Wonder if there’s a three strikes law for Yom Kippur, a day of atonement, reflection and remembrance, a biggie as far as Jewish holidays go. If there is, I am definitely going to Yom Kippur jail.
ELBEE Where does she come up with this stuff?
This is the third time I’ve been to UCLA on the holiday. It 
always seems to fall on my regular day. Is it a test that I’m failing miserably? The last two times I’ve gone with my friend Donna who referred to us as “Yom Kippur felons.” She would bring her Bichon Tommy, Gus’s buddy. This year she couldn’t make it so Stanley and I were on our own
ELBEE Does Donna have inside information on the three strikes law?
CHARLEY Did she even ask Stanley about his religious affiliation?
There really is strength in numbers. When you have someone aiding and abetting, you can share the guilt. Being there alone was a challenge. Fortunately, just as I was starting to question my decision (again) there were signs that I was doing the right thing.
As we walked by Maddie’s room, the surgery waiting area, a volunteer came running out and said that a family was having a very rough time and could use a dog visit. Their faces lit up when they saw Stanley. After a round of hugging and petting, they were relaxed and happy. Even if it was only for a few moments, they’d had a chance to breathe.
Outside of the ICU, a woman approached who was delighted to see us because she needed some dog love. As Stanley leaned against her while we chatted, she jokingly confided that her dog was a “brat.”
This went on all morning so by the time we left the hospital, I figured I was safe. Still, not able to leave well enough alone, I pushed it once more. How could I not watch the final game in the Dodger’s series against Washington. In my defense, it was almost sundown when the game started so I was sort of in the clear. When tragically they lost, I felt a tiny twinge of guilt.
On a serious note, on Yom Kippur I light candles in remembrance of some special people who, although they are gone, are still such a part of my life. My dad and my mom. It’s hard to believe she left us 50 years ago this week. My funny brother Stan. My dear friend Eileen. Too many others.
As I watch the candles flicker, I am comforted by memories of them. A part of me hopes that I’m making them proud, but an even bigger part of me hopes that I’m making them laugh.
