pearlies of wisdom

The Breakdown of a Breakup

2012-01-30T20:42:00.000-05:00

Terry Radigan is singer/songwriter, producer and multi-instrumentalist, whose career spans over twenty years. You've probably heard her work before, whether you realized it or not. Her songs have been recorded by musical giants such as Faith Hill, Patty Loveless, Pam Tillis, and Trisha Yearwood, among others.

Growing up in Brooklyn, Terry emerged onto the music scene at a relatively young age; at age 23, she entered and won a music songwriting contest at The Bitter End, a landmark NYC club. In the late eighties, she joined a band -- Grace Pool -- to replace Shawn Colvin, and things took off from there. The alternative/folk quartet released two albums to critical acclaim.

Terry's debut solo album, Radigan, was released in 2000. She had recorded the album in the attic of her Nashville,Tennessee home, and is featured playing banjo, madolin, autoharp, guitar and piano. It was positively reviewed by several sources, including Rolling Stone, Billboard, and People.

Her latest album, THE BREAKDOWN OF A BREAKUP, came after the unexpected breakup of a twenty-year relationship. With this album, Terry tackles the pain and emotional upheaval of this breakup, examining it through her songs with titles such as: "Mistake"; "Love Wouldn't Lie to Me"; "The Truth"; "Not Giving Up on Love".

Denial. Anger. Sadness. The ability to be empowered and move on. Each of these stages of the breakup of a relationship is dealt with by Terry on her new album in a variety of song styles: pop, rock, country, alternative. Songwriting helps her heal from the tumultous breakup, and Terry's soulful, often raspy voice is backed by powerful guitars, powerful horns bringing to mind the vocal stylings of Shawn Colvin, Aimee Mann, Pink Martini, Carole King.

For a sampling of her sound and the songs on this latest release, you can link here or here.

To gain an understanding of Terry's thoughts and feelings throughout this difficult time period, you can see how they translated into the lyrics of her songs.

I have a real fondness for the track "Mistake" -- it is reminiscent of a Klezmer tune with a playful feel to the music -- and the lyrics are in-your-face blunt.

The album’s purpose isn’t just to recount the pain of a relationship that has soured or been severed, but also to show that there is life after love. As Terry comments in the album’s liner notes, “It's not so much the story of the relationship itself as it is the roller coaster of emotions that follow in the aftermath…It was a bit like being put through a washing machine - with an extended spin cycle. Wrung out but cleansed and ready to go..."

Terry's album, being released on her own label, Catherine the Great Records, will be available on all digital download sources, such as iTunes, and Amazon. Ironically, this exploration of love and loss is slated for release on February 14th, the most romantic day of the year.

Life by Me

2011-12-30T11:58:00.000-05:00

Yes, I know I wrote a few posts ago how much I dislike braggers and how I try not to brag. Consider this post NOT A BRAG, but rather a CALL-OUT for your attention.

Back in September, fellow blogger Danny Miller featured on his blog a wonderful essay that he'd written and had published on Life by Me. As I'd never heard of the website, I began to peruse it, after having read his piece. And then I wondered if just anyone can write and submit an essay, or if you had to really be someone in the cultural, political, business world, so I wrote and asked for guidelines. A month later I'd written a piece, which I submitted.

Today, my piece was published on this wonderful website. It gives me the greatest pleasure to have my essay featured on this site because: of the company I'm keeping; because of the wonderful insights shared by other contributers; because they opted to use my words (very minimal editing done to them); because my essay gets to close out 2011 on LIFE BY ME. And I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that I'm so pleased to have another venue in which to briefly talk about my beloved late father, Jacob Adler.

So in essence, the fact that my essay has been published is an homage to me and to what I consider meaningful in life, and to my dad, who helped give my life some meaning.

Please take some time to peruse the website; it is wondrous and very eye-opening. There are very interesting people out there who are moved by the simplest or the most complex things in life...and have shared their thoughts with you. It is, in essence, a very inspiring website.

Here is the link to my essay. http://www.lifebyme.com/pearl-adler-saban-inspire/

Wishing you all meaningful lives and wonderful inspiration in 2012.

Wrap It Up...

2011-12-21T10:20:00.000-05:00

2011 is nearing its end and 2012 is peeking out from around the corner. What will the New Year bring? Who knows, but hopefully it'll be all good. My family should stay healthy and happy, my kids should do well socially and academically, and our financial status should only get better, not worse.

2011 proved that I did a lot of wasting -- and "waisting".

I used -- and wasted! -- lots of fruits and vegetables by overbuying and not using the stuff because I had to throw it out when it spoiled.
I used lots of paper towels in the kitchen instead of using cloth towels, i.e. I wasted a lot of paper.
I used lots of dishwashing soap in the kitchen, thus wasting it.
I used lots of water -- too much at times -- thus wasting it.

I wasted so much time, putting off the things I should be doing to do the things I like to do, ie. spend hours at the computer, on FB, on blogs, doing personal information searches. Log the number of hours spent in front of a screen, but not actually doing any type of real work, and much of the day is gone.

And I "waisted" -- loving my foods and my foods loving me back...and clinging to me.

So I hope to minimize the waisting ("waist away") -- and the wasting -- in the coming year. Because... when you really think about it, the end result of "wasting" is actually part of the word: it stings.

Aging Like a Fine Wine...or Am I?

2011-12-18T20:31:00.000-05:00

I was at a department store last week making a purchase.

As I stood at the cash to pay, the clerk looked at me briefly and asked, "Senior?"

I gawked at her. "WHAT!?"

"Today is senior's day for those 55 and over. If you're a senior you get an added discount."

I laughed, embarrassed and horrified at the same time. "I hope you don't really think I'm a senior...?"

"I don't know, but I have to ask."

"What if I would've said that I was a senior?"
"Well, you should be honest about it."

"No, I'm not a senior...just yet."

************************

I think I was entitled to that extra discount just for being asked the offensive question.

I do not look 55. I just turned 50. I do not look 50. People think I'm a good 10 years younger. I do not look 55.... DO I?

I'm not ready to have that kind of SENIORity just yet!

Braggers, Beware

2011-11-11T12:05:00.000-05:00

I do not like to hear bragging.

That is something that I've felt since I was a child. Was it because perhaps the bragging that I did hear at the time came from other children? "I'm buying a ______"; "We're going to ________ for winter break"; "Do you like my ____________ jeans?"

Maybe listening to braggers made me see what I was missing in life. These kids' parents bought them "things", gave them "things" that I might not have had.

But I'm an adult now, and I still don't like braggers. Braggers talk about their children, braggers talk about their trips/their homes/their jewellery; in essence, braggers talk about themselves. They shine the spotlight on themselves and their families.

I know of someone who brags constantly on Facebook...primarily about the trips they're taking: the whens and wheres and with whoms. I think that person must have lacked money as a child and now feels the need to let others know what they have in a materialistic sense. The person is also an idiot, if you ask me, advertising the details in a public forum, of when they'll be away on holiday...so anybody can have access to that information of when their house will stand vacant and for how long.

I know of someone else who married well and likes to place a price tag/ a reference to a tangible amount on everything she talks about: how many square feet her home is, the value of her home, the cost of the ring she recently bought. It so detracts from a conversation because it becomes superficial when all one does is affix $$$$$ signs to words.

Other people I know talk about their children ALL THE TIME. Yes, they're the pride and joy and sometimes heartache of their parents' lives, but ALL THE TIME...? C'mon, does nothing else define you as a person besides motherhood?

I was taught as a child not to brag. When I was about 10 years old, I was going home with my brother and talking about my report card marks to him. His friend overheard and asked, "Are you smart?" I announced "YES!"at the same time that my brother said, "Yeah, she's smart." When I relayed that conversation to my mother, I was instructed not to talk about myself and my smarts; it was for other people to talk about. My brother was proud of me and answered on my behalf. That should have been enough.

Other times, I'd brag about where my family was going on vacation. On one or two occasions, those holidays got grounded and didn't happen. It made me look bad to the other kids.

I have learned by experience to not brag. Although my children and my husband are my pride and joy, I rarely talk about them, unless someone asks specifics or my telling certain details lends itself to a conversation.

Not liking braggers doesn't mean you're envious or jealous. It doesn't necessarily mean that you have a poor self image,either.

It does mean that you recognize that people have to be humble in life; people have to wait for compliments to be bestowed upon them, not seek out compliments by giving details up-front.
It means that you recognize a spotlight will seek you out...when it's the right time....and not the other way around.

Crybaby for a Homecoming

2011-11-06T23:36:00.001-05:00

Once in a while I watch FAMILY JEWELS, the Gene Simmons/Shannon Tweed reality TV show that brings cameras into their daily lives.

I enjoy watching the interaction, conversations and kibbitzing between the family members, and perceive intelligence runs fairly strong in the Simmons/Tweed household.

Yes, I know that Gene and Shannon finally married this season ("Gene, what took you so long to put the ring on her finger!?"), but the episode that has moved me, time and time again -- and I do mean "time and time again" -- is the episode, "Blood is Thicker than Hummus", when Gene, Shannon and son Nick visited Israel. The plotting Shannon (and production team) takes Gene back to Israel, the country of his birth -- which he left as a very young child -- where, at a ceremony in Haifa, he receives the Haifa medal, simply for being born there and becoming successful in his life, thus bringing pride to his birth city. Under Shannon's guidance and leadership, he visits his childhood home, goes back to the cafe where his mother worked, back to Rambam Hospital in Haifa to see his birth record from 1949...but most importantly, to meet his half brother and three half sisters, from whom he learns more about his father. A father whom Gene feels rejected him and his mother when Gene was seven years old...and as a result, whom Gene rejected in turn...not wanting to see his father again. Yet he provided for his father and his father's financial needs over the years.

How poignant when Gene opens his mouth to speak Hebrew at the awards ceremony. "Ha-shem sheli Chaim Witz"...My name is Chaim Witz. My tears began to shed...

How poignant when Gene visited his childhood home, at first not recalling anything, but then visual memories rushing back to him. My tears began to shed...

How extremely moving the reunion between brother and brother and brother and sisters...and extended family. The words exchanged, the photos and slide shows all so poignant. More tears...

How tremendous the scene when Gene is brought to the cemetery to his late father's gravesite. Personal words written by Gene's late father are directed to Gene, and it moves him, and the viewer, tremendously.
Alone at the grave, Gene breaks down more and apologizes to his father for never making the effort to see him, while at the same time, defending his own position in life with his children. He is not his father, he is not his father...

I have seen this episode at least 4 or 5 times. Each time I've watched it, a repeat show tonight no exception, I've sat there with my eyes welling up, my throat clogging and tears rolling down my cheeks.

No doubt much has been edited out of the episode in order to make it one hour long, but what's left in the episode speaks volumes.

I like Gene Simmons, but I like Chaim Witz even more. His Israeli homecoming was a means for him to truly come home...and find his roots...and the branches that have sprouted from those roots.

He might've said Shalom (Hello) when he entered Israel, he might've said Shalom (Goodbye) when he left Israel, but more importantly, there is a newfound Shalom (Peace) in his life to carry him forwards.

Here's lookin' at you, Chaim Witz... ("sniff, sniff")

Soho Suite

2011-10-10T15:05:00.002-04:00

You know the expression "curl up with a good book"? How about curling up with a comforter around you, lots of cozy pillows, a nice drink within reach and this CD Soho Suite playing in the background.

Based in New York City, Swedish singer and songwriter and American Smooth Jazz Award nominee Anders Holst brings old fans -- and new ones -- this wonderful compilation of songs that look at love, and relationships, and changes in a person.

"How Many Times Do You Fall in Love?" "Love Surrender" "Time Is Not Waiting" "What Your Love Has Done to Me" are just a few of the titles on this compilation.

Anders, with his sultry, smoky and oftentimes raw voice, sings his ballads directly to you. You could be sitting in a room with hundreds of people, but you'd think he's directing his words to you.

He is the ideal singer because he isn't just singing lyrics, he is truly telling a story, when he sings about love, come and gone. His raw honesty makes you think about your own relationship with the one you love, or past relationships you might've left behind.

Forget the orchestration -- which is wonderful -- and the sound mixing -- which also works well, and concentrate on the voice of this man who embodies deep love, deep pain, wonder and confusion as he takes you on this musical journey of Soho Suite... You, and you alone.

For more information about Anders Holst do check out his website http://www.andersholst.com/.

Lost in Thought

2011-09-05T23:40:00.002-04:00

The other evening I was sitting alone at the dining room table, lost in thought.

I was thinking of my father. And my mother.

I was thinking that had my father still been alive today, he would be 91 years old. My mother is at the threshold of turning 80. Yes, eleven years' difference between the two of them and it was never such an issue, as far as I could see.

But my father always had health issues, whatever his age, and those issues often overshadowed his life and especially the quality of his life in his latter years.

I was sitting there and wondering what their lives would have been like had he still been living -- and if the health issues would not have been such an issue. Would the 80 vs. 91 years have become really noticeable? Was my mother better off in her widowed state than had my father lived as he had in his final days, with my mother a major caregiver whose own life juices were visibly being slowly sucked out of her... I was afraid to even come up with the answer to that.

And as I sat there in my contemplative state, I sensed someone sit down beside me. I looked up and saw my daughter. She put her arm around me, rested her head on my shoulder, and said, "You looked as if you could use a hug!"

I was so moved by her compassionate sense of insight. Were my feelings written all over my face? Or is my daughter simply one intuitive teen?

I told her I'd been thinking about Zaydie and Bubby and that indeed I could use a hug. No doubt the shame I felt in even contemplating the second question had somehow shown on my face and stirred something inside Adina.

Although I might've been lost in thought, it felt so nice to have someone by my side to lead me back....

Plato & Pythagoras...Not All Greek to Nicholas Kardaras

2011-05-30T00:39:00.000-04:00

How Plato and Pythagoras Can Save Your Life: The Ancient Greek Prescription for Heath & Happiness by Nicholas Kardaras, PhD

This book, by Nicholas Kardaras, PhD, and published by Conari Press, is an exploration of mystical Greek philosophy and contemporary, cutting-edge science coming together in today's world.

At one time, Nick Kardaras was one of NYC's "50 Most Beautiful People" as voted by Vanity Fair. But with the passing of time and a steady addiction to drugs and alcohol, Nick's life was pulled out from under him.

With rehab, he managed to get his life back on track and had his whole future ahead of him, but the passing of a close friend drew him back into that dark underworld. He was found unconcious by his girlfriend one day and was on the brink of death, clinging to life with the help of a respirator as he lay in a coma.

But his life was given back to him -- a miracle in every sense of the word -- and with the return of his life, Nicholas began to explore the life behind him and the possibility of the life ahead of him.

He became a voracious reader and studied the works of ancient Greeks who promoted the importance of a healthy mind, body and spirit. These came together with the help of diet, exercise, meditation and contemplation...a real holistic approach to life.

Nicholas took charge of his life, incorporating all he was learning...and came out ahead.

With this book, Kardaras shares with readers those secrets of the famous Greek philosophers, and gives readers mental and physical exercises to do in order expand their creative imagination and gain insights about themselves and the world in which they live.

As Plato said: "Philosophy begins in wonder." And so does Nicholas Kardaras's journey. Join him on it, won't you?

Book Review: A Dog Named Slugger

2011-05-18T23:19:00.000-04:00

When I was contacted by a literary agency and asked if I'd like to review a book about a dog, I jumped at the chance. But upon reading the book, I came to understand that Slugger was not just a typical dog: he was a gift.

The book, A Dog Named Slugger, by Leigh Brill, is the true story of a woman who, having had to deal with her cerebral palsy all her life, finds it more difficult while in college to handle her disability on her own, and decides to seek out a service dog organization.. She is matched with Slugger, an extremely intelligent, devoted and loving -- and loved! -- Yellow Labrador retriever, and they train to become a team. Slugger becomes Leigh's shadow, guide and a true companion in every sense of the word.

The dog helps Leigh navigate through life on college campuses and in the greater community. She gains confidence and a greater sense of independence, thanks to her canine companion, who is there with her....every step of the way. Leigh finds love, and achieves a true sense of contentment; while Slugger helps teach others about caring and limitations imposed by society, even if not imposed by a physical disability.

Heart-warming and inspiring, the book and the story behind it also promotes a very worthy cause--the Service Dog Industry. (All of Leigh’s proceeds from the book will go to the nonprofit St. Francis Service Dogs organization.)

A Dog Named Slugger (published by Memphis, Tennessee publisher Bell Bridge Books), a 2011 Epic Award winner, is written in an easy, flowing, natural style -- with Leigh's honesty and warm and determined personality shining through. Accompanied by photos of Leigh and Slugger at play and at work, as well a Readers' Guide/ Discussion Questions, the book lends itself to being a wonderful choice for a book club, a classroom setting, or simply to be shared among friends.
Welcome to the world of service dogs. Welcome to Leigh & Slugger's world....

I See You...but I Don't Hear You

2011-04-04T00:37:00.000-04:00

You know that familiar mother stance: hands on hips, foot tapping impatiently...?

This little blog of mine has been doing just that -- waiting and wondering when I'd next make an appearance. Do I tell blog that I walk around formulating little scripts in my head for blog purposes only, then scrap those scripts, opting instead for silence? (Didn't someone once say that silence is golden?)

Same old, same old. Do I have something important to say? Might I offend someone with my words, or cast myself in a negative light?

Should I tell blog that I reluctantly did a poetry reading a few weeks back -- one of only a handful I've ever done -- reading a winning poem and then a couple others I'd written in the past year? Should I tell blog that one of those poems made an audience member cry when they heard it, and that thrilled me? Now blog -- and its readers -- will think me to be a masochist. But no, not so. To hear that someone is moved to tears by my words actually can move me to tears, as it's the greatest compliment you can pay me. Should I tell blog that although I was first reluctant to travel to this Open Mic night, I now want to attend each and every Open Mic night, stand in the spotlight and hear the applause and whispered smiles of my viewers and listeners?

Maybe I should tell blog that I went to a party not too long ago and found that a lot of the party guests were simply F**KED UP. That's how I perceived them after I moved, mingled and conversed. And I am known to be a fairly good judge of character. How did they see me? I wonder.

Does blog have to know that G-d willing there will be an upcoming simcha in our family: a first grandchild getting married in the not-too-distant future. Hearty mazel tov wishes float her way and I simply anticipate...

Should blog be told that here I sit in the rec room, typing away, with the Pesach kitchen beside me, beckoning to me. I've tried to ignore its calls, but how much longer can I? It warns that it needs a clean sweep and that Passover is in two weeks. My computer screen beckons too, and I turn my back on the kitchen.

Can blog be relied upon to not be too jealous when told I hang out more with Facebook these days? Sometimes I think that the word "blah" is inherent in the word "blog" and that Facebook has more pizazz, being "in your face" and all.

There is much competition in blog land and blog hasn't sensed that yet, so blog mainly opts for that golden silence.

Sometimes that just has to be enough.

A Tisket, A Tasket, A Deepest Sympathy Basket

2011-03-07T16:33:00.000-05:00

I was just on a Jewish Kosher baskets website; I got an email from them advertising Purim baskets, but when I went onto their site, I explored "beyond Purim."

Shabbat, Bar/Bat Mitzvah, Birthday, Anniversary, Get Well, New Baby/Brit, College Dorm baskets and packages are listed with a wide offering of goodies.

Then to my utter surprise, I found a section for Shiva/Condolences, and began to explore. My cynical self rose to the surface as I perused the goods.

Dried fruit platters, nut platters, rugelach tins, mandelbroit, chocolate arrays, bagels packages seem to be the natural way to go. People need comfort food at a time like this if they choose to eat at all.

But WAIT. Wow...gourmet packages are offered too. Gourmet cheeses, pates, jams, crackers are offered up in expensive but heartfelt style..with Deepest Sympathy...

Tell me how many mourners you know whom you don't have to nudge to eat or drink just a little bit. "Not now," they say, or "I can't eat anything," they tell you. You suggest strongly then that they have to eat something; shiva is difficult and they have to keep up their strength.

Do beautifully presented gourmet baskets have a place in a house of mourning? Does a bit of fresh Norweigian lox on a marble bagel imported from one of NY's finest kosher bakeries, followed by a croissant spread with a Swiss jam and a fine glass of herbal tea really make all the difference? "Wow, I just HAD to have something from that Deepest Sympathy basket or I would have been so weak."

I think we can save fancy, gourmet snacks for better occasions. Bring out the roasted chicken, chicken soup, potatoes and garden salad...and offer it up with sincere condolences. Those will serve just fine....

Changing It Up!

2011-03-03T08:26:00.000-05:00

I have neglected Blogger.

There's a Toronto campaign for donating blood. Their slogan is: Blood. It's in you to give.

Unfortunately, my blog hasn't seen much of me because there's rarely anything in me to give. And if I give, I want it to be somewhat worthwhile.

But I decided to check out blog designs and reinvent myself.

Yesterday evening I had one new design/typeface. Today I have another.

I realized that "dressing" one's blog is like dressing oneself -- there are always options, ways to enhance or detract from a look; ways to make a lasting impression and stand out in a crowd.

If I wanted to, I could change my blog's design on a daily basis -- even several times a day. Design as the mood hits me.

But then again, I must heed the translation of the French expression that says: "Clothes don't make the man."
However I design my blog doesn't necessarily "make" the blog. It's the words that have the true essence; its design is simply the wrapping.

So I guess I'd better keep my designing layouts to a minimum and concentrate more on creating words.

After all, that was why I started a blog all those years ago...

Judy Blume Journal Contest

2011-02-07T14:01:00.001-05:00

Check out my entry for the Judy Blume Journal Contest. Click here to read my entry.

Please be so kind to vote for me/my entry.

To Tell the Truth

2010-12-15T00:06:00.001-05:00

In just over an hour, it'll be six years since I began writing this blog. I wrote my first entry on December 15th, 2004, sometime after 1:00 a.m. I generally wrote blog entries late at night or in the wee hours of the morning.
Did I do my best thinking then, I wonder, or was it just the last-bit-of-the-day's-escape for me?

If I look at the "log" of my blog posts, they were more plentiful a few years ago. As my life met with some curve balls, namely family illness, the writing often diminished -- and being the amateur analyst that I am, I always assumed that it was that I didn't want to tell the truth. I didn't want to reveal my deepest, darkest secrets or fears. I didn't want to capture some painful truths for eternity in blogland.

So my posts sometimes scratched at the surface; they didn't talk about "me", but rather generalities. But deep down, that has never satisfied me. I write. Writing is often my voice. I find that I generally can write streamofconsciousness-fashion, and it works for me. It is easier to vocalize on paper what one can't say in real life. Thus, the fabulous, detailed and lengthy letters I've written all my life; thus the warm and personable letters of condolence I've always written.

A button is pushed, and the words simply come.

But to tell the truth, they don't any longer. My writing continues to be somewhat reserved and spotty, when it comes to keeping my blog. When I was younger, I kept countless journals over time. But I also became somewhat of a slave to the journal, thinking that if I didn't write about something one day, I'd lose it. So I forced myself to write. The writing also became somewhat sporadic as a result. The evening I got engaged is the last time I wrote in my journal.

I will talk about truth now. This is something I didn't write about in my blog, nor did I write about it in poems I've written since March 2009 -- when my father died. With his death came a slight sigh of relief -- for his sake, not ours . With his death came a great measure of gratitude -- for all the years that we did have with him, and all the fine memories we created together. And with his death came the pain of loss, the pain of watching loved ones contend with their loss, and learning to live my life without my father in it.

When my father was rushed to the hospital, where he remained unconscious for the week, until he took his last breath, I'd visit and see the changes in his body. Yes, he looked like he was sleeping, but with tubes in his nose and in his arms, and clear bags that were filling up with bodily fluids, it wasn't a normal sight.

My father's hands and feet swelled beyond belief. I would massage his hands and talk quietly to him in hope that he would hear what I was saying: that I hoped he was not in pain, that he was a wonderful father and such a fine person and that we were lucky to have him in our lives, that if it was his time to go, he should go.
I rested my hand on his chest, lifted his chubby hand and placed it on mine. It was a childish thing to do, but I did it because I wanted to feel as if it was he who had done it; as if it was he who was placing his hand on mine to comfort me.

I did that countless times throughout that week. Placing my hand on his chest and placing his hand over mine. To comfort me. To help me deal with this difficult time.

And when he took his last breath, I put my hand on his. To comfort him. To deal with this difficult time.

I kissed him. I thanked him.

++++++++++

I didn't cry. I always imagined I would scream in hysteria (just like in a classic movie scene) when my father would die -- especially in a hospital bed, which is the last place he wanted to die. But I didn't cry. I was calm. I was reserved. I continued to comfort those around me. My niece. A nephew. A sister-in-law. My older brothers.

I didn't really comfort myself. I didn't cry. I wrote a simple but beautiful eulogy, which I read at the funeral. A few months later, I wrote and read a beautiful speech when the headstone was unveiled. And I have continued to write my poems. About my father. About his death.

I never believed I need to talk to a professional about my loss. I still don't. It isn't simply a brave front I've been putting up since his death -- because with all his hospitalizations for serious matters over the years, I've put up a front. I believe it's just an acceptance that I've been dealing with. I've handled it in a matter-of-fact fashion, yet at the back of my mind, I've always believed that something, at some point in time, will set me off. Crying. For that particular loss and all it entailed.

Back in late October, I went to a funeral; it was for the father of a distant friend. And as I listened to the eulogies given by the rabbi and a grandson, I recognized great similarities between that deceased man and my father. I felt weepy, but I didn't cry.

After the service, it is customary for the mourners and funeral attendees to follow the hearse holding the coffin for at least a few yards, sometimes to the main road. It is a sign of respect for the departed. I joined the throng of people and started to walk a few steps when I lost it. I rushed to the sidewalk and with gasping breaths, struggled to compose myself; my husband, who'd been walking amidst the crowd, caught my eye and came back to be with me, and comfort me.

Yes, I felt sorry for that friend on her loss, but it wasn't her I was crying for. It was me. The tears had finally come. The tears for my father.

It was as if when I began to walk behind the hearse, that March 8, 2009 came rushing back at me. It was as if I was walking behind my father's hearse -- which is something we did not do that day at the funeral chapel, but something we did do at the cemetery before my father found his final resting place.

Yes, it was a release for me, and I guess I hadn't realized just how much I needed that cry. No, it didn't last long, but the dam had burst.

My husband understood what had happened and told me he was still so surprised how composed I'd remained all these months. I guess my poetry was a vehicle for reading between the lines and seeing invisible tears smudge the ink of the words.

Tears are telling. Words are telling.

Thank you for listening.

One Never Truly Grows Up

2010-11-30T09:28:00.000-05:00

This nearly-300 page book is a funny, yet practical, guide showing moms and dads how to handle adult -- often sticky! -- situations with their grown kids.

You want to be a parent or you want to be a friend? Sometimes it's tough to be either one of those, and you simply play good cop, bad cop.

The book is written by bestselling comedy writer Gail Parent (The Tracey Ullman Show, The Carol Burnett Show, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, The Golden Girls) and psychotherapist Susan Ende. What do you get when you have a comedy writer and psychotherapist giving their advice? Funny/serious conflicts and funny/serious conflict resolutions!

These women advise parents in these areas: Money/ College Years/ Family Rituals, Holidays, Weddings and Divorce/Grandparenting/In-Laws. So many parenting books out in the market today deal with parenting babies, toddlers and teens; they don't go beyond that. Adult children these days have their own set of problems and parents are still parents, trying to help out their children. This book will help those parents along the way.

The book features real questions from real people, followed by Gail's and Susan's answers. Gail's answers are fun and edgy, filled with practical advice; Susan's answers are steeped in psychology and more serious. It's up to the parent reading the book to decide whose advice to follow -- if any.

"Mother Knows Best"/"Father Knows Best" are both familiar expressions. With this book in hand, and the advice given, Mother and Father really will know best.

Joan Rivers, Carol Burnett and Tracey Ullman praised the book, and so do I (if that counts for anything; after all, I am an adult child, too!)

Published by Hudson Street Press, a division of the Penguin Group, How To Raise Your (Adult) Children should be put on your bookshelf beside the family Bible and the What To Expect... series of books!

On a Day Like Today

2010-11-14T12:52:00.000-05:00

I was feeling somewhat nostalgic and quickly just whipped off this poem...

On a Day Like Today

On a day like today --

a cool, overcast and damp fall day

my father would have been standing

alongside my mother

at the kitchen counter,

newspaper pages open and laid out,

paring knives handy,

a pot ready to be filled,

baskets of red juicy apples, handpicked, washed and waiting to be undressed.

Classical music would have played in the background –

Chopin always welcome in our home.

With paring knife in hand, he would have proceeded.

Slipping the tip under the apple’s skin, and peeling, round and round and round,

turning the fruit as he peeled off its red coat in one long strip.

One after another, the apples were left naked.

Cut and cored, seeded too,

then tossed into the pot to await their duty.

For an hour or two, my parents stood there,

comfortable in the silence,

not needing to make conversation, just doing this task,

that was done many a Sunday in the fall in our home.

Applesauce. They would make applesauce.

Into the pot and onto the stove element went the apples.

On a low flame, for hours at a time, they were stirred, then they simmered.

A touch of sugar added to enhance the natural flavours.

Applesauce. They would make applesauce.

And when the apples had simmered and softened and cooled

they were jarred.

Jar upon jar. Lidded and labeled.

Placed in the basement refrigerator for

each time a jar was called upon,

a jar was needed.

I miss those days.

I miss their applesauce.

At What Point Are We Considered Older?

2010-11-07T21:47:00.000-05:00

"Everything old becomes new again."

I'd like to think that about myself, but I don't think it'll be happening anytime soon...unless I get Botox and color my hair and drop quite a number of pounds to get me looking like my teenage daughter does...which is how I once looked.

But this season, when I saw the fashions, I wondered exactly how many times/cycles I'd seen these same fads: faux fur; leopard prints; wedgie-heeled boots, etc. I didn't like those styles then -- whenever then was, whatever decades these styles appeared -- and I certainly don't like them now.

Am I old?

There was a time that I used to love getting the Toys 'r Us flyer to peruse through... once upon a time, I liked seeing what kinds of toys I'd have enjoyed having as a kid. Later on, I would look what I could buy my own three children. These days, I skip to the high tech toys in the flyer, gawk at the price, then recycle the flyer.

Am I old?

I couldn't understand when my dad retired and kept busy in his later years by going grocery shopping with my mom. They'd examine the supermarket flyers, make lists, and then make an expedition of it, going from store to store to pick up the necessities. I'd always hear of the friends and acquaintances they met in these stores and caught up with. Was that the new social life for them? I'd wonder.

These days, I can't wait for my weekly flyers so that I can peruse the different deals at the stores, assemble my stock of coupons and head out -- usually with no cash, save some coinage, but lots of store credit cards.
I average about 2-3 hours on my multi-supermarket getaways, walking up and down the aisles, looking at the displays, discovering new sales...and basically frittering away valuable time that could be used for household chores. I often run into people I know, stand there catching up while my refrigerated and frozen goods start to thaw. (How many times have I had to go back to the frozen gefilte fish display and exchange a slowly-but-surely defrosting couple of loaves, for newly frozen ones?!)

Am I old?

I was thinking about it the other day and decided I've always been a bit of an "older soul." My nurturing and mothering instincts were evident when I was still quite young, always looking out for other people and worrying about them if they were hurting.

When I was around eight years old and again when I was twelve and thirteen, my family went to Jewish resorts, both in Southern Ontario and in the Catskills. What did I really enjoy doing? Playing shuffleboard! And in the Catskills, I'd go both to teen club and also to adult sing-a-longs that featured American standards geared to a middle-aged and aging population.

From the time I graduated university until about six years ago, I volunteered with a cataloging committee for Ontario Jewish Archives. I brought the average age down by a good thirty-five years. Always the youngest, enjoying doing this volunteer work with seniors.

I was gathered with friends today for a close and longtime girlfriend's 49th birthday. Talk quickly touched on our birthdays next year: our 50th. One friend who turned 50 this year assured us: "It's okay. It's really okay."

No, I have no problems with turning 50; I'm still young looking and think very young. It's just the energy levels and body that ain't what they used to be. But I'm ready to meet that half-century mark -- when I can look both back and ahead.

Will I still ask: Am I old? Or will I state: "I'm not old. I'm simply....older! ....And lovin' it!"

The Best of "Shvitz! My Yiddisheh Workout"

2010-11-01T12:50:00.000-04:00

It's Not So Much About the Shul Service...

2010-09-12T00:58:00.001-04:00

...as it is about the memories.

I realized this Rosh Hashana while standing in shul that our memories of Rosh Hashanahs and Yom Kippurs and Sukkots and Simchat Torahs are truly significant and help sustain us, embrace us and sometimes add to our praying.

As I listened to the shofar blowing, I thought of my dad in Gan Eden (I have absolutely no doubt in the world that he's way up there!) and thought of past services. I realized that it isn't so much about the praying that I was remembering, but rather what went on after shul.

I remembered families seeking each other out after services were over to gather up and head home. I'd walk down the stairs from the women's gallery and seek my father and brothers out. It was about the 25-minute walk home together, my arm enveloped under my father's arm, or in his coat pocket, and trying to walk with both my parents in one line on the narrow sidewalk. My brothers would be ahead or follow behind, chatting between themselves or other shul friends and family. The stopping off at a neighbor's to wish them a good Yom Tov and a good year. The reaching home and gathering round the table, my parents, brothers and myself, and eating the familiar and traditional foods each year. My father telling the story of standing on line for a long period of time in the fish market to buy the chopped fish that he would make gefilte fish from. Eating the applesauce and compote or the baked apples that my parents would make a few days before the chag.

(We'd go apple picking, buy a couple bushels to store in the basement's cold cellar over the winter. And as Rosh Hashanah would near, my parents would stand at the counter and peel countless apples -- I was always amazed at my father's speed and ability to pare an apple skin in one long, extended strip. When I started helping them out in peeling apples, I would have finished peeling half an apple by the time that my father peeled three apples.)

It's that family togetherness, the minhagim and the brachot my parents bestowed upon one another and us children that I remember, that warm my heart, as I stand in shul, listen to the sounds of the shofar and pray for my voice/our voices to be heard.

We're Almost at the Finish Line...

2010-09-06T17:23:00.001-04:00

So another year is coming to an end.

Has it been a good one for you? I sure hope so.

Was it a meaningful one for you? I sure hope so.

Did you make optimum choices that benefitted you/your family? I sure hope so.

Were simchas part of your social calendar? I sure hope so.

As we approach the new year, let me take this opportunity to wish each and every one of you who mark and celebrate Rosh Hashanah a most sweet, healthy and happy upcoming year: 5771. May you and your families bask in brachot/blessings that lift and carry you through the year. May shalom/peace surround you, Israel, and Jews the world over.

Shanah Tovah to my readers and fellow bloggers.

And as my dear father always said, "May we able to wish each other the same again next year!"

Memories of High Holidays Past...

2010-08-26T09:19:00.000-04:00

As the new Communications Chair for our synagogue, it is my duty to assemble the quarterly bulletin that goes out to shul members.

Of course, all the typical items go in: rabbi's message, mazel tovs and condolences, upcoming events, times and dates of the upcoming holidays, and any other important stuff.

I thought it might be nice for the members to contribute to this upcoming issue, and sent out a notice for members to submit memories they have of the High Holidays (Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Simchat Torah) they experienced while growing up.

Unfortunately, there haven't been too many takers, but most of the memories already submitted are associated with wearing new clothes, family togetherness at synagogue and at the meals, long, drawn-out services.

If I had sent out the call to you, what -- if any -- memories do you have from your distant past, or even not-too-distant past of marking/celebrating the High Holidays in your childhood or teenagehood?

Maybe I'll have more takers via the Internet.... :)

(I will share my memories perhaps in a separate post.)

Fractured Travel Tales

2010-08-08T00:03:00.000-04:00

Yes, I'll admit it's been a LONG WHILE since I last blogged. Of course I'm busy reading everyone else's words, but I couldn't seem to find any of my own for blog posts. But I'm back -- in blogland, in my city and in my country.

The past two weeks were spent in the States on the West Coast, on a fly-drive vacation with my hubby and three kids and multiple suitcases.

Travel tip #1: DON'T OVERPACK!!! TRAVEL LIGHT. TRY FOR JUST CARRYON LUGGAGE. I failed on all three counts. In fact, each of us failed on all three counts...thanks to my supposedly wise mom advice. I was wrong, I admit it. Okay, so let's try this trip again, and do it the right way.

Travel tip #2: Bring along your GPS if you're planning a driving or even a walking holiday. We brought along "Kate", our female, English-accented GPS. Now, some women aren't ALWAYS right, and Kate falls into this category, but for the most part, she got us where we had to go, even if she did sometimes prefer to take the scenic route.

Sorry, people, I'm not accustomed to paying for checking in baggage, nor am I accustomed to being denied any snacks on a flight, so these were an eye-opener for me. Or maybe it's just American Airlines pulling that shtick these days...

I was off to a good start (read in sarcastic voice) at the Toronto airport, when I was stopped after my carryon bag went through the X-ray machine. ZIP open went the bag, TOSS out went the jar of Pond's skin care cream, the bottle of hair spritz, and the bottle of face spritz. Okay, so maybe I don't travel often enough and I don't know the ground rules of flying with teeny tiny bottles of toiletries....

Speaking of which, how do I really know that those teeny tiny bottles of shampoo, conditioner or body lotion given to guests in hotel rooms are what they say they are? How do I know that the green, pleasant-smelling stuff coming out of that teeny tiny bottle isn't simply some soap blend that they don't sell in Canada? Am I lathering up my precious locks with soap or shampoo? And who gets to fill those bottles -- or refill the partially used bottles -- in those family-friendly, businessman-friendly or simply luxe hotels? We sampled at least one of each of those types of hotels. The best toiletries were in the family-friendly hotels, hands-down.

So our itinerary consisted of these main locations: Los Angeles, Monterey, San Francisco, Sequoia National Park, Las Vegas, Hoover Dam, Grand Canyon* ( a story in itself), Phoenix. My husband drove over 2200 miles in 16 days to get us where we had to go. He did a mighty fine job, along with Kate coming between me and him in the front seat.

Some observations:

--there are a TON of very overweight people in the U.S.; they don't seem to care how they look
--there are a ton of tattooed people in the U.S.; they don't seem to care how they look
--it seems that the more overweight a person is, the more tattoos they have -- but then again, I guess there's a correlation in that statement: there's more skin to work with if a person is more overweight!
--Israelis are EVERYWHERE; Hebrew is commonly heard in outlet malls, specifically in mall kiosks selling healthcare/beautycare products. I had conversations with several of these Israeli salespeople, who were pleasantly pleased when I started conversations in Hebrew with them
--I didn't have to do any real conversion calculations this trip, as the Canadian dollar is quite close to the U.S. dollar. Years ago, I'd have to stand there and round out numbers and figure out numbers and see if a purchase was worth it.
--Before planning a 4 1/2 hour drive to Grand Canyon, be advised when "monsoon season" is. Our visit was rained out -- make that "STORMED OUT" -- by the time we reached the park, so we turned around without even seeing it. Instead we simply settled for an IMAX film of the Grand Canyon a couple miles down the road

Travel tip #3: Make sure you know how to operate a videocamera for optimum use; don't just point and shoot. Focus, shift, close-up, pan. Do this before day 14 of your 16-day trip.

Travel tip #4: Be certain to bring along chargers for videocamera, all digital cameras and personal computer. Oh ya, and replacement batteries do help.

I'll throw out at you some things we saw and did:
--Warner Bros. studio tour
--Hollywood Blvd./Walk of Fame
--Disneyland
--Skirball Museum
--Venice Beach/boardwalk
--Rodeo Drive
--Cannery Wharf , Monterey
--Aquarium, Monterey
--Fisherman's Wharf, San Francisco
--Golden Gate Bridge
-- tour of Alcatraz Island
-- Chinatown, San Francisco
--lots of uphill and downhill climbs in San Francisco, on foot and in our rental
--Sequoia National Park, General Sherman tree viewing
--Las Vegas lights
--Hoover Dam
--Car Collection, Imperial Palace
--waterfall at Bellagio
--so close to, yet so far from Grand Canyon
--Phoenix Diamondbacks baseball game

Overall, wonderful memories were formed. Wonderful photos and videos (okay, wonderful videos once I learned to properly use the camera!) were taken. Great food was sampled. Fabulous hotel mattresses were slept on. Many majestically beautiful sights were viewed, and then again, some bizarre people/characters were seen!

Great family time was had. And that's what made it the most special.

Poetry in Photos

2010-05-24T21:18:00.000-04:00

If it is said that a picture is worth a thousand words,

Where does that leave a wall covered in picture frames of every shape and size...?

Just like the people within the frames.

Young, old, smiling, serious.

Each face tells a story.

Each story touches a heart.

That heart was my father's.

It is these photos he saw both day and night --

When he first opened his eyes in the morning

And when he closed them at night.

It was his wall of naches, his wall of pride.

The generations before him.

The generations after him.

A life well lived.

I looked at that wall today.

The wall between the bed and the dresser,

also covered in frames of every shape and size.

The wall was full.

The bed was empty.

A Poem Written in August 1993

2010-05-23T16:05:00.000-04:00

I just found this poem I wrote on Friday, August 27, 1993. (at that point, I was officially engaged for 5 days!)
When I read old poems of mine, I pretty much recall having written them and what was going on at the time. If I recall correctly, this scene took place at a subway or bus station.

She wore one pink shoe,

She wore one white shoe --

She was blind.

I knew. I could tell --

She had a white cane.

She clicked around,

looking for an opening

to go through.

Click, click. Tap, tap.

Bang, bang --

oops!

A tall blonde approached,

leaned close,

whispered some words.

An arm was extended.

A hand held on.

And they set off.

Click, click. Tap, tap.

A pink shoe

And a white shoe --

Mismatched.

Almost a Slip of the Tongue

2010-05-23T11:21:00.000-04:00

I was listening to my younger son practice guitar just now; he recently started lessons and is a quick study in this instrument...thanks to his wonderful memory and an ear for music.

He was trying to figure out a correct starting note and said: "Just a sec."

I was just about to open my mouth and say something and it suddenly hit me just how that something would have sounded: "I have all the secs in the world."

Sometimes it pays to keep your mouth shut!

Rotation

2010-05-17T23:18:00.000-04:00

Today I sat at the kitchen table

in front of the black microwave

watching the glass plate within

go round and round.

Three minutes wasn't enough

for the heat to absorb.

I topped it up to six

and watched the glass plate within

go round and round

on the turntable.

I realized I ought to get a life.

To sit and stare at melting wax

in a container on a plate

is no way to discover the world.

I ought to get out and ride the carousel of life.

Pick a colorful horse

or a unicorn

upon which to seat myself

and go round and round

as the sights blur into an ever-changing

kaleidoscope.

Perhaps my horse, like Mary Poppins',

will have a mind of its own,

and will jump off the carousel

to explore the countryside,

bobbing up and down

in a delightful rhythm.

I ought to get out and ride the carousel of life.

(...but in the meantime, I'll just write a poem.)

A Film and Other Stuff

2010-05-11T23:39:00.000-04:00

I watched a wonderful, brilliantly acted film tonight on TV -- The Soloist -- starring Jaime Foxx and Robert Downey, Jr. It was released last year at the theaters, and I watched it on a movie channel.

Interestingly enough, just before the movie began, I'd watched Mr. Foxx on American Idol do his mentoring. When the show was over, I channel surfed and came across this wonderful film.

Read about it over here, and rent it if you can. It bridges the topics of friendship, music, talent, mental illness. Wow, what a combination.

AND it's based on a true story.

I did volunteering with mentally challenged adults for several years, and see that mental disabilities come in varying degrees. That was something to keep in mind as I watched this film and saw, not only the Jaime Foxx character, but the secondary characters as well.

The truth is that one never knows what impact one can have on someone else's life...and such is an underlying message to this movie...on both male protagonists' parts.

***********

Something "funny" that I observed today in the supermarket...

A young man walked in. Clearly he was mentally challenged, and began walking through the produce aisles calling, "Stella...Stella." He was looking up and down the aisles, and as he walked away calling the name, I wondered if perhaps I should go and speak to him and ask him who Stella was and if I could help him find her.

At that point, I heard that familiar Marlon Brando-esque yell: "STELLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA..."

Apparently, this man eventually found Stella in another aisle, and they were cajoling with one another, and then later on meeting up with a larger group of young adults.

He found his Stella and I found my smile!

1068

2010-05-09T23:09:00.000-04:00

This is my 1068th post, since I began the blog in December 2004.

It's not as if I have much to say this evening, but I liked the idea of writing a 1068th post. What the heck did I have to talk about in the previous 1067 posts, I wonder?

Every now and again -- less seldom these days -- I review my earliest posts. It's interesting to see if and how my writing has evolved; what caught my interest...say in May 2005...as opposed to May 2009; which bloggers responded to my posts in the early days (very few) and who comments now (very few).

I used to blog about not having comments; someone advised me to just keep writing, and they (readers) will come, read and post. Or I was told to comment on other peoples' blogs, and in doing so, people would see my name and perhaps be curious to visit my blog on a sporadic or regular basis... and thus my blog developed.

I write blog posts less frequently these days; I read fewer blogs these days. My interests in reading blogs remains the same: personal stories, family dynamics, medical issues, a typical day in the life of a suburban mom or dad, entertainment trivia, household hints, recipes from the kitchen, religious personal quests. I've never been keen on politics or too taken with current events and religious battles.

Humorous blogs still grab me and sustain me. One recognizes that it's not just a blog post that has humor shine through, but often enough, the volleying of comments that follow are equally...if not more...humorous than the post itself.

I'm hoping that my next blog post -- #1069 -- might offer something more meaty than just my rambling thoughts...but then again, aren't "my rambling thoughts" the basis of pearlies of wisdom after all...?

WIN!

2010-05-03T08:22:00.001-04:00

I'm notorious for entering contests...and yes, winning. Not huge prizes, but prizes nonetheless...most often books. I'd love to win a contest based on my talent or my logic and abilities, but I'll take anything. :)

I was just going to enter a contest: SPRING WARDROBE SHOPPING SPREE. I could win one of five $2000 spring wardrobe shopping sprees.

Then I read the fine print: I can enter online until July 2nd, or I can enter by snail mail and the envelope must be postmarked by July 13th. The draw will be held July 15.

HELLO...? The contest is called "Spring Wardrobe Shopping Spree" and the draw date is July 15th. Is that spring...have the seasons been switched around on me?

Come July 15th, I'd be shopping for "back to school/fall" fashions, or snatching up summer finery, which tends to be pushed out the doors of stores and into the mall sidewalk sales, the second week of July.

Will I buy my "spring bonnet" in mid-July? I don't think so.

Hey, Robin Hood company, what were your marketing copywriters thinking of when they planned this contest? Why not just call it "New Wardrobe Shopping Spree" if these are the cut-off dates of the contest?

Nonetheless, I think that on July 15th, my name ought to be drawn and deemed a winner, considering my deep introspection about this contest.

Okay, and if you want me to plant some "spring" flowers to enhance the "spring" wardrobe I'll pick out for myself...so be it!

deMANds

2010-04-28T07:24:00.002-04:00

Several years back a fellow blogger threw out a term in private correspondence with me: a man chair/a man bench. This is where he said he could be found when he'd go shopping with his wife...and I don't mean grocery shopping.

When said blogger took a trip down South and his wife decided to hit the shopping malls and discount stores when they reached their destination, he grew tired...and kept a look-out for the familiar "man chair/man bench".

Go to the mall and look around; you see sitting areas? Who is sitting in those areas often? Yup, uh-huh, you got that right! Go into a large department store, specifically to the shoe department. You see that middle-aged man sitting on the chair, holding shopping bags? No, he's not trying on shoes today. He's waiting for his wife and is sitting in a "man chair."

The "man chair/man bench" is not wholly designed for seniors, as one might think. It is an official rest stop for the male persuasion of every shape, color, size or age. I believe many shopping mall designers are men, and when they work out layouts of stores and the mall hallways, they actually should add to their layout map legends little stars that direct you to "man chairs" in the mall. In a store, you're left to fend for yourself, though!

Why do I bring this up now? Well, for the past couple of weeks, I've been frequenting home improvement stores -- Rona, Canadian Tire, Home Depot and Lowe's. (you Americans are probably only famliar with Lowe's, if that) When I have gone on my own in the daytime, I've had a mission. But when I've gone in the evening or on the weekend with my husband, I'm the sidecar passenger, and he's the navigator, knowing what he wants to look at, where it can be found...and usually it's more technical than pretty.

Last weekend we went together to one of these stores; there was an advertised display of bar-b-ques. Ron said to me, "Take a look at who is looking at the display...no doubt it's all men." And it was! No doubt these men were visualizing a cold beer in their hand, a couple of steaks on the grill and some loud get-togethers with buddies. Okay, where were their women during this creative visualization session? Inside the store? Where inside the store? The bathroom...or at the cash register paying for their man's whims?

Well, here's my deMANd! If men are entitled to a "man chair/man bench" in female-frequented places, I think that women are entitled to...a lot more!...in male-frequented places. We don't need a simple chair, we need a kaffee klatch/spa area. C'mon, especially in these home improvement centers! If they can sell indoor Jacuzzis and fancy tubs, let them set up a user-friendly one in a far corner of the store; if they can sell housewares and have kitchen layout designs to look at in the store, let them set up some chairs at a kitchen counter with a coffee machine, and juice maker, and have a male wait on us, bringing us refreshments. A spa service with pedicure/manicure/mini massages (mini, depending on how long your male partner is hanging around the store!) would be ideal too.

I looked around the stores I was in: these "little" items are lacking...and as a result, the female population in these stores is lacking. I believe that if my deMANds would be met, women would be happier, and if the women are happier, the men would be happier too!

Oh, and one more demand: maybe one of those men who was visualizing while standing in front of the bar-b-ques, can actually prepare a steak for me. But hold back on the beer, and make mine a white wine spritzer!

Never Tell Our Business to Strangers...A Memoir

2010-04-25T23:10:00.000-04:00

What a catchy title, huh?

In spite of the fact that my parents used to imply I do the same thing -- and not broadcast everything going on in the Adler home -- this memoir is not about me or written by me, but rather, by Jennifer Mascia, a writer for the New York Times. Jennifer seeks out and shares the story of her life with her parents: a life based on secrets, lies, and even forgiveness. The writing is raw and honest, the feelings depicted seem immediate and within reach.

California, New York, Miami, New York were all "home" to Jennifer...for brief periods of time. She was on the move, because her parents were on the move. Money was abundant, then money was scarce. Jobs were abundant, then jobs were scarce.

When Jennifer was a little girl, the FBI came for her father; he was away from her for quite some time, and then the questions began for her: Where was he? Why was he away from her? And as she grew up, the question became Who is he? And ultimately was followed by a question about her mother: Who is she?

Slowly the truth about her parents trickles out, and Jennifer must confront her family's dark secrets...

Back in 2007, Jennifer wrote a wonderful essay for the New York Times about her past; this past evolved into the book.

Watch this interview on YouTube, as well...

I'm not exactly holding a gun to your head, but I strongly advise you to pick up this memoir; it is published by Villard Books, a division of Random House.

A Blog Post Revisited...

2010-04-11T22:41:00.000-04:00

...in honor of Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Memorial Day.

My life has always been entangled with the Holocaust, and as a result, so has much of my poetry.

I just recalled a poem I wrote a few years back. It is a poem in progress, and although it's never been completed, it is time to bring it back up for air today --

--the official Holocaust Memorial Day.

http://wwwpearliesofwisdom.blogspot.com/2006/07/poem-in-progress_10.html

Clever

2010-04-07T00:10:00.001-04:00

Last week I updated my status comment on Facebook. It was about smart vs. clever.

The status read: It's nice to be called "smart" but for some reason I really like it when I'm called "clever."

Some people may not see a difference between the two adjectives, but there is...at least for me.

Smart is intelligence, IQ matter. Seemingly black and white.

Clever goes a lot further, I believe. It adapts itself to creativity, problem solving, finding solutions. It deals more with gray matter, reading between the lines, sudden spurts of brilliance that are emitted.

One of my friends commented about my Facebook status. He said, "How 'bout beautiful and sexy?"

Believe it or not, I still think that "clever" can go a lot further than "beautiful and sexy."

But if you wish, you can call me, "beautiful, sexy, AND clever"!

Published Again

2010-03-24T00:02:00.002-04:00

The Canadian Jewish News is a weekly newspaper that caters to...you guessed it...the Canadian Jewish community. Each Passover issue features a literary supplement, and as long as I've been submitting my poetry, it's been published.

This year I submitted two personal poems (whatever is submitted has to have a Jewish bent to it -- DUH!) and both will appear in this week's print edition, and is also online.

One poem is about my husband, and what happened when he lost his mother. The other poem is about my father: simply about the man he was.

If you click on the title of this post, you can link to the online edition of the newspaper. There you should find my two poems on pages B2 and B12.

A Mom Poem

2010-03-20T22:59:00.000-04:00

It's true that my youngest turned ten years old
a couple of weeks ago
It would have been ideal
To celebrate that weekend
But we had way too much on the go.

So tonight's the night we are doin' our thing
to help Noam be a ten year old boy
We've invited to our house
some nine of his peers
To have a sleepover here, oh joy!

Am I a good mom or simply a nut
To let Noam's crew hang out with us
With Passover 'round the corner
There's so much to do
But for Noam we made no fuss.

So I'll vacuum again tomorrow mid-morn
when the kids all pick up and go
Pillows packed away,
the sleeping bags gone
At least Noam will be happy, you know.

More Photos for Your Viewing Pleasure

2010-03-02T13:35:00.000-05:00

Contact sheet, character study of Jacob Adler, circa 1986

Circa 1986, "Faith"

Kensington Market, Toronto, circa 1987, old-time Jewish butcher (not Kosher anymore)

Adler-Saban Gallery Is Now Open For Viewing

2010-03-01T23:29:00.001-05:00

My mom brought over a bag yesterday of photos I'd taken when I'd gone back to school in 1986 and did a Book & Magazine Publishing program. I learned photo techniques as well as blackroom and developing techniques.

I loved photography and the manual camera. Ask me today if I recall how to use one, though!

Imagine when you talk to a dog and he cocks his head sideways in a puzzled manner. That is how I viewed the world through my viewfinder...always with offbeat angles and unique views.

Photojournalism is wonderful, and no doubt I should have pursued it a bit more -- for pleasure.

Kensington Market, Toronto, circa 1987, "What a hunk!"

Downtown Toronto, circa 1987, "Synchronicity"

Downtown Toronto, circa 1987, "Alleyway Cast-Offs"

Chinatown, Spadina Avenue, downtown Toronto, circa 1987

Circa 1987, my father, Jacob Adler, z"l, and a photo of his grandparents

A sample book cover I designed for my photography course, 1987

A reflection shot, downtown Toronto, 1987

Another reflection shot, downtown Toronto, 1987

Another reflection shot, interior, downtown Toronto, 1987

The Speaker Has the Floor

2010-02-28T23:16:00.000-05:00

This past Friday, the 12th of Adar in the Jewish calendar, marked the 1st Yahrzeit for my father, who died on March 8, 2009.

This coming Thursday, the 18th of Adar, will mark the 20th Yahrzeit for my husband's father.

So on Shabbat we sponsored a kiddush at shul, and my family was with us for all of Shabbat, and at seudat shlishit, I spoke.

If you're willing to sit back with a stiff drink (it IS somewhat lengthy) and read, here it is:

D’var Torah for 1st Yahrzeit for Dad and 20th Yahrzeit for Ron’s Father

Parsha Tetzaveh

Thank you for being here this afternoon, to help us commemorate the just past and upcoming Yahrzeits of my father and Ron’s father, zichronam l’vracha.

This week’s parsha, Tetsaveh, talks about the lighting of the menorah and the oil that was used; it talks in detail about the special clothing worn by the kohanim, specifically Ahron the Kohen haGadol, and discusses the inauguration service of the mishkan and the kohanim, as well as the incense altar.

At the beginning of the parsha, Hashem gives detailed instructions about the lighting of the oil in the menorah. As Purim begins tonight, I want to point out a few similarities between the chag and the parsha.

The main character in the Purim story is Queen Esther; her gematria is 661. A phrase in the parsha with the same gematria is meaning “oil for the light”. Just as the menorah was a source of light for the Israelites, so, too, did Esther provide a spark of light for the Jews, as written in the megillah and as we recite every Motzei Shabbos at Havdala “The Jews had light and gladness and joy and honor.”

The story of Purim talks about the king’s public party – and as noted in the megillah, the celebration had every luxury – the finest cotton, wool, and linen wall hangings, couches of gold and silver, silver rods, marble pillars and royal wine. Likewise in the parsha, we learn that the clothing of the Kohein Hagadol was very rich, made from turquoise, gold, purple, twisted linen and beautiful stones.

A major theme in both the parsha and in megillat Esther is clothing. The portion of Tetzaveh details the clothing worn by the Kohein Hagadol in ancient times, which, as the text explains, he is to wear “l’chavod u’letifahret,” for glory and honor. Rashi and other commentators explain these words to mean that by wearing the special garments, the Kohein Hagadol is distinguished from other people and his clothing brings glory and honor to Hashem. How so? By dressing in clothes made of gold and precious threads, and wearing a breastplate encrusted with jewels, the Kohein Hagadol comes to symbolize things which are rare and coveted, things which are special–he symbolizes the special and intimate relationship between Hashem and the Jewish people.

Our Purim celebrations, of course, also include costuming–but this time everyone gets in on the act, and the dressing up is not necessarily for the purpose of bringing honor and glory to Hashem. Rather, it is an expression of the spirit of Purim summarized in the words of the Megillah, “v’nahafoch hu,” things were reversed. Just as the fortune of the Jews was reversed and Mordechai took the place of Haman, so too commoners dress as royalty, and royalty dress as commoners on Purim.

Esther puts on her royal garb to go meet the king. Mordechai dons sackcloth and ashes when he hears of Haman’s plot. Haman parades Mordechai through town wearing beautiful garments and a jeweled hat. These are more than just interesting details; they are part of the message of the story, that outward appearances do in fact matter, as much as we tell ourselves otherwise. Clothing is part of the language of society. Our fashion communicates a great deal about our values, priorities, and identity. As both the Torah portion and megillat Esther might say, The clothes do in fact make the man or woman.

This week’s parsha is the only book of the chamisha chumshei Torah after Moshe’s birth that does not mention his name.

And the 'Megilla' is the only book of the Bible (after Bereshit) that does not mention Hashem’s name.

This week’s parsha opens with an eternal commandment; lighting the Menora forever.

Similarly reading the Megilla is an eternal commandment!!

Finally, this week's section deals with the Temple, which is never-ending. (Moshiach will build the Third Temple)

And the Megilla deals with Purim, which is also never-ending.

In the last Aliyah of Parshat Tetzaveh we read about the commandment to build the incense altar for the Mishkan. The mystics explain that the five primary vessels of the Mishkan correspond to the five senses. The sacrificial altar corresponds to the sense of touch (the sacrifices being a very physical service). The Shulchon, where the 12 loaves were placed each Shabbos, alludes to the sense of taste. The Menorah which gave illumination is like the sense of sight. Hashem spoke to Moshe from between the Keruvim above the Ark representing the sense of sound. Finally the incense altar reflects the sense of smell.

The sense of smell is different from the other 4. Whereas the other senses are considered physical and bodily (each to a differing degree), the sense of smell is ethereal and more intimately related to the soul. The Talmud teaches that only the Neshama benefits from fragrant spices (which is why we smell spices during Havdalah). The sense of smell represents the essential purity of the soul which cannot be corrupted no matter how severe our sins may be. For this reason the burning of the incense was the highest of the Temple services and it is for this reason that the incense altar stands alone.

Here lies the Purim connection. The master Kabbalist - the Ariza"l, connected each of the 12 months of the year to a different part of the head. The month of Adar equates to the nose i.e. the sense of smell. The heroes of the Purim story, Mordechai and Esther, are also connected to the sense of smell. Esther's real name was Haddassa which means a myrtle, known for its fragrance. The Talmud finds allusion to Mordechai in the Torah in the pure myrrh (one of the 11 spices in the incense) which is translated in the Aramaic Targum as Mara Dachya (the same letters as the name Mordechai).

And of course another connection between Purim and this Shabbos, is that we read the section Parshat Zachor in which we are commanded to remember Amalek and what he did to the Jewish people. Haman, a descendant, is the Amalek of his generation in the Purim story.

Tetzaveh's opening words are V'atah tetzaveh -- "and you shall command." The you is Moshe and Hashem is telling him what to instruct the Jewish people. But the verse only says "you" -- not "Moshe."

In this week’s parsha, Moshe’s name isn’t mentioned at all. The main reason for this is well-known and related to the sin of the Golden Calf. The people had sinned and G d was going to wipe them out and start over again with Moshe and his own dynasty. Moshe defended his people before Hashem, arguing for their forgiveness. And if Hashem wouldn’t forgive them? Moshe stated: “Micheini noh misifrecho” -- "Erase me from your book that You have written!" Moshe himself said his name should be erased from the Torah if Hashem would not forgive His people. So even though Hashem did forgive them, it is believed that the words of a tzaddik are eternal and said to come true. The effect of those words, therefore, was that somewhere in the Book, in Torah, his name would be erased. Moshe would be missing where he normally should have appeared. Ironically it is in the week when we remember his death, that Moshe’s name is missing.

Chassidim claim that this word “You” in the parsha’s opening pasuk represents something deeper and more profound than a simple name can. “You” represents Moshe’s neshama and spiritual essence of being firmly and continually committed to his people, even at his own expense. The Chassidim believe that instead of the absence being a negative, it is actually a blessing.

The Vilna Gaon explains that Moshe's yahrtzeit, the seventh of Adar, usually falls the week of or just before Parshat Tetzaveh. Moshe’s name is omitted to show that he is no longer with us, his physical presence has gone, although the essence of his teachings are the lifeblood of our nation to this day.

But his name is alluded to in the parsha in the sofei tevot – final letters – of the phrase “sealed Holy to Hashem”. There’s a mem sofit, shin and hey.

This shows us that, even though the physical embodiment of Moshe has left us, his neshama, revealed in the Torah, is very much with us even now.

In this same way, the neshamas of our fathers, Yaakov Arieh Adler and Shalom Saban, zichronum l’vracha, are with us now.

It is said, “Mishenichnas Adar, marbim b'simchah.” “With the beginning of Adar, rejoicing is increased.”

Interestingly enough, life doesn’t always work that way. Yesterday, the 12th of Adar, we marked my father --- Jacob’s -- first Yahrzeit; we will mark Ron’s father – Shalom’s -- 20th Yahrzeit next week, on the 18th of Adar. As well, my father’s father – Majer Izchok -- passed away when my father was 6 ½ years old, and his Yahrzeit was earlier this week, on the 7th of Adar…like Moshe.

The month of Adar in the Adler-Saban households has unfortunately come to be associated with a loss of fathers.

My father had no father for 82 years. Yet he remembered and annually marked his father’s Yahrzeit. I always wondered how he could do so from the time he was a young child and suddenly cast as the male head of the household, a big brother to three younger sisters, the youngest sister named for their father, who had died two months before her birth. For 82 years my father remembered and lit a candle, and if his difficult circumstances during the war and his lifetime didn’t allow him to light a candle, he marked the date by simply remembering.

Today is Shabbat Zachor. We are required to remember what Amalek did to us, as we learn in the reading of the maftir and Haftorah. But Ron and I have our personal Shabbat Zachor, related to our family members who have left us. We remember and we sanctify their memories by lighting a candle, by saying Kaddish, by giving Tzedaka, by learning some Torah and by remembering who and what they were.

Both Ron’s father and my father were immigrants to Canada – a new language and culture to learn, jobs to find, in Ron’s father’s case, a family to support; in my father’s case, a wife to find and a family life to build. Ron’s father left behind family; my father left behind memories and ashes. But both men endured in Canada and worked hard to provide for themselves and those around them.

They never forgot their Judaism, embracing it in this cold Canadian climate with a warm heart.

Ron’s father built the aron kodesh in their shul in Winnipeg, a labour of love, a beautiful work to be proud of as it was viewed and admired daily, housing the precious Torah scrolls of Kehillat Chevura Tefilla. Although I never had the privilege of meeting him, I know that through Shalom Saban’s commitment to prayer and community and hard work, he tried to teach his sons by example: how to be kind, good, honest – in personal relationships and in business. These traits are clearly evident in Ron, and so I thank Shalom and his wife, Liora, zichronam l’vracha, for their guidance and the Torah and personal values that they passed along.

I am familiar with Ron’s father’s carpentery– the detail he carved into table tops and table and chair legs, the cabinetry he designed and built, the chessboards he carved for his family and the jewellery boxes he created. This fine and detailed handiwork reflects his skill, his patience and his finesse in doing a job to the best of his ability -- and what an ability it was!

Both Ron’s father and my father worked hard and struggled financially to give their children extensive Jewish educations, following the precept from Mishlei: Proverbs 22:6 Train up a child in the way he should go, Even when he is old he will not depart from it.

Our fathers built their family life and daily life around davening and giving Tzedakah, around shmirat lashon and hachnasat orchim. They valued strong work ethics, Shalom Bayit, and were true to their word above all else.

It is perhaps ironic that my father, Jacob’s, shul affiliation and membership, was with Beth Jacob, Beit Yaakov. He welcomed being there and this Levi was made to feel very welcome there, as well. Not only was there a Beit Yaakov on Overbrook Place in Bathurst Manor, but there was one at the address where my parents settled over 50 years ago to create a home and raise their family, and never left. Just like in our shul, faith, guidance, tradition, warmth – and love – were the pillars of our home.

Clearly it is a true kavod when told, “I never heard your father say a bad word about anyone,” and I was told that a few years ago while my father was alive! And I know that my father helped people – financially and otherwise -- throughout his lifetime. His goodness tended to be selfless – he didn’t think, he didn’t question, he just did. And he didn’t seek recognition or rewards.

I believe that when my father left the physical world on 12th of Adar last year, he clearly entered the spiritual world; there he continues to daven for the well-being of his wife, children and grandchildren, family, friends and community. For that was the type of man Jacob Adler was: always concerned for others, looking out for everyone else before looking out for himself, if at all.

Somewhere in that spiritual world, Jacob made the acquaintance of Ron’s father, Shalom, and was reunited with Liora, Ron’s mother. No doubt he has shared with them stories of the hurdles he faced in life, the challenges he overcame, and the home life and family he built, a family that bridged with the Saban family, and whose legacy proudly continues…

Thank you, Shabbat Shalom, and I wish you all a freliche Purim.

Purim is Upon Us... (almost!)

2010-02-26T12:22:00.000-05:00

I put my post on the wrong blog...but maybe it's okay, 'cause it's also the right blog.

So click this link to see my Purim post.

Have a freiliche Purim, everyone!

ICE

2010-02-23T15:14:00.000-05:00

I received this today in an email:

Apparently this is a standard procedure all paramedics follow at the scene of an accident when they come across your cell phone.

ICE - 'In Case of Emergency'

We all carry our mobile phones with names & numbers stored in its memory but nobody, other than ourselves, knows which of these numbers belong to our closest family or friends.

If we were to be involved in an accident or were taken ill, the people attending us would have our mobile phone but wouldn't know who to call. Yes, there are hundreds of numbers stored but which one is the contact person in case of an emergency? Hence this 'ICE' (In Case of Emergency) Campaign the concept of 'ICE' is catching on quickly. It is a method of contact during emergency situations. As cell(mobile) phones are carried by the majority of the population, all you need to do is store the number of a contact person or persons who should be contacted during emergency under the name 'ICE' ( In Case Of Emergency).

The idea was thought up by a paramedic who found that when he went to the scenes of accidents, there were always mobile phones with patients, but they didn't know which number to call. He therefore thought that it would be a good idea if there was a nationally recognized name for this purpose. In an emergency situation, Emergency Service personnel and hospital Staff would be able to quickly contact the right person by simply dialing the number you have stored as 'ICE.'

For more than one contact name simply enter ICE1, ICE2 and ICE3 etc. A great idea that will make a difference!

Let's spread the concept of ICE by storing an ICE number in our Mobile phones today!

Please forward this. It won't take too many 'forwards' before everybody will know about this. It really could save your life, or put a loved one's mind at rest. ICE will speak for you when you are not able to.

Dear Lord

2010-02-23T15:03:00.008-05:00

I received this email today:

Dear Lord

This last year you took away my favorite singer,

MICHAEL JACKSON,

my favorite actor,

PATRICK SWAYZE

and my favorite actress,

FARRAH FAWCETT.

Let me remind you

that my favorite politician is

MAHMOUD AHMEDINEJAD.

Please don't forget!

Thank you very much!

Slogan City

2010-02-22T22:50:00.000-05:00

Over the year, have ad slogans or commercial not caught your eye or ear? You think them to be catchy or simply weird.

For years I've had a particular pet peeve about this first slogan. The other slogans also make me wonder...

-- "It's better in the Bahamas." BETTER THAN WHAT?! GIVE ME AN IDEA/HINT/MULTIPLE CHOICE ANSWER!

--"We try harder." THAN WHAT?!

--"Let your fingers do the walking." DOES THAT NOT SOUND JUST A TOUCH KINKY?

-- "Say it with flowers." SAY WHAT WITH FLOWERS?!

Do any of you have any fave or despised ad slogans...?

Another Film Suggestion

2010-02-13T23:21:00.001-05:00

This is a wonderful film -- it turned out to be Canadian, to my surprise! -- taking place in New Delhi, India.

"Amal" is a simple movie name and serves as the name of the simple main character, who lives a simple, hardworking life.

There is a main story line, but several characters and their stories weave themselves into the main story in a "six degrees of separation" sort of way.

The movie is in whatever language -- Hindi? -- with English subtitles. Certain sections of the film are in spoken English, too.

I believe that there are people in the world like Amal. Watch the film and decide if you know any people like that as well.

Clicking on the title of this blog post will take you to the movie's site, so you can see the cast of characters, etc.

Namaste.

It's Snow Not Winter Here

2010-02-11T12:18:00.000-05:00

A couple months ago I announced that I'd rather endure a cold winter than a snowy winter.

Most people are known to disagree with me on that matter, but nonetheless, I had spoken.

And apparently someone up there was listening...

Okay, so we had a few really mild, wet snowfalls here and there, and a lot of sub-arctic temperatures here and there, but it isn't what I'd call a real Canadian winter.

And the 2010 Winter Olympics opening up in Vancouver tomorrow...Are the head honchos simply imagining snow is there for the skiiers and snowboarders, or have they put in a good word to weather headquarters -- and the fake snow makers?

What the f**k is Mother Nature thinking, switching gears and hitting places like Florida, Washington, Virginia and Texas with heavy-duty snowfalls and extreme weather conditions? Some of these places aren't even equipped to handle a frost or mild snowfall, much less a major downfall.

Is Mother Nature laughing just about now, and looking down at me and saying in that very familiar-to-1939-movie-lovers: ["Don't worry...I haven't forgotten you yet there in reasonably dry Toronto"] "I'm going to get you, my pretty! And your little dog [Max] too!"

To that I say: "Bring it on, Mama Nature. I got my snow gear just waitin' for ya!!"

Boycott Mel Gibson

2010-02-11T10:59:00.001-05:00

Boycott Mel Gibson

Hey, Dr. Robin, check this out!

Hi-Tech Kids

2010-02-07T17:58:00.000-05:00

My youngest son, who is almost ten, wants to get a Facebook account. I tell him he's too young; he tells me a classmate already has an account.

Aren't his two email accounts enough? He can't even remember the password for one of them, so if I've sent him messages there, he can't retrieve them.

He asks me to send messages his way, so I find appropriate jokes and emails I get and forward them his way...simply to see him feel important that he has email.

My middle child, who turned twelve in August, has a couple email accounts, but refuses to get Facebook. She doesn't want her info "out there" and believes in privacy...and I'm proud of her for that. She gets annoyed when she sees me posting items about our life on my blog or on Facebook.

When she gets home from school she rushes upstairs "to check my emails." If her friends were in school, and she was in school, who the heck is sending her emails?!?

And after checking her emails, she watches TV show episodes on the computer until she's called to do her homework.

The kid hardly uses our landline telephone anymore; she plans her social activities via email messages back and forth or text messages. I always say, "Adina, can't you make a regular phone call anymore?"

And our eldest, who is 14 1/2, carries his cell phone around with him. He, too, rarely uses the landline, but receives calls via the cell, and makes his calls via the cell. He isn't so into emailing, but I do know he has a Facebook account. I check it once in a while and see his status is still simple-- "Yay, the Leafs won" or "The Raptors won!"

I'm afraid these kids will not only not know how to write in longhand anymore, due to the computer; will not know how to write letters to people, due to writing emails to people; will not know how to use a telephone anymore without texting or a cell phone. I'm nostalgic for "the good old days" and am often slow to change.

But then again, their hi-tech knowledge has helped me learn how to download computer items, has helped me work the digital camera, has helped me learn how to work the TV remotes. These little Einsteins of mine have their fingers on the pulse of technology and know how to use it.

Dosing Up

2010-02-07T14:54:00.000-05:00

I just found a list I'd written about 2 or 3 years ago. It's a list of medications that my father had to take on a daily basis -- I'd told my mother to recite all the meds and that we'd put it on a spread sheet, in a smaller form that she could tote with her.

And tote she did -- to every medical appointment, to every visit to the emergency room and then repeating the list to every doctor who ever saw my father. Doses were altered, medications were altered, some removed, some replaced.

One callous doctor said point-blank to my mother that all my father's medications were keeping him alive!

This list had 13 items, most of which I've no clue what they were meant for:

1. Aspirin, 81 mg, a.m.
2. Novo-Diltiazem -- 240 mg. -- a.m.
3. PMS--Docusate Calcium -- a.m.
4. Domperidon -- 3x before meals
5. Flovent -- 2 puffs, twice daily
6. Neurontin -- 200 mg., morning and evening
7. Novo-Hydrzaide -- 12.5 mg. morning , 1/2 pill
8. Losec 20 -- 1 tablet a.m. (or Pariet , 2 tablets, 1 a.m., 1 pm)
9. Nitropatch -- o.6 on in the morning, off in the evening
10. Altace, Ratio Ramipril 10 mg. -- a.m. and p.m.
11. Senokot -- 2 tablets, pm.
12. Keppra-- 500 mg., morning and 5:00 in the evening
13. Nitro spray -- if needed

At some point soon after, those daily doses were down to 8 drugs, rather than 13. Whoopdie-doo.

There were several times in hospital that the doctors and pharmacists screwed around with the drugs and their doses at the expense of my father's well-being. Sounds ironic, doesn't it? But for a time he was doped up on too high a dosage of an anti-convulsive drug, that he became violent, had delusions... if it wasn't the opposite -- that he was in a semi catatonic state.

Horrible as it was to see the pharmacy that my father's night table had become, I thank G-d that these drugs did help sustain him to a great degree.

Indeed my father and his lengthy illnesses gave swift business to a certain neighborhood pharmacist. The frequent visits by my father and/or mother to the pharmacist helped develop a type of friendship -- if one can call the friendly visits just that -- and when my father died, and the pharamacist heard, he closed up his shop one afternoon to come and pay a shiva call. (he is not a Jew, but was born in East Jerusalem, and is a Christian, I believe) He respected my parents greatly and appreciated them in his life and wanted to pay his respects to our family.

I found this appropriate Chinese proverb to tie in to this blog post: "It is easy to get a thousand prescriptions, but hard to get one single remedy."

Yes, my father had to take countless meds in his lifetime, but in so many ways he healed himself time and time again...simply with his faith and his positive attitude. And he considered visits from his grandchildren to be "the best medicine of all."

I think Jackie Mason said something notable: "It's no longer a question of staying healthy. It's a question of finding a sickness you like."

Shabbat Shalom, Everyone

2010-02-05T13:39:00.000-05:00

Two Ladies(I Love This!)

2010-02-04T16:24:00.000-05:00

Playback

2010-02-04T12:20:00.000-05:00

I've been visiting blogs since October 2004, but I took the plunge to start a blog of my own in December 2004.

What I'm going to do in this post is look back on the blog years and see if there are any posts written on February 4th; if so, I will link to them.

It'll be interesting to see what I might have been doing on this particular February date in another year...

Okay, so I only found two blog posts written on February 4th...

http://wwwpearliesofwisdom.blogspot.com/2005/02/writing-from-inner-self.html

http://wwwpearliesofwisdom.blogspot.com/2006/02/child-4-aka-max.html

Eleven Months

2010-02-01T00:05:00.001-05:00

The first Yahrzeit for my father will fall on Friday, February 26, the 12th of Adar. The following night, Saturday, starts Purim.

Last year, my father died on a Sunday, and was buried the same day, a few short hours later. Shiva started immediately, but on Monday night was the start of Purim, and thus, megillah reading. So we had to get up from shiva to go hear megillah. On Tuesday morning, we also went to hear megillah reading and then came back to the house to sit for almost an "unofficial" day of shiva. We had our seudah that afternoon. I consider it a macabre seudah, as it was actually a shiva meal.

This year we go from Shabbos to Purim. Normally it's customary to sponsor a kiddush the Shabbos before the Yahrzeit, but mine will be the next day, Shabbos morning. Why is that? Because the Yahrzeit -- the 21st! -- for my father-in-law falls the next week, the 18th of Adar. So we are sponsoring a small kiddush the Shabbos between these memorable dates.

How did these two fine men, the paternal backbones of the Saban and Adler families, both happen to die in Adar, and mere days apart? And my father's father, who died when my father was 6 1/2 (my father marked his Yahrzeit for 82 years!), also died at the onset of Adar--the 7th of Adar. That is the day Moses is said to have been born on and then died on 120 years later.

"Mi-shenichnus Adar, marbim b'simcha." When the month of Adar enters, joy is abundant.

How do we act joyous, when our hearts hurt and our memories are overflowing with images of our loved ones who are gone from our lives?

When I go to shul on Shabbos morning, I say Kaddish on my side of the mechitzah. I am now in the 11th month and no longer say Kaddish. This past Shabbos, the words wanted to escape my lips; I had to hold back from murmuring them.

The heart is heavy.

Mark It a Favorite

2010-01-21T00:46:00.000-05:00

On the computer, after I surf the Internet, I often take URLs that I want to remember or continually make us of, copy them and post them to my Favorites list for quick reference.

To that end, I liken Favorites to speed dial on the phone. When you need it quick, it's right there at your fingertips.

So if Favorites is my computer's speed dial , why the heck do I have listings for Toronto's main two Jewish funeral homes!?!?!?!?

(Actually I'll tell you why: it takes the place of the daily newspaper's death listings. And believe me when I say I'm not alone in reading the listings. Apparently, doing so daily is quite common in the Jewish community and perhaps in the community at large.)

Translation Needed

2010-01-15T11:11:00.000-05:00

No discrimination intended on my part, but consider this reality:

Listen to the lyrics of a rap song or watch an African American sports figure/music figure/ actor on a talk show, and what is the common refrain most heard?

"Ya know what I'm saying?"

I guess the person is actually asking, "Do you know what I'm saying...'cause I certainly don't!"

Ding-a-ling-a-ling

2010-01-13T23:02:00.001-05:00

When I was out this morning, I retrieved a message from my home phone number. At first I couldn't make out who it was 'cause I heard several voices speaking to one another. But then I singled out my husband's voice. I was waiting to hear him say something directed at me. But he didn't. Instead, I got to hear a five minute conversation (I hung up after 5 minutes; no doubt it continued) between my husband and one of his co-workers, and was just about to hear some juicy tidbit of information, when I decided I should hang up. I figured I'd speak to my husband later in the day.

I did tell him about that phone call and what I was hearing but that I never heard anything directed to me.

Not ten minutes ago, the phone rang. I saw from call display that it was my husband's cell number. Even at this late hour, he was not home from work yet, having stayed for an evening meeting. I answered hello, thinking he might be calling to say he's on his way.

Instead I heard him talking to someone else. I said hello several times, realized he couldn't hear me and hung up.

So I've come to realize after today's two phone calls from him that...

it's either his ass or his hip or his waist that's calling me.

Unwittingly, those parts of the body are striking whatever speed-dial number I am on his phone and calling me. Those anatomical parts don't necessarily want to talk to me, but they certainly like to make crank phone calls!

You know the expression "to talk out of one's ass"...? Well, today, I guess my husband did!

"Butt dialing": the name given to unintentional dialing that occurs when keys are inadvertently pressed on cell phones stowed in pants pockets or purses.

Bonus!

2010-01-12T23:53:00.000-05:00

...it's BONELESS!

TIME PASSAGES

2010-01-10T01:51:00.000-05:00

My dear father passed away on March 8, 2009. Here is a poem I've written in the past 20 minutes relating to that aspect of my life.

For so long

the words didn’t come

nestled as they were

beneath my breastbone

close to my heart.

Refusing to make an appearance --

in fear

of saying too much

of revealing the gaping wounds

as tangled up as they were

with a death.

With my father’s death.

A year ago.

A mere threehundredandsixtyfive days ago.

In a hospital bed.

With a breathing mask

to allow the chest to rise and fall

rise

and fall

throughout that night

…and into the morning.

We changed the clocks.

Spring ahead / Fall back.

I watched the big hand and little hand

circle ‘round the numbers

again and again

continuously

throughout that night

and into the morning.

5:55.

The last breath was taken.

It was gentle, it was peaceful.

It was over.

A life was over.

Death had begun.

Come Fly with Me

2010-01-06T15:19:00.000-05:00

Okay, so by now you've all heard about the tighter control planned and already in the works for airport security. Thanks, Mr. Terrorist Wannabe, who screwed us all up by trying to blow up a plane en route from Amsterdam to Detroit. You threw a real wrench into the vacation plans of so many people over the holidays, and caused bedlam in airports around the world.

But maybe that's a good thing. We all learn from our mistakes, right? And according to international journalists, we can all learn from Israel's airport and national security measures, right?

So, people, are you prepared for those "pat-downs" (known in teen talk as "cop a feel"...or back when I was a teen that was the term) by an airport official? Are you ready for some official to see the "underworld beneath your clothing?

People are talking about the intrusion of privacy and the fine line between security and privacy. No, children will not be scanned...that could be deemed as perversion. But what about religious people who don't touch a member of the opposite sex and live within restrictions of modesty? What will they do -- they're damned either way! "Don't touch me!" might become a common refrain amidst your fellow travellers in a lineup.

And then there's talk again about what on-board luggage you can bring with you. What qualifies as too big a purse or a tote bag? People intentionally bring big carryalls aboard a plane -- these often house everything you ever wanted or needed, minus the kitchen sink, aboard a 2-hour flight or 20-hour flight.

That's just what's happening on the ground. What about the airborne restrictions re. getting up and walking around, milling outside a bathroom, bathroom visits prior to landing, etc.? I took a long flight to Israel this summer; of course I couldn't sit still for all those hours in my seat. But then again, of course nobody can sit still on an El Al flight 'cause it's like one big block party among your fellow MOTs, several of whom you'll always know. I hung out in the galley and near the bathrooms, talking to people and just having a change of scenery.

And here's the real punch-in-the-gut fact, the tough pill to swallow in all this: no doubt, membership in the "mile-high club" will be down significantly!

It Comes Down To This...

2010-01-01T14:07:00.000-05:00

...I believe Dr. Robin Altman is my only blog reader...and commenter.

After five years of my blogging, it's sadly come down to this: a child psychiatrist comments on my words.

What exactly does that say about me??

Picture This! -- Part 3

2009-12-31T23:13:00.000-05:00

Back in March 2005 and April 2005, I wrote a couple blog posts about my neglect of putting family photos in albums since my oldest son was about 18 months old. His sister came along when Avi was two years, two months and two days. And his brother came along a few years later, in March 2000. Imagine all those baby pics, sitting in photo processing envelopes, in supermarket bags, strewn in drawers, in cupboards, in crawlspaces.

Back in 2005, my husband threatened to take all the pics and put them in albums himself -- my neglect has continually been a sore point with him -- but he would have done so haphazardly, without any sequence. I panicked and was supposed to take on the project a few years ago.

I didn't.

I am pleased to say that I FINALLY took on this photo arranging project this past week.

As I told my husband, Ron, it's the ultimate punishment, the ultimate "I TOLD YOU SO." I've been going batty, trying to find the sequences of each child. Yes, I had actually labeled and dated some of the photos when I got them back from the developer. But those photos in their envelopes are not sitting in any orderly fashion, according to months and years. It's somewhat of a guessing game as I plow through these moments in time.

But I am slowly making headway, and was able to help my firstborn celebrate his second b'day in pictures, then finally bring my daughter into the world and watch her in her first few months.

I stopped putting the photos in albums for now and in the meantime have just been arranging the envelopes with dates and years so that they can be in the correct sequence for when I do place their pics in the albums.

What can I say? It's definitely labor...but a labor of love, as I review our life in photos -- with cherished family members and friends...some of whom have departed this world and whom we miss enormously.

Perhaps lucky for me, my pics mainly carry me up to about 5 years ago. After that? We went digital!

I guess I can sum up my long-overdue photo archiving experience in this way, with this wonderful quote by an unknown author:

She glances at the photo, and the pilot light of memory flickers in her eyes.

KING OF THE CORNER

2009-12-30T22:09:00.004-05:00

I watched this movie tonight with my husband. Peter Riegert, Isabella Rossellini, Eli Wallach, Beverly D'Angelo, Rita Moreno, Eric Bogosian are just some of the stellar cast. It's a sweet, quirky film co-written and directed by Peter Riegert...the "pickle man" from CROSSING DELANCEY.

A man looking for a new purpose in his life finds one that last place he expected in this comedy. Leo Spivak (Peter Riegert) is a man slowly sinking into the quicksand of a midlife crisis. He's become increasingly unsatisfied with his career in product testing, especially now that his young assistant Ed (Jake Hoffman -- [Dustin's son]) has taken to stealing his ideas and passing them on to his boss as his own work. Leo's marriage to Rachel (Isabella Rossellini) is not what it once was, especially now that she's shifted into a constant state of near-hysteria over their daughter, Elena (Ashley Johnson), and her budding romance with an aspiring juvenile delinquent. And Leo is spending every other weekend with his aging father, Sol (Eli Wallach), who has lost his will to live but uncooperatively won't die. As Leo puzzles over his path in life, he finds some very unexpected answers when he makes the acquaintance of Evelyn Fink (Eric Bogosian), a "freelance Rabbi" with some unusual spiritual advice. King of the Corner was directed and co-written by leading man Riegert; the screenplay was adapted from stories in the collection Bad Jews by Gerald Shapiro. ~ Mark Deming, All Movie Guide

King of the Corner (2005)
Uploaded by m0vietrailerpark. - Check out other Film & TV videos.

The Ramen Girl

2009-12-28T10:59:00.004-05:00

I watched this movie on TV last night and although I turned it on about a half hour into the movie, it was WONDERFUL.

Please click on the title of this blog post and you will link to a trailer of the movie.

I'd only seen Brittany in fluffy kinds of movies before, but she was rather masterful in this one.

It was a sweet story, and although Brittany's character Abby is a stranger in a strange land, where things get lost in translation, she manages to overcome and prove her worth.

The characters in the film are well portrayed and I'm glad I sat up till 1:30 watching it.

I give it 4 ****.

The Year in Review: A Brief Summary

2009-12-27T18:13:00.003-05:00

What can I say?

I lost my dear father this year in early March. That set the tone for the rest of 2009.

We celebrated -- in a toned down way -- our dear daughter Adina's bat mitzvah in August.

We traveled as a family to Israel in August.

My oldest child started high school in September.

His braces came off while his friends' braces went on!

Some of my poetry was published.

I marked 16 wonderful years of marriage to my beshert.

The good mixed in with the sad. Such is life...

As 2009 nears its end later this week, I will continue to remember this year's goings-on and will look forward to a brighter 2010.

I wish each and every one of you a bright, happy and healthy 2010. May your year be filled with celebrations of every kind and good times shared with family and friends.

A Blog Oops

2009-12-27T18:10:00.003-05:00

You may notice that the front page of my blog looks slightly different. Unintentionally, I modified the page, but in doing so, my blogroll was erased. So some of you have disappeared.

I've been trying to recall the URLs of those blogs I read/have been reading over the past five years, and am slowly remembering and listing them.

Please, if you know that I read your blog, and you don't see your blog's name on the right-hand side of the page, do me a favor and contact me to tell me. A gentle reminder is all I need.

Thanking you in advance...

Grey Gardens

2009-12-18T09:08:00.004-05:00

Last night I sat and watched this film, starring Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore, and released this year. What a brilliant film, what brilliant acting.

Drew, who normally has quite a noticeable speech impediment, took vocal coaching to learn how to speak EXACTLY like Little Edie. Boy, did she do a super job. As did Jessica.

So super, that these women come across very spooky on the TV screen.

Apparently, much of the film was shot in Toronto -- news to me!

What was even spookier was right after the movie finished, another GREY GARDENS came on, but this time it was the actual documentary released in 1975 about Big Edie and Little Edie. I was very tired and could only stay up to watch a little of the movie, but the eeriness was in the fact that the dialogue, the scenery, the wardrobe were identical (as much as can be) to what I'd watched for two hours prior. Having seen the great similarities, I could then stress even more what fabulous acting Jessica and Drew did.

I do recommend both the documentary and the contemporary films. Perhaps rent them both and watch them in the other order than what I saw: watch the earlier movie first and see how well it was interpreted and reenacted by the 2009 crew.

Another "thinking man's film."

Condoms & Jewish History

2009-12-15T20:31:00.004-05:00

I recently finished reading this book; perhaps it's not the type of book that I'd normally read, but I'm glad that it was recommended and sent to me by a book publicist.

Fromm's story is a fascinating one -- a blend of family, sexual mores, and business...combined with general and Jewish history -- and it left me quite sad and even angry. I might've heard stories in general about the Nazi regime and the power of the German government, but here is a story about a particular family who was robbed of so much of its personal identity.

Fromms Act was the first brand-name, top-quality condom in prewar Germany, and Julius Fromm was the man, the successful entrepreneur, who made the condom and the business behind it a business landmark in Germany.

This book tells about Julius's rise as an emigre from Russia, his work ethics and attempts in the business world, the conditions of Germany for the Jews and general public in the twenties and thirties, and his success. The conditions began to change when Nazi power came into effect, and Fromm's Act and Julius's financial state began to falter.

Julius and his family fled to London in 1939 after being forced to sell his model business for a fraction of its worth. We learn about his homes and personal effects -- and finances --being taken over by the Nazis. This man, who was proud to call himself a German Jew and had built himself up into a status entity, was cheated by the government. . . as were so many others.

The book provides an historical and social look at German Jewry between the wars, and the tragic outcome that befell the country with the onset of Hitler coming to power.

Translated by Shelley Frisch, the book was written by Gotz Aly and Michael Sontheimer, and features photos of the Fromm family and their businesses. It is put out by Other Press. www.otherpress.com .

For an insightful read about a Jewish family within an historical and business perspective, I suggest you find yourself a copy of Fromm's: How Julius Fromm's Condom Empire Fell to the Nazis.

Let's Talk Turkey

2009-11-26T08:59:00.003-05:00

"Gobble, Gobble, Gobble."

Translation: I hope my American friends, family and readers have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

Now count your many blessings and say "Amen."

My Fourth Child

2009-11-21T19:35:00.004-05:00

People tend to recall what made them fall in love with someone ... or something.

This is what made me fall in love with Max...enough to adopt him nearly four years ago.

He continues to be a well-loved member of the Saban household!

Fitting Words

2009-11-15T15:04:00.002-05:00

I am very slow to post pics when necessary -- it doesn't help that I don't know how to download pics from a digital camera and have to wait for my husband to do so.

For that reason, I can't yet post pics of my father's tombstone and its wording, but I can share this pasuk from Tehillim, Chapter 15, Verse 2, that I found and suggested to my brother. It received a thumb's up and appeared on the stone...very appropriate for my father because of what it says and also because he read from Tehillim daily.

הוֹלֵךְ תָּמִים, וּפֹעֵל צֶדֶק; וְדֹבֵר אֱמֶת, בִּלְבָבוֹ

He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh truth in his heart

No Purse Snatchers Here!

2009-11-08T21:06:00.003-05:00

I go to synagogue on a regular basis. It is an Orthodox congregation, Modern Orthodox, with some less observant people thrown in for good measure. I've gotten used to that and am pleased that some people at least make an effort to come to shul, even if they are not Shomrei Shabbos.

Among the women, there are some who come infrequently, toting shoulder bags...reasonably small purses that they string on their shoulders.

Our shul is small, held in the chapel of a Jewish day school. There have been no reports of thefts or purse snatchings in the area. That being the case, please tell me why these purse-toting women cannot put their purses under their seats, or beside them on the bench. When the time comes to stand and pray, they secure their purse straps on their shoulders!

I thought it's sort of a bubby thing to do, something I'd seen in the past...when older women attend bar and bat mitzvahs or weddings and even then often sit with their purses on their laps. Okay, so maybe they think the waitstaff might snatch the purse or its contents while it's resting on the table and they're up on the dance floor doing a Hora or the foxtrot. So that's a bit more understandable.

But it truly is ridiculous for these women in shul -- and there's a 50 year old amidst the noted few -- to sling their purses on their shoulders and join the congregation in praying, especially when they have to bend forward for certain prayers. No doubt those straps slip off the shoulder.

It's not as if all their worldly goods are inside that little pouch; perhaps a house key, (or a car key for some), a breath mint, or a tissue lay in wait. Please, ladies, if you are to bring a purse to an Orthodox shul, don't display it proudly on your shoulder as you daven. You look ridiculous and fearful..

If someone is out to get you, it won't be in shul, it'll be during the kiddush following services!

Ponderings

2009-11-02T09:24:00.002-05:00

I was in the middle of a dream this a.m., just before I woke up. In the dream, I was at the Beth Jacob section of Lambton Cemetery. (where my father is buried) My mother said she didn't want to linger there, even though I wanted to "explore" the area -- I could see stone quarries way up in the distance too -- and read the headstones, and she started to lead the way out, followed by my brothers. I looked behind me and my father ( a much younger, virile version) was with us, trailing me... Then I woke up.

That dream made me sad and pensive at the same time.

We were all together -- younger versions of us -- for a brief time, and it is as if, although my father was "watching my back", he was left behind ... 'cause that's when I woke up.

Yes, he has been left behind in that cemetery in real life, just as in that dream. But contrary to the dream and the feelings it left me with, yesterday, with the unveiling, with the speeches given, with the multiple stones and blades of grass left on the headstone, with the beautiful and perfect wording on the front and rear of the headstone, and with the vast and varied crowd of people who came to honor us and honor our father's memory, I left the cemetery thinking "It's okay now. His place his marked. His murdered-by-the-Nazis family has a final resting place with him. He can now rest in true peace. Everything is truly okay."

***********************************

Some other thoughts that had crossed my mind about the unveiling:

--We changed the clocks yesterday an hour back; my father died on March 8, the day we'd put our clocks ahead. I sat at my father's bedside in hospital with my brothers all through the Saturday night, watching the clock on the wall and checking my watch with its second hand, wondering that at whatever point in time my dad passes away (we knew it was a death watch), will it be deemed via "old time" or "new time."

--We randomly chose November 1 for the unveiling; November 2 was the secular date that my father's mother and sister were massacred in his hometown.

-- Last year, a week from yesterday, we held the unveiling for my mother-in-law.

I think November will forever be a memorable month for us all.

Life Cycles

2009-10-25T22:23:00.004-04:00

In a week's time, G-d willing, Sunday, November 1st, 1:00 p.m., we will be having the unveiling for my father, Jacob Adler, z"l.

He passed away on Sunday, March 8th, 12th of Adar, and was buried a few hours later.

We began to pick up the pieces and try to carry on with our lives as best as we could. Needless to say, it's been the most difficult on my mother, who was physically and emotionally the closest to my father. He was her focal point for over 52 years, but especially for the past several years while his health deteriorated, and her days and nights revolved around him and his well-being.

With that focal point gone, the Adler home has been lonely, the routines have been dispersed.

We began to gently prod my mother in the summer to think about the unveiling and try to decide when to do it: in the summer, before the High Holidays, before the winter...? My mother kept putting off the conversation, as she was not ready to have it. A stone would make it final...too final for her, and she wasn't yet prepared.

But as the months passed by, and the seasons began to change, the topic was open to discussion once more, and we began to take the first steps: discussing when we might have the ceremony, discussing what to put on the headstone, discussing from where to order the headstone and what type of stone and design we should have.

Time. It all took time. Time to talk, time to plan, time to seek out guidance from others who might know better than us all the ins and outs of this task, time to find the right words, the right "pesukim" from holy writings that would encapsulate who my father was--as a person, as a Jew and as a family man.

We are now ready. (Is anyone ever ready, really?) An aunt will be traveling from the U.S. to be with us; a cousin from the U.S. and several of his children will be traveling to be with us. My brother and his wife will be traveling from the U.S. to be with us.

With us. With our family. With our friends. With those who are able to join us in honoring my father's memory and pure goodness.

After the unveiling, I will share with you the inscription on his headstone.

MOTHERS & DAUGHTERS aka Three Generations

2009-10-20T11:48:00.005-04:00

Thought for the Day

2009-10-18T22:12:00.000-04:00

To smile with one’s eyes is a gift.

To smile with one’s heart is a blessing.

My father smiled with his eyes and his heart.

And we were gifted and blessed.

Stripes, Prints or Solids?

2009-10-07T19:22:00.003-04:00

Walk to your linen closet, or to the cabinets under the sink in the bathroom. Open the door. Pull out a handful of bath towels. Look them over very carefully.

What do you see?

Are your bath towels solids? Are they prints? Or are they striped?

I was looking over at the towel rack in my ensuite and it hit me: so many of our towels have stripes. Depending on how the towel is hung, they can be either vertical or horizontal stripes.

Whereas vertical stripes have a thinning effect, horizontal stripes offer the opposite. So why the heck were beach and bath towels designed to be wrapped around one's body in such a way that the stripes are horizontal?!

Women wrap themselves in their horizontal striped towel, then drop the towel to get on the scale and check their weight. "Yay, I dropped those horizontal stripes and three pounds just fell away with them!"

Did the inventor of terry-cloth or plush velour or basic cotton towels decide that white towels were bland and boring, that color needed to be added, that stripes needed to be added to help enhance one's look, that the pruning of one's skin following a lengthy shower or bath just didn't cut it.

Do take a survey and let me know: are the majority of your bath towels striped?

A Sweetie by Any Other Name

2009-09-30T20:06:00.003-04:00

Taffy. Honey. Candy. Sherry.

Food and drink. Mmmm. Yummy. Sweet. Tasty.

Female names. Ewwww. Overkill.

'Nuff said.

Seen on the Scene

2009-09-29T23:09:00.003-04:00

I am not going to public movie theaters this year because I am in my year of mourning for my father, but I do watch movies at home, on TV or on DVD, and late last night I watched much of one movie, and this morning, I watched the tail end of another.

I liked what I saw and would like to make recommendations. Throughout the day I was thinking of these films, recalling snippets of dialogue and action, character development, scenery, etc, and thus I continue to call such movies "thinking men's movies". It wasn't as if I saw them and they flitted out of my head almost immediately, as many films often do. Even though I caught the last 30 minutes of the film this morning, I was entranced and sorry I didn't get to see the complete movie.

They are not lighthearted films in the least, but heavy films. They paint a picture of a time in history, the hurdles people had to confront and how they met their challenges and created their futures.

Grab some popcorn, pull up a seat and watch these films....

The first movie is called "Black Book" or -"Zwartboek"- it is a film about a Jewish woman who becomes part of the Dutch resistance movement in WWII, and infiltrates her way into the Nazi regime. A powerful foreign film, not to be missed.

The movie that I saw a short bit of this a.m. was called "The Great Debaters" -- a drama based on the true story of Melvin B. Tolson, a professor at Wiley College Texas. In 1935, he inspired students to form the school's first debate team, which went on to challenge Harvard in the national championship. The plot touches on racism, lynch mobs, and the Depression.

If you can find the DVDs, watch the films, or if you've already seen them, do let me know what you think.

...And on Yom Kippur It Is Sealed

2009-09-25T14:32:00.003-04:00

...may you all be inscribed in the Book of Life -- for a year filled with good health, happiness, sweetness, success.

As you become introspective and daven hard so that your tefillot will be heard and answered, think about one thing you can do to change in the coming year, to better yourself or the people and place around you.

Baby steps in making a change can equal one big step. I wish you success in taking that first step.

Bejeweled Life

2009-09-21T23:49:00.002-04:00

I'm a blogger. I'm a Facebooker. I'm linked to Twitter, but haven't tweeted yet...although my brothers used to call me a "twit" when I was a kid.

I am now addicted to some Facebook games, namely Jewel Puzzle and Bejeweled Blitz. I spend a lot of time, often in the darkened hall, late at night (such as now!), searching out the similar shapes on the screen.

In playing these two games seriously and somewhat competitively these past couple of weeks, I've come to realize that the games somewhat mirror life:

-- life can be colorful and sparkly, but can sometimes mislead you

-- things move quickly, and if you want to stay in the game, you have to learn the rules

--sometimes you don't quite know what you're doing, but if you hit a few of the right buttons, you can make things work

--patience is necessary at all times

--viewing things from a different angle helps put things in perspective

--all the jewels in the world don't always make you happy

--a competitive streak can give you a headache and tire you out rather rapidly

I challenge you to become "bejeweled" like me...and help put your own life in perspective.

The New Year Takes Healing

2009-09-21T01:16:00.002-04:00

As I stood in shul on Shabbos and Sunday, I thought about my dad.

As I heard the chazzan sing the Hebrew for "On Rosh Hashana it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed" I thought of my dad. I realized that last Rosh Hashana, Hashem had written down my father's name in his book and on Yom Kippur, my father's fate was sealed.

As I heard the calls of the Shofar awakening us to doing Teshuva in the final days before the book is sealed, I thought of my dad.

At one point, I had a random flashback. I recalled my family shul, when services were over and the women would walk down the stairs from the women's gallery to the main level to find their family members. My mother and I would walk down, caught up in the clusters of womenfolk, and I would scan the lower level for my brothers and father. And when I'd reach my father, we'd exchange kisses and I'd be wished "Gut yontif. A gut yohr."

I miss that. I guess I always will.

A Original New Year Greeting (sung to the familiar-to-Ontario "Tiny Talent Time" theme-- more or less)

2009-09-17T06:53:00.008-04:00

This is the end of our year

We hope it did bring you good cheer

Now it is time to prepare

Rosh Hashanah is upon us -- beware.

Take all your acts that you've done

Review them each, one by one,

And if you don't like what you see

Improve them so that you can be...

A better Jew!

Shana Tova to each and every one of you. Have a healthy, happy, prosperous and SWEET year.

Etched in Stone

2009-09-14T07:47:00.006-04:00

Sometime between now and February, a headstone will be going up for my father.

He passed away on March 8th, the 12th of Adar, after declining health, primarily related to head trauma and seizures.

I find it almost incredible that in some circles, the headstone goes up within the first month. How does one find the strength in them to plan, then order, then carry out such a vital part of post-burial.

My mother is having trouble thinking about even ordering a stone, much less organizing the unveiling. "It seems so final," she says.

Unfortunately, it is final. Every day without her husband/my father/our "Zaydie" in our lives makes it a finality of sorts.

I am forever seeking out passages from the Bible that I can suggest to the family be put on his stone...something that will epitomize the man that he was. A few short lines will have to suffice, but in reality, countless psukim would fit. And as a Levi, he had his place of importance in shul, which can translate to an etching of a water pitcher on his headstone. The man was never far from his Tehillim (Book of Psalms), and that can be another etching. But the words....

And some years ago, it was decided that my father's headstone would also commemorate the lives of my father's mother and two sisters who perished in the Holocaust. The wording for that is also a consideration; although mention will probably be made on the back of the headstone, do we name names, or are we vague and just say "family"; if we name names, do we write them in Hebrew or English?

There really is no right or wrong when one has to order wording for a headstone. One just hopes that the message is clear: the person was loved by someone and his/her memory is to be honored in stone in a perpetual way.

May you all have a long life!!

Wrong Again!

2009-09-09T08:46:00.002-04:00

I just finished telling you in my last post that it's often said (especially when it comes to writing/speaking) the straight -- not circuitous -- route from A to B is the best.

Wouldn't you know it! Apparently I'm wrong.

Just finished eating breakfast and reading the newspaper. Came to the horoscopes. Here's today's "forecast" for Libra, my sign:

The shortest route from A to B is not necessarily the quickest. Often, circuitous routes prove to be the most expedient. You're on the right path, even if it seems a bit slow.

After having read this horoscope, I realize it must be me -- not the path I'm on -- that seems a bit slow!

Less Is More

2009-09-07T16:30:00.002-04:00

I don't live a very abbreviated life. I'm very detailed, descriptive and long-winded when I speak. I drag out doing chores and other things on my T0 Do list. I simply do not get "to the point" in conversations or even in blogs. But today I will.

Over the years, I've been told over and over "LESS IS MORE" when it comes to writing. Instead of taking a circuitous route to get your piece from point A to point B, you take a direct one and say what you have to say. Your words will likely have more impact, I'm told, and will keep your reader's attention.

So here is a personal essay about this subject:

Less Is More

The end.

Please Tell Me...

2009-08-30T22:45:00.002-04:00

why kids are so fascinated by this, why they are so gung-ho to eat hard-boiled eggs...when this object is on the table?

Think about it: it's a knife of sorts. As Wikipedia explains: An egg slicer is a food preparation utensil used to slice peeled, hard-boiled eggs quickly and evenly. An egg slicer consists of a slotted dish for holding the egg and a hinged plate of wires or blades that can be closed to slice.

My kids -- and their friends -- get very excited when I offer them hard boiled eggs. The "oohs & ahhs" are audible when the egg slicer accompanies the bowl of cooked eggs to the table. They argue about who will be the first to use the slicer, which way they should position the egg in the slicer, if they should double-slice the eggs to make them really small pieces, ie. messy crumbs aka prelude to egg salad.

I haven't yet shared a secret about the egg slicer with my kids and their friends: it can also be used for mushrooms! Shh...don't spill the beans, um, I mean the egg, um I mean the mushrooms.

A Mother's D'var Torah

2009-08-30T10:55:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was my daughter's bat mitzvah. She gave a d'var Torah at shul after davening, and we had a kiddush for the congregation. Then our family and some of my daughter's friends came back to our house for lunch.

I gave a d'var Torah; I didn't realize that I would get choked up and would falter, having to stop a few times to reel in my emotions and gather myself. A simcha isn't 100% a simcha when some very important people in your life are missing. Memories and feelings surface even from the deep subconscious and control one's thoughts and emotions.

My daughter is twelve. Sadly enough, her Savta and Zaidy were not there in person to share her special day.

August 29, 2009.
Parshat Ki-Tetze
Speech at Adina’s bat mitzvah lunch at home:

Good Shabbos, family and friends, and thank you for joining us today.

Sixteen years ago, in 1993, I spent Shabbos Nachamu, which fell on the last day of July, at the home of who was to become my future mother-in-law, Liora, z”l. When I called home after Shabbos, my parents asked me, “Any news?” They were hinting at whether or not I’d gotten engaged over Shabbat. The answer was “No.”

Four years later, I spent Shabbos Nachamu at home, and the last 45 minutes of that Shabbos were spent at North York General Hospital, on the Maternity floor, with 20 of those 45 minutes being given over to giving birth to my second child.

When told, “It’s a girl!” my immediate reply was “I fished my wish!” And when Shabbos was out some twenty minutes later, we were able to call my parents and my mother-in-law and answer the “Any news?” question with a resounding “Yes” and “Mazel tov!”

From the time that I was a young girl, growing up with brothers, I’d always hoped that a daughter would be in my future. I’d wanted to be able to name a daughter after my father’s, z”l, cherished youngest sister, Meriam, who perished in the Holocaust.

Our own Meriam – Adina Meriam, to be exact – is equally cherished.

Finding herself between an older and a younger brother, Adina has grown up learning to be a little tough and defend herself, while at the same time, showing her delicate, sensitive, all-caring side, a true reflection of her first name. Yes, there may be bickering and hormone-related arguments regularly ensuing in our home between Adina and her brothers, but a camaraderie definitely exists and I’m hopeful this kinship will develop strongly over the years.

My daughter has the same blue eyes & freckles I have. But for the most part, our similarities are mainly physical. Growing up, I was quiet, an introvert, insecure in my surroundings. Adina, on the other hand, has proven herself to be -- from a young age -- very social. Always happy among others, laughing, sharing secrets, making others feel secure in their surroundings, and instantly becoming friends with strangers.

Her helpful, nurturing, caring side are evident in her interaction with adults, friends, young children and animals, and clearly were there in her interaction with her late Savta and Zaidy, as they are with her Bubby.

Adina loves to draw and read. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s read the same book from cover to cover, but if she’s enjoyed it, she’ll read it yet again. The Harry Potter series is just one example.

Her creativity comes through in her artwork, in her flare for fashion, and in her very detailed conversations, stories and image-filled poetry. Ah, a girl after my own heart…

We recently returned from a family trip to Israel. After so many years of not being in that wonderful country, Ron and I got to experience Israel not only from our own points of view, but from that of our children, as well, who were experiencing Israel for the first time. It is evident from Adina’s photos and conversations in Israel that she took it all in, observing fine details with her “Adina viewfinder.”

This week’s parsha, Ki Tetzei, teaches numerous mitzvot, such as: returning lost items to their rightful owners; loaning money to one's fellow Jew free from interest; what one is permitted to or prohibited from taking from another Jew as loan security, shatnez (wool and linen together); tzitzit; and dealing fairly and truthfully with one's fellow Jews in business. The Maftir aliyah of our parsha tells us collectively to remember, for all time the actions of Amalek, who attacked B'nai Yisrael when they were weak, while blotting the remembrance of Amalek from the earth. We remember the Amalek without, as well as the Amalek within; lo nishcach v'lo nislach - we won't forgive and we won't forget.

The parsha speaks about other mitzvot, such as sending a mother bird away before taking the young or the eggs, helping one's fellow Jew load and unload a burden, fencing in a roof area, and not harnessing together different species of animals on the same yoke.

In short, our parsha emphasizes the unity that evolves from collective responsibility, kindness, caring and fairness for and with each other. Among many of the taught mitzvot, compassion and protection are common themes.

Our wish -- mine, Abba’s, Avi’s, and Noam’s -- for you, Adina, is that you will continue to be, as well as, further develop the compassionate person you are, who is also passionate about certain interests and ideals…including shmirat halashon. You often make us aware of our words to you and our words about others, and for that we’re grateful. May you continue to be protective of your own words, protective of the people around you and protective of your Jewish values and ideals.

Mazel tov, Adina, on becoming a Bat Mitzvah. We love you!!

Coincidences of the Wonderful Kind

2009-08-23T19:17:00.003-04:00

When I first visited and spent time in Israel all those years ago, I had several coincidences happen to me, mainly with running into people in special circumstances. I thought then "Only in Israel."

We had a couple incidents happen this time 'round too. And it made me once again think "Only in Israel" and "the world is very small...and seems to be getting smaller and smaller all the time!"

Between early January and mid-March 1984, I was a volunteer on Kibbutz Lavi. Not only was I a volunteer, I was the ONLY North American volunteer at the time. When I'd gone to the Mizrachi office in Israel to try and organize a volunteer stint on a religious/Kosher kibbutz, the shaliach suggested I go to her kibbutz. As long as it was close enough to a main city, I was game.

As well, the kibbutz was deemed an Anglo kibbutz, having been founded by Americans and English olim.

So on the kibbutz, I lived with the "garin." These are religious soldiers who have placement on kibbutzim and also learn in Jerusalem. I was given a host family, and became an adoptive daughter to Moshe and Tova (Toby ) Winter, former New Yorkers.

Over the years upon my return to Toronto, I did maintain some contact with the Winter family, but that dwindled and disappeared about 12 years ago or more.

On this trip, our family took a side trip with friends to the north for a couple of days: Tiberias, Tzfat, Rosh Pina, the Golan. As we were traveling on the familiar highway that passes Kibbutz Lavi, I said that if we'd have time, it would be nice to stop in there, let my kids see what a kibbutz looks like -- especially the kibbutz their mom worked on -- and maybe look up the Winter family.

We drove around the perimeters of the kibbutz and I pointed out the well-known kibbutz hotel where I worked for a time in the dining room, and then our friend pointed out a woman and said, "She looks like she's been on the kibbutz a while; let's ask her if she knows your kibbutz family and where to find them."

My husband stopped the van and our friend addressed the woman in Hebrew asking if she knows where to find "Mishpachat Winter." She replied, "Eyzeh?" (which one?) Our friend said, "Moshe." The woman then calls out to a man who's walking nearby and in Hebrew says, "Moshe, someone is looking for you!"

The man came to the car, and there stood my "adoptive" dad! I called out from the back seat , saying who I was, and that I hadn't been there in 25 years. He immediately invited us to come visit at the house with his wife.

Can you imagine that this man was davka RIGHT THERE when we were seeking him out!?

We did have a lovely reunion with his wife and I saw a couple of his sons, who were just children at the time I was there before.

Kibbutz Lavi has a hotel and also has a factory where they build synagogue furniture. A couple of the Winter sons, who still live on the kibbutz, are involved with that. And wouldn't you know it-- back in April/May, one of those sons was in Toronto to oversee the installation of some of the furniture in an addition to a Chabad shul that is a mere 7 minute walk from my house. That son stayed at a private home a street away from us!?

The reunion and the fact that Moshe Winter was right there when we asked about him certainly put a smile on my face and on the faces of our family and friends.

Only in Israel....

Something I Copied from a Display in Yad Vashem (the photo is an image off Google, though)

2009-08-18T21:22:00.004-04:00

"Not the bridge, not the barbed wire,
Not even the gate is the symbol of the ghetto...

The symbol of the ghetto is the pot..."

--from the notes of Yosef Zelkowicz in the Lodz Ghetto

BLUSH

2009-08-18T15:16:00.002-04:00

We landed in Toronto about 6:30 a.m. on Sunday, got into our house by 8:00 a.m., and at 11 a.m. my husband and I were already back in the opposite direction suburbs (very close to the airport, as a matter of fact), to attend an unveiling of a family friend.

Following the unveiling, everyone was invited back to the house of one of the children, to drink a l'chaim and partake in some food. I asked one of the children what the house number was, and thought I remembered it.

By the time we got back to the family member's street some time later, the house number had completely left my mind. My husband and I started to drive down the not-too-long street, and look for any house that had several vehicles parked nearby, and hopefully familiar ones. We parked and began to walk.

We passed a house and a man came out. I said to my husband, "That man was at the unveiling. This must be the house." But just to be sure, as he walked down the driveway, I asked if this was the F----berg home, and he said yes.

On the balcony outside was a basin of water to wash hands after the cemetery (we'd already done so outside our car), so we assumed this was the house. We walked in....

I began to look for members of the family or friends I recognized. Not a one in sight. No family photos on the wall either to indicate thiswas indeed the F------berg home.

My husband and I decided then and there we were no doubt in the wrong house! OY, with a capital O and Y !

How does one walk in and walk out within seconds without seeming obvious? Well, my husband ended up speaking to a person who looked like a homeowner, seemingly because we had "lost puppy" and bewildered expressions on our faces, and explained the situation. She smiled, my husband expressed his condolences to her, and she gave us directions to the correct house.

When we got to the correct house, we told our story. Someone topped it by telling a story of someone who went to the wrong banquet hall for a bar mitzvah, ate appetizers there, wished the bar mitzvah kid mazel tov on camera...and then discovered that they were at a bat mitzvah, not a bar mitzvah, and at the wrong hall.

I guess the moral of the story is: May we only share simchas!!

Glimpses into the Holy Land

2009-08-18T08:08:00.002-04:00

I just returned with my family from a two-week trip to Israel.

I haven't been to Israel in years...25 to be exact! So much has changed, so much has remained the same.

The physical landscape has changed, with new buildings and development throughout the country.

But the heart of Israel -- the Jewish nation -- remains. Every visible stripe of Jew can be found throughout. Every type of kippah and head covering adorn the heads of men and women. Tzitzit fringes flutter freely on men and boys of every size.

Jerusalem. The city of gold...and pink...and white...and blue. Magnificent, beautiful, striking and enveloping. Coddling us, as we coddle it.

People tell me that when they travel UP to Jerusalem, they are encaptured by an overwhelming rush of emotion, a pure happiness meant to sustain. I understand that myself now. A deflation of sorts happens as you drive down, out of Jerusalem, its scenery reflected in the rearview mirror.

To attend a wedding, with the backdrop of Jerusalem as the tableau, the bride and groom under the open-aired chupah, the glass being broken followed by a beautiful cantorial rendition of "Im Eshkachech Yerushalayim (If I Forget Thee, O Jerusalem)" takes one's breath away. As does the country. As do the sunsets. As do the Welcome signs.

Israel...IS Real.

RC...and I Don't Mean the Cola

2009-07-09T08:58:00.003-04:00

Back in June 1980, just before I graduated from high school (GASP!), I, Ms. Sentimentality, passed around an autograph book to classmates and friends to sign.

One of the autographs has always stood out in my mind.

The message read:

Poil Baby:

Well it looks like the jig is up! It's been a pleasure, and I hope I bump into you some day on easy street.

Stay well,

Zei Gesundt [this was actually written in Yiddish]

Robert Cait

Now I'm not sure why I always remembered this message as opposed to most others in my autograph book -- I think it was the haimesche Yiddish sign-off that might've done it...or NOT.

In any case, the jig was never up for Robert Cait, and although I haven't run into him in the past twenty-nine years, I'd like to think that he's on easy street...or at least "easier street."

Robert Cait was a classmate of mine in my Jewish day school and eventually in the public high school I attended for my last 3 years of high school. Not only was he a classmate, but for a time, his mother was our principal! And not only was he a classmate, but he was a FUNNY classmate.

He has honed his humor over the years, honed his acting skills, developed his voice to do voice-overs (actually he's called a "voice actor") and gone on to do what he has always loved: COMEDY.

These days he often blends his humor with his Jewishness, and as a result his DVD "KOSHER, NOT KOSHER" evolved.

Here he shares some of his taste in comedy. And here. And here. And here are some more of his thoughts: "Don't cross the Jewish mafia...they'll put a sub-contract out on you." or "My mother was actually part of the Jewish mafia. But now she's in the witness overprotection program." or "Noah and the ark? Not Jewish. No Jew could travel with all of that meat and not barbeque."

And when and if you have some time, check out Luke Ford's interview with Rob. His relaying aspects of day school made me smile...

And ordering and watching Kosher, Not Kosher will no doubt make you smile too.

We're Raising a Graduate

2009-06-22T22:36:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow night, our eldest, Avi, will be graduating from middle school -- grade 8.

In my day, we called it junior high; in my day, graduation took place at the end of grade 9. Grades 7, 8, 9 comprised junior high. These days, grades 6, 7, 8 comprise middle school.

I still remember September, 9 years ago, taking Avi to school for senior kindergarten. At the time, I was still on maternity leave, till October, with my youngest son, Noam. I would take Avi, and shlep the baby in his carrier till Avi was settled in the school yard with his friends.

It's been very interesting and wonderful to watch him grow up over the years since senior kindergarten. His general characteristics of being kind and respectful, shy, but happy-go-lucky have not changed. His love of sports -- especially baseball -- has not changed. His learning methods have not changed. His teachers' comments about him have not changed. His choice of friends has not changed.

He's a good boy, who still needs to discover the world, take it by the horns and make it his own. I'm hoping that it will come with maturity and more experiences -- perhaps high school will do the trick.

Avi, mazel tov on reaching this wonderful milestone. You are a mensch who makes us proud.
May you go m'chayil l'chayil (from strength to strength), and continue to be a happy boy, who has been known for years as "SMILEY."

We love you.

My Parents

2009-06-17T19:55:00.002-04:00

This photo was taken one Sunday morning in late December at a cousin's bar mitzvah. My father, as a Levi, was given an aliyah, and I believe it was probably his last one.

This is my dear "Swiss Miss" mom, Lilli (she should be well), with her -- and our -- beloved Jacob (Jack).

Father's Day is coming up this Sunday. Without my father.

My parents' 53rd wedding anniversary will be coming up on June 24. Without my father.

My father's 89th birthday will be on July 4. Without my father.

"Without my father." What a sad refrain, isn't it? But it's a reality these days, and once again, I am more than thankful for the many years we had WITH MY FATHER.

Hug your parents. Tell them how much you love them. Bring honor to the family name. Make your parents proud. Realize they are simply human -- like you -- and make mistakes, as well.

And always, always keep your treasury of family memories alive.

A Life in Pictures

2009-06-15T11:30:00.002-04:00

My brother sent me this link to this wonderfully moving photojournalism essay.

Study each picture, study the words, study the facial expressions, study the love of a son for a father as depicted visually and via the written word.

Happy Birthday...Now Pay Up!

2009-06-13T23:06:00.002-04:00

In less than an hour, my oldest son will G-d willing turn 14 years old. Fourteen years ago on June 14, 1995, I gave birth to this beautiful 9 1/2 pound son in a very short time frame and with no drugs. Okay, lots of screaming on my part but no drugs.

You know what? Come to think of it, these days, there is still lots of screaming on my part but no drugs. I guess that's par for the course of having 3 children -- one teenager, one prepubscent daughter, and a nine-year-old.

Anyhow, I was just going through emails after Shabbos and there was one from Avi's orthodontist."A REMINDER FROM DR. SHAPIRO'S OFFICE said the subject line. I suddenly thought, "Does Avi have an appointment early next week that I didn't remember?" I opened the message and it said "Happy Birthday, Avi, from Dr. Shapiro and the team!"

I smiled and then thought to myself: this is not like a $3 or $4 Hallmark or American Greetings card, this is like a $5000+ card... After all, if it weren't for Avi's braces and dental work, Dr. Shapiro wouldn't even know our family -- or the birthday boy!

And I recalled other b'day cards we receive annually...from our financial advisor. Hmmm...those cards for myself and my hubby also come at a cost. It's more like an investment, I'd say.

Isn't it interesting to note that b'day greetings often come with (hidden) price tags...?

1000th Post aka The Men in My Life

2009-06-04T14:20:00.002-04:00

I began this blog in late 2004...and am now at my 1000th post. Yes, the posts have slowed down over the past year or so -- not because of time restrictions, but because of not always having something to say, or to the other extreme, having TOO MUCH to say yet thinking "Who would want to read these inner-most deep feelings...maybe I should keep something to myself."

But in any case, this post is a tribute to the men in my life, for they are all good men with good hearts, generosity of spirit, and true menschlichkeit.

My father, Jacob, z"l, who passed away on March 8th, reigned supreme among these men. He led by example, he didn't practice idle gossip or slander or lies. He was a straightforward man, a decent businessman, and generous beyond his means. A loving father, a wonderful husband, he only knew how to give. Sometimes he simply reacted to circumstances, not completely thinking them through, but letting his warm self shine through.

Last night, when my husband did something really nice for me, along the same lines as my father would've done, I recalled this incident.

Some 25+ years ago, I had a summer office job, which I'd recently started. At the time there were some serious family matters going on, which often took my parents' attention. One day, around noon, I called and spoke to my mom. I then asked, "Where's Dad?" She didn't know, saying he'd just gone out with the car.

About 10 minutes later, the office door opens, and in walks my dear father...a smile on his face and a bowl in his hands. That bowl held cherries. "I washed them for you. I wanted you to have them." Now some people might think that was some kind of smothering parental tactic, but I say absolutely not. This example simply reflects who my dad was: he thought of something, wanted someone to have it, and made every effort to give that person that something. He took pleasure in others having pleasure.

I wish my father were around today to bring me another bowl of washed cherries...

Last night, I was attending my oldest son's baseball game. My husband had taken my youngest son to his game a couple hours earlier. It was very cold and I could've stood to be wearing a winter jacket and gloves while sitting on those metal benches. But not me, just a long-sleeved top, a hoodie on that and a light spring jacket.

I'd spoken to my husband and asked if he had any blanket in his car, which he could bring to me. He didn't, so I said forget it.

About 40 minutes later, I called home, wanting to know if he'd arrived home and to let him know that I was coming home for something warm. My daughter told me that Ron had already been home and left.

Not 10 minutes later, he's crossing the park field toward me with a blanket and two chair pads to sit on.

I turned to my friend alongside me and said, "That's Ron for you. And that's something my dad would've done too."

And I know that is something my two older brothers, Michael and Jerry, would have also done. They continually give of themselves, expecting nothing in return. We used to say that my brother Michael was most like my dad, but throughout my father's extended illness and hospitalizations, I realized that Jerry too was very much like my dad.

I am proud and thankful to say that my two sons, Avi and Noam, follow the Adler men in their demeanor. They are considerate, they are generous, they are sensitive to others' needs...and it all shows naturally.

May Hashem bless the men in my life to continue living life in the warm and generous way they do...just as my father did.

Happy Shavuot...or, Smile & Say "Cheese"

2009-05-28T10:36:00.002-04:00

Someone Left His Good Manners at Home

2009-05-26T10:42:00.004-04:00

This is just going to be a rant post.

I was at a very elegant fund-raiser dinner last night for our children's school, which celebrated its 25th anniversary. The dinner honoured the school's nine past presidents, as well as one of its benefactors who died too young, too soon.

Along with being a parent at the school, I volunteer for different programs at the school -- including being on one of the committees affiliated with this dinner. I am never a leader, but am happy to be a follower, thus I sit on committees, I don't head them.

I wouldn't be wrong to say the school population is somewhat elitist, in many ways. Just come to the parking lot and you'll see countless luxury vehicles. Check out the addresses of the students, and you'll see what I mean.

I have no interest ever in "keeping up with Cohens" but it is always clear to see how "money talks."

Last night I was standing alongside my husband as he talked to an acquaintance. A few minutes later, another school parent came hurrying over, hand outstretched to my husband's acquaintance and immediately started talking to the man.

This "young pisher" -- a good 10 years our junior -- not only interrupted my husband's conversation, he didn't even bat an eyelash to my husband, nor to me, and gave a return limp handshake to my dear husband, who stretched out is hand in a menschlich kind of way. I was shocked as I watched this other person, and I could see my husband was also taken aback by this young man's abrupt/rude behaviour.

It isn't as if we don't know him, or he doesn't know us. Our kids are in school together, often socialize together, we've sat at their Shabbos table in the past, we make it a point to be friendly whenever we see he or his wife, even if we don't move in the same circles.

I so would have liked to say something to this guy. And I can imagine him saying "I'm sorry...I didn't realize what I was doing." But I wouldn't give him the benefit of the doubt; I can imagine this scene replaying itself over and over, knowing who this person is and what his station is in life.

I recall relaying something similar in a post a few years ago; the setting primarily was the shul we attended at the time, as well as the kids' school. I think sometimes that rude stems from a feeling of entitlement.

So in the meantime, I have to air my grievances publicly on my blog, without naming this person, but truly wanting to do so.

Rudeness and bad manners simply rub me the wrong way. When a type of arrogance is enmeshed in that rudeness, I am more than peeved.

Aside from wanting to confront such people about their behaviour, more than anything, I hope they will be on the receiving end of such behaviour time and time again. Maybe they'll begin to recognize just how wrong it is....

One can only hope!

Scared Canine Gets Smart!

2009-05-17T22:02:00.004-04:00

Our dog, Max, is rather smart...even if he cocks his head sideways sometimes as if he's clueless as to what you're saying.

Here's the perfect example from tonight:

I wanted to let him out the back door to do his thing in the yard, and he went out a couple of paws (translation: inches/yards), then headed back into the kitchen almost immediately.

At first I had no idea why he'd done that, but I heard the sound of fireworks, and that's when I saw Max run upstairs. I'd assumed he'd gone to hide out on one of the beds he enjoys sleeping on.

Nuh-uh! When I followed him upstairs, I found the dog under the computer table in the main upstairs hallway.

When had he gotten into social sciences textbooks? How had Max known that during air raids, bombs, earthquakes, and school lockdowns people are told to hide under tables and desks?

I guess to him the sound of exploding fireworks mimics that of exploding bombs, and he thinks "bomb=hiding under desk"!

Then again, maybe he figured that sooner or later I'd end up at that computer writing a blog post about how smart he is, and knew that my presence would be an added comfort.

Smart dog -- he was right!

A Shoe-In

2009-05-12T22:42:00.003-04:00

What do Dorothy and the Pope have in common?

[Cue (annoying, yet catchy) music from Jeopardy...]

She visits the Emerald City. He lives in the Vatican City.

Nope. Not the answer I was looking for.

The shoes. Those red (Prada, I'm told) shoes of his keep him grounded. Dorothy also wore red shoes.

Remember the refrain after she clicked her heels 3 times? "There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home."

Well, I've been informed of the answer to the question "Why does the Pope wear red shoes?"

In case he needs to get back to the Vatican real quick, he clicks his heels... and says..."There's no place like Rome...there's no place like..."

Now I don't truly mean to insult his eminent Holiness, and I understand that the wearing of those red shoes have a history and a meaning, but c'mon, those shoes are so "fly" that I'd expect to see them on this website. Talk about a pair of traffic stoppers!