Travel Memories

I was heading for the Garden Crest dining room when a guy I didn’t know handed me a note and walked away, soon lost in a crowd of people.

I stopped and opened the folded note.

It read, “Morrie, you have lived three lives.”

I thought about what the note said.

Obviously the writer of the note knew me. He was right. I did live three lives.

I lived in Harlem, N.Y., until the age of 14. Then I moved to the Bronx with new surroundings, new friends.

My next move was to Brooklyn, where I lived for about a year and then to Los Angeles, Calif., where I have been since.

Since the age of 14, when I decided to see what Canada looked like, my early life was filled with movement.

My curiosity was insatiable. I started traveling with a $10 bill in my wallet, and as a backup, a $20 bill in my shoe. I traveled during the worst of our Depression years, 1929 to 1934.


Betsy Doll

The moment I saw you, I instantly new, for me there would be no one else but you.

Though we met by chance at a wedding dance,

It was the start of our romance.

Then one day you changed my life, 

My girl became my wife.

We traveled the world. We saw many strange lands, but always happy to come home holding hands.

We raised a family of whom we are proud,

just the two of us became a crowd.

I see your face before me, your crooked smile,

Your twinkling eyes.

Eighty years we spent together, good times I will never forget.

But nothing lasts forever, what will be will be,

Posterity will know our story,

The great love between you and me.

So, Betty Doll, I bid you adieu 

And to the finest person I ever knew.

I love you,


(July 22, 2020)

“J” Doll

I am so sorry.

I picked up and put down the heavy envelope you sent asking me for a critique of your work.

After reading a few pages, my eyes began to tear.

The writing I’m reading is blurry. The few pages I read impressed me. I am not a “maven” of writing but based upon what I did read, I would give it 5 stars.

Have it published.

With “mucho” love,


P.S. I predict it will be a “best seller.”

Goodnight my love

Noted for my energy, which I am now running out of, I am tired.

It’s been quite a while (I can’t keep track of time since Danny and I left Garden Crest) and much has happened.

My beloved wife and companion has died. I was holding her and bent close to her. “Betsy doll, I love you.”

Too weak to talk, she looked at me and smiled. Mustering all the strength she had, she squeezed my hand deeply and exhaled her last breath. With her eyes and mouth open, she left this world.

I closed her eyes and mouth, tears welling up in my eyes, too grief-stricken to say anything to the many people around me. I hurriedly left the room knowing my life will never be the same. It was 4:15 a.m. Sept. 21, 2019. 

* * *

I remembered the words of the Rabbi who married us.

“Till death I you part.” So true. Betty was the only girl I dated, and married. I never had a desire for or wanted anyone else.

I am thankful for the 84 years of marriage we had. Of course, we had our differences, harsh words were spoken, we didn’t talk to each other for a day or so. I could see the sadness on her face. My anger over our disagreement dissipated (over what I can’t even remember). In bed, one or the other of us put our arms around the other and said, “I’m sorry.” Our gesture was never rejected. We fell asleep with our arms around each other.

After Betty’s death, our family talked about having a memorial, but it never happened nor is it necessary. Anyone who knew Betty will remember her. She was sweetness personified. Betty was loved by all who knew her. She was the best. I’m sure there are many “Bettys” in the world. Once she said to me, “Would you marry me again?” (with tongue in cheek). “Absolutely,” I replied.

Without Betty, life has not been the same. I feel an emptiness within me. I miss not holding her soft hand.Betsy doll, wherever you are, on earth or on a star, that’s where I want to be.

I love you. You will always be in my thoughts and my pleasant memories.Goodnight my love.

Late Night Talks With Betty

Wide awake, unable to fall asleep, I looked at my bedside clock.

It was 3:18 am. Like many a night, I talked to Betty (who died recently, but it seems like yesterday).

“Morrie,” she said to me, “ever since my death you’ve been moping around feeling sad. Enough already. Remember what Ruby said, ‘Boss, don’t feel bad, that’s the way it is.'”

“Betty Doll, it’s true I don’t have the ‘zest’ I once had and I miss you, but I’m trying to enjoy life as much as I can. Without you, living is not the same.”