I gave him a chance to cool down, I found him hiding in a closet and he refused to come out.

Off to the hospital. Turns out he is okay now, and did not have to stay overnight. Note to self: I do not have the luxury of complacency. Maybe Jeff and I can both do volunteer work for Cove in perpetuity.

watercolor elephant by Jeff (art)

Old Town School of Folk Music gala opening-Beatles Extravaganza

Arnie II

A few years ago, I had a re-occurring dream that I lost one of the boys in a crowded place and was frantically searching for him. I would wake up exhausted, then relieved, realizing it was only a bad dream. For the past month, I have had a similar experience, only that every morning when I awake, I realize it has not been a bad dream. It just feels that way. My brother has really died.

In the first few days, I was on auto-pilot, checking off related tasks on my daily to-do list. My brother Ted and I had the unenviable task of calling family members, then trying to identify Arnie's friends and co-workers and notify them. Telling Hart and Jeff was one of the hardest parenting tasks I have had to do.

It was a great comfort that friends here rallied around me. As people heard the news, they expressed their condolences or went out of their way when they saw me to speak to me. My Weight Watchers group sent a card signed by the whole gang.

Now things have quieted down. I have sent thank-you notes and Ted is working on the logistics of Arnie's estate. I have returned from a visit to my mother in California. I have resumed eating. The news isn't really news anymore.

People still solicitously ask how I am doing. Not so well, thank you. The mourning period is brief, but the loss is permanent. I am still walking around in a vivid nightmare. But thank you for asking.

December 2011 (photos)

Performing at the Old Town School

New Year's out east with Julian and Chloe

Cleveland Rocks!

Mom, there is a sign here that says NO SINGING. I put it up myself.

Patrick Scanlon,
Manager of Visitor and Member Services,

I want to thank you particularly, and one of the guards, for making our visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum very special.

As I mentioned, we had spent the past two days in Akron, attending my brother's funeral. Needless to say, it had been a terrible week for me and a rough couple days for Jeff.

I cannot express how thrilled Jeff was with his personalized tour and private Sting costume viewing. Afterwards, he said, "You know, they don't do that for everyone."

You really made our visit memorable and special.

Arnie

Obituary and guest book, Dec 6, 2011


"Remembering Arnie," Jan 25, 2012


Ted:

Before I share some thoughts about Arnie, I would like to give a special thanks to the relatives and friends who have come from near and far to Akron, even though it has been many years since the Stux Family has called it home.

But our roots are here, and I am grateful that you are all with us today as we remember Arnie.

I want to make special mention of Arnie's beloved Aunt Greta. As Allison has so accurately described it, Greta has a special and protective love for Arnie. She was not up to making the trip from California.

I knew one Arnie, and was always surprised by the others I discovered. He could be private, guarded, and even mysterious. We often joked that he worked for the CIA, and that all his supposed business trips just cover for his secret missions. If we had learned that it was in fact the truth, there would be no surprise.

My brother Arnie was always gentle and kind, without a bad word for anyone. He loved our kids, and Julian and Chloe loved their "Uncle Ernie." He could make them laugh, dance and sing, and always knew the perfect memento or gift to give them. During his visits, Uncle Arnie was at eye level with them, on hands and knees.

I can't ever remember him being angry, Or raising his voice, and I never remember arguing with him. As we got older we would see each other a couple of times a year, and talk on the phone and email, but Arnie never gave much detail about what he was doing, either professionally or personally. But I always had a sense of satisfaction and pride knowing that even though he was a man of mystery and didn't always share his exploits, Arnie had become a good man, living a life full of education, travel, sports, faith and friends.

Arnie went to Northwestern, then to the University of Pennsylvania, and finally to Johns Hopkins where he got his PhD. I always seemed to forget that he was Dr. Stux, my little brother, Dr. Stux.

Arnie travelled extensively around the country and internationally, giving talks to various engineering and professional groups, speaking on things that I can barely pronounce, let alone understand. He was a member of Toastmasters, something I just learned in the last few days, constantly honing his craft.

When he worked at Naval Research Labs, he was selected to attend a prestigious conference in Switzerland that Was a conclave of Nobel Prize winners in the Sciences.

Arnie was obviously very smart, but after his countless explanations of what he did for a living, I still could not figure out his work. Anytime I saw friends I grew up with, they would ask about my mom, Lydia, and Greta. When it came to Arnie, I would shrug, smile and say, "He is doing great. I don't know what he is doing, but he is doing great."

Arnie was involved with a martial arts group, and would sometimes go on what I called Ninja outings, which involved being outside at night, engaging in some sort of combat, from what I gathered. He played in a soccer league for many years, and was an avid hiker and runner. And let's not forget Ping Pong. Arnie played competitively until fairly recently, with success in each tournament entered.

Arnie's interests were endless. Piano and violin started at an early age. He was religious, active in the local Hillel, and could even read trope. He constantly took road trips, visiting friends all over the world. Turkey was a favorite place. He was rarely at home, and never just sat in front of the TV.

This renaissance man was just truly beginning to bloom, and has left us all too soon. His life cut too short, Arnie will be remembered by all who met him, worked or played with him, laughed or hypothesized with him. He loved his rich and full life every day, and your being here and all the messages of support we have received tell us how truly he will be missed.

Lydia:

What can I tell you about my little brother? We knew him and yet, he was unknowable. He possessed prodigious intellect, but told me several times about his joy in playing sports. I remember Arnie, ever the scientist, explaining to my boys how Lego blocks are made, but being equally comfortable shooting baskets with them.

I cannot enumerate Arnie's many hobbies and interests. I don't think I even know many of them. But that describes the Arnie I know and love. The things he liked, he pursued. Without showiness or fanfare. His passions weren't necessarily trendy or mainstream. If Arnie was interested in doing something, he did it.

Our mom says she is glad the music lessons paid off in a life-long love of music. In these past few days, I have looked for solace, comfort and quiet in my own music collection. The poetry of this song spoke to me so eloquently and profoundly.

The Valley
Jane Siberry

I live in the hills
You live in the valleys
And all that you know are those blackbirds
You rise every morning
Wondering what in the world will the world bring today
Will it bring you joy or will it take it away
And every step you take is guided by
The love of the light on the land and the blackbird's cry
You will walk in good company

The valley is dark
The burgeoning holding
The stillness obscured by their judging
You walk through the shadows
Uncertain and surely hurting
Deserted by the blackbirds and the staccato of the staff
And though you trust the light towards which you wend your way
Sometimes you feel all that you wanted has been taken away
You will walk in good company

I love the best in you
You love the best in me
Though it is not always easy
We will walk in good company

Photos of Arnie

HONK! November 2011, Deerfield Theater (photos)

New ESSC team skinsuits (photo)

WHERE ARE YOU, INKY BABY?? by Leila Handelman

YOM KIPPUR. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 8, 2011

“Hurry up, Leila. We have to leave for SHAARE TIKVAH BNAI ZION. Services start at 8:30 am. It’s already 9:10, and I have to be there when the past presidents are on the bima! It takes at least 20 minutes to get there!” exclaimed Neil.

“OK. I have to leave Inky’s food and water and clean her litter box before we leave. She’s upstairs in the brown room and didn’t come down with me yet. Having done the tasks, we left hurriedly, calling to Inky, “Inky Baby, your food is ready for you. We have to go to synagogue and will be back very late. Take care of the house. We love you!”

Checking all the doors first and then rushing out the front door, we were off to the long, long Yom Kippur day at STBZ.

Services were over at 7:30 pm. We had been invited to join Bill at a friend’s home for breaking of the fast way up north. Bill came out to get me, while Neil searched for a parking space. Upstairs to a very busy, crowded scene--to the buffet table groaning with all sorts of luscious dairy home-made dishes. Neil arrived. Our hostess invited everyone to come to the back porch where she blew the shofar for a Gadollah performance.

“Leila, Bill is going with me to our car, then we’ll take him to his car. It’s too far for you to walk. We will come back for you, so please wait outside. “Goodnight, my Father. Goodnight, my Mother,” and a kiss from Bill.
“Thank you, My Bill. I love you,” a goodnight kiss thrrough the open door, and back to 3501 and Inky.
It was 10:00 pm. “Inky Baby, we’re home!” we kept telling her as we climbed the front steps. Neil opened the front door, expecting to see Inky waiting in the hallway. No Inky.

“Inky Baby, Where are you?” NO INKY. Searched EVERYWHERE, constantly calling her.
Her usual places were empty--her Queen’s chair, the blue tunnel, climbing tower, chairs, couches, dining room table, Brown room upstairs, Bill’s room, our room, closets, basement, office…NO INKY!

“Neil, I don’t understand it. Where could she be?” “She’ll be someplace new that we don’t know about,” he responded. “It’s late, I’m tired. Let’s go to bed. First I have to take care of something. Leila! Look here in the mud room. We left the door open! I thought I had locked everything when we left!” He went out onto the porch, saw nothing, came back in and locked the door.

“Leila! Someone broke into the house! Come see what happened! One of the windows to the dining room has been smashed open, but it looks like nothing has been taken!
There’s signs of someone monkeying with the watches here on my desk. The bag with the camera is still here on the stool, there’s nothing out of place in the dining room or the kitchen. The computers are still here. Let’s look everywhere…maybe the burglars took Inky with them!”

“INKY BABY…WHERE ARE YOU?” Again a complete search of every possible place in the house,but now also in the back yard, the porch, the tubby-room, the alley …NOTHING!!!

“Let’s call the police immediately!” We were instructed, “Don’t touch anything, leave it the way you found it.” Two policemen arrived, with all sorts of questions, cameras, etc. to see if there was any evidence. NOTHING! “We’ll have another officer come to check for fingerprints, footprints, anything that might help,” they promised.

The outside storm window had been taken off, carefully leaned against the round table, the glass completely smashed out leaving a pile of the shards laying on the green “grass” carpet on the porch. The window had been unscrewed and opened up, the glass smashed out, the shards falling on top of the ones on the porch as well as the dining room floor. They had apparently been wearing gloves (no blood anywhere) and proceeded to crawl into the dining room through the smashed window frame. They took nothing, destroyed nothing, went through the watches box on Neil’s desk and then left through the mud room, unlocking the door to get out, pushing open the screen door, and disappearing.

“Here’s Inky’s picture. Can you help us and report her missing? She’s more important than anything that happened to the house.”

“No, we don’t do that. I will take a picture of your picture, but sorry. You have to do the searching yourself. We have all we can do to search for missing people! We an report whatever we can report and get the other policeman here for further research.”

And the police left.

We waited …and waited …and waited…No policeman came!
Neil went to his computer and printed up instructions on what to do when you have a missing cat.

It was after midnight when a police officer finally came.

“Sorry, I can’t find any evidence anywhere. I advise you to contact your neighbors to help you in the search for Inky. Contact the animal shelters; but we cannot help you find her. “

And SHE left.

Out on the back porch again. “Inky Baby, come to Momma” over and over and over.
“Neil dear, please put the floodlights on in the backyard so if she is there we can see her and she can see us.” Nothing.

Neil had to go to sleep. I couldn’t. Computer time to pass the hours. Out on the porch every 15 minutes calling “Inky Baby…Where are you? Come to Momma.“ No response. Composed an email to the family and very close friends informing them that INKY IS MISSING and that any plans we had might have to be postponed.

The information Neil had printed about what to do when your cat is missing had some excellent ideas so I put a pair of my shoes and the dress I had been wearing outside the back door. Filled her food dish and water and put it outside the back door also. Brought her cutie basket with her favorite toy mice (sprayed with catnip) to the porch in hopes that these items would entice her.

Back to the computer. Now it’s 3:45 am. Time to check the back porch again.

Opened the back door, and the screen door--nothing touched in the Enticement Department Items.
Looked at the Tubby House bathed in the yard lights, and gracefully coming around the corner was my lovely ball of calico fur heading for the stairs leading up to the porch and the back door.

“Inky Baby…Come to Momma!” Thank goodness there was no sign of any damage physically to her. She climbed the stairs, checked out the Enticement Items, ignored them, and walked into the mud room as though nothing had happened.

“Just taking a little walk, Momma” she seemed to say as she headed into the kitchen, the dining room, the bathroom to use her litter box and over to the broken window to possibly go outside again????

It was imperative to block that open window as best as possible until Neil could replace the broken glass. What is available at 4 :00 AM? Ah yes …put the 20” box fan in front of the window, pull the shade as far down as possible, move the drapes in front, and push the small cabinet against it all.

And who do you think is inspecting the entire operation right under my working hands? INKY HANDELMAN… pushing close to probably jump right outside again.

“No Inky. Don’t you dare!” I pushed her away. Thank goodness she knows what “No” means.

She was hungry. The wet food dish was filled quickly and she dug in very delicately. Then off to the living room to check out her belongings. Quickly she climbed up to the top of her cat tree and began an extended cleaning of her paws and tummy

It was time to bring in the Enticement Items from the back porch, and put them where they belong, but I was too tired to put my shoes and dress anywhere except on the stool at the door.

“Oh my … I’d better notify the friends and family that Inky is back!” So another email was sent to them …HOORAY … INKY IS HOME! Now we can all relax!

It was 5:00 am, and I finally climbed upstairs to go to bed. Had to read a few more chapters when I felt Inky Handelman, climbing on top of me for her nightly petting, then she disturbed Neil by trying to climb on his head and he quickly moved her off. “Everything is back to normal, Momma. I don’t know what you made such a fuss about!”

And so…today Neil and Bill have replaced the broken glass from all the windows and this epistle has been created Isn’t it lucky that we had no plans that required changing?

And that Inky is home safe and sound …until her next adventure.

Addendum from Lydia
What a relief and horrible adventure! I hadn’t seen your earlier email about the broken window and escape, but then I read through this one. I know Inky is happy to be home. She is a princess and I know she does not enjoy socializing with the lower-class outdoor rabble.

Senior year starts! (photo)

Jeff's first day of school, senior year at Cove

More Car Talk

I'm not going to sleep tonight. I'm going to dream about those cars ______Jeff

How did I miss this? All summer long, local owners of classic cars gather in a Skokie parking lot for a weekly, free, informal car show, sponsored by the local classic car club.

When Jeff and I happened to drive by last week, Jeff nearly leapt from the moving car. So we had to stop.

How perfect is this arrangement? Turn Jeff loose for an hour to revel in his element and hang out with a bunch of other guys who love to talk about their cars!

Nice note from the organizers of the show:
You so made my day! We work really hard to make a fun show for everyone and getting your note and pictures really makes it all worthwhile.

See you next Monday!

So Jeff set up his own mini car show in the basement.

Thing One, Thing Two

When people ask why I don't do outings with both boys together, I am hard-pressed to explain. Do they egg each other on? Is it because they set each other off? Um, sort of. Yes. Not exactly.

It has something to do with the extreme difficulty of having two closely-bonded, yet incredibly socially-inept children.

Recently before our daily phone call to Hart, I cautioned Jeff, "Hart has been having a rough time. We must really try to help him feel better."

So Jeff obediently took the phone, and without preamble said, "I got two new cool things this weekend."

SIGH. At least now, this kind of interaction is played out in two different zip codes. When both boys were here with me, no matter how angry, hysterical, or unhinged one was (or even, both were), they insisted on being in the same room, ideally occupying the same square meter of space.


I have tried to help Jeff make kinder, more empathic and socially-aware choices--if you were sad, would hearing that make you feel better or worse?--Jeff understands, but the concept doesn't stick.

Children With Autism, Connecting via Transit (NYT)

Children With Autism, Connecting via Transit

Front page article of the Sunday New York Times!

Jeff and I have been to the London Transport Museum and we make a pilgrimage to the Petersen Automotive Museum whenever we are in Los Angeles. It is interesting that museum officials are now catering to this specific target audience.

Jeff is older than the children featured in the article, so I have some perspective. I applaud the parents and museum staff for nurturing these kids' passion in positive pro-social way. However, we parents also have to urge our kids with stereotypical interests to see other things, try other experiences.

It may have been charming ten years ago that Jeff liked to talk about cars, but a decade later, I still have to cue him to change the subject or respond to the topic at hand.

A wise parent once told me that we have to give our autistic kids time in their world, but on the other hand, we have to patiently insist that they spend time in our boring, neuro-typical world, too.

Hart and Jeff at 18 (photos)