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Wow, I woke up a few minutes ago to the radio news that Jetsgo, a discounted airline, based in Quebec but flying out of Toronto to points beyond, has gone belly-up. Today for some is also the unofficial start of Spring Break. So can you imagine the havoc that is at the Toronto airport today for people who booked flights with this airline. I don't even want to imagine the chaos that awaits them when they get to the terminal for their anticipated flights.
Apparently the signs for the airline are already gone, there are no representatives manning the ticket counters, and I just couldn't even link to their website when I tried. Either they've dropped it off the Internet or traffic to get to it has clogged the system.
There are several ironies to this entire thing.
One of them is their branding line: "Pay a little, fly a lot." Well, I guess that even paying a little wasn't enough!
Another irony is that they have continual deals to try and grab you. Currently it was a 1 cent sale -- you could fly westbound and pay only a penny for leaving the city...plus a chunk in airport and airline taxes, which no longer made it a penny. A couple weeks ago, it was a 1 dollar sale -- same premise, only a dollar to leave the city for points westbound.
Another irony is that yesterday, specifically when I heard a Jetsgo radio spot ad, I was kicking myself in the tuches for not planning a future trip with the airline; today I was thanking G-d that I hadn't.
For several weeks, I've been online seeking out the best flight deals to travel to California in the early summer -- it is an expensive flight any way you plan it, any airline you go with. A few weeks ago, I happened on this Jetsgo site, and saw they were offering a $1 promotion that was expiring at 11:59 p.m. that night -- I was on the computer after 11:00 that night. I found a "great" deal that would've run me just under $300 + cancellation insurance, but I couldn't commit to it because the trip for me was too far off. I thought maybe I'd pay and then find a better deal elsewhere. But since that time, I've checked elsewhere, and everything is more expensive. Even Jetsgo flights were over $100 more after that specific date. So daily I would see flight prices and then reprimand myself as to why I hadn't booked with that super special.
So you can understand why today I was thanking G-d that I hadn't!
"...I'm leavin' on a jet plane..." Hey, Peter, Paul and Mary, Jetsgo is no longer the way to go.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Artist-in-Training
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Here, people, is the recreated post from yesterday afternoon, the one that vanished into the blogosphere, headed for parts unknown. Perhaps it is not as eloquent as the original was -- I warned in an earlier post that it was a cheap knockoff!
I have three lovely children, thank G-d, but I do not like to talk about them too much. No, it doesn't have to do with "ayin harah" but it has everything to do with not liking to brag...about anything! Once in a while, I offer up some story of an antic or some witticism spoken by one of the three -- people, as evidenced, always appreciate a good story about a child -- but generally I don't. Yes, I'll praise them to their faces, or even to their teachers and grandparents, but I'm not interested to sit and compare notes with friends/strangers/sisters-in-law about the trio's accomplishments.
But I will dedicate this post to my seven-year-old daughter. For the most part she is a lovely child, a delicate and fine child. But sometimes we've considered changing her name to REVA because of her desire to be argumentative and feisty. I didn't know that PMS can kick in at his young age! Poopoopoo, she is a pretty little girl with crystalline-blue eyes that draw people in (when she was an infant and just a few weeks old, a male friend warned us to sign her up for a life in a convent: that's how attractive her eyes are), and with her smattering of faint freckles across the bridge of her nose, there's a wholesome, natural look to her. Perhaps there's a Ralph Lauren print ad in her future...? Any agents out there?
This child has more fine art talent in her little finger than I have in my whole hand. What a pleasure it's been to watch her artistic renderings develop over time. I used to watch her progress in kindergarten from the beginning of one week until the end of the week. At the week's onset, she'd be drawing stick figures. By week's end, those stick figures were lucky to have detailed additions to their "wardrobes" and "facial features"!
It's the details that are astounding...and upon first examining her "portfolio"--read: countless of scrap papers lying all over the house -- one does not see the details. But look a little longer, and you're amazed at what's she's depicted.
A couple of examples:
Two weeks ago, she was at the kitchen table drawing a ballerina, and I was at the sink washing dishes. She began to talk to me about ballet slippers and I listened with half an ear as she continued to talk and draw. The next morning, when I looked down at the picture that had been abandoned on the table, I indeed could see a beautiful ballerina there, and my daughter had also drawn ballet slippers...but not just any kind of plain, flat ballet slippers. She drew Giselle-like ballet slippers with ribbons running up and around the legs.
A few weeks before that, I told her to make a picture for someone at work, a designer from the art department. All I told her was that he has two teenage daughters. She chose to do a pen-and-ink "tchikchuk" (Hebrew for "extremely quickly"), and I thanked her for it and told her I'd give it to the designer the next day. I had it on the seat next to me in the car and when I finally parked and moved to get out of the car, I looked closely at the drawing. She'd drawn a baseball cap on the designer, a bikini on his wife, one-piece bathing suits on his daughters and in between each of them was a surfboard, stuck in sand, with the ocean waves behind them. All this in pen-and-ink.
Granted, her drawing and love for drawing works for and against her. While she should be doing homework, she's doing portraits of the family and displays them in her gallery: on the refrigerator door. When I tell her to stop drawing and start doing schoolwork, she pacifies me, "Mummy, it's a picture of you!"
And when she hands me these pictures, I'm most flattered. I've got on very funky clothing (I don't even own any funky clothes). I have great hairstyles, and pouty lips, which are always smiling. I have long and beautiful Maybelline-like eyelashes. But best of all, I'm skinny!!!
I do hope that this daughter of mine will continue to grow in and develop her artistic abilities for many years to come. After all, I could stand to have countless more of those "I'm skinny" portraits hanging in my gallery!
Here, people, is the recreated post from yesterday afternoon, the one that vanished into the blogosphere, headed for parts unknown. Perhaps it is not as eloquent as the original was -- I warned in an earlier post that it was a cheap knockoff!
I have three lovely children, thank G-d, but I do not like to talk about them too much. No, it doesn't have to do with "ayin harah" but it has everything to do with not liking to brag...about anything! Once in a while, I offer up some story of an antic or some witticism spoken by one of the three -- people, as evidenced, always appreciate a good story about a child -- but generally I don't. Yes, I'll praise them to their faces, or even to their teachers and grandparents, but I'm not interested to sit and compare notes with friends/strangers/sisters-in-law about the trio's accomplishments.
But I will dedicate this post to my seven-year-old daughter. For the most part she is a lovely child, a delicate and fine child. But sometimes we've considered changing her name to REVA because of her desire to be argumentative and feisty. I didn't know that PMS can kick in at his young age! Poopoopoo, she is a pretty little girl with crystalline-blue eyes that draw people in (when she was an infant and just a few weeks old, a male friend warned us to sign her up for a life in a convent: that's how attractive her eyes are), and with her smattering of faint freckles across the bridge of her nose, there's a wholesome, natural look to her. Perhaps there's a Ralph Lauren print ad in her future...? Any agents out there?
This child has more fine art talent in her little finger than I have in my whole hand. What a pleasure it's been to watch her artistic renderings develop over time. I used to watch her progress in kindergarten from the beginning of one week until the end of the week. At the week's onset, she'd be drawing stick figures. By week's end, those stick figures were lucky to have detailed additions to their "wardrobes" and "facial features"!
It's the details that are astounding...and upon first examining her "portfolio"--read: countless of scrap papers lying all over the house -- one does not see the details. But look a little longer, and you're amazed at what's she's depicted.
A couple of examples:
Two weeks ago, she was at the kitchen table drawing a ballerina, and I was at the sink washing dishes. She began to talk to me about ballet slippers and I listened with half an ear as she continued to talk and draw. The next morning, when I looked down at the picture that had been abandoned on the table, I indeed could see a beautiful ballerina there, and my daughter had also drawn ballet slippers...but not just any kind of plain, flat ballet slippers. She drew Giselle-like ballet slippers with ribbons running up and around the legs.
A few weeks before that, I told her to make a picture for someone at work, a designer from the art department. All I told her was that he has two teenage daughters. She chose to do a pen-and-ink "tchikchuk" (Hebrew for "extremely quickly"), and I thanked her for it and told her I'd give it to the designer the next day. I had it on the seat next to me in the car and when I finally parked and moved to get out of the car, I looked closely at the drawing. She'd drawn a baseball cap on the designer, a bikini on his wife, one-piece bathing suits on his daughters and in between each of them was a surfboard, stuck in sand, with the ocean waves behind them. All this in pen-and-ink.
Granted, her drawing and love for drawing works for and against her. While she should be doing homework, she's doing portraits of the family and displays them in her gallery: on the refrigerator door. When I tell her to stop drawing and start doing schoolwork, she pacifies me, "Mummy, it's a picture of you!"
And when she hands me these pictures, I'm most flattered. I've got on very funky clothing (I don't even own any funky clothes). I have great hairstyles, and pouty lips, which are always smiling. I have long and beautiful Maybelline-like eyelashes. But best of all, I'm skinny!!!
I do hope that this daughter of mine will continue to grow in and develop her artistic abilities for many years to come. After all, I could stand to have countless more of those "I'm skinny" portraits hanging in my gallery!
Anyone Need an Editor?
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A short while ago, I helped play sounding board for my hubby who will be giving a d'var Torah at seudat shlishit at one of the shuls we attend. It's a smallish shul with lovely members who are more of a family than a congregation. The rabbi and rebbetzin are outstanding people who welcome many different people into their minyan, while still guiding the congregation in an Orthodox fashion. This shul is a far cry from the other shul -- the small city -- that we attend. Given my choice, I prefer the small shul, the intimacy of it all, the "no-airs-about-them" members.
Anyhow, so hubby will be doing a dvar Torah and tonight I got a sneak preview earful of it. It's goo..o...o..o..d. But then, together we worked on making it "gooder." And my editing tools came out, my resourceful use of Internet, my pointing out the obvious and eliminating the unnecessary.
I felt I was back in university, taking my Jewish Studies courses, writing an essay for my Rambam or Modern Jewish Civilization course. And it had been a long, long while since I was in Jewish day school/Jewish high school and wrote any kind of Torah-related paper, so helping my husband with this was a great pleasure for me -- enlightening and fulfilling.
I told my husband that I can expand my freelance editorial clientele: I can continue to edit romance novels and business-related materials, and at the same time edit rabbis' sermons and laymen's dvar Torahs. What a zechut (merit) that would be, huh?
A short while ago, I helped play sounding board for my hubby who will be giving a d'var Torah at seudat shlishit at one of the shuls we attend. It's a smallish shul with lovely members who are more of a family than a congregation. The rabbi and rebbetzin are outstanding people who welcome many different people into their minyan, while still guiding the congregation in an Orthodox fashion. This shul is a far cry from the other shul -- the small city -- that we attend. Given my choice, I prefer the small shul, the intimacy of it all, the "no-airs-about-them" members.
Anyhow, so hubby will be doing a dvar Torah and tonight I got a sneak preview earful of it. It's goo..o...o..o..d. But then, together we worked on making it "gooder." And my editing tools came out, my resourceful use of Internet, my pointing out the obvious and eliminating the unnecessary.
I felt I was back in university, taking my Jewish Studies courses, writing an essay for my Rambam or Modern Jewish Civilization course. And it had been a long, long while since I was in Jewish day school/Jewish high school and wrote any kind of Torah-related paper, so helping my husband with this was a great pleasure for me -- enlightening and fulfilling.
I told my husband that I can expand my freelance editorial clientele: I can continue to edit romance novels and business-related materials, and at the same time edit rabbis' sermons and laymen's dvar Torahs. What a zechut (merit) that would be, huh?
Editing and Rewriting Out of Necessity
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Blogger.com, I just want to say how upset I was with you today-- actually yesterday (it's already after midnight). I took about 25 minutes out of my lunch hour at work to write a beautiful blog about my daughter, and when I went to post it, the system behaved uncooperatively, and I lost my labor of love. I tried to retrace my steps, but to no avail. You were acting wacky, Blogger.com, and you didn't even give me warning signals. You sure weren't yourself yesterday, or even last evening, when I tried to comment on other peoples' posts. Suddenly you were telling me there were no such blogs?
Sure, I will recreate the piece in my next post, but oh, how uptight and annoyed I was. Don't you realize that my memory fails me? That it falters when it tries to recall the literary spool of thread I'd unraveled on your site? What I'd offered you was an original; now you'll have to settle for a cheap knock-off.
Do look after yourself, Blogger.com -- there are a lot of people out there who rely on you, who need you in their lives. Don't fail us -- or me -- again...!
Blogger.com, I just want to say how upset I was with you today-- actually yesterday (it's already after midnight). I took about 25 minutes out of my lunch hour at work to write a beautiful blog about my daughter, and when I went to post it, the system behaved uncooperatively, and I lost my labor of love. I tried to retrace my steps, but to no avail. You were acting wacky, Blogger.com, and you didn't even give me warning signals. You sure weren't yourself yesterday, or even last evening, when I tried to comment on other peoples' posts. Suddenly you were telling me there were no such blogs?
Sure, I will recreate the piece in my next post, but oh, how uptight and annoyed I was. Don't you realize that my memory fails me? That it falters when it tries to recall the literary spool of thread I'd unraveled on your site? What I'd offered you was an original; now you'll have to settle for a cheap knock-off.
Do look after yourself, Blogger.com -- there are a lot of people out there who rely on you, who need you in their lives. Don't fail us -- or me -- again...!
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Rise, Fall -- and Rise Again
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Thank you, Rabbi Twerski, for today's words of wisdom:
A just person may fall seven times and rise (Proverbs 24:16).
Although we may have realized that we learn our most valuable lessons the hard way, and that therefore we may tolerate our mistakes because of their educational value, we are apt to be intolerant of a mistake that we repeat. "I should have known better from last time," one says.
We should stop berating ourselves. Some lessons are not learned so easily, even from experience. The reason? We may understand something with our intellect, yet it may not have filtered down into our hearts and bones and muscles. In other words, if we lack an emotional grasp of a concept, the intellectual awareness alone may not suffice to deter us from repeating a mistake.
We are human. Rather than blame ourselves for a repetitive mistake, we should realize that the anguish we feel when we have failed to learn from a previous experience might just give us the emotional insight that can prevent that same mistake in the future.
In fact, new mistakes can shed light on old mistakes. When we do something wrong once, we may make only a superficial repair. Soon afterwards, in a different situation, we again fall flat. We may continue to fall until we realize that all our failures point to a flaw in ourselves that we had never noticed. Once we have uncovered the real reason for our mistakes, we can correct it and greatly, genuinely improve ourselves.
Thank you, Rabbi Twerski, for today's words of wisdom:
A just person may fall seven times and rise (Proverbs 24:16).
Although we may have realized that we learn our most valuable lessons the hard way, and that therefore we may tolerate our mistakes because of their educational value, we are apt to be intolerant of a mistake that we repeat. "I should have known better from last time," one says.
We should stop berating ourselves. Some lessons are not learned so easily, even from experience. The reason? We may understand something with our intellect, yet it may not have filtered down into our hearts and bones and muscles. In other words, if we lack an emotional grasp of a concept, the intellectual awareness alone may not suffice to deter us from repeating a mistake.
We are human. Rather than blame ourselves for a repetitive mistake, we should realize that the anguish we feel when we have failed to learn from a previous experience might just give us the emotional insight that can prevent that same mistake in the future.
In fact, new mistakes can shed light on old mistakes. When we do something wrong once, we may make only a superficial repair. Soon afterwards, in a different situation, we again fall flat. We may continue to fall until we realize that all our failures point to a flaw in ourselves that we had never noticed. Once we have uncovered the real reason for our mistakes, we can correct it and greatly, genuinely improve ourselves.
Poetry in Mo...o...o...o...tion
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On one of the blogs that I like to read, Jack's Shack, Jack posts snippets of fiction-in-progress. So I decided this morning to take his example and post a poem that I started to write last night -- ahem, I mean this morning at about 12:10. But I had to stop because I was literally falling asleep at the wheel -- keyboard -- as I was typing. So here, for your reading pleasure, is the start of "The Face in the Window."
The Face in the Window
It is midnight, and I am doing a final walkabout in the house.
Picking up forgotten books, straightening sofa pillows, securing the dog for the night.
I look in on my dear children, fast asleep in their beds,
a sliver of moon peering down upon them through a crack between window and window shade,
a crease of light
haloing the heads
of these little treasures as they sigh in their sleep.
I lock the front door, then glance out the beveled side window at the snow beyond.
The yellowish light in front of the house casts a warm glow, beckoning me out of doors.
But I cannot wander out, although it might be nice to pirouette on the front lawn amidst the white down feather blanket of snow.
On one of the blogs that I like to read, Jack's Shack, Jack posts snippets of fiction-in-progress. So I decided this morning to take his example and post a poem that I started to write last night -- ahem, I mean this morning at about 12:10. But I had to stop because I was literally falling asleep at the wheel -- keyboard -- as I was typing. So here, for your reading pleasure, is the start of "The Face in the Window."
The Face in the Window
It is midnight, and I am doing a final walkabout in the house.
Picking up forgotten books, straightening sofa pillows, securing the dog for the night.
I look in on my dear children, fast asleep in their beds,
a sliver of moon peering down upon them through a crack between window and window shade,
a crease of light
haloing the heads
of these little treasures as they sigh in their sleep.
I lock the front door, then glance out the beveled side window at the snow beyond.
The yellowish light in front of the house casts a warm glow, beckoning me out of doors.
But I cannot wander out, although it might be nice to pirouette on the front lawn amidst the white down feather blanket of snow.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
The Dinner Party Revisited...at Dinnertime
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Well, this evening I figured that if I threw this post's scenario/question out to a bunch of strangers, why not pose it to my family!?
My 7 1/2 year old daughter wants to entertain celebrity teens-of-the-hour Lindsay Lohan, Hilary Duff, Raven, and...get this, ALBERT EINSTEIN. She specified that she'd serve Albert "brain food", ie. sushi.
My 5 year old son wants to entertain Spiderman and several other characters from Game Cube games.
My 9 1/2 year old son wants to...just entertain us, it appears, with his dry wit and his sharp observations.
My 40-something-year-old husband wants to host Shammai and Hillel. I told him that guests like these would have to sit at opposite ends of the dinner table because they'd be in disagreement all the time. I guess hubby would have to be the buffer, the deciding factor in the "discussion/debates."
And if any of you would like to come to a bloggers' dinner party at our home, we could arrange that too...!
Well, this evening I figured that if I threw this post's scenario/question out to a bunch of strangers, why not pose it to my family!?
My 7 1/2 year old daughter wants to entertain celebrity teens-of-the-hour Lindsay Lohan, Hilary Duff, Raven, and...get this, ALBERT EINSTEIN. She specified that she'd serve Albert "brain food", ie. sushi.
My 5 year old son wants to entertain Spiderman and several other characters from Game Cube games.
My 9 1/2 year old son wants to...just entertain us, it appears, with his dry wit and his sharp observations.
My 40-something-year-old husband wants to host Shammai and Hillel. I told him that guests like these would have to sit at opposite ends of the dinner table because they'd be in disagreement all the time. I guess hubby would have to be the buffer, the deciding factor in the "discussion/debates."
And if any of you would like to come to a bloggers' dinner party at our home, we could arrange that too...!
The Dinner Party
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If you could host an intimate dinner party with 3-5 others, people from the worlds of music, politics, entertainment, history, etc., and it could be people living or now deceased, who would sit at your table, and what would you serve?
I'm not sure about menus, but I'd love to have one dinner party that hosted Robin Williams, Billy Crystal, Jerry Seinfeld. I'm not sure that I'd have to serve anything in fact, because I'd be too busy laughing to eat, and those guys would be too busy keeping me in stitches to care enough about eating. And Jerry? Jerry would talk about NOTHING...but that would be something.
And then I'd like to have a literary dinner party, surrounded by Elie Wiesel, Sholom Aleichem, Anne Frank and perhaps author Judy Blume. Some heady conversations, some personal recollections and some sadness would permeate the room.
And one night I'd like to host a musical-inspired dinner party with Chopin, Ella and Louis and Isaac Stern. What kind of dinner music they would provide, huh? Better make sure the piano is tuned, the violin strings are tightened and water bottles and hankies are available for the vocalists.
So, you fellow bloggers, how about sharing plans for your ultimate dinner party?
If you could host an intimate dinner party with 3-5 others, people from the worlds of music, politics, entertainment, history, etc., and it could be people living or now deceased, who would sit at your table, and what would you serve?
I'm not sure about menus, but I'd love to have one dinner party that hosted Robin Williams, Billy Crystal, Jerry Seinfeld. I'm not sure that I'd have to serve anything in fact, because I'd be too busy laughing to eat, and those guys would be too busy keeping me in stitches to care enough about eating. And Jerry? Jerry would talk about NOTHING...but that would be something.
And then I'd like to have a literary dinner party, surrounded by Elie Wiesel, Sholom Aleichem, Anne Frank and perhaps author Judy Blume. Some heady conversations, some personal recollections and some sadness would permeate the room.
And one night I'd like to host a musical-inspired dinner party with Chopin, Ella and Louis and Isaac Stern. What kind of dinner music they would provide, huh? Better make sure the piano is tuned, the violin strings are tightened and water bottles and hankies are available for the vocalists.
So, you fellow bloggers, how about sharing plans for your ultimate dinner party?
If I Were a Rich...Girl?
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I'm a notorious radio channel changer -- while driving to work, one hand is on the steering wheel, the other on the radio dial. I'm continually tuning out and then tuning in to a disc jockey, or to an on-air guest on a program, and my music interests are varied.
This morning I was looking for something good on the radio and came up against a song performed by Gwen Stefani and rapper Eve. The song is called "Rich Girl" and parts of hit borrow the tune of Fiddler on the Roof's "If I Were a Rich Man!" When Harnick and Bock penned that tune, they could not foresee it being adapted some 35+ years later by a rap artist and played on R & B stations. Yes, the tune is catchy, but to me it almost seems so sacrilege for these women to be bastardizing a thoroughly Broadway showtune.
What does Tevye/Topol say? And now, what does Tevye/Harvey Fierstein say? Aw, maybe they just shrug it off, do the little Tevye dance and say "...l'chaim, to life!"
I'm a notorious radio channel changer -- while driving to work, one hand is on the steering wheel, the other on the radio dial. I'm continually tuning out and then tuning in to a disc jockey, or to an on-air guest on a program, and my music interests are varied.
This morning I was looking for something good on the radio and came up against a song performed by Gwen Stefani and rapper Eve. The song is called "Rich Girl" and parts of hit borrow the tune of Fiddler on the Roof's "If I Were a Rich Man!" When Harnick and Bock penned that tune, they could not foresee it being adapted some 35+ years later by a rap artist and played on R & B stations. Yes, the tune is catchy, but to me it almost seems so sacrilege for these women to be bastardizing a thoroughly Broadway showtune.
What does Tevye/Topol say? And now, what does Tevye/Harvey Fierstein say? Aw, maybe they just shrug it off, do the little Tevye dance and say "...l'chaim, to life!"
Help! There's a Mack Truck in My Bedroom!
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When I wake up to my first alarm at 6:12 a.m., it's to soothing jazz music on the clock radio. When I'm so relaxed with the music that I fall back asleep, I wake up with a second alarm at 6:30 a.m. And that alarm is like the cautioning sound that a truck makes when backing up -- you know, that loud and irritating BEEP BEEP BEEP.
This morning I was so sleepy that when that second alarm roused me out of my first alarm's fall-back-asleep sleep, I thought there was a Mack truck beside my bed!
When I wake up to my first alarm at 6:12 a.m., it's to soothing jazz music on the clock radio. When I'm so relaxed with the music that I fall back asleep, I wake up with a second alarm at 6:30 a.m. And that alarm is like the cautioning sound that a truck makes when backing up -- you know, that loud and irritating BEEP BEEP BEEP.
This morning I was so sleepy that when that second alarm roused me out of my first alarm's fall-back-asleep sleep, I thought there was a Mack truck beside my bed!
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Lookin' Out for Those Orange Cones
It's March 8, still winter here, but closer to spring on a daily basis. The snows come, the snows go, the frost comes and goes, the sun comes out and hopefully stays... But soon enough, give or take another 8 weeks, more hints of spring will be in the air.
For this blogger, spring in Toronto does not just mean: no snow boots, lightweight jackets, basketball in the driveway; laundry hanging on the outside wash line; playing in the park with my kids. Spring in Toronto means that little plastic cones can be found in neighborhoods throughout the city and its outskirts. These little plastic cones are markers; they shout "Step right up this way. Movie production in progress." Little plastic cones are associated with "Hollywood North"; "Hollywood North" refers to Toronto, a center for movie-making; and movie-making is associated with Pearl having stars in her eyes.
Can't help it -- I've always been fascinated by celebritydom and life beneath that great big Hollywood sign. And no, it's not because I especially care to move and mingle with those same people who get to walk the red carpet on Emmy Award Night or Oscar Night. It's because I want to see these people on a human level -- I want to say hi and see if they return the greeting, perhaps stop to chat. I want to know what makes them tick, what attributes (hidden or displayed) make them as common as you or I.
Now I must momentarily interrupt my ramblings with a personal message to a fairly new friend of mine, a friend who takes the time from a very busy personal and business schedule to read Pearlies of Wisdom. A friend who lives in L.A. and works in "the industry." Yes, I have stars in my eyes, but that is certainly not why I'm your friend. Knowing you does not get me closer to Hollywood, nor do I want to be closer to Hollywood. I like knowing that not everything in Hollywood is artificial, based on facades and masquerades. Life in Hollywood can be gritty, can keep you grounded, can bring to the forefront very human qualities. I could say of myself, "Enquiring minds want to know..." but it's certainly not gossip mill fodder that I want to know; I do not want to know what it's like to work with this celebrity or that celebrity; I do not want to know what these celebrities' home exteriors are like, or which designer boutiques they shop at. I would, however, like to know if these celebrities are decent people, moral people...even everyday kind of people when not working on a television or movie deal.
Okay, now back to your regularly scheduled program...
Okay, so we're up to Toronto, to spring in Toronto, to movie making in spring in Toronto, to stars in Pearl's eyes -- sound about right? Anyhow, I was probably in my late teens when I first realized what a movie trailer looked like, and once I first realized their presence around town, I always kept my eyes open, especially when I was downtown. If I was with a friend, she'd have to grab me by the arm, so I wouldn't make any side trips down a back street when I'd spot several rental trucks and long trailers with little windows in them that signified change rooms for the actors. My friends knew that if they didn't grab me, I was a goner...!
While on a hiatus -- see, I even know the lingo! -- from jury duty some years ago, I was walking in an area, saw some of these trailers...and sort of hovered. And to my luck, along came Robert Urich, jogging past and smiling at me.
Another time, I was with friends at a health juice bar downtown, sitting at an old-fashioned counter on swivel seats, when I looked around the room...and spotted Matthew Broderick sitting two stools away from me. I called over the owner of the place, and whispered, "Is that Matthew Broderick?" He said yes, and told me that Matthew was in the place almost every night after filming -- the movie "The Freshman" with Marlon Brando. I asked him if he wouldn't mind asking Matthew if I could approach him for an autograph -- see I was polite. My insides were yelling, "Just go, just go and don't ask anybody else," but my decent side was pacifying me and saying, "Be menschlich. Maybe he doesn't want to be intruded upon." Well, I got the green light to approach Matthew, and two minutes later, actor Bruno Kirby, also in "The Freshman" came along and sat on the other side of Matthew, so I got to converse with both, leaving my girlfriends to ogle and think how "brave" I was. This is how brave I was -- I asked Matthew, "So what's it like working with the big guy?" Only after the words escaped, I realized how they must've sounded -- I was implying how was it to work with such a well-known actor, with a lot of movie history behind him. But it was probably coming across as "What's it like to work with that big, flabby, out of shape, no longer good-looking actor?"
I've met a couple other, lesser known celebrities while they were filming around the city. Yes, they were polite enough...so they passed my simple test and got a gold star beside their names, when they signed autographs for me. Looking back, I wonder where those autographs have gone. What was seemingly so important at that moment in time is a lost scrap of paper today.
Yes, I still look for those orange cones around the city, but learned from experience last year that even orange cones don't always mean what they say. My work window looks out onto a parking lot, and last summer we watched a buzz of activity one afternoon. Lots of cars coming and going, trucks parking, equipment being taken out from the trucks and transferred into the on-site garage. My mind started churning and wondering, "What movie are they filming? I wonder who's in it." I couldn't wait until the end of the workday.
I hurried across the parking lot, and went up to one of the guys standing at the back of the truck, a truck that obviously held wardrobe changes. I asked him, "So what movie is being filmed? Which great actor is there in the garage?"
I received a lopsided grin in return. "We're not shooting a movie. It's a commercial. A soup commercial."
Uh, I think I won't be so quick to jump to conclusions anymore when I see "movie trucks". But I will still be keeping my eyes open for those orange cones...
For this blogger, spring in Toronto does not just mean: no snow boots, lightweight jackets, basketball in the driveway; laundry hanging on the outside wash line; playing in the park with my kids. Spring in Toronto means that little plastic cones can be found in neighborhoods throughout the city and its outskirts. These little plastic cones are markers; they shout "Step right up this way. Movie production in progress." Little plastic cones are associated with "Hollywood North"; "Hollywood North" refers to Toronto, a center for movie-making; and movie-making is associated with Pearl having stars in her eyes.
Can't help it -- I've always been fascinated by celebritydom and life beneath that great big Hollywood sign. And no, it's not because I especially care to move and mingle with those same people who get to walk the red carpet on Emmy Award Night or Oscar Night. It's because I want to see these people on a human level -- I want to say hi and see if they return the greeting, perhaps stop to chat. I want to know what makes them tick, what attributes (hidden or displayed) make them as common as you or I.
Now I must momentarily interrupt my ramblings with a personal message to a fairly new friend of mine, a friend who takes the time from a very busy personal and business schedule to read Pearlies of Wisdom. A friend who lives in L.A. and works in "the industry." Yes, I have stars in my eyes, but that is certainly not why I'm your friend. Knowing you does not get me closer to Hollywood, nor do I want to be closer to Hollywood. I like knowing that not everything in Hollywood is artificial, based on facades and masquerades. Life in Hollywood can be gritty, can keep you grounded, can bring to the forefront very human qualities. I could say of myself, "Enquiring minds want to know..." but it's certainly not gossip mill fodder that I want to know; I do not want to know what it's like to work with this celebrity or that celebrity; I do not want to know what these celebrities' home exteriors are like, or which designer boutiques they shop at. I would, however, like to know if these celebrities are decent people, moral people...even everyday kind of people when not working on a television or movie deal.
Okay, now back to your regularly scheduled program...
Okay, so we're up to Toronto, to spring in Toronto, to movie making in spring in Toronto, to stars in Pearl's eyes -- sound about right? Anyhow, I was probably in my late teens when I first realized what a movie trailer looked like, and once I first realized their presence around town, I always kept my eyes open, especially when I was downtown. If I was with a friend, she'd have to grab me by the arm, so I wouldn't make any side trips down a back street when I'd spot several rental trucks and long trailers with little windows in them that signified change rooms for the actors. My friends knew that if they didn't grab me, I was a goner...!
While on a hiatus -- see, I even know the lingo! -- from jury duty some years ago, I was walking in an area, saw some of these trailers...and sort of hovered. And to my luck, along came Robert Urich, jogging past and smiling at me.
Another time, I was with friends at a health juice bar downtown, sitting at an old-fashioned counter on swivel seats, when I looked around the room...and spotted Matthew Broderick sitting two stools away from me. I called over the owner of the place, and whispered, "Is that Matthew Broderick?" He said yes, and told me that Matthew was in the place almost every night after filming -- the movie "The Freshman" with Marlon Brando. I asked him if he wouldn't mind asking Matthew if I could approach him for an autograph -- see I was polite. My insides were yelling, "Just go, just go and don't ask anybody else," but my decent side was pacifying me and saying, "Be menschlich. Maybe he doesn't want to be intruded upon." Well, I got the green light to approach Matthew, and two minutes later, actor Bruno Kirby, also in "The Freshman" came along and sat on the other side of Matthew, so I got to converse with both, leaving my girlfriends to ogle and think how "brave" I was. This is how brave I was -- I asked Matthew, "So what's it like working with the big guy?" Only after the words escaped, I realized how they must've sounded -- I was implying how was it to work with such a well-known actor, with a lot of movie history behind him. But it was probably coming across as "What's it like to work with that big, flabby, out of shape, no longer good-looking actor?"
I've met a couple other, lesser known celebrities while they were filming around the city. Yes, they were polite enough...so they passed my simple test and got a gold star beside their names, when they signed autographs for me. Looking back, I wonder where those autographs have gone. What was seemingly so important at that moment in time is a lost scrap of paper today.
Yes, I still look for those orange cones around the city, but learned from experience last year that even orange cones don't always mean what they say. My work window looks out onto a parking lot, and last summer we watched a buzz of activity one afternoon. Lots of cars coming and going, trucks parking, equipment being taken out from the trucks and transferred into the on-site garage. My mind started churning and wondering, "What movie are they filming? I wonder who's in it." I couldn't wait until the end of the workday.
I hurried across the parking lot, and went up to one of the guys standing at the back of the truck, a truck that obviously held wardrobe changes. I asked him, "So what movie is being filmed? Which great actor is there in the garage?"
I received a lopsided grin in return. "We're not shooting a movie. It's a commercial. A soup commercial."
Uh, I think I won't be so quick to jump to conclusions anymore when I see "movie trucks". But I will still be keeping my eyes open for those orange cones...
I Dug Deep in My Last Post, but Now I've Caved...!
Those of you who have been kind enough to read my blog over the last little while will look at this title, will look at the layout of my blog page...and ought to understand.
Sorry, folks. I'm as fickle as they come.
Sorry, folks. I'm as fickle as they come.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Diggin' Deep
I've said it before and I'll say it again: One of my favorite blogs to read is that of A Simple Jew -- http://asimplejew.blogspot.com. In his simplicity, he is most eloquent; he says more by saying less. Recently, in his wisdom, he touched upon timing and coincidences.
At some point in our lives, we each encounter an incident that leaves us gaping in wonder -- Can you believe that just happened? I don't believe it! Wow, this is 'min ha-shamayim.' Most of us have more than one incident that we can recall falling into this category of "timeliness." Here is just one of mine...
Since 1983 I've been a volunteer with the Toronto Jewish Archives cataloging committee. That means that I've had the pleasure of meeting one night a month for much of the year with a group of varied individuals, and we talk as we sort through files of Jewish agencies and organizations, files of reknowned Jewish Toronto figures, files that have yellowed with age, become water-stained, dog-eared and the like. It is like the Cairo genizah -- a receptacle of the history of Jewish Toronto and the province of Ontario. And it has been my pleasure all these years to sit with these people as we transfer and sort files into acid-free file folders, identify people in photographs, label files, etc. I have always been the youngest volunteer member of the committee, so I get to hear from the older volunteers the personal stories of growing up Jewish in this city. I'm getting an "insider's look" at the way the city was (my parents were immigrants in 1949 and 1956, giving me a later version of the city's history), and as is said, "The pleasure is all mine."
The files we look through are varied, some drier than others. But several years ago, for quite some time, we worked on cataloguing the JIAS (Jewish Immigrant Aid Society) files -- we were working in particular on those files in which people were applying to sponsor relatives from abroad to come to Canada, to Toronto. They were primarily files from the mid- to late 1940's, after WW2.
It was very sad to review these applications and see names of people and the write-ups of their experiences in the war -- which camps they were interned in, which ghettos they escaped from, occupations before the wars, names of family members before the war. Although sad to read, the files were also captivating.
One night, I picked up a handful of these files, to sort through their contents and transfer the items. One file caught my eye: it had my maiden name and a woman's first name, her Jewish name. Now, I have an aunt who lives in the U.S. but used to live in Toronto after the war, and although I know her by her English name, the name on the file was the same as my aunt's Jewish name. Hesitating, I opened up the file, and began to scan one document. Address of named client; occupation of named client; length of time in Canada of named client and person she wanted to sponsor. None of it rang any bells for me. I moved on to another document. Same client name, occupation, and in this document, some time had passed. Then I saw the name of the person this client wished to sponsor: it was my father. This client was in fact my aunt, my father's sister, who was the other sole survivor of his family. She had come to Canada before him and was now looking to sponsor him. His personal story, some of which I hadn't known, was briefly outlined in the application.
I'm sorry to say this was no reunion story, but it was one of those "stop, take a breath and stare in wonder" stories. How is it that I, Pearl _____, happened to be at Archives that night, happened to pick up a file with my family name, and it happened to be about my family? Had anyone else in the room picked it up, they wouldn't have brought my attention to it because they really knew me only on a first-name basis, and the family name would have rang no bells for anyone else, either. I had just attained another small piece in my family puzzle, and I was thrilled with it. I got permission to photocopy the file and to share it with my parents, with my father in particular.
The contents of that file provided me with some missing links, and that file has since become part of my personal "genizah"!
At some point in our lives, we each encounter an incident that leaves us gaping in wonder -- Can you believe that just happened? I don't believe it! Wow, this is 'min ha-shamayim.' Most of us have more than one incident that we can recall falling into this category of "timeliness." Here is just one of mine...
Since 1983 I've been a volunteer with the Toronto Jewish Archives cataloging committee. That means that I've had the pleasure of meeting one night a month for much of the year with a group of varied individuals, and we talk as we sort through files of Jewish agencies and organizations, files of reknowned Jewish Toronto figures, files that have yellowed with age, become water-stained, dog-eared and the like. It is like the Cairo genizah -- a receptacle of the history of Jewish Toronto and the province of Ontario. And it has been my pleasure all these years to sit with these people as we transfer and sort files into acid-free file folders, identify people in photographs, label files, etc. I have always been the youngest volunteer member of the committee, so I get to hear from the older volunteers the personal stories of growing up Jewish in this city. I'm getting an "insider's look" at the way the city was (my parents were immigrants in 1949 and 1956, giving me a later version of the city's history), and as is said, "The pleasure is all mine."
The files we look through are varied, some drier than others. But several years ago, for quite some time, we worked on cataloguing the JIAS (Jewish Immigrant Aid Society) files -- we were working in particular on those files in which people were applying to sponsor relatives from abroad to come to Canada, to Toronto. They were primarily files from the mid- to late 1940's, after WW2.
It was very sad to review these applications and see names of people and the write-ups of their experiences in the war -- which camps they were interned in, which ghettos they escaped from, occupations before the wars, names of family members before the war. Although sad to read, the files were also captivating.
One night, I picked up a handful of these files, to sort through their contents and transfer the items. One file caught my eye: it had my maiden name and a woman's first name, her Jewish name. Now, I have an aunt who lives in the U.S. but used to live in Toronto after the war, and although I know her by her English name, the name on the file was the same as my aunt's Jewish name. Hesitating, I opened up the file, and began to scan one document. Address of named client; occupation of named client; length of time in Canada of named client and person she wanted to sponsor. None of it rang any bells for me. I moved on to another document. Same client name, occupation, and in this document, some time had passed. Then I saw the name of the person this client wished to sponsor: it was my father. This client was in fact my aunt, my father's sister, who was the other sole survivor of his family. She had come to Canada before him and was now looking to sponsor him. His personal story, some of which I hadn't known, was briefly outlined in the application.
I'm sorry to say this was no reunion story, but it was one of those "stop, take a breath and stare in wonder" stories. How is it that I, Pearl _____, happened to be at Archives that night, happened to pick up a file with my family name, and it happened to be about my family? Had anyone else in the room picked it up, they wouldn't have brought my attention to it because they really knew me only on a first-name basis, and the family name would have rang no bells for anyone else, either. I had just attained another small piece in my family puzzle, and I was thrilled with it. I got permission to photocopy the file and to share it with my parents, with my father in particular.
The contents of that file provided me with some missing links, and that file has since become part of my personal "genizah"!
Sign Sign, Everywhere a Sign
En route to work today, I noticed an interesting sign alongside a ramp to get onto a highway. The sign said: WAIT FOR GAP. Now I know what it means, but I wondered if people didn't quite get it, they might stand at that piece of road and wait and wait until a GAP store is built onsite.
And then I thought of another sign I've seen that's made me wonder. I travel down the world's longest north-south street, Yonge Street, and there is an intersection with lights and streets running east-west. The east side has Church Avenue; the west side has Churchill Avenue. WHAT?? Did Toronto's roadworks department decide to change the street name midway, or did they start with Churchill Avenue, and then run out of enough paint for the east side's name and stopped at Church?
And yes, there is a church on the north-east corner, at Church Avenue. That's funny, I haven't see any "Shul Boulevard, "Temple Road" or "Synagogue Crescent" anywhere in the city.
Has anyone out there noticed any odd street signs that deserve a mention here?
And then I thought of another sign I've seen that's made me wonder. I travel down the world's longest north-south street, Yonge Street, and there is an intersection with lights and streets running east-west. The east side has Church Avenue; the west side has Churchill Avenue. WHAT?? Did Toronto's roadworks department decide to change the street name midway, or did they start with Churchill Avenue, and then run out of enough paint for the east side's name and stopped at Church?
And yes, there is a church on the north-east corner, at Church Avenue. That's funny, I haven't see any "Shul Boulevard, "Temple Road" or "Synagogue Crescent" anywhere in the city.
Has anyone out there noticed any odd street signs that deserve a mention here?
Sunday, March 06, 2005
Ayelet, the Kosher Komic
I came home a short while ago after seeing this comedienne. May I suggest an evening out for you ladies, if Ayelet hits your town. You won't be sorry--she's quick, she's entertaining, she will strike a chord and you will laugh at her humor, and those bits of yourself that you recognize.
I've had the pleasure to see and enjoy Ayelet's show, contacted her today (Monday, March 7) to tell her about my mention of her on my blog, and she had this to say:
Pearl,
A few more "pearlies" of my own...
If I am not going to be in someone's area, they can order my CD online through my website: www.kosherkomedy.com
Also, please feel free to give my name and information to any organizations you feel might want to have me perform for their Rosh
Chodesh events, fund-raisers, or any function, world-wide. I travel constantly and am always looking for fun new places to which to
bring simcha and laughter!
And one last thing... There is an amazing opportunity to do hachnassas kallah, and I am pasting the email I got from my friend (who
I mentioned in my show - Yissroel Chaim Michael ben Breindel, who is a crunchy-granola alternative healer and orthodox spiritual guy
aged 39, still looking for his zivug as well!)
Tizki l'mitzvos!!!
Ayelet
******************
Dear Friends, amv's
I am calling upon you to enroll you all in a GREAT Mitzvah.
Rabbanit Chaya Klein of Rechovot, Israel is an Almanah and a mother of a large family K"H. I have taken it upon myself to raise the
money for the wedding of her son Yitzchak. IY"H by Pesach I hope to have $5000 USD to be alotted for the night of the Chassanah. I
ask you all to please join with me in opening your hearts to sharing in this joyous Mitzvah of Simchas Chosson V'Kallah.
Please be as generous as you can and share this with as many people as you can. B"H all of you have come through for me before in
terms of matters of Tzedakah and I have no doubt that you will now.
Please make ***TAX DEDUCTIBLE*** Canadian cheques out to VMM, and US cheques to Congregation Binyan Olem.
Send to:
Micha (Larry) Braun
5785 Sir Walter Scott, #303,
Cote Saint Luc, Quebec,
H4W 1S4, Canada
Anyone in Israel, please just contact me and we will see about gathering the money there, and where to send it.
MichaBraun
(514) 488-8039
Please feel free to contact me at any time for clarification about this or anything else.
Thank you again my friends, and Tizku L'mitzvos, U L'Masim Tovim, U L'Shanim Rabot!
Comedienne keeps her comedy kosher
By DAVE GORDON
Special to The CJN
Take a dollop of Jackie Mason, a dash of Jerry Seinfeld and a healthy serving of Lucille Ball’s wackiness and you have the recipe for the comedic stylings of Ayelet, an up-and-coming Jewish comic.
Like Cher and Madonna, she only goes by one name professionally. (Her last name is Ben Har.) But unlike those other entertainers, the 20something comic is completely family friendly – she doesn’t swear, tell dirty jokes or talk about sex – and, as a strictly observant Jew, she only performs in front of women.
Known as the “Kosher Komic,” she touts herself as the only “strictly kosher” comedienne in the world.
“Most comics today are not in any way clean. Jewish humour, kosher humour, is difficult, but somehow Hashem has helped me find the way to be funny and clean,” says Ayelet, who lives in Jerusalem’s Old City.
Her latest world tour runs from February to April and hits London, Toronto and the east and west coasts of the United States. She is scheduled to perform at the BAYT synagogue in Thornhill on Sunday, March 6, at 8 p.m.
Her set includes routines about children, Pesach, diets and quirky occasions in Jewish life. She also pokes fun at Britney Spears’ newfound kashrut observance and kvetches about her misadventures with shadchanim (matchmakers) – “I’ve contacted 165 shadchanim in nine different states, four different countries and personally seen over 75 of them, all in nine months.”
But she is perhaps best known among her fans for her tongue-in-cheek shtick called “Glatt Kosher Airlines.”
“All of our flights are numbered 613… Gentlemen, I hope you can hear me through the mechitzah. My voice has been altered for your protection… Should there be, chas v’chalila, a rapid change in cabin pressure, from the panel above your head will fall a Sefer Tehillim [Psalms]. Please say your own tehillim first, prior to assisting a small child, elderly passenger or recent baal tshuvah seated next to you.”
Ayelet wasn’t always what she calls the “ultra-Orthodox girl with bulletproof stockings.”
She’s been a performer for about 10 years, having bounced between New York and Los Angeles as an actress and appeared on HBO, Comedy Central and Lifetime Television, as well as on Sesame Street and The Division.
She began doing stand-up five years ago in “treif” comedy clubs across New York and Los Angeles – including such well-known comedy institutions as The Improv, Laugh Factory and the Comedy Store – before becoming observant 21/2 years ago.
She only revived her career in its new, more conservative form last year while performing in front of seminary girls in Jerusalem. She has since entertained haredi women, as well as more modern crowds – she appeared last month at a café in Jerusalem’s Baka neighbourhood, followed by a performance the following night in a private living room in the haredi Jerusalem neighbourhood of Har Nof.
“People have always told me I am very funny. I just took a while to get my courage together and get up on stage to make people laugh. But once I was up there, there was no getting me down.”
Ayelet currently works for two Jewish outreach organizations, Aish HaTorah and Isralight, where she first “found the beauty and truth in Torah, and a terrific, meaningful life.”
Ayelet has performed at seminaries, in living rooms and at shul fundraisers – but only for women.
“I have been in showbiz in the secular world. I’ve performed in front of mixed crowds, men and women. I’ve come to a point in my life where I feel that it would be most modest of me to perform only in front of women,” she says.
In doing so, Ayelet has given many observant Jewish women their first opportunity to see stand-up comedy.
Many observant Jews don’t have televisions and don’t go to movies, mostly due to sexual and violent content, thereby limiting their entertainment choices, she explains.
Ayelet says she looks up to Rachel Factor, an Orthodox Jewish convert and former Rockette who is touring with a one-woman show called JAP.
“She is an amazing Jewish woman and a terrific performer,” Ayelet says. “She has transformed her whole life and is now doing what she loves and making Jewish women happy.”
Ayelet’s CD is available at select locations, or at www.kosherkomedy.com.
I've had the pleasure to see and enjoy Ayelet's show, contacted her today (Monday, March 7) to tell her about my mention of her on my blog, and she had this to say:
Pearl,
A few more "pearlies" of my own...
If I am not going to be in someone's area, they can order my CD online through my website: www.kosherkomedy.com
Also, please feel free to give my name and information to any organizations you feel might want to have me perform for their Rosh
Chodesh events, fund-raisers, or any function, world-wide. I travel constantly and am always looking for fun new places to which to
bring simcha and laughter!
And one last thing... There is an amazing opportunity to do hachnassas kallah, and I am pasting the email I got from my friend (who
I mentioned in my show - Yissroel Chaim Michael ben Breindel, who is a crunchy-granola alternative healer and orthodox spiritual guy
aged 39, still looking for his zivug as well!)
Tizki l'mitzvos!!!
Ayelet
******************
Dear Friends, amv's
I am calling upon you to enroll you all in a GREAT Mitzvah.
Rabbanit Chaya Klein of Rechovot, Israel is an Almanah and a mother of a large family K"H. I have taken it upon myself to raise the
money for the wedding of her son Yitzchak. IY"H by Pesach I hope to have $5000 USD to be alotted for the night of the Chassanah. I
ask you all to please join with me in opening your hearts to sharing in this joyous Mitzvah of Simchas Chosson V'Kallah.
Please be as generous as you can and share this with as many people as you can. B"H all of you have come through for me before in
terms of matters of Tzedakah and I have no doubt that you will now.
Please make ***TAX DEDUCTIBLE*** Canadian cheques out to VMM, and US cheques to Congregation Binyan Olem.
Send to:
Micha (Larry) Braun
5785 Sir Walter Scott, #303,
Cote Saint Luc, Quebec,
H4W 1S4, Canada
Anyone in Israel, please just contact me and we will see about gathering the money there, and where to send it.
MichaBraun
(514) 488-8039
Please feel free to contact me at any time for clarification about this or anything else.
Thank you again my friends, and Tizku L'mitzvos, U L'Masim Tovim, U L'Shanim Rabot!
Comedienne keeps her comedy kosher
By DAVE GORDON
Special to The CJN
Take a dollop of Jackie Mason, a dash of Jerry Seinfeld and a healthy serving of Lucille Ball’s wackiness and you have the recipe for the comedic stylings of Ayelet, an up-and-coming Jewish comic.
Like Cher and Madonna, she only goes by one name professionally. (Her last name is Ben Har.) But unlike those other entertainers, the 20something comic is completely family friendly – she doesn’t swear, tell dirty jokes or talk about sex – and, as a strictly observant Jew, she only performs in front of women.
Known as the “Kosher Komic,” she touts herself as the only “strictly kosher” comedienne in the world.
“Most comics today are not in any way clean. Jewish humour, kosher humour, is difficult, but somehow Hashem has helped me find the way to be funny and clean,” says Ayelet, who lives in Jerusalem’s Old City.
Her latest world tour runs from February to April and hits London, Toronto and the east and west coasts of the United States. She is scheduled to perform at the BAYT synagogue in Thornhill on Sunday, March 6, at 8 p.m.
Her set includes routines about children, Pesach, diets and quirky occasions in Jewish life. She also pokes fun at Britney Spears’ newfound kashrut observance and kvetches about her misadventures with shadchanim (matchmakers) – “I’ve contacted 165 shadchanim in nine different states, four different countries and personally seen over 75 of them, all in nine months.”
But she is perhaps best known among her fans for her tongue-in-cheek shtick called “Glatt Kosher Airlines.”
“All of our flights are numbered 613… Gentlemen, I hope you can hear me through the mechitzah. My voice has been altered for your protection… Should there be, chas v’chalila, a rapid change in cabin pressure, from the panel above your head will fall a Sefer Tehillim [Psalms]. Please say your own tehillim first, prior to assisting a small child, elderly passenger or recent baal tshuvah seated next to you.”
Ayelet wasn’t always what she calls the “ultra-Orthodox girl with bulletproof stockings.”
She’s been a performer for about 10 years, having bounced between New York and Los Angeles as an actress and appeared on HBO, Comedy Central and Lifetime Television, as well as on Sesame Street and The Division.
She began doing stand-up five years ago in “treif” comedy clubs across New York and Los Angeles – including such well-known comedy institutions as The Improv, Laugh Factory and the Comedy Store – before becoming observant 21/2 years ago.
She only revived her career in its new, more conservative form last year while performing in front of seminary girls in Jerusalem. She has since entertained haredi women, as well as more modern crowds – she appeared last month at a café in Jerusalem’s Baka neighbourhood, followed by a performance the following night in a private living room in the haredi Jerusalem neighbourhood of Har Nof.
“People have always told me I am very funny. I just took a while to get my courage together and get up on stage to make people laugh. But once I was up there, there was no getting me down.”
Ayelet currently works for two Jewish outreach organizations, Aish HaTorah and Isralight, where she first “found the beauty and truth in Torah, and a terrific, meaningful life.”
Ayelet has performed at seminaries, in living rooms and at shul fundraisers – but only for women.
“I have been in showbiz in the secular world. I’ve performed in front of mixed crowds, men and women. I’ve come to a point in my life where I feel that it would be most modest of me to perform only in front of women,” she says.
In doing so, Ayelet has given many observant Jewish women their first opportunity to see stand-up comedy.
Many observant Jews don’t have televisions and don’t go to movies, mostly due to sexual and violent content, thereby limiting their entertainment choices, she explains.
Ayelet says she looks up to Rachel Factor, an Orthodox Jewish convert and former Rockette who is touring with a one-woman show called JAP.
“She is an amazing Jewish woman and a terrific performer,” Ayelet says. “She has transformed her whole life and is now doing what she loves and making Jewish women happy.”
Ayelet’s CD is available at select locations, or at www.kosherkomedy.com.
Pugs Are Pigs...in Just Another Form
Our pug, Tyson, has had quite a bit said about him in this blogger's pages. Last week, I tried even to make a shidduch between him and Lizzie, some beautiful bitch on the STACEY'S SHMATA blog page. She's an older canine, a much-taller canine, and she's probably already gone through the dog-o-paws stage, so I can't really see puppies in Tyson's future...at least not with Lizzie.
But who'd want Tyson anyhow? He snores...big-time. He snorts like a pig...big-time. He passes wind...big-time. For a small guy, he's got a paunch belly...big-time. He wants to eat...all the time. And when he's not eating, not passing wind, he's sleeping and snoring the day away.
Every now and again -- today was again -- he tries to clear his sinuses. It's sort of worse than his snoring. Can you imagine an old man who unfortunately forgot some of his manners, and he's continually trying to clear his throat of phlegm? Well, that's Tyson...old boy. Maybe he thinks he's human, and at the shvitz at a health club with a dozen retirees, shooting the breeze -- literally and figuratively -- and trying to clear, like them, his nasal/throat passages.
I never did mention before that Tyson is a convert -- he went from being Roman Catholic Italian, to Modern Orthodox Jewish. No, we didn't take him to the mikvah for conversion purposes, but we did stick him in the laundry tub two years ago when he was adopted by us, and douse him with water -- we dunked him three times, but couldn't figure out which bracha to say, so we just declared: "Today you are a Jew...mazel tov."
He turned eight last week -- we hope he makes it to thirteen -- I've envisioned having a bark-mitzvah for him. Not sure what kind of d'var Torah he'd give, but everyone would wish a mazel tov and say "Canine hora! Canine hora!"
So if anyone out there has a dog they'd like to breed with a pig -- oops, I mean a pug -- contact me. Maybe we can make a shidduch.... It'd be nice to post a simcha sooner than later on www.frumster.com or www.onlysimchas.com!
But who'd want Tyson anyhow? He snores...big-time. He snorts like a pig...big-time. He passes wind...big-time. For a small guy, he's got a paunch belly...big-time. He wants to eat...all the time. And when he's not eating, not passing wind, he's sleeping and snoring the day away.
Every now and again -- today was again -- he tries to clear his sinuses. It's sort of worse than his snoring. Can you imagine an old man who unfortunately forgot some of his manners, and he's continually trying to clear his throat of phlegm? Well, that's Tyson...old boy. Maybe he thinks he's human, and at the shvitz at a health club with a dozen retirees, shooting the breeze -- literally and figuratively -- and trying to clear, like them, his nasal/throat passages.
I never did mention before that Tyson is a convert -- he went from being Roman Catholic Italian, to Modern Orthodox Jewish. No, we didn't take him to the mikvah for conversion purposes, but we did stick him in the laundry tub two years ago when he was adopted by us, and douse him with water -- we dunked him three times, but couldn't figure out which bracha to say, so we just declared: "Today you are a Jew...mazel tov."
He turned eight last week -- we hope he makes it to thirteen -- I've envisioned having a bark-mitzvah for him. Not sure what kind of d'var Torah he'd give, but everyone would wish a mazel tov and say "Canine hora! Canine hora!"
So if anyone out there has a dog they'd like to breed with a pig -- oops, I mean a pug -- contact me. Maybe we can make a shidduch.... It'd be nice to post a simcha sooner than later on www.frumster.com or www.onlysimchas.com!
Saturday, March 05, 2005
The Big Fat Worm
No -- nothing subliminal here; no double entendres intended.
************************************************************
The Big Fat Worm is the name of a wonderful children's picture book, written by Nancy Van Laan. When I bought it some years ago for my oldest, who's now 9 1/2, I thought it was somewhat reminiscent of the infamous Pesach song, "Chad Gadya" with its repetition and rhythm. See if you don't agree with me. (and hopefully I won't be caught with copyright infringement)
A big fat bird found a big fat worm
and the big fat bird said
HI WORM
and the big fat worm said
HI BIRD
and the big fat bird said
I'M GOING TO EAT YOU UP
and the big fat worm said
OH NO YOU'RE NOT
and the big fat bird said
OH YES I AM
and the worm said NO
and the bird said YES
and the worm disappeared
down a hole in the ground...
when along came a big fat cat.
The big fat cat said HI BIRD
and the big fat bird said HI CAT
and the big fat cat said I'M GOING TO EAT YOU UP
and the big fat bird said
OH NO YOU'RE NOT
and the big fat cat said
OH YES I AM
and the bird said NO
and the cat said YES
and the bird flew far far away...
when along came a big fat dog.
The big fat dog said HI CAT
and the big fat cat said
HI DOG
and the big fat dog said
I'M GOING TO EAT YOU UP
and the big fat cat said
OH NO YOU'RE NOT
and the big fat dog said
OH YES I AM
and the cat said NO
and the dog said YES
and the cat scooted up a tall tall tree.
So the big fat dog ran all the way home
where he dug and he dug and he pulled up a bone
and he chewed and he chewed and he chewed.
And the big fat cat came down to the ground
and he looked all around and he walked all around
and he yawned and he fell sound asleep.
Then the big fat bird spinning round and around
flying high in the sky swooped down to the ground
where she found something big,
something fat,
something round
and the big fat bird said HI WORM!
************************************************************
The Big Fat Worm is the name of a wonderful children's picture book, written by Nancy Van Laan. When I bought it some years ago for my oldest, who's now 9 1/2, I thought it was somewhat reminiscent of the infamous Pesach song, "Chad Gadya" with its repetition and rhythm. See if you don't agree with me. (and hopefully I won't be caught with copyright infringement)
A big fat bird found a big fat worm
and the big fat bird said
HI WORM
and the big fat worm said
HI BIRD
and the big fat bird said
I'M GOING TO EAT YOU UP
and the big fat worm said
OH NO YOU'RE NOT
and the big fat bird said
OH YES I AM
and the worm said NO
and the bird said YES
and the worm disappeared
down a hole in the ground...
when along came a big fat cat.
The big fat cat said HI BIRD
and the big fat bird said HI CAT
and the big fat cat said I'M GOING TO EAT YOU UP
and the big fat bird said
OH NO YOU'RE NOT
and the big fat cat said
OH YES I AM
and the bird said NO
and the cat said YES
and the bird flew far far away...
when along came a big fat dog.
The big fat dog said HI CAT
and the big fat cat said
HI DOG
and the big fat dog said
I'M GOING TO EAT YOU UP
and the big fat cat said
OH NO YOU'RE NOT
and the big fat dog said
OH YES I AM
and the cat said NO
and the dog said YES
and the cat scooted up a tall tall tree.
So the big fat dog ran all the way home
where he dug and he dug and he pulled up a bone
and he chewed and he chewed and he chewed.
And the big fat cat came down to the ground
and he looked all around and he walked all around
and he yawned and he fell sound asleep.
Then the big fat bird spinning round and around
flying high in the sky swooped down to the ground
where she found something big,
something fat,
something round
and the big fat bird said HI WORM!
Thursday, March 03, 2005
All Booked Up
I'm sitting at the computer in our home office and pondering the eclectic collection of books on the shelf beside me.
For instance, here's one pile, and from bottom to top, there is:
1. Usted y yo -- that was my grade 10 Spanish book, used many lunas ago, in school.
2. Home Buying Strategies for Resale Homes [did we use any of the strategies when we bought our two homes? I think not.]
3. Why We Love the Dogs We Do
4. The Jewish Pleasure Principle
5. The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People [do they list my bad habits, I wonder]
6. The Business Writer's Handbook
7. How To Clean Practically Anything [man, that book is gathering dust!]
8. How To Succeed in Your Home Business
9. After Long Silence [ a powerful memoir about the secrets that held one family together in a bond of silence for more than four decades. Hint: author was raised Roman Catholic, and only as an adult, did she discover her parents were Jewish, Holocaust survivors living invented lives.]
10. A Dictionary of Textile Terms [referred to in the prelim pages as "the new language of fabrics." Now why we even have this book at all is beyond me.]
11. Waters of Babylon [short stories written by my girlfriend's father, describing his life in Bagdad, Iraq, before his family moved to Israel. This is an autographed copy, and as well, I have a credit in the book, as I helped with the editing of this vanity press book.]
12. Webster's Thesaurus
13. Parenting Wit and Wisdom [no, I did not write that book]
Yes, this is certainly a random gathering on one shelf. Another bookshelf on the opposite wall houses an assortment of cookbooks on one shelf and a collection of benschers gathered from many simchas over the years on another shelf.
Our home is certainly a house of books --- children's books, business books, reference books, cookbooks, coffee table books (but we have no coffee tables, so they're just "shelved books"), parenting books, educational books and Jewish and religious books.
But with our last move, I had to lose some of the amassed novels and outdated reference books because of space allowance. Saying goodbye to a book is sometimes like saying goodbye to a friend. First you offer a quick hello (when you don't recall that you even had read the book, so you skim the pages) and then a quick goodbye -- and move on.
I even have a few autographed books with personal messages -- Canadian poet Irving Layton's poetry collection For My Brother Jesus, Herman Wouk's The Hope, Mordecai Richler's Joshua Then and Now, to name a few. These books will remain treasured friends, and I will continue to make room for them in my life -- and on my bookshelf!
For instance, here's one pile, and from bottom to top, there is:
1. Usted y yo -- that was my grade 10 Spanish book, used many lunas ago, in school.
2. Home Buying Strategies for Resale Homes [did we use any of the strategies when we bought our two homes? I think not.]
3. Why We Love the Dogs We Do
4. The Jewish Pleasure Principle
5. The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People [do they list my bad habits, I wonder]
6. The Business Writer's Handbook
7. How To Clean Practically Anything [man, that book is gathering dust!]
8. How To Succeed in Your Home Business
9. After Long Silence [ a powerful memoir about the secrets that held one family together in a bond of silence for more than four decades. Hint: author was raised Roman Catholic, and only as an adult, did she discover her parents were Jewish, Holocaust survivors living invented lives.]
10. A Dictionary of Textile Terms [referred to in the prelim pages as "the new language of fabrics." Now why we even have this book at all is beyond me.]
11. Waters of Babylon [short stories written by my girlfriend's father, describing his life in Bagdad, Iraq, before his family moved to Israel. This is an autographed copy, and as well, I have a credit in the book, as I helped with the editing of this vanity press book.]
12. Webster's Thesaurus
13. Parenting Wit and Wisdom [no, I did not write that book]
Yes, this is certainly a random gathering on one shelf. Another bookshelf on the opposite wall houses an assortment of cookbooks on one shelf and a collection of benschers gathered from many simchas over the years on another shelf.
Our home is certainly a house of books --- children's books, business books, reference books, cookbooks, coffee table books (but we have no coffee tables, so they're just "shelved books"), parenting books, educational books and Jewish and religious books.
But with our last move, I had to lose some of the amassed novels and outdated reference books because of space allowance. Saying goodbye to a book is sometimes like saying goodbye to a friend. First you offer a quick hello (when you don't recall that you even had read the book, so you skim the pages) and then a quick goodbye -- and move on.
I even have a few autographed books with personal messages -- Canadian poet Irving Layton's poetry collection For My Brother Jesus, Herman Wouk's The Hope, Mordecai Richler's Joshua Then and Now, to name a few. These books will remain treasured friends, and I will continue to make room for them in my life -- and on my bookshelf!
Here Comes the Sun...
March 3. Toronto. Middle of winter. Sun is shining. Sun is shining very brightly. Sun is blinding. Sun is blinding me as I drive in to work. Blinding sun makes me think...
People tend to complain every which way.
It's winter, there's too much snow, I wish it would let up. So what does it do? IT RAINS. Bring back the snow, people cry out.
It's gray outside, murky and miserable-looking. I wish it would be sunny for once. Okay, so it's sunny. It's too sunny. It's blinding drivers and pedestrians on the road. They are just accidents waiting to happen. I want gloomy again, people say.
It's been a dry season. I wish it would rain. The heavens hear, open up, and pound the earth with torrential rains, the skies with jagged lightning and cracks of thunder. Are we on our way to build an ark? Too much rain, they complain.
I wish it were warmer. I'm tired of wearing a jacket or sweater outside. The heat comes, the heat stays, it's too hot...it's unbearable. Damn, I'm tired of the heat, and I'm catching a cold from sitting in front of the air conditioner and fan all day.
Now I think one thing we wouldn't complain about is happiness. 'Cause too much happiness is a very good thing, and one would be inclined to share it with others.
[Now, for all you folks who wonder why I didn't put "money" into any equation, the reason is simple. People complain without money, people still complain with money, and I've seen and heard that too much money is not necessarily a good thing. Just think like this: all the money in the world might get you some good medical care, but it won't save you when you've been given a "deadline" on life.]
People tend to complain every which way.
It's winter, there's too much snow, I wish it would let up. So what does it do? IT RAINS. Bring back the snow, people cry out.
It's gray outside, murky and miserable-looking. I wish it would be sunny for once. Okay, so it's sunny. It's too sunny. It's blinding drivers and pedestrians on the road. They are just accidents waiting to happen. I want gloomy again, people say.
It's been a dry season. I wish it would rain. The heavens hear, open up, and pound the earth with torrential rains, the skies with jagged lightning and cracks of thunder. Are we on our way to build an ark? Too much rain, they complain.
I wish it were warmer. I'm tired of wearing a jacket or sweater outside. The heat comes, the heat stays, it's too hot...it's unbearable. Damn, I'm tired of the heat, and I'm catching a cold from sitting in front of the air conditioner and fan all day.
Now I think one thing we wouldn't complain about is happiness. 'Cause too much happiness is a very good thing, and one would be inclined to share it with others.
[Now, for all you folks who wonder why I didn't put "money" into any equation, the reason is simple. People complain without money, people still complain with money, and I've seen and heard that too much money is not necessarily a good thing. Just think like this: all the money in the world might get you some good medical care, but it won't save you when you've been given a "deadline" on life.]
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Popcorn...Peanuts...Comments... Get Your Comments...
Okay, let me be a carnival barker for this.
I have an inventory of posts...and because of that inventory, I need you to get your comments...to me! Aside from my faithful few -- whom I know about -- does anyone actually read this blog?
You probably don't appreciate it when you get phone calls appealing for donations/pledges to causes that you might or might not want to support. How do you get rid of these callers? You either make a donation, and they thank you and don't call you again until the next quarter, or you tell them you're too busy, you're not interested, you already gave.
I haven't been getting enough donations -- read comments -- to satisfy me, so I'm at it again. Please show me that I'm on the right path with my words. The echo of my voice/words is very loud as it resonates back to me, instead of your words resonating back.
You can peruse my entire inventory; even if you see something you like from back in December, comment on that. I'll read it...and appreciate it. I'll read and appreciate ALL comments.
Wow, I faintly hear the Eagles singing in the background: "Desperado...." (remember Elaine in Seinfeld and how she loved that song...?)
I have an inventory of posts...and because of that inventory, I need you to get your comments...to me! Aside from my faithful few -- whom I know about -- does anyone actually read this blog?
You probably don't appreciate it when you get phone calls appealing for donations/pledges to causes that you might or might not want to support. How do you get rid of these callers? You either make a donation, and they thank you and don't call you again until the next quarter, or you tell them you're too busy, you're not interested, you already gave.
I haven't been getting enough donations -- read comments -- to satisfy me, so I'm at it again. Please show me that I'm on the right path with my words. The echo of my voice/words is very loud as it resonates back to me, instead of your words resonating back.
You can peruse my entire inventory; even if you see something you like from back in December, comment on that. I'll read it...and appreciate it. I'll read and appreciate ALL comments.
Wow, I faintly hear the Eagles singing in the background: "Desperado...." (remember Elaine in Seinfeld and how she loved that song...?)
Even More Food for Thought
[check these out; I relate well to #15 and #17!]
THINGS TO PONDER...(or not)!
1. Can you cry underwater?
2. When I was young we used to go "skinny dipping," now I just
"chunkydunk."
3. How important does a person have to be before they are
considered assassinated instead of just murdered?
4. If money doesn't grow on trees then why do banks have
branches?
5. Why do you have to "put your two cents in"... but it's only a
penny for your thoughts"? Where's that extra penny going?
6. Once you're in heaven, do you get stuck wearing the clothes
you were buried in, for eternity?
7. Why does a round pizza come in a square box?
8. How is it that we put man on the moon before we figured out it
would be a good idea to put wheels on luggage?
9. Why is it that people say they "slept like a baby" when babies
wake up like every two hours?
10. If a deaf person has to go to court, is it still called a
hearing?
11. Why are you IN a movie, but you are ON TV?
12. Why do people pay to go up tall buildings and then put money
in binoculars to look at things on the ground?
13. How come we choose from just two people for President and
fifty for Miss America?
14. If a 911 operator has a heart attack, whom does s/he call?
15. I signed up for an exercise class and was told to wear
loose-fitting clothing. If I HAD any loose-fitting clothing, I
wouldn't have signed up in the first place!
16. Wouldn't it be nice if whenever we messed up our life we
could simply press 'Ctrl Alt Delete' and start all over?
17. Stress is when you wake up screaming and then you realize you
haven't fallen asleep yet.
18. Just remember...if the world didn't suck, we'd all fall off.
19. Why is it that our children can't read a Bible in school, but
they can in prison?
20. Brain cells come and brain cells go, but fat cells live
forever.
THINGS TO PONDER...(or not)!
1. Can you cry underwater?
2. When I was young we used to go "skinny dipping," now I just
"chunkydunk."
3. How important does a person have to be before they are
considered assassinated instead of just murdered?
4. If money doesn't grow on trees then why do banks have
branches?
5. Why do you have to "put your two cents in"... but it's only a
penny for your thoughts"? Where's that extra penny going?
6. Once you're in heaven, do you get stuck wearing the clothes
you were buried in, for eternity?
7. Why does a round pizza come in a square box?
8. How is it that we put man on the moon before we figured out it
would be a good idea to put wheels on luggage?
9. Why is it that people say they "slept like a baby" when babies
wake up like every two hours?
10. If a deaf person has to go to court, is it still called a
hearing?
11. Why are you IN a movie, but you are ON TV?
12. Why do people pay to go up tall buildings and then put money
in binoculars to look at things on the ground?
13. How come we choose from just two people for President and
fifty for Miss America?
14. If a 911 operator has a heart attack, whom does s/he call?
15. I signed up for an exercise class and was told to wear
loose-fitting clothing. If I HAD any loose-fitting clothing, I
wouldn't have signed up in the first place!
16. Wouldn't it be nice if whenever we messed up our life we
could simply press 'Ctrl Alt Delete' and start all over?
17. Stress is when you wake up screaming and then you realize you
haven't fallen asleep yet.
18. Just remember...if the world didn't suck, we'd all fall off.
19. Why is it that our children can't read a Bible in school, but
they can in prison?
20. Brain cells come and brain cells go, but fat cells live
forever.
Food for Thought...But Not Peanut-Free
Moroccan Peanut and Tomato Soup (Parve*)
Prep time 20 minutes
Cook time 20 minutes
1 onion, finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 Tbsp parve margarine
1 can (28 oz/796 ml) tomatoes, crushed or diced
1 cup peanut butter
¼ cup ketchup
¼ cup vinegar
2 Tbsp chili powder
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp black pepper
1 tsp hot pepper sauce
1 tsp mustard powder
1 tsp parsley flakes (optional)
2 cups water
¨In a large, heavy pot, cook onion and garlic in margarine until tender.
¨Add remaining ingredients, except water.
¨Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Gradually add water.
¨Simmer for 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Makes 8 servings.
Serve with croutons or garlic bread.
*Can also make the soup dairy by sprinkling shredded Parmesan cheese on top of each serving or using dairy margarine.
(Whenever I serve this dish, the tasters are amazed to discover that the magic ingredient is peanut butter. A friend, who is also a restaurateur, was so impressed with the dish, he wanted to add it to his restaurant’s menu. But please, before serving such a dish, check that your guests have no allergies to peanuts!)
Prep time 20 minutes
Cook time 20 minutes
1 onion, finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 Tbsp parve margarine
1 can (28 oz/796 ml) tomatoes, crushed or diced
1 cup peanut butter
¼ cup ketchup
¼ cup vinegar
2 Tbsp chili powder
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp black pepper
1 tsp hot pepper sauce
1 tsp mustard powder
1 tsp parsley flakes (optional)
2 cups water
¨In a large, heavy pot, cook onion and garlic in margarine until tender.
¨Add remaining ingredients, except water.
¨Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Gradually add water.
¨Simmer for 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Makes 8 servings.
Serve with croutons or garlic bread.
*Can also make the soup dairy by sprinkling shredded Parmesan cheese on top of each serving or using dairy margarine.
(Whenever I serve this dish, the tasters are amazed to discover that the magic ingredient is peanut butter. A friend, who is also a restaurateur, was so impressed with the dish, he wanted to add it to his restaurant’s menu. But please, before serving such a dish, check that your guests have no allergies to peanuts!)
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Off-Course Discourse
...and when I sat down to write my last post, I thought it was going to be about my youngest turning 5 years old on Shabbos! Guess that topic became Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" this evening.
Oh ya, the dog turns 8 tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Tyson! Funny, you don't look a day over 56 (that's supposed to be canine humor, if you didn't catch on)!
Oh ya, the dog turns 8 tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Tyson! Funny, you don't look a day over 56 (that's supposed to be canine humor, if you didn't catch on)!
Truly Blessed
I am blessed with wonderful parents, who have given me all the love in the world...and MORE; who have shown me by example how to be a menschlich person; who have provided me with rules to teach me right from wrong; who have offered and given me more than they themselves ever had. Their love knows no boundaries.
My mother, named for a flower, is a gentle, passive and unassuming woman -- refined in her speech and in her actions. She is "a mother of Pearl." Yes, there is a pun intended, but she also represents beauty, just as abalone does.
Of course there are many many things that stand out in my mind about this wonderful woman, but here is a supreme example of her character. As addicted as I am to receiving e-mails, I've always been addicted to receiving any kind of mail with my name on it, whether it be junk mail, bills or personal letters. When I was in university, I used to call in the afternoons sometimes to say hi to my mom and then I'd ask if I got any mail. One day she responded, "You got a postcard in the mail." I asked, "Who from?" She said she didn't know, that I could see the card when I got home.
Now, a postcard is open territory--no envelope, which makes for no privacy. You can tell the place of its origin from the postage, and sometimes from the postcard itself if there's a photo. And you can also see who signs the card. But my mother did not look closely at the card, did not care that she had every opportunity in the world to read it before I did. She respected my privacy, and this example is something I will never ever forget.
My father, a Holocaust survivor, led a very difficult life from the time he was a young boy and lost his father. Poverty, war, heartbreak and illnesses crossed his path over the years, but somehow I believe he was made stronger and fought harder through difficult personal and health-related situations.
Together with my mother, he has worked long and hard to provide for his family -- a family most welcome after losing his own parents and siblings (except for one, may she live long and be well) -- and to set down strong family, strong moral and strong Torah-friendly roots in Toronto.
To meet my father is to meet a pretty unique individual -- he's charming, not a charmer; he's a Jewish mother and Jewish father rolled into one person; he is one of the most generous, if not the most generous person I know; he is the most selfless person I know -- he will not just figuratively give you the shirt off his back, he will give you the shirt off his back...and according to my mother, apparently once did so for a poor man in downtown Toronto. He is a loving father, a wonderful husband and a sincere and compassionate friend. Whoever meets my father is all the more lucky for it.
Not too long ago a close friend of my parents told me: "I never heard your father say a bad word about anyone." I could vouch for that compliment, and know that "shmirat ha-lashon," or guarding of the tongue, was and still is prevalent in my parents' home.
If anyone needs to carry away one major life tool from his/her parents' home, I think it's that, "shmirat ha-lashon." You carry that lesson to your own home, to your own family, to your dealings with friends, dealings in business and dealings within the community.
Maybe you ought to "borrow" my parents to help teach you right from wrong, to help teach you how to be a better person...to help teach you what it means to truly feel loved. And if you do so, I'm sure you too will feel truly blessed -- as I do.
My mother, named for a flower, is a gentle, passive and unassuming woman -- refined in her speech and in her actions. She is "a mother of Pearl." Yes, there is a pun intended, but she also represents beauty, just as abalone does.
Of course there are many many things that stand out in my mind about this wonderful woman, but here is a supreme example of her character. As addicted as I am to receiving e-mails, I've always been addicted to receiving any kind of mail with my name on it, whether it be junk mail, bills or personal letters. When I was in university, I used to call in the afternoons sometimes to say hi to my mom and then I'd ask if I got any mail. One day she responded, "You got a postcard in the mail." I asked, "Who from?" She said she didn't know, that I could see the card when I got home.
Now, a postcard is open territory--no envelope, which makes for no privacy. You can tell the place of its origin from the postage, and sometimes from the postcard itself if there's a photo. And you can also see who signs the card. But my mother did not look closely at the card, did not care that she had every opportunity in the world to read it before I did. She respected my privacy, and this example is something I will never ever forget.
My father, a Holocaust survivor, led a very difficult life from the time he was a young boy and lost his father. Poverty, war, heartbreak and illnesses crossed his path over the years, but somehow I believe he was made stronger and fought harder through difficult personal and health-related situations.
Together with my mother, he has worked long and hard to provide for his family -- a family most welcome after losing his own parents and siblings (except for one, may she live long and be well) -- and to set down strong family, strong moral and strong Torah-friendly roots in Toronto.
To meet my father is to meet a pretty unique individual -- he's charming, not a charmer; he's a Jewish mother and Jewish father rolled into one person; he is one of the most generous, if not the most generous person I know; he is the most selfless person I know -- he will not just figuratively give you the shirt off his back, he will give you the shirt off his back...and according to my mother, apparently once did so for a poor man in downtown Toronto. He is a loving father, a wonderful husband and a sincere and compassionate friend. Whoever meets my father is all the more lucky for it.
Not too long ago a close friend of my parents told me: "I never heard your father say a bad word about anyone." I could vouch for that compliment, and know that "shmirat ha-lashon," or guarding of the tongue, was and still is prevalent in my parents' home.
If anyone needs to carry away one major life tool from his/her parents' home, I think it's that, "shmirat ha-lashon." You carry that lesson to your own home, to your own family, to your dealings with friends, dealings in business and dealings within the community.
Maybe you ought to "borrow" my parents to help teach you right from wrong, to help teach you how to be a better person...to help teach you what it means to truly feel loved. And if you do so, I'm sure you too will feel truly blessed -- as I do.
Time...Well Spent
I'll be the first to admit: I think I have to open a Toronto branch of Bloggers Anonymous. (ha, what a concept right there!) I have become somewhat addicted to my newfound entertainment medium -- reading blogs, writing comments on some, composing my own posts. I've shirked some of my household and familial responsibilities -- I do get to them, but often later than sooner. So, if anyone wants to start a branch of Bloggers Anonymous, count me in, but don't send me an e-mail about it, or a link, because who knows how long I'll stay online after that??!!
In any case, writing is very therapeutic for me. I was told yesterday that I'm a "terrific letter writer." I'll agree with that compliment, and I'd now like someone to extend it to saying that I'm a "terrific blogger."
Writing letters comes very easily to me, and I can capture lots of images with my words, and often find myself even using vocabulary that I wouldn't normally use in regular conversations. I sense that I am more eloquent on paper.
To that end, I try to do the same with my semi-regular posts. Now, even if it looks like my post is short, and I probably whipped it off in two minutes, the truth is that a typical post (such as this one) can take me up to 30 minutes to formulate, edit, post, and often re-edit. Yes, the words flow, but I try to capture something and therefore think about what I'm trying to say.
Because I work as a copy editor in my non-blogging life, I feel the need to be as correct in my diction and grammar as I can. How would it look to you readers (reader?) if I wnt aheade and spelt evrything incorectly and put punctuation out of it's correct positioning --? When I see those kinds of errors on others' blogs, my hackles go up; I don't want the same reaction when you read my posts.
So yes, I could be doing something more valuable than blogging, but who can put a value on what I consider to be my time...well spent?
In any case, writing is very therapeutic for me. I was told yesterday that I'm a "terrific letter writer." I'll agree with that compliment, and I'd now like someone to extend it to saying that I'm a "terrific blogger."
Writing letters comes very easily to me, and I can capture lots of images with my words, and often find myself even using vocabulary that I wouldn't normally use in regular conversations. I sense that I am more eloquent on paper.
To that end, I try to do the same with my semi-regular posts. Now, even if it looks like my post is short, and I probably whipped it off in two minutes, the truth is that a typical post (such as this one) can take me up to 30 minutes to formulate, edit, post, and often re-edit. Yes, the words flow, but I try to capture something and therefore think about what I'm trying to say.
Because I work as a copy editor in my non-blogging life, I feel the need to be as correct in my diction and grammar as I can. How would it look to you readers (reader?) if I wnt aheade and spelt evrything incorectly and put punctuation out of it's correct positioning --? When I see those kinds of errors on others' blogs, my hackles go up; I don't want the same reaction when you read my posts.
So yes, I could be doing something more valuable than blogging, but who can put a value on what I consider to be my time...well spent?
Monday, February 28, 2005
Oh, Daughter of Mine
About an hour or more ago, I put my daughter to bed. After her Jacuzzi bath and follow-up shower, I'd spent about 45 minutes this evening braiding her hair Bo Derek-style. The mornings are rushed, and besides, I'm usually gone by the time she wakes up, so there's no time for hair niceties done by my hand.
But tonight I offered to make her lots of little braids, and let me tell you, we both needed patience for the task to be completed. She grew restless, I grew restless; she needed to stretch her back, I needed to stretch mine. But the end result was a headful of lovely little braids with colorful elastic bands holding them together.
For once my daughter was not so pouty, and more pleased by my stylistic coifs done on her behalf.
But I knew that by the morning the beautiful braids might become disheveled, with straggling hair hanging here and there. The braids would look unkempt and it would be too time-consuming and difficult for this seven-year-old to be up to the task of "putting her best hair forward!" So we sought a solution to try to keep the braids looking equally good in the morning as they did when she went to bed. She requested that I put a head scarf on her, which I've done before. This was something I did when I was young, coming home from the hairdresser, and wearing a head scarf to bed to try to keep the hairstyle intact.
This evening, however, when I tied the scarf around her braids, in a babushka style, I suddenly thought that my daughter had taken on an Old World look--a look of a Polish peasant, perhaps. Perhaps, I thought, she looked like my aunt must have, when she died at age 15 at the hands of the Nazis. My daughter is named for this aunt, my father's adored youngest sister. Of course, there are no photos that were salvaged from before the war years, so I have no clue what this aunt might have looked like. But I know that her name was Marjem, after her father Meir, who died two months before she was born. She was a source of light to her family.
My daughter's middle name is Meriam, and she too, is sweet and adored, and a source of light for our family, as her great-aunt was to my father's family.
May Marjem rest in peace, and l'havdil, may Meriam live a long, healthy and happy life. Amen.
But tonight I offered to make her lots of little braids, and let me tell you, we both needed patience for the task to be completed. She grew restless, I grew restless; she needed to stretch her back, I needed to stretch mine. But the end result was a headful of lovely little braids with colorful elastic bands holding them together.
For once my daughter was not so pouty, and more pleased by my stylistic coifs done on her behalf.
But I knew that by the morning the beautiful braids might become disheveled, with straggling hair hanging here and there. The braids would look unkempt and it would be too time-consuming and difficult for this seven-year-old to be up to the task of "putting her best hair forward!" So we sought a solution to try to keep the braids looking equally good in the morning as they did when she went to bed. She requested that I put a head scarf on her, which I've done before. This was something I did when I was young, coming home from the hairdresser, and wearing a head scarf to bed to try to keep the hairstyle intact.
This evening, however, when I tied the scarf around her braids, in a babushka style, I suddenly thought that my daughter had taken on an Old World look--a look of a Polish peasant, perhaps. Perhaps, I thought, she looked like my aunt must have, when she died at age 15 at the hands of the Nazis. My daughter is named for this aunt, my father's adored youngest sister. Of course, there are no photos that were salvaged from before the war years, so I have no clue what this aunt might have looked like. But I know that her name was Marjem, after her father Meir, who died two months before she was born. She was a source of light to her family.
My daughter's middle name is Meriam, and she too, is sweet and adored, and a source of light for our family, as her great-aunt was to my father's family.
May Marjem rest in peace, and l'havdil, may Meriam live a long, healthy and happy life. Amen.
"...We're Lost in a Masquerade"
"Are we really happy here
With this lonely game we play
Looking for words to say
Searching but not finding understanding anyway
We're lost in a masquerade..."
Thank you, George Benson, singer/guitarist extraordinaire, for those[hopefully correct]lyrics.
I couldn't help but think of them today after a "conversation" I had with a fellow blogger re. blogging vs. silence.
Many of us have taken names for ourselves via which to blog -- we are keeping our true identities secret from those who know us. But are we in fact remaining secret? So many of us drop enough clues or personal stories that give us away. I never told anyone other than my husband and my children that I blog. But last week, a friend linked to me through a roundabout source in my published article and she had this to say: "Oh my G-d, you're TorontoPearl, you're Pearlies of Wisdom. Why didn't you tell me? (sniff!)" But this friend knows me, knows what's going in my life, knows how I think -- there was really no need for her to read my words and know about my online identity.
But as we bloggers mill about in blogland, I can't help but think of a costume party in which the guests wear elaborate masks to hide their identities from fellow partygoers. Are we not like these guests, wearing our blogging names like masks so that we won't be found out? Yes, it's a bit daring, thrilling even to wear the blogging name and remain incognito, isn't it?
What if we bloggers were to remove those masks, those names, use our real names and say, "I don't have a blog. I have a Web site. Perhaps you'd like to check it out...."
Yes, "...we're lost in a masquerade."
With this lonely game we play
Looking for words to say
Searching but not finding understanding anyway
We're lost in a masquerade..."
Thank you, George Benson, singer/guitarist extraordinaire, for those[hopefully correct]lyrics.
I couldn't help but think of them today after a "conversation" I had with a fellow blogger re. blogging vs. silence.
Many of us have taken names for ourselves via which to blog -- we are keeping our true identities secret from those who know us. But are we in fact remaining secret? So many of us drop enough clues or personal stories that give us away. I never told anyone other than my husband and my children that I blog. But last week, a friend linked to me through a roundabout source in my published article and she had this to say: "Oh my G-d, you're TorontoPearl, you're Pearlies of Wisdom. Why didn't you tell me? (sniff!)" But this friend knows me, knows what's going in my life, knows how I think -- there was really no need for her to read my words and know about my online identity.
But as we bloggers mill about in blogland, I can't help but think of a costume party in which the guests wear elaborate masks to hide their identities from fellow partygoers. Are we not like these guests, wearing our blogging names like masks so that we won't be found out? Yes, it's a bit daring, thrilling even to wear the blogging name and remain incognito, isn't it?
What if we bloggers were to remove those masks, those names, use our real names and say, "I don't have a blog. I have a Web site. Perhaps you'd like to check it out...."
Yes, "...we're lost in a masquerade."
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Ain't It Nice To Imagine....?
As I mentioned once in a post of mine, I live in a beautiful neighborhood that is still being developed with million-dollar homes. Rest assured, mine is not worth anything close to that amount -- we just lucked out with a smaller, older home in a nice subdivision.
About a five minute drive from us is a gated community being developed with million-dollar and two-million-dollar homes. Sometimes when the weather is nicer, we take walks with the dog to view some of the ones still being built. I don't really aspire to live in anything of their grandeur and size, nor could I maintain the upkeep of such palatial homes, nor the expected lifestyle that one would think is associated with such a piece of real estate. But it's nice to look at them all the same.
Today I took my children to see one of these homes: it is the grand prize in a cancer hospital lottery (tickets are $100 each or three for $250) and is worth over two million dollars, furnishings included. To look at this home on the outside is nice; to look at it on the inside is nicer. My children and I went through the rooms and announced who would get which room...if we won(yes, we are ticket purchasers for such a great fund-raising cause).
My heart melted at a second-floor library that surrounded an opening in the floor through which you could look down to the main level. I imagined parts of the shelving holding dear and familiar children's books, other parts holding family photo albums, while others held sforim. And just opposite the library was a small office with rolltop desks; I figured this is a room where I could hone my writing skills even more, write a publishable manuscript and the resulting book would one day end up on those library shelves.
Perhaps it's easier to imagine pretend lives in such a home when there is such a slim chance of winning it. But our walkabout today gave my children great pleasure and opened their minds, their imagination, to great things. They understand that it's okay to partake in this game of make-believe for a short while.
I'm proud that for them the reality kicks in when they announce, "If we win this house, it's going to be a much longer walk to shul!"
About a five minute drive from us is a gated community being developed with million-dollar and two-million-dollar homes. Sometimes when the weather is nicer, we take walks with the dog to view some of the ones still being built. I don't really aspire to live in anything of their grandeur and size, nor could I maintain the upkeep of such palatial homes, nor the expected lifestyle that one would think is associated with such a piece of real estate. But it's nice to look at them all the same.
Today I took my children to see one of these homes: it is the grand prize in a cancer hospital lottery (tickets are $100 each or three for $250) and is worth over two million dollars, furnishings included. To look at this home on the outside is nice; to look at it on the inside is nicer. My children and I went through the rooms and announced who would get which room...if we won(yes, we are ticket purchasers for such a great fund-raising cause).
My heart melted at a second-floor library that surrounded an opening in the floor through which you could look down to the main level. I imagined parts of the shelving holding dear and familiar children's books, other parts holding family photo albums, while others held sforim. And just opposite the library was a small office with rolltop desks; I figured this is a room where I could hone my writing skills even more, write a publishable manuscript and the resulting book would one day end up on those library shelves.
Perhaps it's easier to imagine pretend lives in such a home when there is such a slim chance of winning it. But our walkabout today gave my children great pleasure and opened their minds, their imagination, to great things. They understand that it's okay to partake in this game of make-believe for a short while.
I'm proud that for them the reality kicks in when they announce, "If we win this house, it's going to be a much longer walk to shul!"
Life's a Gamble
While sitting this a.m., waiting for my children to finish their swimming lessons, I listened to the conversations around me and partook as well.
One woman said: "Could I ask you a question...?" It sounded ominous but she wanted to find out what "Kosher" means and why Cheerios may or may not be Kosher. At least she, as a non-Jewish woman, had some basic understanding about Kashrut and understood that we don't mix meat with dairy, and knew that for Pesach we change all our dishes, etc. So I only had to give a crash course in Kashrut.
On the other side of me, were two young Modern Orthodox peer fathers, who were discussing gambling, and going to Vegas or smaller casinos in Ontario, and what games give them a "rush" -- and how much money they would drop at a time, how much they'd come home with as a gain, or as a loss.
I couldn't help but silently give thanks to Hashem that my husband partakes in none of this, nor does he desire to do so. Once upon a time, I thought that the "gadgets" he likes to buy are often thrown-out money, but I'd so much rather he have gadgets and money in the bank, than an empty wallet after a rush at the blackjack table and a losing streak.
One woman said: "Could I ask you a question...?" It sounded ominous but she wanted to find out what "Kosher" means and why Cheerios may or may not be Kosher. At least she, as a non-Jewish woman, had some basic understanding about Kashrut and understood that we don't mix meat with dairy, and knew that for Pesach we change all our dishes, etc. So I only had to give a crash course in Kashrut.
On the other side of me, were two young Modern Orthodox peer fathers, who were discussing gambling, and going to Vegas or smaller casinos in Ontario, and what games give them a "rush" -- and how much money they would drop at a time, how much they'd come home with as a gain, or as a loss.
I couldn't help but silently give thanks to Hashem that my husband partakes in none of this, nor does he desire to do so. Once upon a time, I thought that the "gadgets" he likes to buy are often thrown-out money, but I'd so much rather he have gadgets and money in the bank, than an empty wallet after a rush at the blackjack table and a losing streak.
Friday, February 25, 2005
I Stole Something from A Simple Jew.... Umm, I Mean I Borrowed It.
"...record your inner life in a journal. This will not be something you do to earn immortal fame as an author, but rather engrave your soul-portrait on paper. Write down all your inner struggles, your setbacks and successes, and grant them eternal life. This way your very essence, the personality of your soul, your spiritual attainments, your life's inner treasures, will live on forever in the lives of your spiritual heirs as generations to come and go."
(Piaceszna Rebbe)
Asking forgiveness of fellow blogger A Simple Jew, http://asimplejew.blogspot.com I admit that I stole this posting of his from October 10, 2004. I'm like a comedian who's run out of quality material and has to recycle jokes of yesteryear.
But A Simple Jew knows the right things to say at the right time, the right quotations to cite to bring an awareness to his readers. Even if one of his posts doesn't offer anything more than a word of wisdom from a late, great rebbe, that post is a treasure and food for thought.
This quote from the Piaceszna Rebbe hits home for me as a blogger and as someone who kept a journal for years. My words are markers for my life, recreating or renewing events -- both trivial and major -- for me and any readers with the [good] fortune to read my words.
As the quote says, "...engrave your soul-portrait on paper." Or in this modern-day world, engrave it on a screen, don't forget to hit SAVE and then FILE. And remember, "a picture is worth a thousand words..."
(Piaceszna Rebbe)
Asking forgiveness of fellow blogger A Simple Jew, http://asimplejew.blogspot.com I admit that I stole this posting of his from October 10, 2004. I'm like a comedian who's run out of quality material and has to recycle jokes of yesteryear.
But A Simple Jew knows the right things to say at the right time, the right quotations to cite to bring an awareness to his readers. Even if one of his posts doesn't offer anything more than a word of wisdom from a late, great rebbe, that post is a treasure and food for thought.
This quote from the Piaceszna Rebbe hits home for me as a blogger and as someone who kept a journal for years. My words are markers for my life, recreating or renewing events -- both trivial and major -- for me and any readers with the [good] fortune to read my words.
As the quote says, "...engrave your soul-portrait on paper." Or in this modern-day world, engrave it on a screen, don't forget to hit SAVE and then FILE. And remember, "a picture is worth a thousand words..."
Thursday, February 24, 2005
B-A-T-H-Y-S-C-A-P-H-E***
Interesting how the human mind works, and more interesting is memory.
I am 43. When I was 12 and in grade 7 (okay, to you Americans, 7th grade), we would have spelling bees from time to time if we finished our work and had about 10 minutes till the bell would ring for dismissal. We lined up along the blackboard and the teacher gave us words -- some easy, some difficult -- randomly. Either the bell would ring first, or we'd declare a champion speller, based on who was left standing.
I was a good speller, but I don't recall being champion. However, I do recall that the word bathyscaphe was given by the teacher -- to me? Perhaps. I can't recall that, either. But since that day in 1973, when I heard the spelling of the word, I've retained it. I quickly spell it aloud from time to time and recall this story to family and friends. Or I do it in a singsong manner, or make a clapping game with the word for my young daughter.
I may have remembered the spelling of the word all these years, but I've never had reason to use it in a sentence. Go figure....
Yes, memory is a strange and often wonderful thing. A perfect example that leaves me wondering about memory continually is my father's memory for his father's yahrzeit. Now you might think, "Of course her father would know and commemorate a parent's yahrzeit." But my father was six years old when his father passed away (my father's littlest sister was born two months after her father passed away!). That was over 75 years ago! There were harsh living conditions, a world war, dealing with huge and horrific losses, an uprooting of a life, and a replanting of a life and resulting fruit in subsequent years. So many trials and tribulations...illnesses that affected the brain: brain tumor, stroke...and yet the yahrzeit date stayed with this man all these years.
I think it's a blessing in disguise -- a kavod for the grandfather I never knew, the father that my father barely knew. We should all be blessed with such a memory...to do the right things in life.
***Bathyscaphe (also bathyscaph) -- n. : a navigable submersible for deep-sea exploration having a spherical watertight cabin attached to its underside.
I am 43. When I was 12 and in grade 7 (okay, to you Americans, 7th grade), we would have spelling bees from time to time if we finished our work and had about 10 minutes till the bell would ring for dismissal. We lined up along the blackboard and the teacher gave us words -- some easy, some difficult -- randomly. Either the bell would ring first, or we'd declare a champion speller, based on who was left standing.
I was a good speller, but I don't recall being champion. However, I do recall that the word bathyscaphe was given by the teacher -- to me? Perhaps. I can't recall that, either. But since that day in 1973, when I heard the spelling of the word, I've retained it. I quickly spell it aloud from time to time and recall this story to family and friends. Or I do it in a singsong manner, or make a clapping game with the word for my young daughter.
I may have remembered the spelling of the word all these years, but I've never had reason to use it in a sentence. Go figure....
Yes, memory is a strange and often wonderful thing. A perfect example that leaves me wondering about memory continually is my father's memory for his father's yahrzeit. Now you might think, "Of course her father would know and commemorate a parent's yahrzeit." But my father was six years old when his father passed away (my father's littlest sister was born two months after her father passed away!). That was over 75 years ago! There were harsh living conditions, a world war, dealing with huge and horrific losses, an uprooting of a life, and a replanting of a life and resulting fruit in subsequent years. So many trials and tribulations...illnesses that affected the brain: brain tumor, stroke...and yet the yahrzeit date stayed with this man all these years.
I think it's a blessing in disguise -- a kavod for the grandfather I never knew, the father that my father barely knew. We should all be blessed with such a memory...to do the right things in life.
***Bathyscaphe (also bathyscaph) -- n. : a navigable submersible for deep-sea exploration having a spherical watertight cabin attached to its underside.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
A Working Mother's Woes
Woe is me...I'm a working mom. Okay, so I bring home a few shekels, and I help pay for the mortgage, the second car, the insurance, the household bills, the day care, the schooling, the day camp, the extra-curricular lessons, shul membership, the dog food, the--
Oh wait, I said I bring home a few shekels, and I help pay for... the dog food. Yup, that's about it. So why am I out there, rushing to and from work, leaving my husband to deal with chauffeuring and meal preps and homework till I get home. I'm not the main breadwinner in this family by any means, but I do help out a bit.
Recently hubby and I looked at my checkbook to see if there was a pattern to my spending habits -- oh, ya, the pattern is THE KIDS. I pay for swimming, for hockey, for chess, for other mind-expanding, brain-enlightening courses they pursue, for school expenses (of course, those are on top of tuition, on top of school uniforms, on top of supply lists) such as trips and food programs and Scholastic book orders.
Yes, we spend on THE KIDS, but the rewards are plentiful. My kids will swim/skate up to me, and in a loud and clear voice one of them will ask me to join him in a game of chess. I'll refuse, reminding him that it is in fact I who needs to take chess lessons, and tell him to play with his father, while I suggest his sister read the Scholastic book I ordered. In the meantime, I'll do the laundry and wash my daughter's school jumper and her brother's zippered school logo jacket.
And littlest child, not yet in school, will look at me, and with pleading eyes ask, "Can I have a brownie?" "Sure," I say. After all, it's only a brownie, and not a cataloged list of Scholastic books he wants me to buy for him, or an after-school program he wants to take, or a knapsack he insists on having because it's the latest schoolyard look.
Thank G-d for small blessings...
Oh wait, I said I bring home a few shekels, and I help pay for... the dog food. Yup, that's about it. So why am I out there, rushing to and from work, leaving my husband to deal with chauffeuring and meal preps and homework till I get home. I'm not the main breadwinner in this family by any means, but I do help out a bit.
Recently hubby and I looked at my checkbook to see if there was a pattern to my spending habits -- oh, ya, the pattern is THE KIDS. I pay for swimming, for hockey, for chess, for other mind-expanding, brain-enlightening courses they pursue, for school expenses (of course, those are on top of tuition, on top of school uniforms, on top of supply lists) such as trips and food programs and Scholastic book orders.
Yes, we spend on THE KIDS, but the rewards are plentiful. My kids will swim/skate up to me, and in a loud and clear voice one of them will ask me to join him in a game of chess. I'll refuse, reminding him that it is in fact I who needs to take chess lessons, and tell him to play with his father, while I suggest his sister read the Scholastic book I ordered. In the meantime, I'll do the laundry and wash my daughter's school jumper and her brother's zippered school logo jacket.
And littlest child, not yet in school, will look at me, and with pleading eyes ask, "Can I have a brownie?" "Sure," I say. After all, it's only a brownie, and not a cataloged list of Scholastic books he wants me to buy for him, or an after-school program he wants to take, or a knapsack he insists on having because it's the latest schoolyard look.
Thank G-d for small blessings...
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Online with Hashem
I've discovered blogs in which people are actually writing letters to Hashem. Blogosphere mail to the Almighty! Is this what we call progress?
Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret is a well-known Judy Blume novel; I'm pretty sure that nearly every pubescent/adolescent girl has checked this book out of her library, or bought it via a Scholastic Books order. And I can't help but think of that book title when I read peoples' online pleas to Hashem or praise for Hashem.
For me, anyway, any words I have for Hashem are private and are generally meant to stay that way. Yes, I'll daven in a kehilla, but I move my lips quietly when I say the prayers; I'll make the brachot over the Shabbos candles and might say the words aloud, but my added prayers for family members and friends are said quietly or silently, using my mind to transport my words high above.
Some of my early journals have written pleas to Hashem or thanks to him embedded within their entries, but again, these are private, for my eyes only.
That's why I can't help but think that some of these people who are outrightly praying online are in some way desecrating the purer ways of communicating to Hashem. I'm sure they are engrossed in regular davening and learning, but perhaps they think that any means possible will get their prayers answered faster?
But the question they really need to be asking is: How often does Hashem check his e-mail?
(I hope by writing this entry that I'm not doing any major desecrating....)
Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret is a well-known Judy Blume novel; I'm pretty sure that nearly every pubescent/adolescent girl has checked this book out of her library, or bought it via a Scholastic Books order. And I can't help but think of that book title when I read peoples' online pleas to Hashem or praise for Hashem.
For me, anyway, any words I have for Hashem are private and are generally meant to stay that way. Yes, I'll daven in a kehilla, but I move my lips quietly when I say the prayers; I'll make the brachot over the Shabbos candles and might say the words aloud, but my added prayers for family members and friends are said quietly or silently, using my mind to transport my words high above.
Some of my early journals have written pleas to Hashem or thanks to him embedded within their entries, but again, these are private, for my eyes only.
That's why I can't help but think that some of these people who are outrightly praying online are in some way desecrating the purer ways of communicating to Hashem. I'm sure they are engrossed in regular davening and learning, but perhaps they think that any means possible will get their prayers answered faster?
But the question they really need to be asking is: How often does Hashem check his e-mail?
(I hope by writing this entry that I'm not doing any major desecrating....)
Monday, February 21, 2005
With a Hop, Skip and a Jump
If some of you tune in once in a while or regularly -- even better! -- to this blog, you'll note once again the change in design. Every now and again, I look at my site and see that something screwed up in the display -- the fave sites are missing or got misplaced down to the netherworld of the screen's page, posts or comments are getting cut off, etc. I don't know how it happens, but I guess it's probably an indication that I'm spending too much time on this site, and losing out on valuable items as a result.
Even if my Pearlies of Wisdom page doesn't display my list of faves, I have an organized column on my computer both at home and at work that I refer to so that I can check in to see how some other bloggers are doing.
Because I am still relatively new to the world of blogs and blogging -- I started blogging in December 2004 -- I have to think back to how I even accumulated a list of faves.
My stepping stone was back in October 2004 when I received a mailing about newly published Jewish books and a blurb about their authors. The book that caught my eye on the list was screenwriter Robert Avrech's The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden (mentioned several times on this blog). I googled Robert's name and discovered his blog, then became hooked on reading it. I began to check out some of his faves, among them A Simple Jew and Five Years Later. And also got hooked. Then I looked at the faves on A Simple Jew and linked on to those...and got hooked to several. And when I linked on to those, I cross-linked to others.
Now each time I go online to read others' blogs, I move through the blogosphere with a hop, skip and a jump. Sometimes I can't even remember how I arrived at a particular blog, what circuitous route I took to get there. But I'm glad I'm there...
And I'm equally glad you're here, that you found your way to Pearlies of Wisdom.
Even if my Pearlies of Wisdom page doesn't display my list of faves, I have an organized column on my computer both at home and at work that I refer to so that I can check in to see how some other bloggers are doing.
Because I am still relatively new to the world of blogs and blogging -- I started blogging in December 2004 -- I have to think back to how I even accumulated a list of faves.
My stepping stone was back in October 2004 when I received a mailing about newly published Jewish books and a blurb about their authors. The book that caught my eye on the list was screenwriter Robert Avrech's The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden (mentioned several times on this blog). I googled Robert's name and discovered his blog, then became hooked on reading it. I began to check out some of his faves, among them A Simple Jew and Five Years Later. And also got hooked. Then I looked at the faves on A Simple Jew and linked on to those...and got hooked to several. And when I linked on to those, I cross-linked to others.
Now each time I go online to read others' blogs, I move through the blogosphere with a hop, skip and a jump. Sometimes I can't even remember how I arrived at a particular blog, what circuitous route I took to get there. But I'm glad I'm there...
And I'm equally glad you're here, that you found your way to Pearlies of Wisdom.
HAPPINESS
In his book Happiness: Formulas, Stories & Insights, Rabbi Zelig Pliskin offers an exercise in which the ideas are conducive for accessing happiness-producing states.
Try to fill in some of these:
*I am grateful for....
*I talk and act joyously when...
*One of the greatest people I ever met was...
*The nicest thing anyone ever said to me is...
*I will increase...
*The people who add to my happiness are...
*I felt a sense of accomplishment when...
*What makes me smile is...
*What I most appreciate about my father is...
*What I most appreciate about my mother is...
*What I most appreciate about my brother/sister is...
*I feel fortunate that...
*I appreciate...
Even if you think you are not so happy at the moment, upon doing this exercise and reviewing your ever-changing answers, you will realize that you have much to be thankful for and you appreciate the small things in life that you might otherwise take for granted.
Wishing you much happiness...
Try to fill in some of these:
*I am grateful for....
*I talk and act joyously when...
*One of the greatest people I ever met was...
*The nicest thing anyone ever said to me is...
*I will increase...
*The people who add to my happiness are...
*I felt a sense of accomplishment when...
*What makes me smile is...
*What I most appreciate about my father is...
*What I most appreciate about my mother is...
*What I most appreciate about my brother/sister is...
*I feel fortunate that...
*I appreciate...
Even if you think you are not so happy at the moment, upon doing this exercise and reviewing your ever-changing answers, you will realize that you have much to be thankful for and you appreciate the small things in life that you might otherwise take for granted.
Wishing you much happiness...
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Screenwriter Makes His Seraphic Vision a Reality [something to kvell about]
Please refer to www.seraphicpress.com for more insights...
************************
The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden, by Robert J. Avrech, Seraphic Press.
Robert J. Avrech’s primary experience has been as a screenwriter. With Brian DePalma, he wrote the screenplay for the 1984 thriller Body Double, and he was the screenwriter for the 1992 film, A Stranger Among Us, an official selection of the Cannes Film Festival. His moving 1999 adaptation of author Jane Yolen’s The Devil’s Arithmetic garnered him an Emmy Award.
Avrech recently undertook a new venture – to write a novel for young adults that would reflect the values of an observant Jew.
His guiding light was his son, Ariel Chaim, a yeshiva student, gentle, deeply religious, devoted to his parents, his younger sisters and his studies. Ariel also loved both classic and modern literature, but was concerned about the values found in contemporary young adult literature, which he felt reflected the point of view of cynical authors and editors determined to impose their negative viewpoint on others.
He suggested that his father “start a publishing company, publish fiction that is of the highest quality, yet also suitable for kids who hold Torah values.”
At age 14, Ariel was diagnosed with a brain tumour. His family rallied around him as he underwent intensive chemotherapy and radiation treatments, transfusions and surgery.
For the eight years that he was in and out of hospital, family, faith and friendships sustained him in his fight to survive. He continued to study and was valedictorian of his graduating class at Los Angeles’ Yeshiva Gedolah. Four years later, however, in fall 2002, Ariel had difficulty breathing. The prognosis was that the chemotherapy for his tumour had left his lungs scarred. He was suffering from pulmonary fibrosis and needed a lung transplant.
By this time, Avrech had begun writing a Jewish historical novel, The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden. His goal was to share his “love of Judaism, Jewish ritual and Jewish history with as many people as possible.” He wanted to be a positive influence, telling a great story that also embraced Orthodox Jewish ideals.
The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden is the coming-of-age story of the unlikely friendship between Ariel, “The Hebrew Kid,” and Lozen, an Apache warrior girl and younger sister of Victorio, who was perhaps the greatest Apache chief in the Old West. Ariel, an intelligent, serious and spunky boy of almost bar mitzvah age, is determined to celebrate this important ceremony.
He becomes friends with Lozen, as he and his observant Jewish family make their way across the Arizona Territory after the Civil War, seeking a life free of oppression, a place where they can practise their religion and livelihood.
Through their adventures and intriguing friendship, Ariel and Lozen learn about the similarities and the differences in their cultures.
The story’s colourful characters include Papa, Mama, sister Rebecca, Victorio, U.S. cavalry, scalp hunters, settlers and the renowned Doc Holliday, all travelling westward to find a new beginning. With its page-turning suspense, adventure, humour, historical and religious references, and its glossary of Yiddish and Hebrew terms, The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden is a welcome and wonderful book for anyone age nine to 120. It is a literary treasure for families to read and reread.
Avrech spent two years researching Apache life, the westward expansion and letters and journals of Jews who made the migration to the west. He travelled to Arizona, where the story takes place, to get a feel for the land and to talk to Apache tribe members.
While Ariel remained hospitalized or homebound, Avrech read him the manuscript, discussing story lines, characterization, halachic accuracies. He says his son was “a fine literary critic, and after he read a chapter, it was not unusual for Ariel to offer gentle but cogent criticism that would send me back to my pages for numerous rewrites.
“My years as a screenwriter have taught me some basic lessons in telling a good story, getting to the heart of the scene quickly and resolving characters and situations.”
Avrech completed seven drafts of the book, “each one better than the next,” with further input from family, friends, rabbis, writers and editors.
Unfortunately, Ariel did not receive the lung transplant he and his family were desperately hoping for, and in July 2003, he died at age 22. Avrech and his wife, Karen, decided to establish Seraphic Press in Ariel’s memory. Seraphim, God’s first order of angels, are often mentioned in the Torah. Ariel’s pious nature was recognized early by his family, friends and community, making Seraphic Press a befitting name.
The outstanding Seraphic Press design team includes Obadinah Heavner, illustrator; Robert Lanphear, book designer; and Iskra, calligrapher. Jonathan David Publishers, Inc. has been signed on as exclusive distributor for The Hebrew Kid and upcoming Seraphic Press books whose release dates will coincide with National Jewish Book Month.
The publishing list includes more titles in The Hebrew Kid series – Avrech is currently working on The Hebrew Kid and Buffalo Bill, a story about bringing a Torah to Tombstone, Ariz. The Shidduch Diaries, designated as “chick lit for the observant,” is author Michael Levin’s wildly entertaining look at the insular Jewish dating scene. Maccabee and Me, another Avrech title, features a time-travel story about a high school student who learns to appreciate his Judaism when he is cast back into the world of Judah the Maccabee.
The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden, recently released, received wonderful reviews. In November 2004, Avrech was invited to read and sign copies of his book at the largest Jewish children’s book fair in Los Angeles. But he said then: “HaShem has a wicked curveball. The bookfest takes place 100 yards from Ariel’s kever [grave]. Understand, this is The Hebrew Kid’s very first public appearance.”
In May 2004, Avrech started a blog, an online journal – Seraphic Secret, www.seraphicpress.com – his space to remember his only son, Ariel.
Robert J. Avrech translated his son’s vision into the Avrech family’s vision, Seraphic Press, whose motto is “belief in books.”
The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden is available at www.amazon.com and at www.barnesandnoble.com, in Toronto at Negev Books and at Israel’s Books and Gifts, and in Montreal at Rodal’s and Kotel Books.
************************
The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden, by Robert J. Avrech, Seraphic Press.
Robert J. Avrech’s primary experience has been as a screenwriter. With Brian DePalma, he wrote the screenplay for the 1984 thriller Body Double, and he was the screenwriter for the 1992 film, A Stranger Among Us, an official selection of the Cannes Film Festival. His moving 1999 adaptation of author Jane Yolen’s The Devil’s Arithmetic garnered him an Emmy Award.
Avrech recently undertook a new venture – to write a novel for young adults that would reflect the values of an observant Jew.
His guiding light was his son, Ariel Chaim, a yeshiva student, gentle, deeply religious, devoted to his parents, his younger sisters and his studies. Ariel also loved both classic and modern literature, but was concerned about the values found in contemporary young adult literature, which he felt reflected the point of view of cynical authors and editors determined to impose their negative viewpoint on others.
He suggested that his father “start a publishing company, publish fiction that is of the highest quality, yet also suitable for kids who hold Torah values.”
At age 14, Ariel was diagnosed with a brain tumour. His family rallied around him as he underwent intensive chemotherapy and radiation treatments, transfusions and surgery.
For the eight years that he was in and out of hospital, family, faith and friendships sustained him in his fight to survive. He continued to study and was valedictorian of his graduating class at Los Angeles’ Yeshiva Gedolah. Four years later, however, in fall 2002, Ariel had difficulty breathing. The prognosis was that the chemotherapy for his tumour had left his lungs scarred. He was suffering from pulmonary fibrosis and needed a lung transplant.
By this time, Avrech had begun writing a Jewish historical novel, The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden. His goal was to share his “love of Judaism, Jewish ritual and Jewish history with as many people as possible.” He wanted to be a positive influence, telling a great story that also embraced Orthodox Jewish ideals.
The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden is the coming-of-age story of the unlikely friendship between Ariel, “The Hebrew Kid,” and Lozen, an Apache warrior girl and younger sister of Victorio, who was perhaps the greatest Apache chief in the Old West. Ariel, an intelligent, serious and spunky boy of almost bar mitzvah age, is determined to celebrate this important ceremony.
He becomes friends with Lozen, as he and his observant Jewish family make their way across the Arizona Territory after the Civil War, seeking a life free of oppression, a place where they can practise their religion and livelihood.
Through their adventures and intriguing friendship, Ariel and Lozen learn about the similarities and the differences in their cultures.
The story’s colourful characters include Papa, Mama, sister Rebecca, Victorio, U.S. cavalry, scalp hunters, settlers and the renowned Doc Holliday, all travelling westward to find a new beginning. With its page-turning suspense, adventure, humour, historical and religious references, and its glossary of Yiddish and Hebrew terms, The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden is a welcome and wonderful book for anyone age nine to 120. It is a literary treasure for families to read and reread.
Avrech spent two years researching Apache life, the westward expansion and letters and journals of Jews who made the migration to the west. He travelled to Arizona, where the story takes place, to get a feel for the land and to talk to Apache tribe members.
While Ariel remained hospitalized or homebound, Avrech read him the manuscript, discussing story lines, characterization, halachic accuracies. He says his son was “a fine literary critic, and after he read a chapter, it was not unusual for Ariel to offer gentle but cogent criticism that would send me back to my pages for numerous rewrites.
“My years as a screenwriter have taught me some basic lessons in telling a good story, getting to the heart of the scene quickly and resolving characters and situations.”
Avrech completed seven drafts of the book, “each one better than the next,” with further input from family, friends, rabbis, writers and editors.
Unfortunately, Ariel did not receive the lung transplant he and his family were desperately hoping for, and in July 2003, he died at age 22. Avrech and his wife, Karen, decided to establish Seraphic Press in Ariel’s memory. Seraphim, God’s first order of angels, are often mentioned in the Torah. Ariel’s pious nature was recognized early by his family, friends and community, making Seraphic Press a befitting name.
The outstanding Seraphic Press design team includes Obadinah Heavner, illustrator; Robert Lanphear, book designer; and Iskra, calligrapher. Jonathan David Publishers, Inc. has been signed on as exclusive distributor for The Hebrew Kid and upcoming Seraphic Press books whose release dates will coincide with National Jewish Book Month.
The publishing list includes more titles in The Hebrew Kid series – Avrech is currently working on The Hebrew Kid and Buffalo Bill, a story about bringing a Torah to Tombstone, Ariz. The Shidduch Diaries, designated as “chick lit for the observant,” is author Michael Levin’s wildly entertaining look at the insular Jewish dating scene. Maccabee and Me, another Avrech title, features a time-travel story about a high school student who learns to appreciate his Judaism when he is cast back into the world of Judah the Maccabee.
The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden, recently released, received wonderful reviews. In November 2004, Avrech was invited to read and sign copies of his book at the largest Jewish children’s book fair in Los Angeles. But he said then: “HaShem has a wicked curveball. The bookfest takes place 100 yards from Ariel’s kever [grave]. Understand, this is The Hebrew Kid’s very first public appearance.”
In May 2004, Avrech started a blog, an online journal – Seraphic Secret, www.seraphicpress.com – his space to remember his only son, Ariel.
Robert J. Avrech translated his son’s vision into the Avrech family’s vision, Seraphic Press, whose motto is “belief in books.”
The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden is available at www.amazon.com and at www.barnesandnoble.com, in Toronto at Negev Books and at Israel’s Books and Gifts, and in Montreal at Rodal’s and Kotel Books.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Letter by Letter
Gotta say that I love picking titles -- hopefully catchy ones, at that! -- for this blog of mine. You might read a title, anticipating that the entry is about something in particular, and then it's about something totally different. And so, it's a power we bloggers have, that we can easily pull the wool over your eyes.
That was just my entrance speech for this blog. What I really want to say is that I have always had the ability to write well -- not exclusively stories or poetry, but letters. While someone can sit and ponder for hours how to phrase something, how to get their point across, whether for business' sake or personal sake, I can formulate ideas and easily transfer them onto paper. The words always just seem to flow from me when it comes to writing -- letter by letter.
According to a general poll of my friends over the years, they all agree that they cherish my letters-- the letters were always wordy, descriptive, insightful. I took the time to write, to describe, to convey, and my friends looked forward to receiving mail from me if they traveled, or if I traveled, or if I just chose to write birthday or anniversary greetings. Many would request that I send a note for no particular reason, but just so that they could receive something from me. I know that some friends have every letter I ever sent them -- and they reassure me that it's not the quantity that counts, but the quality.
Some family friends have even told me over the past nearly-dozen years that they still have the thank-you notes I sent following my engagement party, my wedding, my children's births. Each recipient was deemed special and so, each note was treated individually. I guess my words left their mark.
These days it's much easier and quicker to e-mail folks than it is to sit and write letters, but still I try to throw in humor, description and anything else I can think of to reach my reader. The question: Could I possibly make a living or pull in some freelance work as a "professional letter writer"-- does such a thing exist?
Oh ya, maybe it does. Maybe I should be a celebrity's assistant who writes answers to all the fan club members -- I'll make them happy, especially when I make each one personalized that they'll think said celebrity answered them exclusively.
So, if you want to give me your address, maybe I'll sit down and write you a letter...
That was just my entrance speech for this blog. What I really want to say is that I have always had the ability to write well -- not exclusively stories or poetry, but letters. While someone can sit and ponder for hours how to phrase something, how to get their point across, whether for business' sake or personal sake, I can formulate ideas and easily transfer them onto paper. The words always just seem to flow from me when it comes to writing -- letter by letter.
According to a general poll of my friends over the years, they all agree that they cherish my letters-- the letters were always wordy, descriptive, insightful. I took the time to write, to describe, to convey, and my friends looked forward to receiving mail from me if they traveled, or if I traveled, or if I just chose to write birthday or anniversary greetings. Many would request that I send a note for no particular reason, but just so that they could receive something from me. I know that some friends have every letter I ever sent them -- and they reassure me that it's not the quantity that counts, but the quality.
Some family friends have even told me over the past nearly-dozen years that they still have the thank-you notes I sent following my engagement party, my wedding, my children's births. Each recipient was deemed special and so, each note was treated individually. I guess my words left their mark.
These days it's much easier and quicker to e-mail folks than it is to sit and write letters, but still I try to throw in humor, description and anything else I can think of to reach my reader. The question: Could I possibly make a living or pull in some freelance work as a "professional letter writer"-- does such a thing exist?
Oh ya, maybe it does. Maybe I should be a celebrity's assistant who writes answers to all the fan club members -- I'll make them happy, especially when I make each one personalized that they'll think said celebrity answered them exclusively.
So, if you want to give me your address, maybe I'll sit down and write you a letter...
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Songs in the Key of Life
While growing up, I knew just about every lyric to every contemporary song on the radio -- and just like in that game show Name that Tune, I'd announce, "I can name that tune in 3 notes!"
Reading, writing and music were my great loves, and I was usually busy with one of those, if not all three at the same time! Locked in my room, my AM-FM radio playing in the background, I'd be reading books, composing poetry or writing letters: all the while song lyrics were being imprinted on my brain.
When Janis Ian came out with "At Seventeen," I thought "That's my song." When Frankie Valli came out with "My Eyes Adored You," I thought "That's my song." The mellower the music, the closer it sat to my heart. After all, I was a poet, and song lyrics are really poems set to music.
When you listen to songs being sung, try to remove the lyrics from the music. Really listen to the words, and they'll tell a story to the audience. Some are catchier than others, some are sadder than others, and some touch you more than others. But they are all SONGS IN THE KEY OF LIFE.
Reading, writing and music were my great loves, and I was usually busy with one of those, if not all three at the same time! Locked in my room, my AM-FM radio playing in the background, I'd be reading books, composing poetry or writing letters: all the while song lyrics were being imprinted on my brain.
When Janis Ian came out with "At Seventeen," I thought "That's my song." When Frankie Valli came out with "My Eyes Adored You," I thought "That's my song." The mellower the music, the closer it sat to my heart. After all, I was a poet, and song lyrics are really poems set to music.
When you listen to songs being sung, try to remove the lyrics from the music. Really listen to the words, and they'll tell a story to the audience. Some are catchier than others, some are sadder than others, and some touch you more than others. But they are all SONGS IN THE KEY OF LIFE.
Wendy Shalit Responds to the Responsa
http://www.jewishworldreview.com/0205/shalit_replies.php3
Click on this link to read Wendy's response to all those who pointed fingers at her after her NYT article appeared.
Click on this link to read Wendy's response to all those who pointed fingers at her after her NYT article appeared.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Kid Wit and Mom Wit...or Nitwit (you choose)
I have three, bli ayin harah, lovely children, who give me great joy...and countless gray hairs, too! But all in all, I have been blessed with these treasures, and I hope that one day they will say the same about their "eema"!
I don' t talk about them too much because I'm not the bragging sort -- I'm more of a silent "kveller"!
But I've been thinking of my oldest, a boy, and how just about 5 years ago, when he was in preschool, his photo was in the Canadian Jewish News along with my parents, the photo having been taken at a school event. When I'd been told that it would be in the paper, I relayed the news to A and said, "You're going to be famous." He starts jumping on his bed and shrieking, "I'm gonna be famous, I'm gonna be famous." Suddenly, in mid-jump, a bewildered look crosses his face. He pauses and says, "What's famous?"
My daughter's photo appeared in last week's Jewish paper -- see Zimriya -- and I now know that my article about Seraphic Press will appear in the paper this week, in a couple of days. I feel like taking A's lead, jumping up and down on my bed and shrieking, "I'm gonna be famous, I'm gonna be famous!" But then I stop in this imaginary play because I realize I already am famous -- my "published" words get to be read by... hundreds?... on a daily basis. Yeah, that's right, I'm a columnist already...yeah, a syndicated columnist. Yeah, people read my words from coast to coast...even over in Taiwan--Dan, you win; not "down" in Taiwan, but "over" in Taiwan. (Can anyone picture Jon Lovitz doing his "Yeah, that's right" shtick on Saturday Night Live?) Yeah, who needs some weekly community newspaper when I can cater my words to the WORLD?!?
I don' t talk about them too much because I'm not the bragging sort -- I'm more of a silent "kveller"!
But I've been thinking of my oldest, a boy, and how just about 5 years ago, when he was in preschool, his photo was in the Canadian Jewish News along with my parents, the photo having been taken at a school event. When I'd been told that it would be in the paper, I relayed the news to A and said, "You're going to be famous." He starts jumping on his bed and shrieking, "I'm gonna be famous, I'm gonna be famous." Suddenly, in mid-jump, a bewildered look crosses his face. He pauses and says, "What's famous?"
My daughter's photo appeared in last week's Jewish paper -- see Zimriya -- and I now know that my article about Seraphic Press will appear in the paper this week, in a couple of days. I feel like taking A's lead, jumping up and down on my bed and shrieking, "I'm gonna be famous, I'm gonna be famous!" But then I stop in this imaginary play because I realize I already am famous -- my "published" words get to be read by... hundreds?... on a daily basis. Yeah, that's right, I'm a columnist already...yeah, a syndicated columnist. Yeah, people read my words from coast to coast...even over in Taiwan--Dan, you win; not "down" in Taiwan, but "over" in Taiwan. (Can anyone picture Jon Lovitz doing his "Yeah, that's right" shtick on Saturday Night Live?) Yeah, who needs some weekly community newspaper when I can cater my words to the WORLD?!?
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Ya Gotta Be Seen on the Scene
When I was single and deliberating whether or not to go to a singles' event in Toronto, I called the coordinator of it and spoke to her at length about my dilemma. She put it this way: "If you stay at home, nobody will know that Pearl ____ even exists." She had a point; yes, she was a businesswoman, as my mother pointed out to me, and of course she wanted me to attend her event, but she opened my eyes to a truth.
Yes, I did go to the event, met some nice people and thereafter immersed myself in the Shabbaton scene in Toronto and further abroad...for about a year and a half until I was lucky enough to meet my husband locally and NOT AT A SHABBATON.
But the woman's comment stayed with me, and I now adapt it to other areas of my life: even if I'm not keen on attending a certain minyan, is it better for me to sit at home or be there and perhaps meeting new people; is it easier for me to sit on the sidelines and say "I should do this...and this...and this" or actually be doing it or trying to do whatever "it" entails.
And so, I'm now out there, in blogland, perhaps hovering around your site -- of course, Rome wasn't built in a day, and there are only so many hours in the day to go exploring new sites, but watch out 'cause I might get to yours one of these days -- and leaving comments or questions.
And in tribute to Neil Simon, who in Brighton Beach Memoirs offered a line like "Pearls are like people; they like to go out once in a while and be seen" -- I'm taking his words and the earlier words of that singles' event coordinator to heart. Maybe some of you will get to know this Pearl in time...!
Yes, I did go to the event, met some nice people and thereafter immersed myself in the Shabbaton scene in Toronto and further abroad...for about a year and a half until I was lucky enough to meet my husband locally and NOT AT A SHABBATON.
But the woman's comment stayed with me, and I now adapt it to other areas of my life: even if I'm not keen on attending a certain minyan, is it better for me to sit at home or be there and perhaps meeting new people; is it easier for me to sit on the sidelines and say "I should do this...and this...and this" or actually be doing it or trying to do whatever "it" entails.
And so, I'm now out there, in blogland, perhaps hovering around your site -- of course, Rome wasn't built in a day, and there are only so many hours in the day to go exploring new sites, but watch out 'cause I might get to yours one of these days -- and leaving comments or questions.
And in tribute to Neil Simon, who in Brighton Beach Memoirs offered a line like "Pearls are like people; they like to go out once in a while and be seen" -- I'm taking his words and the earlier words of that singles' event coordinator to heart. Maybe some of you will get to know this Pearl in time...!
Friday, February 11, 2005
Arthur Miller -- Dead at Age 89
Just found out that great American (oops, almost said Canadian!) playwright Arthur Miller died of heart failure.
Didn't just about everyone study at least one of his plays, or perform in a production of "Death of a Salesman"?
For years, while growing up, I heard that Mr. Miller was supposed to be a relative on my maternal side -- perhaps it was his father or grandfather (can't remember which) who left the Old Country to come to America. Anyhow, it was via his paternal side that I was supposed to have been related on my maternal side. (are you still with me? do you need a translator?)
Apparently some relatives tried to seek him out over the years and confirm this information, but he denied it -- what did he know? He was a playwright, not a genealogist! I even recall, when the Toronto Film Festival was on one year, I went down to the hotel where he was staying, with a letter in hand to be delivered to his room by hotel staff, explaining the "family link" -- after all, "mishpocheh is mishpocheh"! Needless to say, I never did get a reply.
But it also occurred to me all those years ago: If I was in fact related to Arthur Miller, as some first cousin thrice removed, or something offbeat like that, did that mean I was related to Marilyn Monroe, too? Had I been around in the fifties, might I have been able to call her up, invite her for a Shabbos dinner, and address her as 'cuz?
And I wonder: Would I also be able to call Daniel Day-Lewis, Miller's son-in-law, 'cuz? (You have heard of "six degrees of separation," haven't you? Well, this would be seven!)
May Arthur Miller rest in peace. Amen.
Didn't just about everyone study at least one of his plays, or perform in a production of "Death of a Salesman"?
For years, while growing up, I heard that Mr. Miller was supposed to be a relative on my maternal side -- perhaps it was his father or grandfather (can't remember which) who left the Old Country to come to America. Anyhow, it was via his paternal side that I was supposed to have been related on my maternal side. (are you still with me? do you need a translator?)
Apparently some relatives tried to seek him out over the years and confirm this information, but he denied it -- what did he know? He was a playwright, not a genealogist! I even recall, when the Toronto Film Festival was on one year, I went down to the hotel where he was staying, with a letter in hand to be delivered to his room by hotel staff, explaining the "family link" -- after all, "mishpocheh is mishpocheh"! Needless to say, I never did get a reply.
But it also occurred to me all those years ago: If I was in fact related to Arthur Miller, as some first cousin thrice removed, or something offbeat like that, did that mean I was related to Marilyn Monroe, too? Had I been around in the fifties, might I have been able to call her up, invite her for a Shabbos dinner, and address her as 'cuz?
And I wonder: Would I also be able to call Daniel Day-Lewis, Miller's son-in-law, 'cuz? (You have heard of "six degrees of separation," haven't you? Well, this would be seven!)
May Arthur Miller rest in peace. Amen.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Everything Old Becomes New Again
I'm fickle--I like to redesign...like a Feng Shui thing going on. So every weeks, out of boredom, I try out on a new look/template for my blog. The reason I resorted now to my orginal style after a short-lived, appreciated template, was 'cause I SCREWED UP. Sometimes you just hit the wrong button and life don't look the same. My blog was being cut off, my comments cut off -- I took it as a personal thing and yesterday I took on a old/new look to correct matters.
It wasn't long ago that I learned how to link and show my fave sites, and only a few days ago was I guided in how to use the traffic meter. But you'll notice they're both gone from my current blog. Yes, I'll try to figure out how to list my faves once more, but I won't add the traffic meter. For what reason? To see if I'm popular, if I beat the number of hits your blog got this past hour or today, to see if someone in South America chooses to read my words? Really, what difference does it make? Popularity contests were supposed to be over with school, or at least when I gave up the dating life for marriagehood. I'm popular among my family and friends and co-workers and some of you bloggers out there who pat me on the back once in a while. That really should be enough.
I don't have to be the BLOGGER OF THE WEEK pinup--I just have to put some smiles on people's faces, or frowns on their forehead, or just give them an idea to carry further.
Why not try to get "back to basics" yourself and kick the habit of a traffic meter? The people who read you before will continue to read you, the people who critiqued you before will continue to do so, too.
Try it, you might like it....
It wasn't long ago that I learned how to link and show my fave sites, and only a few days ago was I guided in how to use the traffic meter. But you'll notice they're both gone from my current blog. Yes, I'll try to figure out how to list my faves once more, but I won't add the traffic meter. For what reason? To see if I'm popular, if I beat the number of hits your blog got this past hour or today, to see if someone in South America chooses to read my words? Really, what difference does it make? Popularity contests were supposed to be over with school, or at least when I gave up the dating life for marriagehood. I'm popular among my family and friends and co-workers and some of you bloggers out there who pat me on the back once in a while. That really should be enough.
I don't have to be the BLOGGER OF THE WEEK pinup--I just have to put some smiles on people's faces, or frowns on their forehead, or just give them an idea to carry further.
Why not try to get "back to basics" yourself and kick the habit of a traffic meter? The people who read you before will continue to read you, the people who critiqued you before will continue to do so, too.
Try it, you might like it....
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Sitting on Shpilkes
Do any of you people know what it's like to sit on shpilkes? Those pins and needles get you antsy; it's tough to sit still; you're waiting...sometimes you're not even sure what it is exactly that you're waiting for.
In my case, I've been sitting on shpilkes for some time -- I'm restless at work, although my job entails deep concentration and being alert; I'm restless at home, and try to use the Internet as a tool for relaxation, but then again, some of you might notice that I'm not relaxed. You might see that I "hit" your site several times a day -- I like to see if there were any new postings or comments. I apologize, and I hope you don't go cursing me when you see that it's ONLY TorontoPearl who left a comment or was the person behind a viewing, and not someone new to the site.
Why am I on shpilkes you might ask? Not quite sure, but I think that a lot has to do with a project that I took on since October -- I learned about a web site -- www.seraphicpress.com -- which I've mentioned before. I befriended the creative and wonderful soul behind that site, and have chosen to help promote his work and that site. Although my life as I know it is very busy with work and family life, it now also has this added dimension. One of the ways I chose to promote "everything Seraphic" was by suggesting to our community Jewish newspaper that I write a piece about Mr. "Seraphic" -- I was given the green light and met the deadline of January 10, but not the word limit. Instead of some 750 words, I wrote (and wrote and wrote) nearly 1500 words, and offered an explanation to the editor as to why I felt I HAD to do so.
I'd have thought that my piece might appear in the paper the following week...but no. I've had to wait -- patiently? -- for it to make its debut. Space is an issue, and if the editor is kind enough to salvage most of those 1500 words, of course he needs space for the piece.
Well, yesterday I was finally notified that my piece is in the editing stage and is slated for publication probably in next week's edition. This Jewish newspaper is not just local or provincial, but it works its way across Canada and points beyond where ex-Canadians might choose to keep up with the major Canadian Jewish community news. So, there might be a pediatrician in Toronto who has the paper in his waiting room; there might be a librarian offering the paper to a patron in Montreal's Jewish library; there might be a snowbird reading the paper in Arizona or Florida; there might even be a recent "oleh" reading the paper in his room at the ulpan program in Raanana.
To think that my words will get noticed by numbers is delightful for me, as I don't make my living as a writer. To think that I will draw attention to Seraphic Press and the story behind it is worth more for me. I'd been asked at some point by a family member: "What's in it for you?" I was sort of taken aback and replied: "Nothing. Just making someone...and myself happy." (refer to http://wwwpearliesofwisdom.blogspot.com/2005/02/enjoy-helping-others.html)
As a copy editor and editor, I understand about author sensitivity to how her/his words are altered; now the shoe is on the other foot. I am the writer whose words will be edited...
Perhaps that is why I'm on shpilkes -- waiting for my piece to finally appear in the paper, and waiting to see how it's been shoicheted!
In my case, I've been sitting on shpilkes for some time -- I'm restless at work, although my job entails deep concentration and being alert; I'm restless at home, and try to use the Internet as a tool for relaxation, but then again, some of you might notice that I'm not relaxed. You might see that I "hit" your site several times a day -- I like to see if there were any new postings or comments. I apologize, and I hope you don't go cursing me when you see that it's ONLY TorontoPearl who left a comment or was the person behind a viewing, and not someone new to the site.
Why am I on shpilkes you might ask? Not quite sure, but I think that a lot has to do with a project that I took on since October -- I learned about a web site -- www.seraphicpress.com -- which I've mentioned before. I befriended the creative and wonderful soul behind that site, and have chosen to help promote his work and that site. Although my life as I know it is very busy with work and family life, it now also has this added dimension. One of the ways I chose to promote "everything Seraphic" was by suggesting to our community Jewish newspaper that I write a piece about Mr. "Seraphic" -- I was given the green light and met the deadline of January 10, but not the word limit. Instead of some 750 words, I wrote (and wrote and wrote) nearly 1500 words, and offered an explanation to the editor as to why I felt I HAD to do so.
I'd have thought that my piece might appear in the paper the following week...but no. I've had to wait -- patiently? -- for it to make its debut. Space is an issue, and if the editor is kind enough to salvage most of those 1500 words, of course he needs space for the piece.
Well, yesterday I was finally notified that my piece is in the editing stage and is slated for publication probably in next week's edition. This Jewish newspaper is not just local or provincial, but it works its way across Canada and points beyond where ex-Canadians might choose to keep up with the major Canadian Jewish community news. So, there might be a pediatrician in Toronto who has the paper in his waiting room; there might be a librarian offering the paper to a patron in Montreal's Jewish library; there might be a snowbird reading the paper in Arizona or Florida; there might even be a recent "oleh" reading the paper in his room at the ulpan program in Raanana.
To think that my words will get noticed by numbers is delightful for me, as I don't make my living as a writer. To think that I will draw attention to Seraphic Press and the story behind it is worth more for me. I'd been asked at some point by a family member: "What's in it for you?" I was sort of taken aback and replied: "Nothing. Just making someone...and myself happy." (refer to http://wwwpearliesofwisdom.blogspot.com/2005/02/enjoy-helping-others.html)
As a copy editor and editor, I understand about author sensitivity to how her/his words are altered; now the shoe is on the other foot. I am the writer whose words will be edited...
Perhaps that is why I'm on shpilkes -- waiting for my piece to finally appear in the paper, and waiting to see how it's been shoicheted!
With Apologies to Carly Simon
Do you remember that great musical hit from the 1970s -- "You're So Vain" by Carly Simon? To this day her audiences don't know whom she wrote the song about, but there's great speculation, and Mick Jagger tops the list.
Well, in this day and age, Carly would have to change the lyrics just a smidgen...
"You're so vain
You probably think this blog is about you
You're so vain...
I bet you think this blog is about you, don't you, don't you...?"
Maybe some of you out there could help revise the rest of the lyrics -- why not give it a shot?
Well, in this day and age, Carly would have to change the lyrics just a smidgen...
"You're so vain
You probably think this blog is about you
You're so vain...
I bet you think this blog is about you, don't you, don't you...?"
Maybe some of you out there could help revise the rest of the lyrics -- why not give it a shot?
Enjoy Helping Others
"Experiencing joy in doing acts of kindness for others will increase the quantity and quality of your kind acts. When you enjoy doing things to help others, you will always be able to find enjoyable things to do. The life of a person who loves to do acts of kindness will be a life of joy."
Thank you, Rabbi Pliskin, for your uplifting thought for today.
There is an American standard song lyric that goes something like this: "...make someone happy, make just someone happy...and you will be happy, too."
Forget about doing a mitzvah for the sake of a mitzvah. Just think of putting a smile on someone else's face, and no doubt, as a result, you will soon have a smile on your own.
Thank you, Rabbi Pliskin, for your uplifting thought for today.
There is an American standard song lyric that goes something like this: "...make someone happy, make just someone happy...and you will be happy, too."
Forget about doing a mitzvah for the sake of a mitzvah. Just think of putting a smile on someone else's face, and no doubt, as a result, you will soon have a smile on your own.
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