Yesterday my mother was 82 years old.  She just told me she hadn’t expected to live that long.

We sent her flowers.  You just dial up a Website, click on a picture and it’s done.  Ah, the greatness of the Internet.  My mother uses the Net too.  My sister originally insisted she get a Windows machine, back in the nineties.  Wendy got bitten in the ass for being such an expert.  My mother called her incessantly for tech help.  But when my mother moved to her new apartment, I told her to get a Mac.  She hardly calls, but when she does the questions are so funny.  The printer, it doesn’t work!  Is it plugged in?  No.

My mom surfs the Net.  She’s pretty modern.  But she still has characteristics representative of her generation.  She loves to go to the movies, she sees everything, hardly ever watching TV.  And she reads the newspaper.  From cover to cover.

She’s infatuated with Bernie Madoff.  The Town of Fairfield invested $32 million!  What was the Town of Fairfield doing with that kind of money, taking a risk like that…  And then her friend in Westport told her she should invest with the guy from Fairfield Greenwich, who lost everything.  Like some people she knows in Florida.  Their investment counselor…  They’ve got nothing left.

My mother went into New York to buy a new winter coat.  She went to Lord & Taylor.  The coat was $260.  Calvin Klein.  She paid $47.  The woman at the desk in her building bought boots for $60.  My mom remarked how we weren’t shoppers, but if you go to the store it’s positively frightening, they’ve got to get rid of the inventory!

And speaking of inventory, there are half a dozen apartments up for sale in her building.  But the heirs can’t move them.  Because in order for someone to buy one, they’ve got to sell their own house.  And you just can’t sell a house.

That’s what happens.  One person dies, another sells the house they raised a family in and moves into the building.  But, believe me, it’s not so bad.  It’s like endless summer camp.  My mother’s got a bridge game every day.  She constantly gets phone calls for dinner.  And she doesn’t have to get in her car to arrive at her friends’ domicile.

My mother’s father came to the States from Russia.  He worked in the leather factories in Peabody, Mass.  He was a member of the Worker’s Circle.  He used to refer to the salaries of fat cats as telephone numbers.

Did you see that story in the "New York Times" about Wall Street bonuses?  If Merrill Lynch employees coughed up the bonuses for the last twenty years, it wouldn’t make up for the losses.

There’s a home for sale near Felice’s family’s condo in Vail for $14 million.  Who can afford a vacation house for that kind of money? My mother saw that someone was selling a condo in New York City for $27 million.  Used to be in the sixties, if you saved your money, you could do anything, you could live like a king.  Today, we’ve got a huge gulf between the rich and the poor.  And I’d like to say the rich contribute to society, that they make our nation better, but these Wall Streeters just churn money while our nation gets poorer.

Felice’s father contributed to the collective consciousness.  His music is heard around the world every day.  He earned his pay.  My father didn’t make that kind of money, but he never owed a dollar.  And he raised three children.  Isn’t that the American way?

My mother lived through the Depression.  Now, at the end of her life, it seems we’ve made little progress.  Times are bleak.  So bleak that sometimes it’s hard to keep on keepin’ on, especially if you follow the news.

Used to be entertainment was recession-proof.  But that was when it existed outside the conventional realm.  When it truly was an upbeat escape, or a salve to your sores.  Today, it’s just part of the endless profit-taking.  The productions are soulless, those purveying them say they’re just giving us what we want.  But what we want is a way out of this mess.  We want leaders.  We want people to believe in.  Because we’re sad, and confused.