Home again, home again, jiggety jog.
10:44 p.m.
Once upon a time, Sh’brooke had a thriving Jewish community. That is no longer the case. The synagogue was sold and the cemetery has become somewhat overgrown. When Jews around here want to bar mitzvah their young ’uns, they do it in Montreal or St. Johnsbury, VT. But when we first arrived on the scene, there was a sociology professor living on campus with his family who was a focus for the Jews in our area. There were regular gatherings of the clan on religious holidays and on Saturdays he ran Hebrew classes for those interested in learning. I was very good friends with his wife and his daughter baby sat my daughter when she was a wee thing.
While this professor still teaches at Bushop’s, his family moved to Montreal. He himself rents a room in town but returns to the city the rest of the time. The Jewish community has disintegrated and that was that. However, the doctor in question was part of it, he and his lovely French-Canadian wife and their three beautiful children. I remembered him from the various gatherings and it is his brother, a middle aged, overweight guy living in a small house in N.D.G., a house which badly needs a cleaning lady, who was selling this guitar today. He had two parrots in his kitchen, loud squawking birds, and I was starting to itch by the time we left.
Hubby bought the guitar. It’s a 1953 vintage Gibs0n which has a beautiful sound. It’s a little beaten up looking and will require some work, but otherwise it was a good deal.
We lunched at the Atwater Market and then drove home. Four hours on the road and two hours in the city: a day well spent.
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