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I'm a child of Eastern and Western European parents. Being that, shaking hands is a big part of the European culture, a way to forge temporary bonds with people, in greeting or in parting. It wasn't until I was in my late teens, though, that I truly took the hand shaking habit on.
And it worked for quite a while, but every now and again, I was reminded by circumstance that shaking hands was a no-no. I have a first cousin in the U.S. whose wife I could hug and embrace warmly whenever we reunited, but I could not direct the same actions to him for religious reasons. I'd stand awkwardly, not being able to extend a hand or even touch his shoulder in acknowledgment. Running through my head was always the refrain, "Never the twain shall meet."
The practice of shomer negiah is a friend to many, a stranger to others. I'm a "shomeret," a person who watches how she comes into contact with people, but does not refrain necessarily from shaking hands. I've learned to know to whom a hand may be extended, and to whom it cannot. I will always shake a hand if it is offered to me, but will think twice about initially offering my own. My biggest lesson in this area happened when I was nearing the end of my University of Toronto days.
I'd been campus/Hillel friends with a MO guy whom I'll refer here to as Danny. I recall Danny and I showed up once to help decorate the Hillel sukkah. We were the only ones volunteering for the fun and creative task, so we made it fun for ourselves, and just enjoyed the spirit of the afternoon as we put our own touches on the decorations. He poked my shoulder, I poked his (I have a tendency to do that when I'm being emphatic; think along the lines of Seinfeld's Elaine character, when she pushes people as she declares in disbelief: "Get out!" That's me to a much lesser degree.), and there was just this fun, flirtatious spirit in the air. But that's all it was. And whenever Danny and I would see each other at the Hillel house or on campus, we'd wave, chat a bit and continue on our paths.
Some time passed; I think it was already the next school year, and I saw Danny after a long lapse of time. I immediately moved to shake his hand in greeting and he quickly put both hands behind his back, as if he were playing a hiding game, placing something quickly out of sight. I automatically did the same with my hands in an reactive, impulsive way. There had been no "Sorry, I no longer shake hands with women," no "I'm now shomer negiah." It was just that he had to get his hands out of the way as fast as he could. I was so embarrassed by the situation, knowing I'd embarrassed him and myself in the moment. But that moment has stuck out in my head all these years, and it still makes me rather uneasy. Here was a guy who'd teased me and poked me in the arm just several months earlier, and suddenly doing so was off-limits. The off-limits part was fine by me, but an explanation, similar to a small-print warning sign on a product, would have been nice, too.
I've consulted with several Orthodox people about this uneasy memory of mine, and most of them said that to avoid embarrassing me, since I'd already put out my hand, Danny should have shaken it, then maybe launched into an explanation. I can't help but see in my mind that "quick-draw action" of his hands as he pulled them out of sight, away from my offered handshake.
Yes, I understand the halachot of and the reasons for shomer negiah, and I respect one's observance of it, so now that we've come to an understanding, can we please shake on it?
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Just the Facts, Kid. Just the Facts!
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My precocious, lovable daughter, A, is seven going on seventeen. If you think I'm verbose, you haven't yet met her. She talks a mile a minute, barely taking a breath, and I'm forever hiring a United Nations interpreter to translate her words into plain English. She is a lot like I was as a kid, but she's sociable and I was shy. I, however, also talked my mother's ear off, and came in every morning to tell her in great detail what my dreams were all about the night before. The difference between my daughter and I is that I think she makes up the dream descriptions as she goes along!
In any case, she, too, is very detail oriented. And aside from it being most evident in her conversations, it's very evident in her writing, as well.
Remember when you were in school, Jewish day school or otherwise, and you went back after summer vacation or spring vacation, and had to write the expected piece: "What I Did On My Holiday" -- she does it, too. She did it after summer break, did it after Chanukah break, did it after mid-winter break and now had to write what she did on her two-week Pesach vacation. She has a journal in her English studies, and after school breaks or after school trips, or around Jewish holidays, she is supposed to write in her journal and accompany her entry with drawings.
Yesterday I asked A if I could look at what she'd written in her journal about her Pesach holidays. She gave me permission, and before I began to read the particular assigned entry, I looked back at a couple of earlier entries. I was pleased when the teacher commented on one: "Are you going to be a writer like your mom?"
I then turned to read the Pesach entry. It was pretty much a play-by-play listing of the first days of the chag and who was at the seders we attended and hosted, and who she played with and what she played (Trivial Pursuit for Kids -- I recommend it highly. It's meant for age eight and up, but even my five-year-old can get answers right. It is multiple-choice answers)when it wasn't the seders. And which cousins and friends got to sleep over. And her closing sentence for the entry was: "And on Monday at 2:00 a.m. I barfed."
The hysterical laughter just erupted from me. She definitely had ended her piece on an "upbeat" note, in her matter-of-fact way. Yup, yup, yup, that's my daughter, folks. Giving her all to tell a story, and as Walter Cronkite would have said, "And that's the way it was!"
My precocious, lovable daughter, A, is seven going on seventeen. If you think I'm verbose, you haven't yet met her. She talks a mile a minute, barely taking a breath, and I'm forever hiring a United Nations interpreter to translate her words into plain English. She is a lot like I was as a kid, but she's sociable and I was shy. I, however, also talked my mother's ear off, and came in every morning to tell her in great detail what my dreams were all about the night before. The difference between my daughter and I is that I think she makes up the dream descriptions as she goes along!
In any case, she, too, is very detail oriented. And aside from it being most evident in her conversations, it's very evident in her writing, as well.
Remember when you were in school, Jewish day school or otherwise, and you went back after summer vacation or spring vacation, and had to write the expected piece: "What I Did On My Holiday" -- she does it, too. She did it after summer break, did it after Chanukah break, did it after mid-winter break and now had to write what she did on her two-week Pesach vacation. She has a journal in her English studies, and after school breaks or after school trips, or around Jewish holidays, she is supposed to write in her journal and accompany her entry with drawings.
Yesterday I asked A if I could look at what she'd written in her journal about her Pesach holidays. She gave me permission, and before I began to read the particular assigned entry, I looked back at a couple of earlier entries. I was pleased when the teacher commented on one: "Are you going to be a writer like your mom?"
I then turned to read the Pesach entry. It was pretty much a play-by-play listing of the first days of the chag and who was at the seders we attended and hosted, and who she played with and what she played (Trivial Pursuit for Kids -- I recommend it highly. It's meant for age eight and up, but even my five-year-old can get answers right. It is multiple-choice answers)when it wasn't the seders. And which cousins and friends got to sleep over. And her closing sentence for the entry was: "And on Monday at 2:00 a.m. I barfed."
The hysterical laughter just erupted from me. She definitely had ended her piece on an "upbeat" note, in her matter-of-fact way. Yup, yup, yup, that's my daughter, folks. Giving her all to tell a story, and as Walter Cronkite would have said, "And that's the way it was!"
Dance Me a Dance...Please
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So, you wish to read on in the children's book saga, do you? Here's my "story":
Back in June 2001, en route home from work, while driving, (just clarifying so you won't think I was on public transit) I was singing "Matchmaker, Matchmaker," the all-time classic from Fiddler on the Roof. I was singing some of the original lyrics and then making up others, ie. "find me a find, make a make, bake me a cake, DANCE ME A DANCE..." That last bit stuck in my head, and I recalled when I was young and going to a couple of weddings or bar mitzvahs with my family, where the dancing was mixed and acceptable by us (we were Conservadox). I loved watching my parents dance together and then joining in between them to make the waltz a threesome. So that image, together with "DANCE ME A DANCE" stuck in my brain, and swirled around relentlessly. I quickly pulled out paper and pen, and at the red lights, wrote down some thoughts, and within twenty minutes, I had written the basic manuscript for a children's picture book. Of course, I went home and immediately polished the writing, smoothing out any rough edges. But basically, here I had a short manuscript, written in twenty minutes.
I decided to forward it with a cover letter to Canadian children's book publisher #1. Several weeks later I received the rejection form letter. On to Canadian publisher #2; again a rejection form letter. And then I showed it to someone at work, who'd interned at a Montreal-based publisher, and she suggested I send it there...and gave me a name of an editor.
After checking out the publisher's Web site (Lobster Press, a nice name for a Kashrut-observing person to send her manuscript to!), I forwarded a very nice letter to that particular editor and asked if I could forward the manuscript, which I'd described to her. I got a green light, and said manuscript was out of my hands.
This was at the start of September 2001, and she gave me such complimentary feedback about her first impressions of the manuscript:
Hello Pearl
Yes, I received your file and read it. Quickly, my first impression was that Dance Me a Dance Please is quite artful, capturing many of the elements that are necessary for a good children's story. The tone is also very good.
There are some problems on a minor level, easily changed during the editing process if this story were to be published, for example, one of the transition points contains an inconsistency, where the child feels like moving, but then her mother moves instead. Also, I don't think it's necessary, neither instructive nor poetic, to include the place in each beginning line (the living room, the garden), as the place will be evident in the illustration.
As for illustrations, this story lends itself beautifully to them.
So I'll see if we have a place for it. The chance is a slim one for a few reasons: until the Canadian publishing industry pulls out of the current crisis, we can only publish a few picture books per year; other editors may have other mss. they feel are excellent and want to fight for; our marketing people may not think the age you're targeting is a good one at the moment; and possible other reasons I can't think of at the moment.
But I'll let you know. Please give me some time, like several weeks.
And then October 16 came, along with this message:
Hi Pearl
Has more than several weeks passed? I've lost track of time.
The good news is that AF, Lobster's publisher, wants to publish your story, Dance Me a Dance, Please. But she's not sure for when exactly, either Spring 2003 or Fall 2003. I'm hoping the lineups will be nailed down by the New Year, which will set everyone's mind at ease. Then contracts go out and away we go.
I would be the lucky editor to work with you (I like the story very much).
I was elated! Only had to send my book to three publishers and it was already accepted for publication, with a release date. I was in my 40th year and I felt I'd accomplished something BIG, something personal, with this milestone birthday. (husband, children, house, degree, family and friends aside)
And so the waiting game began... I work in publishing and understand many aspects of the industry but nothing of contracts, as I don't work in that area. So I contacted the publisher about seven weeks later when I hadn't heard back, after I'd sent on my contact information as requested. Here is part of the letter I received back from a manuscript coordinator:
It is certainly understandable that you would like to have an update on the status of your manuscript and obtain a definite confirmation as to our scheduling decision. Please be assured that we did not forget about you! What I can say for now, as J has mentioned as well, is that your manuscript has been placed on our Fall 2003 lineup. I would like to add, however, that we are obliged to wait before we contact the authors and illustrators because lineups often change for numerous reasons thus affecting contract and productions details too.
This is an ever-changing business, as I am sure you will agree. We are constantly trying to work out the best lineup so that we can align it with the best marketing strategies possible. From prior experience, we believe that the most efficient way to proceed would be to contact you immediately after a definite final decision has been made by our Publisher. I can then send you your contracts, give you additional details as to deadlines, and offer my help in any way possible.
We really do look forward to working with you, and sincerely regret this delay. I will contact you right after a final decision has been made, most likely in a few weeks.
Nothing more until late February 2002, when I was asked to resend an e-file of my picture book manuscript. In the meantime, people were asking me about my contract (I was asking MYSELF about a contract), when the book would be released, who my editor would be...and I truly had no answers. Impatience and frustration were eating away at me.
And then, in July 2002, I received this message:
Hello Pearl,
Our Publisher has asked me to contact you with regards to your manuscript, Dance me a dance. We must unfortunately advise you that we have had to cancel the production of this book due to a decision that was recently made to reduce the number of picture books. The reason being, is because they are so expensive to produce and they are very difficult to sell. We are focusing now on novels, chapters books, and non-fiction.
We understand how disappointing this must be for a writer, but hope you understand our position. This is not a reflection on your story, but a question of finance. Should you have any materials in the above categories, we would be happy to review them.
We wish you all the best of success in your future endeavors and wish to thank you for allowing us to review your work.
Can you imagine how I felt?! I could only liken it to a girl being so excited to be asked by a boy to the prom and then some time before the prom, the boy comes back and says, "I can't take you to the prom, after all....it's not you, it's me...."
Accepted. Rejected. Dejected. Those three words well describe how deflated I felt. But when I wrote a final note to the editor (the rejection came from the company's manuscript coordinator), she had this to say:
First I've heard of this, and I'm very sorry. In my mind's eye I can see your book as clear as day (the illustrations, the flow) and it's a delight. I must write to G to find out what the reasons are. Sounds like Lobster isn't going to do picture books anymore. Wish they'd told me!
Good luck in the future. Keep submitting, again and again and again. And then some more. It's the only way.
It actually turned out that Lobster Press had run into some major (read: BANKRUPTCY) financial woes and came back with a restructure plan...which didn't include my book.
Yes, over the past couple years, I have sent it elsewhere in Canada and the U.S. for publishers to consider. Although many times I get very positive feedback, with a personal note saying that it's not what they're looking for, I also get more form rejection letters.
Writing is usually time-consuming. (even if it only took twenty minutes to write this particular book)Preparing the manuscript to "shop around" to publishers is most time-consuming, too. Waiting for positive or negative responses is VERY TIME-CONSUMING. I can wait five months to get a "No thank you" from a publisher, and at the same time, publishers don't appreciate simultaneous submissions, so honest little me sends the manuscript to one publisher at a time and waits to hear back before I send if off elsewhere.
I've taken a lengthy hiatus from sending out that manuscript, and other picture book manuscripts I've written. Yes, I've learned to live with the rejection, but it's just that nobody seems to want to "DANCE ME A DANCE...PLEASE."
Hey, Madonna/Esther, maybe you're reading Pearlies of Wisdom... Wanna help me out!? My manuscript could now stand to have a big-name celebrity behind it to push it to publishers. Sorry, no real Kabbalah references in my story, but it is lyrical and there is a symmetry to it, dealing with days of the week, thus a cycle in itself. How about it, Madonna?
Hey, Jerry Seinfeld -- are you out there? Jamie Lee Curtis...? Katie Couric...?
Anyone...?
So, you wish to read on in the children's book saga, do you? Here's my "story":
Back in June 2001, en route home from work, while driving, (just clarifying so you won't think I was on public transit) I was singing "Matchmaker, Matchmaker," the all-time classic from Fiddler on the Roof. I was singing some of the original lyrics and then making up others, ie. "find me a find, make a make, bake me a cake, DANCE ME A DANCE..." That last bit stuck in my head, and I recalled when I was young and going to a couple of weddings or bar mitzvahs with my family, where the dancing was mixed and acceptable by us (we were Conservadox). I loved watching my parents dance together and then joining in between them to make the waltz a threesome. So that image, together with "DANCE ME A DANCE" stuck in my brain, and swirled around relentlessly. I quickly pulled out paper and pen, and at the red lights, wrote down some thoughts, and within twenty minutes, I had written the basic manuscript for a children's picture book. Of course, I went home and immediately polished the writing, smoothing out any rough edges. But basically, here I had a short manuscript, written in twenty minutes.
I decided to forward it with a cover letter to Canadian children's book publisher #1. Several weeks later I received the rejection form letter. On to Canadian publisher #2; again a rejection form letter. And then I showed it to someone at work, who'd interned at a Montreal-based publisher, and she suggested I send it there...and gave me a name of an editor.
After checking out the publisher's Web site (Lobster Press, a nice name for a Kashrut-observing person to send her manuscript to!), I forwarded a very nice letter to that particular editor and asked if I could forward the manuscript, which I'd described to her. I got a green light, and said manuscript was out of my hands.
This was at the start of September 2001, and she gave me such complimentary feedback about her first impressions of the manuscript:
Hello Pearl
Yes, I received your file and read it. Quickly, my first impression was that Dance Me a Dance Please is quite artful, capturing many of the elements that are necessary for a good children's story. The tone is also very good.
There are some problems on a minor level, easily changed during the editing process if this story were to be published, for example, one of the transition points contains an inconsistency, where the child feels like moving, but then her mother moves instead. Also, I don't think it's necessary, neither instructive nor poetic, to include the place in each beginning line (the living room, the garden), as the place will be evident in the illustration.
As for illustrations, this story lends itself beautifully to them.
So I'll see if we have a place for it. The chance is a slim one for a few reasons: until the Canadian publishing industry pulls out of the current crisis, we can only publish a few picture books per year; other editors may have other mss. they feel are excellent and want to fight for; our marketing people may not think the age you're targeting is a good one at the moment; and possible other reasons I can't think of at the moment.
But I'll let you know. Please give me some time, like several weeks.
And then October 16 came, along with this message:
Hi Pearl
Has more than several weeks passed? I've lost track of time.
The good news is that AF, Lobster's publisher, wants to publish your story, Dance Me a Dance, Please. But she's not sure for when exactly, either Spring 2003 or Fall 2003. I'm hoping the lineups will be nailed down by the New Year, which will set everyone's mind at ease. Then contracts go out and away we go.
I would be the lucky editor to work with you (I like the story very much).
I was elated! Only had to send my book to three publishers and it was already accepted for publication, with a release date. I was in my 40th year and I felt I'd accomplished something BIG, something personal, with this milestone birthday. (husband, children, house, degree, family and friends aside)
And so the waiting game began... I work in publishing and understand many aspects of the industry but nothing of contracts, as I don't work in that area. So I contacted the publisher about seven weeks later when I hadn't heard back, after I'd sent on my contact information as requested. Here is part of the letter I received back from a manuscript coordinator:
It is certainly understandable that you would like to have an update on the status of your manuscript and obtain a definite confirmation as to our scheduling decision. Please be assured that we did not forget about you! What I can say for now, as J has mentioned as well, is that your manuscript has been placed on our Fall 2003 lineup. I would like to add, however, that we are obliged to wait before we contact the authors and illustrators because lineups often change for numerous reasons thus affecting contract and productions details too.
This is an ever-changing business, as I am sure you will agree. We are constantly trying to work out the best lineup so that we can align it with the best marketing strategies possible. From prior experience, we believe that the most efficient way to proceed would be to contact you immediately after a definite final decision has been made by our Publisher. I can then send you your contracts, give you additional details as to deadlines, and offer my help in any way possible.
We really do look forward to working with you, and sincerely regret this delay. I will contact you right after a final decision has been made, most likely in a few weeks.
Nothing more until late February 2002, when I was asked to resend an e-file of my picture book manuscript. In the meantime, people were asking me about my contract (I was asking MYSELF about a contract), when the book would be released, who my editor would be...and I truly had no answers. Impatience and frustration were eating away at me.
And then, in July 2002, I received this message:
Hello Pearl,
Our Publisher has asked me to contact you with regards to your manuscript, Dance me a dance. We must unfortunately advise you that we have had to cancel the production of this book due to a decision that was recently made to reduce the number of picture books. The reason being, is because they are so expensive to produce and they are very difficult to sell. We are focusing now on novels, chapters books, and non-fiction.
We understand how disappointing this must be for a writer, but hope you understand our position. This is not a reflection on your story, but a question of finance. Should you have any materials in the above categories, we would be happy to review them.
We wish you all the best of success in your future endeavors and wish to thank you for allowing us to review your work.
Can you imagine how I felt?! I could only liken it to a girl being so excited to be asked by a boy to the prom and then some time before the prom, the boy comes back and says, "I can't take you to the prom, after all....it's not you, it's me...."
Accepted. Rejected. Dejected. Those three words well describe how deflated I felt. But when I wrote a final note to the editor (the rejection came from the company's manuscript coordinator), she had this to say:
First I've heard of this, and I'm very sorry. In my mind's eye I can see your book as clear as day (the illustrations, the flow) and it's a delight. I must write to G to find out what the reasons are. Sounds like Lobster isn't going to do picture books anymore. Wish they'd told me!
Good luck in the future. Keep submitting, again and again and again. And then some more. It's the only way.
It actually turned out that Lobster Press had run into some major (read: BANKRUPTCY) financial woes and came back with a restructure plan...which didn't include my book.
Yes, over the past couple years, I have sent it elsewhere in Canada and the U.S. for publishers to consider. Although many times I get very positive feedback, with a personal note saying that it's not what they're looking for, I also get more form rejection letters.
Writing is usually time-consuming. (even if it only took twenty minutes to write this particular book)Preparing the manuscript to "shop around" to publishers is most time-consuming, too. Waiting for positive or negative responses is VERY TIME-CONSUMING. I can wait five months to get a "No thank you" from a publisher, and at the same time, publishers don't appreciate simultaneous submissions, so honest little me sends the manuscript to one publisher at a time and waits to hear back before I send if off elsewhere.
I've taken a lengthy hiatus from sending out that manuscript, and other picture book manuscripts I've written. Yes, I've learned to live with the rejection, but it's just that nobody seems to want to "DANCE ME A DANCE...PLEASE."
Hey, Madonna/Esther, maybe you're reading Pearlies of Wisdom... Wanna help me out!? My manuscript could now stand to have a big-name celebrity behind it to push it to publishers. Sorry, no real Kabbalah references in my story, but it is lyrical and there is a symmetry to it, dealing with days of the week, thus a cycle in itself. How about it, Madonna?
Hey, Jerry Seinfeld -- are you out there? Jamie Lee Curtis...? Katie Couric...?
Anyone...?
To Write...Perchance To Dream
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What does Madonna -- oops, sorry, I mean Esther -- have that I don't have? What about Jerry Seinfeld? Judge Judy? Carl Reiner? Jamie Lee Curtis? Katie Couric?
Okay, besides money, and an executive parking spot or two?
Give up? These celebrities have written children's books that have been published and heavily publicized. This blogger has written children's picture book manuscripts that have not been published or heavily publicized. This blogger is somewhat envious -- not jealous; there is a difference -- of these celebrities solely for that reason.
I will introduce this topic with an article I read and feel strongly about. My next post will deal with a personal children's book manuscript story of my own.
Read this:
Critics, authors chafe as more celebrities join ranks of children's authors
By Karen MacPherson, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
Jamie Lee Curtis wrote her first children's book in 1993, "When I Was Little: A Four-Year-Old's Memoir of Her Youth." Her latest, "It's Hard to Be Five," is No. 4 on The New York Times children's picture book best-seller list.
Ed Koch has held many jobs during his storied career: lawyer, television commentator, college professor, restaurant reviewer, congressman and mayor of New York City.
None of that prepared him for his latest title: children's book writer. With the recent release of his picture book, "Eddie: Harold's Little Brother" (Grosset & Dunlap, $16.99), the 79-year-old Koch joins the likes of Lynne Cheney, Julie Andrews, John Lithgow and Jerry Seinfeld in writing tomes for tots.
They're not the only ones. The list of celebrities writing children's books is long and growing ever more diverse, as publishers seek to fill a lucrative new niche in the children's book market. These days, all kinds of celebrities -- from movie stars to politicians to TV anchors to sports stars -- are finding new fame and fortune in children's books.
This season's list of celebrity children's books, for example, includes offerings by actress Jamie Lee Curtis, football-playing siblings Tiki and Ronde Barber, Democratic political whiz James Carville, TV personality Katie Couric and soccer star Mia Hamm.
There's even word that mobster John A. Gotti has written a children's book, "The Children of Shaolin Forest." The New York Times recently reported that lawyers had attempted for Gotti to be released on bail by informing the judge in his case that he "now prefers writing children's books to extortion and racketeering.''
If his book is published, Gotti will join a list that, over the past 20 years, has come to include comedians Bill Cosby and Jay Leno; former President Jimmy Carter; TV anchor Deborah Norville; California first lady Maria Shriver; advice maven Dr. Laura Schlessinger; Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York; director Spike Lee; movie stars Jane Seymour and John Travolta; and even Madonna.
Critical of celebrity books
There's no doubt the celebrity volumes sell well to parents and other adults dazzled by celebrity. But book critics and librarians generally disdain celebrity books as preachy and poorly written.
"Celebrity-written children's books are the worst kind of disconnect between a parent -- who is attached to a book written by a celebrity they like -- and a child, for whom that celebrity is totally meaningless," contends Anita Silvey, a noted children's book expert and author of "The 100 Best Books for Children."
Trev Jones, book review editor for School Library Journal, agrees that "most of these books are pretty bad, although it's hard to pan them all. Some of these people can write, but many can't. And there is seemingly no connection between whether they can write and whether they will get published."
Indeed, there's every sign that the celebrity children's book boom will just keep growing. There are even new, related boomlets -- children's books written by best-selling adult novelists such as Jan Karon and Michael Chabon, as well as picture books whose texts consist of songs written by people such as Judy Collins, Jerry Garcia and even Bob Dylan.
Football player brothers Tiki and Ronde Barber have penned "By My Brother's Side."
There's no mystery about why celebrities write children's books. They get to play to a new audience, earn money and media attention and perhaps revitalize a career. In addition, celebrity children's book authors often "cross-promote." In plugging her new children's book, "It's Hard to Be Five," for example, Curtis also mentioned her soon-to-be-released movie, "Christmas With the Kranks."
Many celebrities also genuinely like the idea of doing something for children. "I really enjoy the idea that a picture book is intended to be read to a child by an adult," says Curtis, a mother of two.
In her typical fashion, Madonna ignited a storm of controversy last year when she explained her reasons for becoming an author.
"I'm starting to read to my son," said the Material Girl, once famed for her sexual escapades and pointy bras. "But I couldn't believe how vapid and vacant and empty all the stories were. There's, like, no lessons. ... There's, like, no books about anything."
For Newbery Medalist Linda Sue Park, such a statement just exposes Madonna's "shameful ignorance of the world of children's books."
More importantly, Madonna's remarks "insult not only those of us who dedicate our lives to writing for young people, but also those young readers who have discovered good books and funny books that they love, and then hear [her] on television saying there aren't any," added Park, who won U.S. children's literature's top award in 2002 for her novel "A Single Shard."
Jane Yolen, a prize-winning children's book author, contends that "celebrity children's books eat up all the available oxygen ... I have over 250 books out, have won a great number of awards within the field, have been given four honorary doctorates for my body of work, but have never been on 'Oprah' or spoken to Katie Couric or gotten a $100,000 advance for my work.
"I am not complaining. I do very well by the ordinary parameters of the field. But I have been thinking about getting out my pointy bra and brushing up on my singing and dancing because there's no good pop music out there. And because -- you know -- if it's celebrity they want ...''
What particularly bothers many non-celebrity authors is the notion that "anyone can write a children's book."
"The assumption is ... that it's easy. It isn't," says children's book author/illustrator Katie Davis, whose books include "Who Hops?" and "I Hate to Go to Bed!" "It takes years of hard work. It takes dedication and passion."
Davis adds that she has "very mixed feelings about books by celebrities. On the one hand, if it gets more kids reading, I'm all for it. That said, I have never met a child whose favorite book was written by a celebrity."
Publishers reap revenue
Publishers, meanwhile, defend their decisions to publish celebrity books, saying they pick only the best and that the additional revenue generated by celebrity children's books can allow publishers to do more with non-celebrity books.
"I don't like to publish a book because it's written by a celebrity," says David Gale, editorial director of Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers. "I do like to publish good books, and if they're written by a celebrity, it's all the better because we can get publicity that we could otherwise not get."
Gale acknowledges that celebrities often get higher advances and bigger marketing campaigns than non-celebrity children's book authors. "But that's charged against the book; it's not stopping something else from getting published or getting publicized," he says.
There's no doubt that celebrity children's books are a good financial bet for publishers. Madonna, for example, has sold more than 1 million copies of her three children's books. A fourth book, to be published next month, is expected to add to her sales.
But publishers insist that celebrity books aren't automatic moneymakers.
"A first-time book by a celebrity gets more attention than a comparable book by a first-time author, and that helps the book sell into stores," Gale says. "However, if it's not a good book, it won't sell to the customers."
To many book critics, librarians and other professionals, however, it's galling to see celebrity children's books make any money. These critics say that the greatest flaw of celebrity books is that they usually construct their stories around a message.
This runs directly counter to the best children's books, in which the "message" -- if there is one -- takes a backseat to the story.
"Because the message in celebrity books weighs more heavily than the story, even the best of them is good only for two or three readings before a child will become bored with the message," says Maria Salvadore, a Washington, D.C.-based children's literature expert.
Historical perspective
While the big wave of children's books written by celebrities has hit the bookshelves over the past five years or so, there's actually a lengthy history of such books.
Child star Shirley Temple published a series of storybooks in the 1930s, and in 1946, teenage Elizabeth Taylor wrote "Nibbles and Me," a memoir of her adventures with a pet squirrel.
Over the years, various celebrities, from Frank Sinatra to Roy Rogers, have published books for children. But these were just a tiny part of the children's book market of the time, and few -- if any -- are still in print.
Julie Andrews launched the modern era of celebrity children's books when she published "Mandy," a children's novel in 1971. Seven years later, Andrews published a second children's novel, "The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles." Both books have won kudos from critics and children and are still in print.
In 1991, Duchess of York Sarah Ferguson published a book about a heroic helicopter named "Budgie." Although the book was widely -- and deservedly -- panned, it also showed there was a market for celebrity children's books.
But most critics credit Curtis with making it fashionable -- and profitable -- to write for children. During a lull in her acting career, Curtis wrote her first children's book, "When I Was Little: A Four-Year-Old's Memoir of Her Youth," inspired by a remark by her then-4-year-old daughter.
Featuring cheerful, energetic illustrations by Laura Cornell, the picture book was published in 1993. Curtis so enjoyed her new status as a children's book author that she decided to write a second book, "Tell Me Again About the Night I Was Born." Published in 1996, the book, also illustrated by Cornell, has become a classic in the adoption community.
Since then, Curtis and Cornell have published four more picture books, each of which has become a best seller. Their latest effort, "It's Hard to Be Five," is No. 4 on The New York Times children's picture book best-seller list.
Unlike most celebrity books, Curtis' books are praised by many critics, although others contend that her books are mediocre efforts that wouldn't be published if they weren't written by a star.
While these celebrity books are obviously popular with parents, Silvey, the children's book expert, wishes they weren't.
"There's nothing to be gained with reading any of them," says Silvey, a former editor of The Horn Book magazine, the bible of children's literature. Instead, Silvey counsels parents to buy books by the real "celebrities" of children's literature, such as Robert McCloskey ("Make Way for Ducklings") or Maurice Sendak ("Where the Wild Things Are").
Park, the Newbery Medalist, meanwhile, makes a "heartfelt plea" to publishers. "Every single time a child reads a poorly written book, that's time lost forever to the possibility of reading a good book," she says.
"Please, if you are going to publish celebrity books, try to see beyond the sales figures to the individual child reading that book, who depends on you to give them good books."
What does Madonna -- oops, sorry, I mean Esther -- have that I don't have? What about Jerry Seinfeld? Judge Judy? Carl Reiner? Jamie Lee Curtis? Katie Couric?
Okay, besides money, and an executive parking spot or two?
Give up? These celebrities have written children's books that have been published and heavily publicized. This blogger has written children's picture book manuscripts that have not been published or heavily publicized. This blogger is somewhat envious -- not jealous; there is a difference -- of these celebrities solely for that reason.
I will introduce this topic with an article I read and feel strongly about. My next post will deal with a personal children's book manuscript story of my own.
Read this:
Critics, authors chafe as more celebrities join ranks of children's authors
By Karen MacPherson, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
Jamie Lee Curtis wrote her first children's book in 1993, "When I Was Little: A Four-Year-Old's Memoir of Her Youth." Her latest, "It's Hard to Be Five," is No. 4 on The New York Times children's picture book best-seller list.
Ed Koch has held many jobs during his storied career: lawyer, television commentator, college professor, restaurant reviewer, congressman and mayor of New York City.
None of that prepared him for his latest title: children's book writer. With the recent release of his picture book, "Eddie: Harold's Little Brother" (Grosset & Dunlap, $16.99), the 79-year-old Koch joins the likes of Lynne Cheney, Julie Andrews, John Lithgow and Jerry Seinfeld in writing tomes for tots.
They're not the only ones. The list of celebrities writing children's books is long and growing ever more diverse, as publishers seek to fill a lucrative new niche in the children's book market. These days, all kinds of celebrities -- from movie stars to politicians to TV anchors to sports stars -- are finding new fame and fortune in children's books.
This season's list of celebrity children's books, for example, includes offerings by actress Jamie Lee Curtis, football-playing siblings Tiki and Ronde Barber, Democratic political whiz James Carville, TV personality Katie Couric and soccer star Mia Hamm.
There's even word that mobster John A. Gotti has written a children's book, "The Children of Shaolin Forest." The New York Times recently reported that lawyers had attempted for Gotti to be released on bail by informing the judge in his case that he "now prefers writing children's books to extortion and racketeering.''
If his book is published, Gotti will join a list that, over the past 20 years, has come to include comedians Bill Cosby and Jay Leno; former President Jimmy Carter; TV anchor Deborah Norville; California first lady Maria Shriver; advice maven Dr. Laura Schlessinger; Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York; director Spike Lee; movie stars Jane Seymour and John Travolta; and even Madonna.
Critical of celebrity books
There's no doubt the celebrity volumes sell well to parents and other adults dazzled by celebrity. But book critics and librarians generally disdain celebrity books as preachy and poorly written.
"Celebrity-written children's books are the worst kind of disconnect between a parent -- who is attached to a book written by a celebrity they like -- and a child, for whom that celebrity is totally meaningless," contends Anita Silvey, a noted children's book expert and author of "The 100 Best Books for Children."
Trev Jones, book review editor for School Library Journal, agrees that "most of these books are pretty bad, although it's hard to pan them all. Some of these people can write, but many can't. And there is seemingly no connection between whether they can write and whether they will get published."
Indeed, there's every sign that the celebrity children's book boom will just keep growing. There are even new, related boomlets -- children's books written by best-selling adult novelists such as Jan Karon and Michael Chabon, as well as picture books whose texts consist of songs written by people such as Judy Collins, Jerry Garcia and even Bob Dylan.
Football player brothers Tiki and Ronde Barber have penned "By My Brother's Side."
There's no mystery about why celebrities write children's books. They get to play to a new audience, earn money and media attention and perhaps revitalize a career. In addition, celebrity children's book authors often "cross-promote." In plugging her new children's book, "It's Hard to Be Five," for example, Curtis also mentioned her soon-to-be-released movie, "Christmas With the Kranks."
Many celebrities also genuinely like the idea of doing something for children. "I really enjoy the idea that a picture book is intended to be read to a child by an adult," says Curtis, a mother of two.
In her typical fashion, Madonna ignited a storm of controversy last year when she explained her reasons for becoming an author.
"I'm starting to read to my son," said the Material Girl, once famed for her sexual escapades and pointy bras. "But I couldn't believe how vapid and vacant and empty all the stories were. There's, like, no lessons. ... There's, like, no books about anything."
For Newbery Medalist Linda Sue Park, such a statement just exposes Madonna's "shameful ignorance of the world of children's books."
More importantly, Madonna's remarks "insult not only those of us who dedicate our lives to writing for young people, but also those young readers who have discovered good books and funny books that they love, and then hear [her] on television saying there aren't any," added Park, who won U.S. children's literature's top award in 2002 for her novel "A Single Shard."
Jane Yolen, a prize-winning children's book author, contends that "celebrity children's books eat up all the available oxygen ... I have over 250 books out, have won a great number of awards within the field, have been given four honorary doctorates for my body of work, but have never been on 'Oprah' or spoken to Katie Couric or gotten a $100,000 advance for my work.
"I am not complaining. I do very well by the ordinary parameters of the field. But I have been thinking about getting out my pointy bra and brushing up on my singing and dancing because there's no good pop music out there. And because -- you know -- if it's celebrity they want ...''
What particularly bothers many non-celebrity authors is the notion that "anyone can write a children's book."
"The assumption is ... that it's easy. It isn't," says children's book author/illustrator Katie Davis, whose books include "Who Hops?" and "I Hate to Go to Bed!" "It takes years of hard work. It takes dedication and passion."
Davis adds that she has "very mixed feelings about books by celebrities. On the one hand, if it gets more kids reading, I'm all for it. That said, I have never met a child whose favorite book was written by a celebrity."
Publishers reap revenue
Publishers, meanwhile, defend their decisions to publish celebrity books, saying they pick only the best and that the additional revenue generated by celebrity children's books can allow publishers to do more with non-celebrity books.
"I don't like to publish a book because it's written by a celebrity," says David Gale, editorial director of Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers. "I do like to publish good books, and if they're written by a celebrity, it's all the better because we can get publicity that we could otherwise not get."
Gale acknowledges that celebrities often get higher advances and bigger marketing campaigns than non-celebrity children's book authors. "But that's charged against the book; it's not stopping something else from getting published or getting publicized," he says.
There's no doubt that celebrity children's books are a good financial bet for publishers. Madonna, for example, has sold more than 1 million copies of her three children's books. A fourth book, to be published next month, is expected to add to her sales.
But publishers insist that celebrity books aren't automatic moneymakers.
"A first-time book by a celebrity gets more attention than a comparable book by a first-time author, and that helps the book sell into stores," Gale says. "However, if it's not a good book, it won't sell to the customers."
To many book critics, librarians and other professionals, however, it's galling to see celebrity children's books make any money. These critics say that the greatest flaw of celebrity books is that they usually construct their stories around a message.
This runs directly counter to the best children's books, in which the "message" -- if there is one -- takes a backseat to the story.
"Because the message in celebrity books weighs more heavily than the story, even the best of them is good only for two or three readings before a child will become bored with the message," says Maria Salvadore, a Washington, D.C.-based children's literature expert.
Historical perspective
While the big wave of children's books written by celebrities has hit the bookshelves over the past five years or so, there's actually a lengthy history of such books.
Child star Shirley Temple published a series of storybooks in the 1930s, and in 1946, teenage Elizabeth Taylor wrote "Nibbles and Me," a memoir of her adventures with a pet squirrel.
Over the years, various celebrities, from Frank Sinatra to Roy Rogers, have published books for children. But these were just a tiny part of the children's book market of the time, and few -- if any -- are still in print.
Julie Andrews launched the modern era of celebrity children's books when she published "Mandy," a children's novel in 1971. Seven years later, Andrews published a second children's novel, "The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles." Both books have won kudos from critics and children and are still in print.
In 1991, Duchess of York Sarah Ferguson published a book about a heroic helicopter named "Budgie." Although the book was widely -- and deservedly -- panned, it also showed there was a market for celebrity children's books.
But most critics credit Curtis with making it fashionable -- and profitable -- to write for children. During a lull in her acting career, Curtis wrote her first children's book, "When I Was Little: A Four-Year-Old's Memoir of Her Youth," inspired by a remark by her then-4-year-old daughter.
Featuring cheerful, energetic illustrations by Laura Cornell, the picture book was published in 1993. Curtis so enjoyed her new status as a children's book author that she decided to write a second book, "Tell Me Again About the Night I Was Born." Published in 1996, the book, also illustrated by Cornell, has become a classic in the adoption community.
Since then, Curtis and Cornell have published four more picture books, each of which has become a best seller. Their latest effort, "It's Hard to Be Five," is No. 4 on The New York Times children's picture book best-seller list.
Unlike most celebrity books, Curtis' books are praised by many critics, although others contend that her books are mediocre efforts that wouldn't be published if they weren't written by a star.
While these celebrity books are obviously popular with parents, Silvey, the children's book expert, wishes they weren't.
"There's nothing to be gained with reading any of them," says Silvey, a former editor of The Horn Book magazine, the bible of children's literature. Instead, Silvey counsels parents to buy books by the real "celebrities" of children's literature, such as Robert McCloskey ("Make Way for Ducklings") or Maurice Sendak ("Where the Wild Things Are").
Park, the Newbery Medalist, meanwhile, makes a "heartfelt plea" to publishers. "Every single time a child reads a poorly written book, that's time lost forever to the possibility of reading a good book," she says.
"Please, if you are going to publish celebrity books, try to see beyond the sales figures to the individual child reading that book, who depends on you to give them good books."
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
The Balm of Writing
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At 12:30 a.m. I should really be sleeping, especially when I get up six hours from now, but I wanted to have my last word of the day -- or rather, my first word of the day.
Shakespeare had his famous line: "...to sleep, perchance to dream, aye, there's the rub..." I have mine: "...whether 'tis nobler to write or to speak..."
In my case, I am more noble when I write--perhaps because I can hide behind paper or computer screen, using streamofconsciousness to get my points across. I subject my readers to my detailed wordiness, holding them captive whether they like it or not. But place me in front of you in person, and I take after a certain aspect of my name -- I am the Pearl that clams up in its shell. And if I do speak, sometimes I am not as eloquent in person as I am on paper; I think sometimes I am not as interesting in person as I am on paper; I KNOW that sometimes I am not as comfortable in person as I am on paper.
You might very well meet me and say, "L'havdil! You are witty, you are fun, you are generous, you are compassionate, you are a warm individual; you do not come across at all as you've described yourself in your May 3rd post." But you don't know that I can also be a good actress, who takes on a temporary role of "Outgoing Female" if feeling uncomfortable in a situation. And I often do feel awkward or self-conscious. And at those moments, I sometimes yearn for my pen and paper, so that I can write about how I feel.
Writing, for me anyway, is a wonderful balm; it is such an extension of who I was, who I am, and who I'm becoming. And that, fine folks, is what you are continuing to discover as you read Pearlies of Wisdom...
{see...it takes 25 minutes to make my simple point! how verbose can i be?]
At 12:30 a.m. I should really be sleeping, especially when I get up six hours from now, but I wanted to have my last word of the day -- or rather, my first word of the day.
Shakespeare had his famous line: "...to sleep, perchance to dream, aye, there's the rub..." I have mine: "...whether 'tis nobler to write or to speak..."
In my case, I am more noble when I write--perhaps because I can hide behind paper or computer screen, using streamofconsciousness to get my points across. I subject my readers to my detailed wordiness, holding them captive whether they like it or not. But place me in front of you in person, and I take after a certain aspect of my name -- I am the Pearl that clams up in its shell. And if I do speak, sometimes I am not as eloquent in person as I am on paper; I think sometimes I am not as interesting in person as I am on paper; I KNOW that sometimes I am not as comfortable in person as I am on paper.
You might very well meet me and say, "L'havdil! You are witty, you are fun, you are generous, you are compassionate, you are a warm individual; you do not come across at all as you've described yourself in your May 3rd post." But you don't know that I can also be a good actress, who takes on a temporary role of "Outgoing Female" if feeling uncomfortable in a situation. And I often do feel awkward or self-conscious. And at those moments, I sometimes yearn for my pen and paper, so that I can write about how I feel.
Writing, for me anyway, is a wonderful balm; it is such an extension of who I was, who I am, and who I'm becoming. And that, fine folks, is what you are continuing to discover as you read Pearlies of Wisdom...
{see...it takes 25 minutes to make my simple point! how verbose can i be?]
Monday, May 02, 2005
"Hail, Hail, the Gang's All Here"
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I've taken one more day off work -- my children are off school, and I have to get our lives back in order...although one day doesn't really cut it for that.
I'm in no rush to eat flour-based products, bread, crackers, pasta, so I've slowly been changing over the kitchen and dining room between last night and today. But yes, within the next hour I will take my children for a pizza lunch -- matzoh pizza is just not the same for them.
My husband who'd transformed 3/4 of the kitchen into Pesach mode himself had done an excellent job and I see it more and more as I disassemble all he did. He'd transferred empty boxes and year-round pots, dishes and kitchen accoutrements to the garage and it was my job to bring them back into the house after filling up the labeled Passover boxes.
Wouldn't you know it -- when I was about to go out to the garage, it began to rain. Then it began to HAIL! Hey, didn't anyone tell Mother Nature that the Ten Plagues are finished with till next year; hail shouldn't have had the need to make a guest appearance, now that the holiday is over, now that it's MAY 2ND!
I think the hail just felt the need to have the last word. And I feel the need to top it: "DAYENU!"
I've taken one more day off work -- my children are off school, and I have to get our lives back in order...although one day doesn't really cut it for that.
I'm in no rush to eat flour-based products, bread, crackers, pasta, so I've slowly been changing over the kitchen and dining room between last night and today. But yes, within the next hour I will take my children for a pizza lunch -- matzoh pizza is just not the same for them.
My husband who'd transformed 3/4 of the kitchen into Pesach mode himself had done an excellent job and I see it more and more as I disassemble all he did. He'd transferred empty boxes and year-round pots, dishes and kitchen accoutrements to the garage and it was my job to bring them back into the house after filling up the labeled Passover boxes.
Wouldn't you know it -- when I was about to go out to the garage, it began to rain. Then it began to HAIL! Hey, didn't anyone tell Mother Nature that the Ten Plagues are finished with till next year; hail shouldn't have had the need to make a guest appearance, now that the holiday is over, now that it's MAY 2ND!
I think the hail just felt the need to have the last word. And I feel the need to top it: "DAYENU!"
Boy Vey! The Shiksa's Guide to Dating Jewish Men
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Simon & Schuster Books has this title coming out in June. And the idea of the book irks me...more than just a bit.
Yes, I have a great, and most offbeat sense of humor, and I usually do understand when things are said or done tongue-in-cheek, as most likely this book is. But I do not really want to see a book with this title, by this publisher on the shelves of my nearest bookstore. To me, it's a promotion of sorts, an invitation for non-Jewish women to date Jewish men because...of course, Jewish men supposedly have wonderful reputations, ie. "THEY MAKE GOOD HUSBANDS"!
Read this excerpt and make your own judgement call.
Chapter One: Why Choose the Chosen Ones
Oh, admit it: At some point in your adult life, you've wanted to snag a Hebrew honey. Or maybe you already have. Or maybe you're snuggled next to him right now, reading this sentence and wishing you'd thought of this book idea before I did.
In any case, who can blame you? There's a lot to love about a guy who makes your laughter his priority, who talks about your relationship more than you do, who's wildly intense inside the bedroom and out, who thinks nudging him up the corporate ladder is a sign of affection. Jewish men feed your mind and appetite, and they are the ultimate caretakers without a hint of machismo. They're also generous and thoughtful, thanks to a matriarchal culture that's taught them to appreciate women's strength, candor, humor, and intelligence. And because Jewish men value professional drive, your mom can finally tell neighbors that you're dating a doctor, lawyer, or entrepreneur. And she'll mean it this time.
Of course, dating a nice Jewish boy comes with its caveats -- most obvious, the whole Messiah thing. The good news is that if you're dating a Jew, he's likely either Reform or simply acculturated, and thus, open-minded about mixing it up a bit. (Unless conversion is your idea of a hot first-date topic, don't waste your time with Conservative and Orthodox observances.) Whether your love mensch is super religious is seldom the issue. I've found that interfaith coupling gets most sticky -- and believe me, this Presbyterian has dated enough Jews to make their ancestors shvitz in their graves -- when wondering how to navigate daily interactions: how to deal with his obsessive hand-wringing, what to expect from his sex drive, how to survive his mom's verbal hemophilia. Interfaith relationship snafus arise because Jewish cultural nuances are ingrained in his psyche and not in yours. So if you want to hang with a Jew, you need to identify with his faith and lifestyle.
So what's a Shiksa? Well, you. The word is simply Yiddish for a non-Jewish woman, though the term carries a long history of cultural weight that's far too academic and arguable for the attention span of dating-guide devotees (myself included). Suffice it to say that Shiksas are traditionally viewed as the attractive, mysterious, and forbidden other -- and not always in a flattering way. However, most of the young, Jewish studs I meet insist that the femme fatale rep is an antiquated ideal that's upheld more by their older parents and grandparents than by today's cooler Bens, Joshes, and Andrews. Thank heaven! When it comes to compatibility issues, your religion (or lack thereof) is but one part of your gorgeous profile -- and ranks right up there with charisma, looks, education, family, ethnicity, and bra size. Honestly, your cutie doesn't adore you because he wants to explore your hidden temptress or piss off his family. And if you suspect he does, dump the loser and hide his yarmulke. Because you, my dear, can do better.
Since you bought this book, I'm going to assume you have an elementary knowledge of the Jewish faith and its lingo (or at least a piqued interest). Beyond apologies for your beliefs or stereotypes about his, here's what you won't find in these pages: basic Judaic principles, long history lessons, Hebrew prayer translations, funeral downers, extreme holiday traditions like Purim or Simchas Torah, or three cheers for interfaith marriage. Boy Vey!: The Shiksa's Guide to Dating Jewish Men is simply that -- a fun dating guide written for outsiders, by an outsider. Not to mention, one who's proved to be a natural at the Jewish dating shtick (or so the exes and mothers say)...and sees no reason why you can't be too!
Copyright © 2005 by Kristina Grish
Good luck, Kristina Grish, with your book. Good luck, Simon & Schuster, with your book sales. But this gal ain't buyin' none of it!
Simon & Schuster Books has this title coming out in June. And the idea of the book irks me...more than just a bit.
Yes, I have a great, and most offbeat sense of humor, and I usually do understand when things are said or done tongue-in-cheek, as most likely this book is. But I do not really want to see a book with this title, by this publisher on the shelves of my nearest bookstore. To me, it's a promotion of sorts, an invitation for non-Jewish women to date Jewish men because...of course, Jewish men supposedly have wonderful reputations, ie. "THEY MAKE GOOD HUSBANDS"!
Read this excerpt and make your own judgement call.
Chapter One: Why Choose the Chosen Ones
Oh, admit it: At some point in your adult life, you've wanted to snag a Hebrew honey. Or maybe you already have. Or maybe you're snuggled next to him right now, reading this sentence and wishing you'd thought of this book idea before I did.
In any case, who can blame you? There's a lot to love about a guy who makes your laughter his priority, who talks about your relationship more than you do, who's wildly intense inside the bedroom and out, who thinks nudging him up the corporate ladder is a sign of affection. Jewish men feed your mind and appetite, and they are the ultimate caretakers without a hint of machismo. They're also generous and thoughtful, thanks to a matriarchal culture that's taught them to appreciate women's strength, candor, humor, and intelligence. And because Jewish men value professional drive, your mom can finally tell neighbors that you're dating a doctor, lawyer, or entrepreneur. And she'll mean it this time.
Of course, dating a nice Jewish boy comes with its caveats -- most obvious, the whole Messiah thing. The good news is that if you're dating a Jew, he's likely either Reform or simply acculturated, and thus, open-minded about mixing it up a bit. (Unless conversion is your idea of a hot first-date topic, don't waste your time with Conservative and Orthodox observances.) Whether your love mensch is super religious is seldom the issue. I've found that interfaith coupling gets most sticky -- and believe me, this Presbyterian has dated enough Jews to make their ancestors shvitz in their graves -- when wondering how to navigate daily interactions: how to deal with his obsessive hand-wringing, what to expect from his sex drive, how to survive his mom's verbal hemophilia. Interfaith relationship snafus arise because Jewish cultural nuances are ingrained in his psyche and not in yours. So if you want to hang with a Jew, you need to identify with his faith and lifestyle.
So what's a Shiksa? Well, you. The word is simply Yiddish for a non-Jewish woman, though the term carries a long history of cultural weight that's far too academic and arguable for the attention span of dating-guide devotees (myself included). Suffice it to say that Shiksas are traditionally viewed as the attractive, mysterious, and forbidden other -- and not always in a flattering way. However, most of the young, Jewish studs I meet insist that the femme fatale rep is an antiquated ideal that's upheld more by their older parents and grandparents than by today's cooler Bens, Joshes, and Andrews. Thank heaven! When it comes to compatibility issues, your religion (or lack thereof) is but one part of your gorgeous profile -- and ranks right up there with charisma, looks, education, family, ethnicity, and bra size. Honestly, your cutie doesn't adore you because he wants to explore your hidden temptress or piss off his family. And if you suspect he does, dump the loser and hide his yarmulke. Because you, my dear, can do better.
Since you bought this book, I'm going to assume you have an elementary knowledge of the Jewish faith and its lingo (or at least a piqued interest). Beyond apologies for your beliefs or stereotypes about his, here's what you won't find in these pages: basic Judaic principles, long history lessons, Hebrew prayer translations, funeral downers, extreme holiday traditions like Purim or Simchas Torah, or three cheers for interfaith marriage. Boy Vey!: The Shiksa's Guide to Dating Jewish Men is simply that -- a fun dating guide written for outsiders, by an outsider. Not to mention, one who's proved to be a natural at the Jewish dating shtick (or so the exes and mothers say)...and sees no reason why you can't be too!
Copyright © 2005 by Kristina Grish
Good luck, Kristina Grish, with your book. Good luck, Simon & Schuster, with your book sales. But this gal ain't buyin' none of it!
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Cabin Fever...or The Natives Are Restless
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Yay, the chag is over! Passover is OVER; it has now PASSed us by...
These last few days of Shabbos/Yom Tov were rather difficult. Firstly, it was a very short week, and one barely had time to finish up with the first days, when the last days were suddenly upon us.
I was supposed to be back to work for Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. But on Thursday there was some "family drama" happening and I couldn't go to work. In relation to that, en route to deal with the family drama, we had a major tire blowout on our van, and hubby took it upon himself to change the tire.
Now maybe changing a tire isn't so bad, but hubby, who has a history of back trouble, and already had surgery some years ago, and has been doing ("pu, pu, pu") pretty wonderfully ever since, slipped a couple days earlier and slightly hurt his hip area. Add that macho change-a-tire mode, to hurt hip area, to standing all afternoon for the family drama, and we've got troubles...back troubles...troubles that are reminiscent of all those years ago when surgery was the only answer.
So, we have major pain happening, with lots of immobility, we have company Friday night, we have gross rainy weather for the next two days, we have three young children... What does that amount to? CABIN FEVER!
Last week for Yom Tov, it was different: my children had cousins to play with for one seder night and one lunch, family friends' kids to play with second seder night. This weekend, no kids, save each other. Yes, they read books, they played board games, they played card games, they played indoor hockey and soccer, they performed simple magic tricks. But what else did they do? They got on each other's nerves; answers weren't given -- they were SHOUTED! Tears flowed generously; "What can I do now?" was heard countless times. Incoming messages to the Complaint Department exceeded the department's patience and tolerance. If my kids were to ever be contestants on "Survivor: The Children's Edition" they wouldn't make it very far -- there would be no winners, only accusations of "He cheated!" "You cheated!" "She cheated! I don't want to play with her anymore!" They would each storm off in different directions, kicking up sandstorms, and disturbing the native wildlife and island inhabitants.
Thank G-d the weather cleared for some time this afternoon and we could finally take a walk and let out some of that pent-up energy and frustration. Eema, children, and pug took a walk to a nearby park, leaving aching, longsuffering Aba to rest (even more!) for a little over an hour. The COLD fresh air was good for all involved and we came back home a little refreshed, a little tired and a little happier.
This evening, Yom Tov was to be out around 9:09 (depending on which calendar you refer to); at about 9:00, my children started their famous chant and dance, "Nine more minutes till Yom Tov is over...eight more minutes till Yom Tov is over..." (if they're not in shul, they also do this dance to decree the end of Shabbos, and some of their friends, who've stayed for Shabbos, have learned the chant/dance, too)
I have to admit: sometimes that dance/chant is rather appealing...
Hopefully you all made it through the matzoh, the maror, and the mayhem.
Next year in Jerusalem...or Miami Beach...or Phoenix...or Orlando. No, scrap Orlando -- during Yom Tov, the kids would be wailing, "Hey, we can't even go to Disney World 'cause it's Yom Tov. Why did we come here, anyway????"
Yay, the chag is over! Passover is OVER; it has now PASSed us by...
These last few days of Shabbos/Yom Tov were rather difficult. Firstly, it was a very short week, and one barely had time to finish up with the first days, when the last days were suddenly upon us.
I was supposed to be back to work for Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. But on Thursday there was some "family drama" happening and I couldn't go to work. In relation to that, en route to deal with the family drama, we had a major tire blowout on our van, and hubby took it upon himself to change the tire.
Now maybe changing a tire isn't so bad, but hubby, who has a history of back trouble, and already had surgery some years ago, and has been doing ("pu, pu, pu") pretty wonderfully ever since, slipped a couple days earlier and slightly hurt his hip area. Add that macho change-a-tire mode, to hurt hip area, to standing all afternoon for the family drama, and we've got troubles...back troubles...troubles that are reminiscent of all those years ago when surgery was the only answer.
So, we have major pain happening, with lots of immobility, we have company Friday night, we have gross rainy weather for the next two days, we have three young children... What does that amount to? CABIN FEVER!
Last week for Yom Tov, it was different: my children had cousins to play with for one seder night and one lunch, family friends' kids to play with second seder night. This weekend, no kids, save each other. Yes, they read books, they played board games, they played card games, they played indoor hockey and soccer, they performed simple magic tricks. But what else did they do? They got on each other's nerves; answers weren't given -- they were SHOUTED! Tears flowed generously; "What can I do now?" was heard countless times. Incoming messages to the Complaint Department exceeded the department's patience and tolerance. If my kids were to ever be contestants on "Survivor: The Children's Edition" they wouldn't make it very far -- there would be no winners, only accusations of "He cheated!" "You cheated!" "She cheated! I don't want to play with her anymore!" They would each storm off in different directions, kicking up sandstorms, and disturbing the native wildlife and island inhabitants.
Thank G-d the weather cleared for some time this afternoon and we could finally take a walk and let out some of that pent-up energy and frustration. Eema, children, and pug took a walk to a nearby park, leaving aching, longsuffering Aba to rest (even more!) for a little over an hour. The COLD fresh air was good for all involved and we came back home a little refreshed, a little tired and a little happier.
This evening, Yom Tov was to be out around 9:09 (depending on which calendar you refer to); at about 9:00, my children started their famous chant and dance, "Nine more minutes till Yom Tov is over...eight more minutes till Yom Tov is over..." (if they're not in shul, they also do this dance to decree the end of Shabbos, and some of their friends, who've stayed for Shabbos, have learned the chant/dance, too)
I have to admit: sometimes that dance/chant is rather appealing...
Hopefully you all made it through the matzoh, the maror, and the mayhem.
Next year in Jerusalem...or Miami Beach...or Phoenix...or Orlando. No, scrap Orlando -- during Yom Tov, the kids would be wailing, "Hey, we can't even go to Disney World 'cause it's Yom Tov. Why did we come here, anyway????"
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Picture This! -- Part 2
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Several posts ago, I wrote about my "little problem" with not having put photos in albums for just about eightyears. http://wwwpearliesofwisdom.blogspot.com/2005/03/picture-this.html
It has been a project "assigned" to me by my husband; I am to prepare albums between Pesach and Shavuot, in some semblance of order, or else he will find someone else to do it -- namely him! But like I said before, I may have procrastinated in the project, but I'll do a damn well better job at archiving the photos than he will.
Little does he know (unless he'll happen to read this post) that there's also a problem with my children's school pictures I've bought over the years. Not too long ago, I was looking for something in a cupboard and found a package of school pictures that I'd paid good dollars for -- you know, one 8 by 10, two 5 by 7's, four 3 1/2 by 5's and a class picture. The package was pretty much intact, which means that I'd not framed the 8 by 10 for ourselves, nor had I given grandparents the 5 by 7's nor assorted aunts and uncles the wallet sized photos. How horrible could I be? Isn't a mom supposed to "kvell," supposed to proudly display her framed "kinderlach" on home walls and bookshelves?
Well, I have several beautiful frames that I've bought or received as gifts over the years, but they sit vacant, just waiting for this TorontoPearl's children to rent the space. My beautiful walls beckon to me: "I need a photo here. I need a collage there. If you don't hang something up soon, I might just crack!"
Our family room wall unit has some photos, but most of them appear to pay homage to my oldest child when he was between the ages of infancy and two (eight years ago -- yeah, that's just about how long I've neglected to put photos in albums); yes, there are a couple of my middle child here and there, but none of the youngest.
The same in my bedroom on my dresser, but I think a photo of my youngest snuck in there somewhere.
I am the youngest of three children, born in September, and in 1961 people weren't photographing as often and as freely as they do today. So, the earliest photos of me were taken in the spring of 1962, and I was already several months old. Of course, whenever I'd look at the family photo albums(my mother is the most organized "albumist"; she worked as a negative cutter in the film business, so perhaps the details related to that job carried through to her arranging of photos and negatives...?) I'd question it, assuming that I was adopted and came into the family a bit later. Such wasn't the case, but I guess it was also the "third child syndrome"-- ie. fewer photos as the list of children goes on.
In any case, I hope to report back to you in a month or more that I indeed coordinated and arranged beautiful photo albums of my family, gave out beautiful school photos of my children, and became the best photo archivist this side of Lake Ontario!
Several posts ago, I wrote about my "little problem" with not having put photos in albums for just about eightyears. http://wwwpearliesofwisdom.blogspot.com/2005/03/picture-this.html
It has been a project "assigned" to me by my husband; I am to prepare albums between Pesach and Shavuot, in some semblance of order, or else he will find someone else to do it -- namely him! But like I said before, I may have procrastinated in the project, but I'll do a damn well better job at archiving the photos than he will.
Little does he know (unless he'll happen to read this post) that there's also a problem with my children's school pictures I've bought over the years. Not too long ago, I was looking for something in a cupboard and found a package of school pictures that I'd paid good dollars for -- you know, one 8 by 10, two 5 by 7's, four 3 1/2 by 5's and a class picture. The package was pretty much intact, which means that I'd not framed the 8 by 10 for ourselves, nor had I given grandparents the 5 by 7's nor assorted aunts and uncles the wallet sized photos. How horrible could I be? Isn't a mom supposed to "kvell," supposed to proudly display her framed "kinderlach" on home walls and bookshelves?
Well, I have several beautiful frames that I've bought or received as gifts over the years, but they sit vacant, just waiting for this TorontoPearl's children to rent the space. My beautiful walls beckon to me: "I need a photo here. I need a collage there. If you don't hang something up soon, I might just crack!"
Our family room wall unit has some photos, but most of them appear to pay homage to my oldest child when he was between the ages of infancy and two (eight years ago -- yeah, that's just about how long I've neglected to put photos in albums); yes, there are a couple of my middle child here and there, but none of the youngest.
The same in my bedroom on my dresser, but I think a photo of my youngest snuck in there somewhere.
I am the youngest of three children, born in September, and in 1961 people weren't photographing as often and as freely as they do today. So, the earliest photos of me were taken in the spring of 1962, and I was already several months old. Of course, whenever I'd look at the family photo albums(my mother is the most organized "albumist"; she worked as a negative cutter in the film business, so perhaps the details related to that job carried through to her arranging of photos and negatives...?) I'd question it, assuming that I was adopted and came into the family a bit later. Such wasn't the case, but I guess it was also the "third child syndrome"-- ie. fewer photos as the list of children goes on.
In any case, I hope to report back to you in a month or more that I indeed coordinated and arranged beautiful photo albums of my family, gave out beautiful school photos of my children, and became the best photo archivist this side of Lake Ontario!
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Seraphic Vision
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Seraphic Vision
As the moon crescents
in the night sky
And the stars wink
up above
Hashem’s evening majesty
is revealed.
And closer to home
you, with your dark eyes,
that familiar, warm, nut-brown shade,
remain deep in prayer, immersed in learning,
wearing your cloak of piety
wrapped lovingly around you
and worn proudly
like a family heirloom passed down through the generations.
You, with the gentle yet impassioned soul.
Proud like a lion – Ari – but humble in your manner.
With one purpose: to serve family and Hashem.
Your bright eyes are inquisitive; they also smile behind their seriousness
because they know the secrets of the angels,
the first order of angels who sit by the majestic throne of Hashem
serving his needs, coming to his aid.
You, like the seraphim, meet the needs of others.
It is you who answers the questions, but doesn’t ask them.
You, who seeks to share your knowledge, your wisdom,
ready to impart all with others.
It is you who comforts like a father
when you are but only a child.
It is you who brings meaning to life -- to Chaim.
It is you who breathes life into words, helping to shape them into tangible ideas,
ideas, that, too, will carry through the generations.
Avarechicha – and I will bless you.
V’yishmerecha – and I will keep you.
*********
These words, this poem was written by me in January. I submitted it to the Passover literary supplement of our community Jewish newspaper, and it was accepted and published just last week.
A friend of mine loved the poem but did not know what to make of it. She thought it was a love poem I'd written for my husband. I gave the explanation to her, as I'm giving to you.
This poem was written with Ariel Chaim Avrech, z"l, in mind. I did not know this young man, I never met this young man, I'd never even heard of this young man until last October. But then I started to read about him, started to learn about all he'd possessed, all he'd represented and all he'd been capable of. And I began to know him.
You, too, can get to know Ariel. You can read his father, Robert J. Avrech's moving blog, with interjective comments from his mother, Karen. His parents keep memories of their son strong, alive, giving him chaim, not only in their hearts, but on their computer screen, for all the world to see. I hope you'll take a moment to see...and learn...and know.
http://www.seraphicpress.com
Seraphic Vision
As the moon crescents
in the night sky
And the stars wink
up above
Hashem’s evening majesty
is revealed.
And closer to home
you, with your dark eyes,
that familiar, warm, nut-brown shade,
remain deep in prayer, immersed in learning,
wearing your cloak of piety
wrapped lovingly around you
and worn proudly
like a family heirloom passed down through the generations.
You, with the gentle yet impassioned soul.
Proud like a lion – Ari – but humble in your manner.
With one purpose: to serve family and Hashem.
Your bright eyes are inquisitive; they also smile behind their seriousness
because they know the secrets of the angels,
the first order of angels who sit by the majestic throne of Hashem
serving his needs, coming to his aid.
You, like the seraphim, meet the needs of others.
It is you who answers the questions, but doesn’t ask them.
You, who seeks to share your knowledge, your wisdom,
ready to impart all with others.
It is you who comforts like a father
when you are but only a child.
It is you who brings meaning to life -- to Chaim.
It is you who breathes life into words, helping to shape them into tangible ideas,
ideas, that, too, will carry through the generations.
Avarechicha – and I will bless you.
V’yishmerecha – and I will keep you.
*********
These words, this poem was written by me in January. I submitted it to the Passover literary supplement of our community Jewish newspaper, and it was accepted and published just last week.
A friend of mine loved the poem but did not know what to make of it. She thought it was a love poem I'd written for my husband. I gave the explanation to her, as I'm giving to you.
This poem was written with Ariel Chaim Avrech, z"l, in mind. I did not know this young man, I never met this young man, I'd never even heard of this young man until last October. But then I started to read about him, started to learn about all he'd possessed, all he'd represented and all he'd been capable of. And I began to know him.
You, too, can get to know Ariel. You can read his father, Robert J. Avrech's moving blog, with interjective comments from his mother, Karen. His parents keep memories of their son strong, alive, giving him chaim, not only in their hearts, but on their computer screen, for all the world to see. I hope you'll take a moment to see...and learn...and know.
http://www.seraphicpress.com
Chassidic Masters Tell All
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At the second seder, the one that my husband and I hosted in our home, we distributed mainly the same Haggadot, so people would have an easy time to follow, whether they were more comfortable reading Hebrew or English. I, however, chose to be different and used an ArtScroll Mesorah Series Haggadah called Haggadah of the Chassidic Masters -- it had been a gift to me from an aunt many years ago, and is a most lovely Haggadah to use.
The book jacket says: "...This is a book to be savored at the seder and at all times of the year.... It is filled with penetrating and exciting ideas, insights, into life and destiny, stories that make one think about his mission and his role as part of a family, a town, a nation..."
In between keeping my eye on the children, keeping my eye on the children handling the crystal wine glasses, I was reading along in the Haggadah, my eyes straying every now and again to a Chassidic story written in English. This particular one drew my attention:
When Rebbe Tzvi Elimelech of Dinov passed away, Rebbe Sar Shalom of Belz sighed and said, "What a pity! We have lost an upright Jew." ("ehrlicher Yid")
"An upright Jew only?" exclaimed his wife. "He was among the greatest rebbes of our age."
"Rebbes we have in plenty," replied her husband, "but upright Jews are few and far between."
Unfortunately, there were countless upright Jews missing from family seders throughout this city and farther abroad -- tragedies and illnesses had taken them, some too fast, others too soon, some too young -- and their presence was strongly missed. In these families, when the seder called for leaning, no doubt family members leaned just a little more, leaning on and supporting each other in the shadow of their sorrow and melancholy.
It is my hope that some kind of seder -- order -- can eventually be brought back into these families' lives and that the chair that sits empty now, symbolizing the missing family member, will be looked at not just with great pain, but in time with pure reverence, because of the memories associated with the"ehrlicher Yid" it belonged to.
At the second seder, the one that my husband and I hosted in our home, we distributed mainly the same Haggadot, so people would have an easy time to follow, whether they were more comfortable reading Hebrew or English. I, however, chose to be different and used an ArtScroll Mesorah Series Haggadah called Haggadah of the Chassidic Masters -- it had been a gift to me from an aunt many years ago, and is a most lovely Haggadah to use.
The book jacket says: "...This is a book to be savored at the seder and at all times of the year.... It is filled with penetrating and exciting ideas, insights, into life and destiny, stories that make one think about his mission and his role as part of a family, a town, a nation..."
In between keeping my eye on the children, keeping my eye on the children handling the crystal wine glasses, I was reading along in the Haggadah, my eyes straying every now and again to a Chassidic story written in English. This particular one drew my attention:
When Rebbe Tzvi Elimelech of Dinov passed away, Rebbe Sar Shalom of Belz sighed and said, "What a pity! We have lost an upright Jew." ("ehrlicher Yid")
"An upright Jew only?" exclaimed his wife. "He was among the greatest rebbes of our age."
"Rebbes we have in plenty," replied her husband, "but upright Jews are few and far between."
Unfortunately, there were countless upright Jews missing from family seders throughout this city and farther abroad -- tragedies and illnesses had taken them, some too fast, others too soon, some too young -- and their presence was strongly missed. In these families, when the seder called for leaning, no doubt family members leaned just a little more, leaning on and supporting each other in the shadow of their sorrow and melancholy.
It is my hope that some kind of seder -- order -- can eventually be brought back into these families' lives and that the chair that sits empty now, symbolizing the missing family member, will be looked at not just with great pain, but in time with pure reverence, because of the memories associated with the"ehrlicher Yid" it belonged to.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
One Day or Another...
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The band Blondie had song lyrics that went something like this: "One way or another, I'm gonna find you, I'm gonna get you, get you, get you..." For the sake of this post's title, I changed "way" to "day"!
The first days of Pesach were over in Toronto over three and a half hours ago. This year it was somewhat more difficult in terms of nuances of the holiday because Shabbos got in the way of Yom Tov preparation, chametz got in the way of Yom Tov preparation, and particular halachot got in the way of Yom Tov preparation. But we learned all the ins and outs, all the particulars to observe to get us to the start of Yom Tov, which took place on Saturday p.m. after Shabbos was over.
In spite of having two main holiday markers -- two seder nights -- these past few days have been somewhat of a blur for me, with one day becoming like the one before it and the one after it. I've been home from work since Wednesday, doing final preparations, although my good -- no, my wonderful husband -- had done much of the prep work himself, taking off from work a few days before me to set everything up in the kitchen. How many women are lucky enough to find men like this, who also cook and bake wonderful delicacies for a seder meal? I came home from a medical appointment on Wednesday to find that my husband alone had shlepped all our dishes and Pesach accoutrements from our basement crawlspace, took them upstairs, set everything up in the washed out kitchen cupboards, putting away the daily dishes and cutlery, setting up the counters and the stove and oven and sinks for Pesach use. A gift from G-d this husband of mine? Perhaps. I think I'll keep him!
Early last week had been beautiful, and hot, and summerlike. But the forecast for Friday through Monday (great...just what I needed for Shabbos and Yom Tov) was cool weather and rain for the four days. And this time the weather forecasters knew exactly what they were talking about. We were homebound for all of Shabbos, and after Shabbos, put on the layers of rain gear, including rain boots, slickers, ponchos, plastic covers on strollers and wagons and set out for Seder #1, a 40 minute walk from our home. Seder #2 was hosted by my husband and I at our home, so no need to go out again with the children late at night. Today, we donned the raingear once more to make a 1-hour trek to a sibling for lunch, decided not to wait till Yom Tov was out to go home, and three out of five of us, marched home after six o'clock, donned in raingear and making the one hour return trek...trying to walk between the raindrops, and failing miserably!
Yes, it's nice to spend a Shabbos or Yom Tov with family and friends. It's nice to have a "long weekend" and miss work for an extra day or two. But in circumstances, such as the past few days presented themselves, one day blurs into the next -- socialize, eat, sleep, socialize, eat, sleep...[look out the window upon awakening to check if it's raining outside]
I'm heading back to work tomorrow, with hard-boiled egg, juice box, matzoh sandwiches, fruit, salad, macaroons in hand. I know it'll be Tuesday, but I'll think it's Monday, and when the end of the week rolls around I'll be pleasantly surprised momentarily, because I'll have forgotten that we're already at week's end. But then I'll quickly be reminded because I'll know that cooking will be happening for Shabbos and Yom Tov yet again.
Shabbos. Yom Tovs. Cycles. Isn't that what life's all about?
The band Blondie had song lyrics that went something like this: "One way or another, I'm gonna find you, I'm gonna get you, get you, get you..." For the sake of this post's title, I changed "way" to "day"!
The first days of Pesach were over in Toronto over three and a half hours ago. This year it was somewhat more difficult in terms of nuances of the holiday because Shabbos got in the way of Yom Tov preparation, chametz got in the way of Yom Tov preparation, and particular halachot got in the way of Yom Tov preparation. But we learned all the ins and outs, all the particulars to observe to get us to the start of Yom Tov, which took place on Saturday p.m. after Shabbos was over.
In spite of having two main holiday markers -- two seder nights -- these past few days have been somewhat of a blur for me, with one day becoming like the one before it and the one after it. I've been home from work since Wednesday, doing final preparations, although my good -- no, my wonderful husband -- had done much of the prep work himself, taking off from work a few days before me to set everything up in the kitchen. How many women are lucky enough to find men like this, who also cook and bake wonderful delicacies for a seder meal? I came home from a medical appointment on Wednesday to find that my husband alone had shlepped all our dishes and Pesach accoutrements from our basement crawlspace, took them upstairs, set everything up in the washed out kitchen cupboards, putting away the daily dishes and cutlery, setting up the counters and the stove and oven and sinks for Pesach use. A gift from G-d this husband of mine? Perhaps. I think I'll keep him!
Early last week had been beautiful, and hot, and summerlike. But the forecast for Friday through Monday (great...just what I needed for Shabbos and Yom Tov) was cool weather and rain for the four days. And this time the weather forecasters knew exactly what they were talking about. We were homebound for all of Shabbos, and after Shabbos, put on the layers of rain gear, including rain boots, slickers, ponchos, plastic covers on strollers and wagons and set out for Seder #1, a 40 minute walk from our home. Seder #2 was hosted by my husband and I at our home, so no need to go out again with the children late at night. Today, we donned the raingear once more to make a 1-hour trek to a sibling for lunch, decided not to wait till Yom Tov was out to go home, and three out of five of us, marched home after six o'clock, donned in raingear and making the one hour return trek...trying to walk between the raindrops, and failing miserably!
Yes, it's nice to spend a Shabbos or Yom Tov with family and friends. It's nice to have a "long weekend" and miss work for an extra day or two. But in circumstances, such as the past few days presented themselves, one day blurs into the next -- socialize, eat, sleep, socialize, eat, sleep...[look out the window upon awakening to check if it's raining outside]
I'm heading back to work tomorrow, with hard-boiled egg, juice box, matzoh sandwiches, fruit, salad, macaroons in hand. I know it'll be Tuesday, but I'll think it's Monday, and when the end of the week rolls around I'll be pleasantly surprised momentarily, because I'll have forgotten that we're already at week's end. But then I'll quickly be reminded because I'll know that cooking will be happening for Shabbos and Yom Tov yet again.
Shabbos. Yom Tovs. Cycles. Isn't that what life's all about?
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Putting the Pieces Back Together
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Of course I have to post something Pesach-related, considering that it's almost upon us, and most of the blogs I've been reading make some mention of the holiday. So here's my contribution...
As a bright person, I often wonder if my brain is missing just a little bolt, or a little screw because I have some difficulty with doing puzzles, refolding maps and tasks like that. Sometimes my logical skills are weak, other times they shine. But around Pesach, when I'm doing a major spring cleaning, that part of the brain needs to be oiled just a touch more.
I've just finished cleaning my car's interior, saving myself a good $65-$90 in doing it myself. And when I'm transporting three young children here and there in the vehicle, it shows in the car's interior. First I pulled out all the car mats, and the rubber mats, and the child's car seat, and then I really got IN the cleaning mode: sprayed everything DOWN, vacuumed everything UP, turned everything OVER that was loose, got UNDER the seats and threw all the garbage OUT.
Now that part of the brain has to figure out which mats go where and how to put them back!
The other night, it was the two fridges that I'd cleaned -- pulling out all the drawers, all the shelves. My husband had already gone to sleep as I did my task late at night, and I knew I couldn't wake him up to help me out. From past years' experience, I knew that I'd always call, "Honey, could you come here please? I can't remember where everything goes and how to put everything back in the fridge [that's without referring to the food in the fridge!]." I was dreading that this year I'd stumble over the same stumbling block, but lo and behold, I DID IT, and without difficulty! What accounted for the smoothness of it all this time around? I didn't change my ways -- I didn't take a shelf out, wash it, and immediately replace it, which one would think is the logical way of treating this weakness of mine, ie. one step at a time; complete it; go on to next step. No, I took out all items at once, and then put them back one after another.
Okay, so something helped me along -- perhaps I had to compensate for lack of sleep by being acutely "sharp" this time. Who knows? But if you'd like to hand me that road map of California, maybe I could refold it for you...?
*****************
May your reliving of the Jews' exodus from Egypt by retelling the story of the Haggadah be most meaningful for you and your family. Hope every one of you Jewish readers can send me a post card from your seder, saying, "Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here!"
Of course I have to post something Pesach-related, considering that it's almost upon us, and most of the blogs I've been reading make some mention of the holiday. So here's my contribution...
As a bright person, I often wonder if my brain is missing just a little bolt, or a little screw because I have some difficulty with doing puzzles, refolding maps and tasks like that. Sometimes my logical skills are weak, other times they shine. But around Pesach, when I'm doing a major spring cleaning, that part of the brain needs to be oiled just a touch more.
I've just finished cleaning my car's interior, saving myself a good $65-$90 in doing it myself. And when I'm transporting three young children here and there in the vehicle, it shows in the car's interior. First I pulled out all the car mats, and the rubber mats, and the child's car seat, and then I really got IN the cleaning mode: sprayed everything DOWN, vacuumed everything UP, turned everything OVER that was loose, got UNDER the seats and threw all the garbage OUT.
Now that part of the brain has to figure out which mats go where and how to put them back!
The other night, it was the two fridges that I'd cleaned -- pulling out all the drawers, all the shelves. My husband had already gone to sleep as I did my task late at night, and I knew I couldn't wake him up to help me out. From past years' experience, I knew that I'd always call, "Honey, could you come here please? I can't remember where everything goes and how to put everything back in the fridge [that's without referring to the food in the fridge!]." I was dreading that this year I'd stumble over the same stumbling block, but lo and behold, I DID IT, and without difficulty! What accounted for the smoothness of it all this time around? I didn't change my ways -- I didn't take a shelf out, wash it, and immediately replace it, which one would think is the logical way of treating this weakness of mine, ie. one step at a time; complete it; go on to next step. No, I took out all items at once, and then put them back one after another.
Okay, so something helped me along -- perhaps I had to compensate for lack of sleep by being acutely "sharp" this time. Who knows? But if you'd like to hand me that road map of California, maybe I could refold it for you...?
*****************
May your reliving of the Jews' exodus from Egypt by retelling the story of the Haggadah be most meaningful for you and your family. Hope every one of you Jewish readers can send me a post card from your seder, saying, "Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here!"
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Cheap Thrills!
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Love ya, Blogger, hate ya, Blogger... (yes, I lost my fabulous post; recover post didn't work; now I have to re-create it)
Everyone has his or her declared cheap thrills. I'm often living vicariously through family or friends who travel, so why not also through objects that travel...?
Amazon.com is my friend. Last December I ordered a birthday/Chanukah gift for a brother of mine who lives in Boston. I was a newbie at ordering online, but once I discovered the track-your-package system, I was hooked. My order wasn't a high priority, needing second-day delivery, so I let the package have a field day, run its course, while I watched from the sidelines.
You'd think a big U.S. city has its own distribution center for books and gift items, but no...o....o. I watched as this package traveled through Tennessee and West Virginia and and about five other points before it finally reached the intended recipient.
All along I was imagining the package as it changed trucks, passed through several hands, perhaps whizzing past tourist attractions while riding along the interstate and city streets.
I recently placed another order with Amazon.com and have been happily watching the package trek through desert country of the West Coast en route to its final destination. I'm thinking of the parcel sweltering in the back of a transport truck as the truck weaves in and out of traffic, in and out of states.
The package should make its way to the recipient any day now...
"Hey, there's a UPS truck parked outside, and the guy is getting out and walking this way... A package for me? Wonder who it could be from..."
Fellow blogger A Simple Jew http://asimplejew.blogspot.com posts today about a new pair of tefillin that he got. He'd ordered them from a sofer in Jerusalem, and anxiously tracked them as the package made its way from Israel, across the ocean and to his house in the States. That truly was a holy and dear package being delivered to him, and to be able to track it was exciting.
I think that Amazon.com will be my friend for a while. Think of all the money I'm saving in airline fares and cross-country bus tickets while just sitting in front of a computer screen and living vicariously through a package's many stops. See how far some $9.00+ in S&H can take me...?
I guess this is what they call being "an armchair traveler"!
*****************************
Not that I'll be traveling anywhere, except probably far away from my computer for the next several days -- I'll have to PASSOVER my e-mails and my blog posts.
To all my Jewish friends, Chag Samech. I wish you and yours a very Happy and Healthy Passover -- tell lots of good tales, eat lots of good food and we'll see you next week.
One more thing: "Next Year in Jerusalem!" (wonder how much that'll cost in Amazon.com dollars to get there...)
Love ya, Blogger, hate ya, Blogger... (yes, I lost my fabulous post; recover post didn't work; now I have to re-create it)
Everyone has his or her declared cheap thrills. I'm often living vicariously through family or friends who travel, so why not also through objects that travel...?
Amazon.com is my friend. Last December I ordered a birthday/Chanukah gift for a brother of mine who lives in Boston. I was a newbie at ordering online, but once I discovered the track-your-package system, I was hooked. My order wasn't a high priority, needing second-day delivery, so I let the package have a field day, run its course, while I watched from the sidelines.
You'd think a big U.S. city has its own distribution center for books and gift items, but no...o....o. I watched as this package traveled through Tennessee and West Virginia and and about five other points before it finally reached the intended recipient.
All along I was imagining the package as it changed trucks, passed through several hands, perhaps whizzing past tourist attractions while riding along the interstate and city streets.
I recently placed another order with Amazon.com and have been happily watching the package trek through desert country of the West Coast en route to its final destination. I'm thinking of the parcel sweltering in the back of a transport truck as the truck weaves in and out of traffic, in and out of states.
The package should make its way to the recipient any day now...
"Hey, there's a UPS truck parked outside, and the guy is getting out and walking this way... A package for me? Wonder who it could be from..."
Fellow blogger A Simple Jew http://asimplejew.blogspot.com posts today about a new pair of tefillin that he got. He'd ordered them from a sofer in Jerusalem, and anxiously tracked them as the package made its way from Israel, across the ocean and to his house in the States. That truly was a holy and dear package being delivered to him, and to be able to track it was exciting.
I think that Amazon.com will be my friend for a while. Think of all the money I'm saving in airline fares and cross-country bus tickets while just sitting in front of a computer screen and living vicariously through a package's many stops. See how far some $9.00+ in S&H can take me...?
I guess this is what they call being "an armchair traveler"!
*****************************
Not that I'll be traveling anywhere, except probably far away from my computer for the next several days -- I'll have to PASSOVER my e-mails and my blog posts.
To all my Jewish friends, Chag Samech. I wish you and yours a very Happy and Healthy Passover -- tell lots of good tales, eat lots of good food and we'll see you next week.
One more thing: "Next Year in Jerusalem!" (wonder how much that'll cost in Amazon.com dollars to get there...)
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Comments, Anyone?
Blogroll Me!
Is this Bloggers Anonymous?
Yes, I wanted to say that I am addicted to reading blogs and posting.
But the truth of the matter is that oftentimes I find the comments section more entertaining than the actual posts that I read or write.
People are genuinely FUNNY, or sarcastic in an amusing way.
I get comments from TuesdayWishes http://layasplace.blogspot.com on my posts or I read her comments on PsychoToddler's http://www.psychotoddler.blogspot.com posts -- she is quite the witty one. And speaking of Sir PsychoToddler...just go on to his site and see the antics that often go on there.
I noticed some time ago that a Doctor Bean http://kerckhoff.blogspot.com would comment on PsychoToddler's posts, and sort of let loose, so I sought out his site. Turns out that he has a joint blog with a bunch of pals, and they post individually, some having his/her own following, and others just getting general responses. But oftentimes, pure fun permeates the air surrounding their blog and I've written to tell them so. Firstly, I tried to get Doctor Bean to have his own gig, minus the group, and just because he is so funny. But of course, being sensitive to the others, he didn't feel he could leave them behind in search of the spotlight for himself. But I've since learned that each of his Kerckhoff Coffeehouse pals can be equally funny, so they do belong together.
Yettabettaboo http://yettabettaboo.blogspot.com and Life-of-Rubin http://life-of-rubin.blogspot.com are funny bloggers/commenters, too. Perhaps not intentionally, but their deliveries are so straightforward, like a free association game, that I find them to be amusing...perhaps because they're so honest, telling it like it is -- in their own ways.
Treppenwitz http://bogieworks.blogs.com/treppenwitz has a way with words, both in blogging and in commenting. Seek him out and you won't be sorry.... (look for him coming to a blog near you: PsychoToddler's, or Jack's Shack)
Jack's Shack http://wwwjackbenimble.blogspot.com hits the humor trail, too, with his blog and comments. I picture Jack as the attention-seeking class clown, who can sometimes become obnoxious or hit a nerve, but nonetheless can make us laugh, make us look inwards at ourselves as we look outward to the world.
Take a look around at the more general blogs, and see if I'm not correct -- that comments are almost like a post in themselves, in that they're entertaining the readers, and often a thread of discussion follows in the comments section.
Truth be told, that once I read a blog, and I see the air has been cleared in the comments section by someone else, and a jovial remark has been made, I feel freer to let loose, too. I just hope that these cutesie/seemingly funny comments of mine are acceptable, and readers or the blog owners aren't just rolling their eyes and saying, "There's TorontoPearl again...thinking she's funny..."
By the way, did you hear the one about the guy who walks into a bar and ---
Is this Bloggers Anonymous?
Yes, I wanted to say that I am addicted to reading blogs and posting.
But the truth of the matter is that oftentimes I find the comments section more entertaining than the actual posts that I read or write.
People are genuinely FUNNY, or sarcastic in an amusing way.
I get comments from TuesdayWishes http://layasplace.blogspot.com on my posts or I read her comments on PsychoToddler's http://www.psychotoddler.blogspot.com posts -- she is quite the witty one. And speaking of Sir PsychoToddler...just go on to his site and see the antics that often go on there.
I noticed some time ago that a Doctor Bean http://kerckhoff.blogspot.com would comment on PsychoToddler's posts, and sort of let loose, so I sought out his site. Turns out that he has a joint blog with a bunch of pals, and they post individually, some having his/her own following, and others just getting general responses. But oftentimes, pure fun permeates the air surrounding their blog and I've written to tell them so. Firstly, I tried to get Doctor Bean to have his own gig, minus the group, and just because he is so funny. But of course, being sensitive to the others, he didn't feel he could leave them behind in search of the spotlight for himself. But I've since learned that each of his Kerckhoff Coffeehouse pals can be equally funny, so they do belong together.
Yettabettaboo http://yettabettaboo.blogspot.com and Life-of-Rubin http://life-of-rubin.blogspot.com are funny bloggers/commenters, too. Perhaps not intentionally, but their deliveries are so straightforward, like a free association game, that I find them to be amusing...perhaps because they're so honest, telling it like it is -- in their own ways.
Treppenwitz http://bogieworks.blogs.com/treppenwitz has a way with words, both in blogging and in commenting. Seek him out and you won't be sorry.... (look for him coming to a blog near you: PsychoToddler's, or Jack's Shack)
Jack's Shack http://wwwjackbenimble.blogspot.com hits the humor trail, too, with his blog and comments. I picture Jack as the attention-seeking class clown, who can sometimes become obnoxious or hit a nerve, but nonetheless can make us laugh, make us look inwards at ourselves as we look outward to the world.
Take a look around at the more general blogs, and see if I'm not correct -- that comments are almost like a post in themselves, in that they're entertaining the readers, and often a thread of discussion follows in the comments section.
Truth be told, that once I read a blog, and I see the air has been cleared in the comments section by someone else, and a jovial remark has been made, I feel freer to let loose, too. I just hope that these cutesie/seemingly funny comments of mine are acceptable, and readers or the blog owners aren't just rolling their eyes and saying, "There's TorontoPearl again...thinking she's funny..."
By the way, did you hear the one about the guy who walks into a bar and ---
Don't Look Now...
Blogroll Me!
...but your age is showing!
And such is how my husband and I feel when we are at a school function. At ages 45 and 43 and our oldest child not yet ten, we feel like the bubbies and zaydies of the school...compared to the babies that abound. And thus our parents must feel like the great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers of the school.
When you live in an Orthodox environment, and you are a relatively late bloomer, you're most aware of the fact. And the truth is, that this "older than thou" knowledge doesn't just stay within the perimeters of the school, but we see it at our shuls, in my children's extracurricular activites when we speak to other parents, etc.
Age is only a number, and I don't feel my age, but when I'm faced with moms who are ten years my junior and have children the same age, or moms who are my age, but whose youngest child is going on ten years old, then 43 stares me in the face.
I asked a mom today at my children's swimming lessons what years she attended a particular girls' high school in Toronto -- all I had to hear what the first number 1983 and didn't even need to listen beyond that. I told her that I'd graduated UNIVERSITY in 1983.
Yes, age is my own hangup, no doubt; nobody is trying to make me feel old. And G-d willing, in spite of the gray hairs that rear their ugly head every now and again, my three young children will keep me and my husband young, as well!
...but your age is showing!
And such is how my husband and I feel when we are at a school function. At ages 45 and 43 and our oldest child not yet ten, we feel like the bubbies and zaydies of the school...compared to the babies that abound. And thus our parents must feel like the great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers of the school.
When you live in an Orthodox environment, and you are a relatively late bloomer, you're most aware of the fact. And the truth is, that this "older than thou" knowledge doesn't just stay within the perimeters of the school, but we see it at our shuls, in my children's extracurricular activites when we speak to other parents, etc.
Age is only a number, and I don't feel my age, but when I'm faced with moms who are ten years my junior and have children the same age, or moms who are my age, but whose youngest child is going on ten years old, then 43 stares me in the face.
I asked a mom today at my children's swimming lessons what years she attended a particular girls' high school in Toronto -- all I had to hear what the first number 1983 and didn't even need to listen beyond that. I told her that I'd graduated UNIVERSITY in 1983.
Yes, age is my own hangup, no doubt; nobody is trying to make me feel old. And G-d willing, in spite of the gray hairs that rear their ugly head every now and again, my three young children will keep me and my husband young, as well!
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Me....ow....w.....w...... Hiss....sssss.......
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Girls, girls girls. Doesn't the blog title give it away?
Today for Shabbat I had my three kids at home, and four "extra" kids-- my older son had a friend sleep over, my youngest son had a friend come for lunch and spend the afternoon, and my middle child, my daughter, had two girlfriends come for lunch and spend the rest of the day.
I am fascinated by children, by their actions, by their priorities, by their conversations and especially by the dynamics. Yes, I was once a kid (sometimes still behave like one, too) but I was different than my children. I mostly had neighborhood children to play with, because I was quite a loner at school for many years. L'havdil, thank G-d my children are outgoing, social, involved, and athletic.
I am more than pleased to watch how they interact with their friends because at times I think I am living vicariously through them. My daughter is quite the social butterfly and I find that since kindergarten, when she started attending her school, her social life has exceeded mine-- she's only in grade two, but her calendar is rather full.
But I watch these seven- and eight-year-old girls and wonder at some of their behaviors. They are fickle, they are catty, they are petulant, there are egocentric. And many of them turn out to be just plain mean!
Of course I want to protect A. from the meanness, the bullying that I see often runs rampant in its own way among socializing skills, but I'm also sometimes at a loss as to what to say, as I'm sure my mother was at a loss to say to me on those many times I'd come home crying because kids or girls "were mean to me." I had no sisters, I was a loner for many years, so I didn't really know for the earliest years what it meant to have girlfriends -- yes, I was friendly to everyone, but I was shy, and that held me back in many ways.
Yes, I should allow behaviors to develop or change over years, but I can foresee that several of my daughter's peers will be as mean and as catty in 10 - 15 years as they are today. Many of them take after their mothers, I suppose, so their mothers might not see anything wrong in their daughters' behaviors. But I see it, and oftentimes just have to keep my mouth shut about it, or complain to my husband, or just try to have my daughter keep different company.
When A. was in SK, I was already forewarned: "Her grade -- the girls in her grade -- are a tough bunch." But sadly, "forewarned" does not necessarily mean "forearmed"...
Girls, girls girls. Doesn't the blog title give it away?
Today for Shabbat I had my three kids at home, and four "extra" kids-- my older son had a friend sleep over, my youngest son had a friend come for lunch and spend the afternoon, and my middle child, my daughter, had two girlfriends come for lunch and spend the rest of the day.
I am fascinated by children, by their actions, by their priorities, by their conversations and especially by the dynamics. Yes, I was once a kid (sometimes still behave like one, too) but I was different than my children. I mostly had neighborhood children to play with, because I was quite a loner at school for many years. L'havdil, thank G-d my children are outgoing, social, involved, and athletic.
I am more than pleased to watch how they interact with their friends because at times I think I am living vicariously through them. My daughter is quite the social butterfly and I find that since kindergarten, when she started attending her school, her social life has exceeded mine-- she's only in grade two, but her calendar is rather full.
But I watch these seven- and eight-year-old girls and wonder at some of their behaviors. They are fickle, they are catty, they are petulant, there are egocentric. And many of them turn out to be just plain mean!
Of course I want to protect A. from the meanness, the bullying that I see often runs rampant in its own way among socializing skills, but I'm also sometimes at a loss as to what to say, as I'm sure my mother was at a loss to say to me on those many times I'd come home crying because kids or girls "were mean to me." I had no sisters, I was a loner for many years, so I didn't really know for the earliest years what it meant to have girlfriends -- yes, I was friendly to everyone, but I was shy, and that held me back in many ways.
Yes, I should allow behaviors to develop or change over years, but I can foresee that several of my daughter's peers will be as mean and as catty in 10 - 15 years as they are today. Many of them take after their mothers, I suppose, so their mothers might not see anything wrong in their daughters' behaviors. But I see it, and oftentimes just have to keep my mouth shut about it, or complain to my husband, or just try to have my daughter keep different company.
When A. was in SK, I was already forewarned: "Her grade -- the girls in her grade -- are a tough bunch." But sadly, "forewarned" does not necessarily mean "forearmed"...
Friday, April 15, 2005
Life Is a Mystery...
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In the world of fiction writing
few make it to the top,
but if they reach the pinnacle
they hope success won't stop.
And farther down, below on ground,
the readers stand and stare,
hoping their favorite gifted writers
will remain atop, up there.
Now one of these fine wordsmiths
likes to drop hints in all her books --
if it's mysteries that intrigue you
pick up hers and take a look.
Visit with a modern Orthodox Jewish sleuth
Molly Blume is the character's name,
she'll help you get over your BLUES IN THE NIGHT
but there might be GRAVE ENDINGS all the same.
Or perhaps you're in need of a DREAM HOUSE,
in which you can take pride,
but beware of all the dangers
which could be lurking there inside.
And then there is the Jessie Drake series
featuring several wonderful titles
and this author also has numerous stand-alone books
which have kept her fans in smiles.
It's time that I remove the veil of secrecy
and share this author's name
because with my Pearlies of Wisdom blog
I hope to bring her more fame.
Rochelle Krich would be the author you seek
her titles you'll want to buy
she's already won a Calavera Award
so why not give her books a try?
If you seek more info about this author
please visit her at her site
www.rochellekrich.com is the place to go
whether it's morning, noon or night.
And believe it or not, she keeps a blog
just like this one on your screen
you can link to it via her web site
so you can see in fact what I mean.
Rochelle has an interesting name for her blog
which captures everything and more
"News, Views and Shmooze" is what you'll Google
then go and read it and learn what's in store...
In the world of fiction writing
few make it to the top,
but if they reach the pinnacle
they hope success won't stop.
And farther down, below on ground,
the readers stand and stare,
hoping their favorite gifted writers
will remain atop, up there.
Now one of these fine wordsmiths
likes to drop hints in all her books --
if it's mysteries that intrigue you
pick up hers and take a look.
Visit with a modern Orthodox Jewish sleuth
Molly Blume is the character's name,
she'll help you get over your BLUES IN THE NIGHT
but there might be GRAVE ENDINGS all the same.
Or perhaps you're in need of a DREAM HOUSE,
in which you can take pride,
but beware of all the dangers
which could be lurking there inside.
And then there is the Jessie Drake series
featuring several wonderful titles
and this author also has numerous stand-alone books
which have kept her fans in smiles.
It's time that I remove the veil of secrecy
and share this author's name
because with my Pearlies of Wisdom blog
I hope to bring her more fame.
Rochelle Krich would be the author you seek
her titles you'll want to buy
she's already won a Calavera Award
so why not give her books a try?
If you seek more info about this author
please visit her at her site
www.rochellekrich.com is the place to go
whether it's morning, noon or night.
And believe it or not, she keeps a blog
just like this one on your screen
you can link to it via her web site
so you can see in fact what I mean.
Rochelle has an interesting name for her blog
which captures everything and more
"News, Views and Shmooze" is what you'll Google
then go and read it and learn what's in store...
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
The Haunting
Blogroll Me!
I've made an interesting personal observation with regards to blogging and visiting other blogs. I have my regular 10 - 12 sites that I like to visit, and as I've mentioned in an earlier post, I visit more them than once or twice a day. (as you'll notice in your site meters, if you care about that sort of thing.) Primarily I'm checking if there are new posts and/or comments being added to the last post.
It seems to me that those other fellow bloggers whom I like to visit have already been onto the current post I'm viewing, have already commented, and if I come back later in the day to re-visit, it's apparent they have, too, as they have left more than one comment.
It's like I belong to a benevolent society/landsmanschaft -- I might not get to all the meetings, but when I do get to one, it's already taken place! The members have come and gone, and all that's left for me to do is read the minutes of the meeting I missed!
I've made an interesting personal observation with regards to blogging and visiting other blogs. I have my regular 10 - 12 sites that I like to visit, and as I've mentioned in an earlier post, I visit more them than once or twice a day. (as you'll notice in your site meters, if you care about that sort of thing.) Primarily I'm checking if there are new posts and/or comments being added to the last post.
It seems to me that those other fellow bloggers whom I like to visit have already been onto the current post I'm viewing, have already commented, and if I come back later in the day to re-visit, it's apparent they have, too, as they have left more than one comment.
It's like I belong to a benevolent society/landsmanschaft -- I might not get to all the meetings, but when I do get to one, it's already taken place! The members have come and gone, and all that's left for me to do is read the minutes of the meeting I missed!
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
The Check Is in the Mail
Blogroll Me!
Are there any literary folks out there who read this (yes, InkAsRain, I know you do)? If so, I'd like to ask a question: Do any of you who write, as I do, and want to submit your work to competitions pay for the privilege of doing so? There are competitions that say entry fee for 1st item is $15, subsequent items are $10.
Of course, the monies collected end up being the prize winnings for the winners, but I do not like to submit my writing anywhere that I have to pay. I would like the judges to pay ME for the privilege of reading my essays or my poetry.
These aren't necessarily little-known literary magazines that request money up front, either. Some major writers' organizations and well-respected publications ask for entry fees, too. But I'm sorry -- I just can't write a check for that. I might as well throw those U.S. or Canadian dollars down the toilet...not to say that I can't win a competition, just that I don't want to sign my name on the dotted line in order to do so!
Are there any literary folks out there who read this (yes, InkAsRain, I know you do)? If so, I'd like to ask a question: Do any of you who write, as I do, and want to submit your work to competitions pay for the privilege of doing so? There are competitions that say entry fee for 1st item is $15, subsequent items are $10.
Of course, the monies collected end up being the prize winnings for the winners, but I do not like to submit my writing anywhere that I have to pay. I would like the judges to pay ME for the privilege of reading my essays or my poetry.
These aren't necessarily little-known literary magazines that request money up front, either. Some major writers' organizations and well-respected publications ask for entry fees, too. But I'm sorry -- I just can't write a check for that. I might as well throw those U.S. or Canadian dollars down the toilet...not to say that I can't win a competition, just that I don't want to sign my name on the dotted line in order to do so!
Modern-Day Mating Call
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Rose Marie. 1936. Movie starring Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy. He plays a Royal Canadian Mounted Police in the Canadian Rockies. Film known for its song, "The Indian Love Call," which features those lyrics, "When I'm calling you-oo-oo..." Hard to forget those angelic voices singing that song.
Lunchtime today. Mall parking lot. Going back to my car. Heading towards the vehicle, I click the remote to unlock the car door, and hear the familiar "beep, beep" reminiscent of The Road Runner. Responding deeper-sounding "BEEEEP,BEEEEP" sounds from several rows away.
Hey, I think to myself, is this the mating call of the twenty-first century? And then I mentally hear the refrains of "When I'm calling you-oo-oo..."
Rose Marie. 1936. Movie starring Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy. He plays a Royal Canadian Mounted Police in the Canadian Rockies. Film known for its song, "The Indian Love Call," which features those lyrics, "When I'm calling you-oo-oo..." Hard to forget those angelic voices singing that song.
Lunchtime today. Mall parking lot. Going back to my car. Heading towards the vehicle, I click the remote to unlock the car door, and hear the familiar "beep, beep" reminiscent of The Road Runner. Responding deeper-sounding "BEEEEP,BEEEEP" sounds from several rows away.
Hey, I think to myself, is this the mating call of the twenty-first century? And then I mentally hear the refrains of "When I'm calling you-oo-oo..."
Reality Speaks
Blogroll Me!
Yes, blogging is a free-form expression, but oftentimes it's just so frivolous. We touch upon surfaces, never delving too deeply because either we want to maintain our secret identities or it's just too damn hard to do so -- our words that have been floating in our heads and in our hearts don't necessarily want to see the light of day. But sometimes they do...
www.seraphicpress.com
Seraphic Sleep(less)
It is 2:30 AM, and I cannot sleep because Karen is dreaming of Ariel; she moans in her sleep from wounds that will never heal. Three times before we went to bed, Karen, with tears slipping from her eyes, said to me: "Where is he? Where is Ariel?" Of course I had no answer and Karen does not expect one, but still, I feel that I should have something to say besides, "I don't know, I just don't know."
It is 2:35 AM, and I cannot sleep because Offspring Number Three has just learned that her close, close friend who lives in NY is very ill and -- for God's sake, my child has already lost her brother. Must she endure it all over again? Every so often a well-meaning idiot will tell me that "God never gives us more than we can bear." When I hear this outrageous cliche I really feel like punching the person who says it. Where did they get such a stupid idea? In fact, HaShem gives us more than we can bear on a daily basis. Yes, we manage to live through these terrible experiences, we manage to endure, to survive, but we are never the same, and we are often diminished by the suffering, irrevocably harmed. I do not believe that suffering is noble or holy; it is just awful.
It is 2:40 AM, and I cannot sleep because Karen is preparing for Pesach and every shelf cleaned, every corner mopped, every book opened and dusted for crumbs only brings home the fact that Ariel will not be sitting at the Passover seder with us. He will not be reliving the Exodus from Egypt with us. He will not be explaining to us his sharp and penetrating insights into the Haggadah. He will not be smiling at the Passover table, enjoying this wonderful holiday. Ariel's last Pesach was in the hospital, in the ICU where he was forced to celebrate the seder behind an oxygen mask, and our Passover table was that little slab of formica on wheels that's hardly big enough for two matzos. We recited the whole Hagaddah, but it was an effort for him and at the end, he fell back into an exhausted sleep.
It is 2:45 AM, and I cannot sleep because David, Karen's brother was just here in LA with his lovely daughter Jennifer. They live in Israel and they are deeply concerned about the plan to withdraw from Gaza. David knows what anyone with half a brain knows, which is that no good can come from this withdrawl. The Arabs will see it as just the first in a series of retreats designed to destroy the state of Israel. Does no one realize that when the Arabs speak of so-called occupied territories they are not talking about Judea and Samarian, they are, in fact, talking about the entire state of Israel? I read the Arab press. They don't even bother to disguisee their genicidal plans.
It is 2:50 AM, and I cannot sleep because numerous sleazy professors at Columbia University have built a Middle Eastern Studies department on a foundation of lies, anti-Semitism, anti-Zionism, and anti-Americanism. And there are still people in my shul who are paying over fifty thousand dollars a year for the priveledge of sending their children to this corrupt institution. Are Jews so starved for status that they actually see nothing wrong with paying the salaries of the children of Edward Said?
It is 2:55 AM, and I cannot sleep because I am writing two scripts under intense deadline pressure and I have not been spending as much time as I should writing the next volume of The Hebrew Kid. I'm also afraid that I will never be able to make the second book as good as the first. I wrote The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maidedn while Ariel was still alive. He helped me. He inspired me. He made me a better writer with his criticism and insights. But now he is gone and I suspect that I'm not as good a writer anymore. Without him, my imagination stalls.
It is 3:00 AM, and I cannot sleep becasue I am sitting in the dark in my bedroom with my computer on my lap typing this blog. I am afraid to go to sleep because I dream of Ariel most every night and when I wake up my face is wet with tears.
Posted by Robert J. Avrech at April 12, 2005 02:24 AM
Yes, blogging is a free-form expression, but oftentimes it's just so frivolous. We touch upon surfaces, never delving too deeply because either we want to maintain our secret identities or it's just too damn hard to do so -- our words that have been floating in our heads and in our hearts don't necessarily want to see the light of day. But sometimes they do...
www.seraphicpress.com
Seraphic Sleep(less)
It is 2:30 AM, and I cannot sleep because Karen is dreaming of Ariel; she moans in her sleep from wounds that will never heal. Three times before we went to bed, Karen, with tears slipping from her eyes, said to me: "Where is he? Where is Ariel?" Of course I had no answer and Karen does not expect one, but still, I feel that I should have something to say besides, "I don't know, I just don't know."
It is 2:35 AM, and I cannot sleep because Offspring Number Three has just learned that her close, close friend who lives in NY is very ill and -- for God's sake, my child has already lost her brother. Must she endure it all over again? Every so often a well-meaning idiot will tell me that "God never gives us more than we can bear." When I hear this outrageous cliche I really feel like punching the person who says it. Where did they get such a stupid idea? In fact, HaShem gives us more than we can bear on a daily basis. Yes, we manage to live through these terrible experiences, we manage to endure, to survive, but we are never the same, and we are often diminished by the suffering, irrevocably harmed. I do not believe that suffering is noble or holy; it is just awful.
It is 2:40 AM, and I cannot sleep because Karen is preparing for Pesach and every shelf cleaned, every corner mopped, every book opened and dusted for crumbs only brings home the fact that Ariel will not be sitting at the Passover seder with us. He will not be reliving the Exodus from Egypt with us. He will not be explaining to us his sharp and penetrating insights into the Haggadah. He will not be smiling at the Passover table, enjoying this wonderful holiday. Ariel's last Pesach was in the hospital, in the ICU where he was forced to celebrate the seder behind an oxygen mask, and our Passover table was that little slab of formica on wheels that's hardly big enough for two matzos. We recited the whole Hagaddah, but it was an effort for him and at the end, he fell back into an exhausted sleep.
It is 2:45 AM, and I cannot sleep because David, Karen's brother was just here in LA with his lovely daughter Jennifer. They live in Israel and they are deeply concerned about the plan to withdraw from Gaza. David knows what anyone with half a brain knows, which is that no good can come from this withdrawl. The Arabs will see it as just the first in a series of retreats designed to destroy the state of Israel. Does no one realize that when the Arabs speak of so-called occupied territories they are not talking about Judea and Samarian, they are, in fact, talking about the entire state of Israel? I read the Arab press. They don't even bother to disguisee their genicidal plans.
It is 2:50 AM, and I cannot sleep because numerous sleazy professors at Columbia University have built a Middle Eastern Studies department on a foundation of lies, anti-Semitism, anti-Zionism, and anti-Americanism. And there are still people in my shul who are paying over fifty thousand dollars a year for the priveledge of sending their children to this corrupt institution. Are Jews so starved for status that they actually see nothing wrong with paying the salaries of the children of Edward Said?
It is 2:55 AM, and I cannot sleep because I am writing two scripts under intense deadline pressure and I have not been spending as much time as I should writing the next volume of The Hebrew Kid. I'm also afraid that I will never be able to make the second book as good as the first. I wrote The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maidedn while Ariel was still alive. He helped me. He inspired me. He made me a better writer with his criticism and insights. But now he is gone and I suspect that I'm not as good a writer anymore. Without him, my imagination stalls.
It is 3:00 AM, and I cannot sleep becasue I am sitting in the dark in my bedroom with my computer on my lap typing this blog. I am afraid to go to sleep because I dream of Ariel most every night and when I wake up my face is wet with tears.
Posted by Robert J. Avrech at April 12, 2005 02:24 AM
An Eishet Chayil Diamond
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Unfortunately, earlier this evening, my husband and I had to go to a shiva house (a Jewish house of mourning) -- a friend of ours had lost his father last week, and we went to comfort the mourners and for my husband to daven.
I didn't know this friend's father nor his mother all that well. Sometimes we were together as guests at a Yom Tov or Shabbos table, but I'd only met the parents in total maybe half a dozen times in the 11 years that I know the son and daughter-in-law.
The man who passed away unfortunately had been suffering from the slowly disabilitating Parkinson's disease for the past five years or so. Little by little the symptoms showed themselves and the man started to need extra help for the little daily things we take so for granted. Help getting dressed, help bathing, help eating, help shaving, eventually help standing up and sitting down...because of the rigid stance that accompanies the disease.
This evening, however, I learned of the quality of life that this man had, thanks to his lovely wife, his true eishet chayil (woman of valor). They began to have some hired help, nurse's aides in the latter days, but all along the wife helped her husband keep to his familiar and daily routines. She announced to myself and another woman at the shiva: "I even helped him lain tefillin." The other woman asked, "You knew how to do that?" "No," was the reply. "My husband taught me...and so I did it for him all the time."
I was floored -- yes, such a familiar task to men from the time they turn thirteen years of age, a routine, although a bit difficult at first, that becomes second nature. Never did it occur to me that someone who wants to continue to lead the quality of Jewish life that he has led, who wants to follow this commandment of tefillin, but is somewhat handicapped to do so, should need the rudimentary help. For a wife to learn how to lain tefillin so her husband can continue the mitzvah is a most beautiful thing. I was deeply touched by this woman's fortitude and resolve to help her husband in such elemental ways.
She married someone with the last name Diamond, and in her earliest days of marriage after the second world war, she might have been a Diamond in the rough. But after so many years of a life together, and such a demonstrated dedication to her husband, she proved herself to be a most polished, refined diamond, complete with Clarity for what needed to be done for her husband and doing it. A true eishet chayil.
May Moishe Diamond's memory be for a blessing, and may his neshama have an aliyah. And may his dear wife continue to be strong, and healthy, and live to continue to see much naches from her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Unfortunately, earlier this evening, my husband and I had to go to a shiva house (a Jewish house of mourning) -- a friend of ours had lost his father last week, and we went to comfort the mourners and for my husband to daven.
I didn't know this friend's father nor his mother all that well. Sometimes we were together as guests at a Yom Tov or Shabbos table, but I'd only met the parents in total maybe half a dozen times in the 11 years that I know the son and daughter-in-law.
The man who passed away unfortunately had been suffering from the slowly disabilitating Parkinson's disease for the past five years or so. Little by little the symptoms showed themselves and the man started to need extra help for the little daily things we take so for granted. Help getting dressed, help bathing, help eating, help shaving, eventually help standing up and sitting down...because of the rigid stance that accompanies the disease.
This evening, however, I learned of the quality of life that this man had, thanks to his lovely wife, his true eishet chayil (woman of valor). They began to have some hired help, nurse's aides in the latter days, but all along the wife helped her husband keep to his familiar and daily routines. She announced to myself and another woman at the shiva: "I even helped him lain tefillin." The other woman asked, "You knew how to do that?" "No," was the reply. "My husband taught me...and so I did it for him all the time."
I was floored -- yes, such a familiar task to men from the time they turn thirteen years of age, a routine, although a bit difficult at first, that becomes second nature. Never did it occur to me that someone who wants to continue to lead the quality of Jewish life that he has led, who wants to follow this commandment of tefillin, but is somewhat handicapped to do so, should need the rudimentary help. For a wife to learn how to lain tefillin so her husband can continue the mitzvah is a most beautiful thing. I was deeply touched by this woman's fortitude and resolve to help her husband in such elemental ways.
She married someone with the last name Diamond, and in her earliest days of marriage after the second world war, she might have been a Diamond in the rough. But after so many years of a life together, and such a demonstrated dedication to her husband, she proved herself to be a most polished, refined diamond, complete with Clarity for what needed to be done for her husband and doing it. A true eishet chayil.
May Moishe Diamond's memory be for a blessing, and may his neshama have an aliyah. And may his dear wife continue to be strong, and healthy, and live to continue to see much naches from her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Google Thyself
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When the Internet became accessible to us at work a few years ago, I was thrilled. Of course I used Internet at home after hours, but I love to research and fact-check and just plain surf, and on company time, even better! ;)
One day my co-worker said to me: "I Googled your name." At that point in time I had no clue what Google was, as I'd been an Ask Jeeves fan, so I needed an explanation. She told me she was using the Google search engine and just plugged in people's names out of curiosity.
So I did the same. WOW, I actually found my name there in relation to an online thread I'd been part of with regards to my family genealogy. Over the years, I've Googled my name and have come up with a number of different sources that I'm linked to. Google has picked me up by my first name and maiden name; first name, maiden name and married name; first name and married name; and my blogging name.
I really don't care how fast I'm linked to references with my name, and whether or not there are countless references. But it's interesting for me to see how my name has been linked: genealogy threads, contest topic suggestions for writers' associations, reader suggestions for magazines, guest books I've visited and signed, articles I've written and have published.
Now the next time I Google myself, I might just find the link to this post!
When the Internet became accessible to us at work a few years ago, I was thrilled. Of course I used Internet at home after hours, but I love to research and fact-check and just plain surf, and on company time, even better! ;)
One day my co-worker said to me: "I Googled your name." At that point in time I had no clue what Google was, as I'd been an Ask Jeeves fan, so I needed an explanation. She told me she was using the Google search engine and just plugged in people's names out of curiosity.
So I did the same. WOW, I actually found my name there in relation to an online thread I'd been part of with regards to my family genealogy. Over the years, I've Googled my name and have come up with a number of different sources that I'm linked to. Google has picked me up by my first name and maiden name; first name, maiden name and married name; first name and married name; and my blogging name.
I really don't care how fast I'm linked to references with my name, and whether or not there are countless references. But it's interesting for me to see how my name has been linked: genealogy threads, contest topic suggestions for writers' associations, reader suggestions for magazines, guest books I've visited and signed, articles I've written and have published.
Now the next time I Google myself, I might just find the link to this post!
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Copacetic
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Since I was a little girl, I was always impressed with people who used "big words"--they sounded intellectual, interesting, and whether or not they used their big words correctly wouldn't have mattered to me because I usually didn't know the difference.
I was a voracious reader while growing up, but was too often lazy to reach for the dictionary for words I was reading whose meaning I didn't understand, and so I just guessed the meaning in context. But in university and in my job as copy editor, I learned I really needed to use a dictionary to get the correct meaning.
It seems to me, and I was discussing this the other day with an editor, that we (he and I) use "big" words when we write, rather than when we talk. Neither he nor I could account for the difference, but it's been the pattern we've seen develop.
These days, I'm always looking to find a new word to use in my writing or in my conversations. And I came across one that sort of turned my head...
Some time ago, I yelled over to my fellow copy editor (who happens to use a lovely vocabulary) over the "walls" of our "offices," "How are you?" and heard her answer with this: "Copacetic." "What did you say?" I asked back. "Copacetic" was her reply.
I thought to myself: "Where does Val [a non-Jew] know Hebrew from?" I was impressed, got up, went around the wall, and said "How did you know to answer me in Hebrew, and correctly?"
"What Hebrew? I said c-o-p-a-c-e-t-i-c."
"Ohhhh," I said, blushing two shades of red. "It sounded to me as if you'd said 'Kol b'seder,' which means 'everything is okay'. "
I looked up the definition in Webster's and saw this for copacetic: adj. (origin unknown), very satisfactory. Okay, Hebrew speakers, tell me that "copacetic" doesn't sound a lot like "{ha}kol b'seder". With its origins being unknown, perhaps it does stem from the Hebrew language...
In any case, I hope that everything in your life is c-o-p-a-c-e-t-i-c.
Since I was a little girl, I was always impressed with people who used "big words"--they sounded intellectual, interesting, and whether or not they used their big words correctly wouldn't have mattered to me because I usually didn't know the difference.
I was a voracious reader while growing up, but was too often lazy to reach for the dictionary for words I was reading whose meaning I didn't understand, and so I just guessed the meaning in context. But in university and in my job as copy editor, I learned I really needed to use a dictionary to get the correct meaning.
It seems to me, and I was discussing this the other day with an editor, that we (he and I) use "big" words when we write, rather than when we talk. Neither he nor I could account for the difference, but it's been the pattern we've seen develop.
These days, I'm always looking to find a new word to use in my writing or in my conversations. And I came across one that sort of turned my head...
Some time ago, I yelled over to my fellow copy editor (who happens to use a lovely vocabulary) over the "walls" of our "offices," "How are you?" and heard her answer with this: "Copacetic." "What did you say?" I asked back. "Copacetic" was her reply.
I thought to myself: "Where does Val [a non-Jew] know Hebrew from?" I was impressed, got up, went around the wall, and said "How did you know to answer me in Hebrew, and correctly?"
"What Hebrew? I said c-o-p-a-c-e-t-i-c."
"Ohhhh," I said, blushing two shades of red. "It sounded to me as if you'd said 'Kol b'seder,' which means 'everything is okay'. "
I looked up the definition in Webster's and saw this for copacetic: adj. (origin unknown), very satisfactory. Okay, Hebrew speakers, tell me that "copacetic" doesn't sound a lot like "{ha}kol b'seder". With its origins being unknown, perhaps it does stem from the Hebrew language...
In any case, I hope that everything in your life is c-o-p-a-c-e-t-i-c.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
"The Thrill Is Gone...the Thrill Has Gone Away...."
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Mr. B.B. King, noted blues guitarist, made those lyrics famous quite a number of years ago. And I couldn't help but have them come to mind today in relation to blogging.
I discovered, without getting into details, that blogging and "virtual" personalities can get pretty ugly, just like in the real world. People can become very catty, downright mean for no real reason. Who am I, but a stranger forming an opinion, and having a preconception of a particular someone based on that someone's bright or smooth posts. Up until recently, it's been a positive POV I had, but lately, I just don't know what to think. I think I've had good reason to speak my mind and express some concern in a nice way, and once again it backfires...just like that grade school incident mentioned a few posts down.
I've sort of been left with a bad taste in my mouth, and like B.B. King sings, "The thrill is gone...."
Perhaps I just don't have much to say anymore -- after all, I did admit my world is pretty small -- or maybe it's just that perhaps whatever I choose to say might get shot down or attacked in an unkind way from a fellow blogger.
Up until now, my keeping a blog has reawakened my writing channels, giving me a much-needed creative exercise, opening my thought processes, as well. But today I felt pretty disillusioned because of this personal blogging incident.
Maybe it's time to sit back for a while from writing my own posts; maybe it's time I just haunt yours...
Mr. B.B. King, noted blues guitarist, made those lyrics famous quite a number of years ago. And I couldn't help but have them come to mind today in relation to blogging.
I discovered, without getting into details, that blogging and "virtual" personalities can get pretty ugly, just like in the real world. People can become very catty, downright mean for no real reason. Who am I, but a stranger forming an opinion, and having a preconception of a particular someone based on that someone's bright or smooth posts. Up until recently, it's been a positive POV I had, but lately, I just don't know what to think. I think I've had good reason to speak my mind and express some concern in a nice way, and once again it backfires...just like that grade school incident mentioned a few posts down.
I've sort of been left with a bad taste in my mouth, and like B.B. King sings, "The thrill is gone...."
Perhaps I just don't have much to say anymore -- after all, I did admit my world is pretty small -- or maybe it's just that perhaps whatever I choose to say might get shot down or attacked in an unkind way from a fellow blogger.
Up until now, my keeping a blog has reawakened my writing channels, giving me a much-needed creative exercise, opening my thought processes, as well. But today I felt pretty disillusioned because of this personal blogging incident.
Maybe it's time to sit back for a while from writing my own posts; maybe it's time I just haunt yours...
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Blogger, Get Yourself a Timex Watch, if not a Rolex!
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Among my many pet peeves with Blogger, aside from its screwing up my posts on a regular basis and sending them into oblivion, I can't understand that it doesn't know how to tell the time!
My last post was started just after 1:00 a.m., but I completed it, ready for posting, at about 1:50 -- one look at the Blogger time/date notation, and I still saw the 1:04 time. How come it doesn't want to keep time with me, and note the new hour when I finally post my message?
Has anyone noticed this problem with Blogger? Any solutions, aside from the obvious: make certain I look at the time/date BEFORE I post, just after I finished typing the message.
Okay, for interest's sake, I started this message at 1:52, but now it's 2:03! I am gonna make the change, okay?
Blogger,we can all pitch in and buy you a nice, working timepiece for your next job. Sound good...?
Among my many pet peeves with Blogger, aside from its screwing up my posts on a regular basis and sending them into oblivion, I can't understand that it doesn't know how to tell the time!
My last post was started just after 1:00 a.m., but I completed it, ready for posting, at about 1:50 -- one look at the Blogger time/date notation, and I still saw the 1:04 time. How come it doesn't want to keep time with me, and note the new hour when I finally post my message?
Has anyone noticed this problem with Blogger? Any solutions, aside from the obvious: make certain I look at the time/date BEFORE I post, just after I finished typing the message.
Okay, for interest's sake, I started this message at 1:52, but now it's 2:03! I am gonna make the change, okay?
Blogger,we can all pitch in and buy you a nice, working timepiece for your next job. Sound good...?
"In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning..."
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Carly Simon sings a beautiful version of that classic song, and I'm thinking about it now, after 1:00 a.m. as I sit at the computer typing away. Sleep has become somewhat evasive the past two nights, perhaps because of the time change and my usual late late hour of retiring for the night being thrown off; and I know that last night a horrible storm threw me off kilter as I lay in bed and listened to the howling wind and the beating of it against the window screen, wondering how many shingles would be found the next morning in the yard, having flown off the roof.
Tonight there's no real excuse for not falling readily asleep, save for my thoughts.
Thoughts are not always welcome; they invade when you don't want them to; or they flee -- as butterflies do when you try to capture them with a net.
Tonight I'm thinking a mixed bag: of conversations -- written and oral -- I had today with various people; of conflicts in my family summer plans with other family members' summer plans, and how best to resolve the situation to make both families happy; of where my writing ought to take me, but doesn't necessarily do so, perhaps because I'm not putting forth enough effort, or because it feels forced and unnatural.
I've also been thinking of former classmates and where they are today -- this for the reason that I visited my parents today and my mother gave me my class pictures from senior kindergarten to grade 6. I reviewed the photos with my husband and children, seeing if they could spot me (my five-year-old did a bang-up job with the assignment), pointing out other people familiar to them, telling them who was doing what, to the best of my current knowledge, and unfortunately acknowledging a couple of people who passed away at too young an age from tragic circumstances.
As children in these class photos that capture us from ages 5 through 11, we are bright-eyed, carefree in our life's responsibilites, perhaps temporarily squirming under the focused look of the photographer, but knowing that in a few minutes, after the "One, two, three, say 'Cheese' " has passed, we can once again relax, be the children we're supposed to be.
Many of us in those pictures have been rewarded with good careers, and a rich family life. And I knew that when my daughter pointed out one of the earliest pictures with me in it, and commented on this aspect, "I like this picture of you; it's your best smile!" I couldn't help but smile.
And although at moments like tonight, when some of my thoughts are heavier than others, seeming to weigh me down and keep me from relaxing into a sleep, I also smile because my family, my lifestyle, and my roots have made me who I am: a thinking, feeling person...who may sometimes lack a bit of sleep, but certainly does not lack in being loved by family and friends. Yes, a rich woman, indeed!
Carly Simon sings a beautiful version of that classic song, and I'm thinking about it now, after 1:00 a.m. as I sit at the computer typing away. Sleep has become somewhat evasive the past two nights, perhaps because of the time change and my usual late late hour of retiring for the night being thrown off; and I know that last night a horrible storm threw me off kilter as I lay in bed and listened to the howling wind and the beating of it against the window screen, wondering how many shingles would be found the next morning in the yard, having flown off the roof.
Tonight there's no real excuse for not falling readily asleep, save for my thoughts.
Thoughts are not always welcome; they invade when you don't want them to; or they flee -- as butterflies do when you try to capture them with a net.
Tonight I'm thinking a mixed bag: of conversations -- written and oral -- I had today with various people; of conflicts in my family summer plans with other family members' summer plans, and how best to resolve the situation to make both families happy; of where my writing ought to take me, but doesn't necessarily do so, perhaps because I'm not putting forth enough effort, or because it feels forced and unnatural.
I've also been thinking of former classmates and where they are today -- this for the reason that I visited my parents today and my mother gave me my class pictures from senior kindergarten to grade 6. I reviewed the photos with my husband and children, seeing if they could spot me (my five-year-old did a bang-up job with the assignment), pointing out other people familiar to them, telling them who was doing what, to the best of my current knowledge, and unfortunately acknowledging a couple of people who passed away at too young an age from tragic circumstances.
As children in these class photos that capture us from ages 5 through 11, we are bright-eyed, carefree in our life's responsibilites, perhaps temporarily squirming under the focused look of the photographer, but knowing that in a few minutes, after the "One, two, three, say 'Cheese' " has passed, we can once again relax, be the children we're supposed to be.
Many of us in those pictures have been rewarded with good careers, and a rich family life. And I knew that when my daughter pointed out one of the earliest pictures with me in it, and commented on this aspect, "I like this picture of you; it's your best smile!" I couldn't help but smile.
And although at moments like tonight, when some of my thoughts are heavier than others, seeming to weigh me down and keep me from relaxing into a sleep, I also smile because my family, my lifestyle, and my roots have made me who I am: a thinking, feeling person...who may sometimes lack a bit of sleep, but certainly does not lack in being loved by family and friends. Yes, a rich woman, indeed!
Monday, April 04, 2005
Paul Simon Has Flown the Coop...along with the Eagles
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Okay, people, no more music on my blog. Someone rightfully pointed out today that having music suddenly playing when you open my blog to read my posts might be a real intrusion in your work or home life. Like I said in an earlier post -- I respect you readers. So one comment today, and thus the music videos are no longer.
The truth was that the selection the video link offered was not so great anyway, unless you can wrap your mind around rap music, which were the majority of videos available.
You'll just have to settle for me singing from my corner of the world (too far away for you to hear me!) some Gershwin classics or some mellow music. James Taylor, anyone? "Shower the people you love with love, show them the way that you feel..." or "You've got a friend..."
Okay, people, no more music on my blog. Someone rightfully pointed out today that having music suddenly playing when you open my blog to read my posts might be a real intrusion in your work or home life. Like I said in an earlier post -- I respect you readers. So one comment today, and thus the music videos are no longer.
The truth was that the selection the video link offered was not so great anyway, unless you can wrap your mind around rap music, which were the majority of videos available.
You'll just have to settle for me singing from my corner of the world (too far away for you to hear me!) some Gershwin classics or some mellow music. James Taylor, anyone? "Shower the people you love with love, show them the way that you feel..." or "You've got a friend..."
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Shalom, Laya. Shalom, Penina.
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Ah, so you're surprised to see your names up in blogger lights, huh?
It's just an official public thank-you to two ladies from my neck of the woods who take the time to read my words and comment, whether privately or publicly. I appreciate you taking moments out of your busy days to tune in to my random thoughts, and then offer some of your own.
Not to say that others don't do so, too. Of course you read my words, and several of you also comment, whether privately or publicly. And I thank you for doing so.
I enjoy the handful of off-screen friendships/acquaintanceships that I have developed by blogging. Many of you display such sensitivity, insights and humor that keep me somewhat in awe. In your notes and in your own posts many of you prove how bright and in-the-know you are; yes, we each come into this world, developing our own strengths, but sometimes I fear that my strengths cannot match yours.
Yes, the world is big, but sometimes I choose to keep mine small, personal, intimate. Regardless, it's always nice to invite new people into my small corner of the world...
Ah, so you're surprised to see your names up in blogger lights, huh?
It's just an official public thank-you to two ladies from my neck of the woods who take the time to read my words and comment, whether privately or publicly. I appreciate you taking moments out of your busy days to tune in to my random thoughts, and then offer some of your own.
Not to say that others don't do so, too. Of course you read my words, and several of you also comment, whether privately or publicly. And I thank you for doing so.
I enjoy the handful of off-screen friendships/acquaintanceships that I have developed by blogging. Many of you display such sensitivity, insights and humor that keep me somewhat in awe. In your notes and in your own posts many of you prove how bright and in-the-know you are; yes, we each come into this world, developing our own strengths, but sometimes I fear that my strengths cannot match yours.
Yes, the world is big, but sometimes I choose to keep mine small, personal, intimate. Regardless, it's always nice to invite new people into my small corner of the world...
Reach Out and Touch...
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Since I was a little girl I was considered "a helper" -- my early report cards commented and said that I was always willing to help others; in grade 4, when a new student came from Israel to join our class, the teacher asked for some volunteers to help be a peer to this girl and be involved with English as a Second Language -- guess whose hand rose in the air? I couldn't wait to turn thirteen years old so that I could be a candy striper in a seniors' home/hospital; I volunteered with special-needs adults for several years; I worked for Jewish Chaplaincy services, visiting Jewish people in public nursing homes; I like to help causes in those areas in which I display strengths (editing, writing, promoting)
For some reason (I think it's a wonderful inherited trait from a parent) I've been blessed with a concerned and helpful nature. It's not that I necessarily go out on a limb to help people, but it's a natural outlet for me; it comes easy to me.
Sometimes, however, good intentions are misconstrued. I'll never forget in grade school when a peer fell in the schoolyard, and me being my natural wanna-help self, asked before we came in from recess, "Ari, are you okay?" I got back such a sarcastic retort: "Yes, Nurse Pearl. I'm fine!" I meant well, but it backfired at that point in time...and I sort of hurt because I'd meant well but this ten year old kid didn't want to hear it from me.
I don't know why I'm attracted to certain causes more than others, why I seek to help some people more than I do others. Something touches a heart chord, a nerve, I guess.
But I'm more than happy when I am able to offer my compassion, my interest, my time to help further a cause, to help console someone, to help bring out the best in someone else. Because when I do that, I'm also bringing out the best in me!
Since I was a little girl I was considered "a helper" -- my early report cards commented and said that I was always willing to help others; in grade 4, when a new student came from Israel to join our class, the teacher asked for some volunteers to help be a peer to this girl and be involved with English as a Second Language -- guess whose hand rose in the air? I couldn't wait to turn thirteen years old so that I could be a candy striper in a seniors' home/hospital; I volunteered with special-needs adults for several years; I worked for Jewish Chaplaincy services, visiting Jewish people in public nursing homes; I like to help causes in those areas in which I display strengths (editing, writing, promoting)
For some reason (I think it's a wonderful inherited trait from a parent) I've been blessed with a concerned and helpful nature. It's not that I necessarily go out on a limb to help people, but it's a natural outlet for me; it comes easy to me.
Sometimes, however, good intentions are misconstrued. I'll never forget in grade school when a peer fell in the schoolyard, and me being my natural wanna-help self, asked before we came in from recess, "Ari, are you okay?" I got back such a sarcastic retort: "Yes, Nurse Pearl. I'm fine!" I meant well, but it backfired at that point in time...and I sort of hurt because I'd meant well but this ten year old kid didn't want to hear it from me.
I don't know why I'm attracted to certain causes more than others, why I seek to help some people more than I do others. Something touches a heart chord, a nerve, I guess.
But I'm more than happy when I am able to offer my compassion, my interest, my time to help further a cause, to help console someone, to help bring out the best in someone else. Because when I do that, I'm also bringing out the best in me!
Saturday, April 02, 2005
Everything Old Becomes New Again
Blogroll Me!
Growing up, I've been pretty much of a classic type, when it comes to fashion and ideas. I wasn't always into trends because they're often so flighty. "Classic consciousness" seems to help when it comes to fads that pass you by; you're in for the long haul, when things go in and out the window with the passing seasons. And sometimes they haunt you again somewhere down the road.
Today my daughter asked me to say the "Hey, hey, hey -- it's Fat Albert" refrain. She knows of it from the TV commercials she'd seen advertising the movie before its release. I told her it used to be a cartoon when I was a kid.
So many things were around when I was a kid, or growing up. I was in my twenties during the disco era, and so much of the music from then is being remixed today for the airwaves or nightclubs. I find it fascinating that the young people are hearing these songs for the first time, when in fact they're passe for me....
To go to a toy store and still see Easy Bake Ovens around makes me feel happy; I remember being eight years old, and visiting my uncle, aunt and many cousins in Mexico City (my first airplane trip from Canada to Mexico), and one of my cousins had one. I was fascinated by the concept that this little light bulb could help bake a cake. Do you think they can recreate that in a massive size, like a regular oven?
If you're a classic type of person, the current Coco Chanel type of woman's suit with fringed cuffs might still be found at the back of your closet. Yes, it's the rage today, but so it was many years ago, and so you held on to it.
Okay, fashions and toys aside, I wish that some of the oldie but goodie TV shows would still be around on mainstream television. For some of them, the themes or jokes would no longer apply to our lifestyles, nor would they be understood by the younger generations, but how I wish they'd come back to haunt us. Here are some family-time shows around which many of my long-term memories are made:
I Love Lucy/The Lucy Show
The Lawrence Welk Show
The Ed Sullivan Show
The Carol Burnett Show
All in the Family
The Red Skelton Show
Bonanza
Gunsmoke
Tiny Talent Time (a local talent show for kids)
Romper Room
Green Acres
CBC-Nighttime News (Canadian Broadcasting System)
CBS Evening News w/ Walter Cronkite
Truth or Consequences
Make Room for Daddy
Yes, I know that many of these shows are available on specialized cable channels, but if you don't have those channels or want to install them on your television system, you have to rely on your memories. And you have to try to recreate those memories for your children so that they can better understand where you're coming from.
So next time my daughter asks me to repeat the Fat Albert refrain, I'll tell her not just that it used to be a cartoon when I was a kid, but I'll give her details about the show and tell her why I liked it. And she'll better understand that Eema (Mom) was once a young girl like her...
Growing up, I've been pretty much of a classic type, when it comes to fashion and ideas. I wasn't always into trends because they're often so flighty. "Classic consciousness" seems to help when it comes to fads that pass you by; you're in for the long haul, when things go in and out the window with the passing seasons. And sometimes they haunt you again somewhere down the road.
Today my daughter asked me to say the "Hey, hey, hey -- it's Fat Albert" refrain. She knows of it from the TV commercials she'd seen advertising the movie before its release. I told her it used to be a cartoon when I was a kid.
So many things were around when I was a kid, or growing up. I was in my twenties during the disco era, and so much of the music from then is being remixed today for the airwaves or nightclubs. I find it fascinating that the young people are hearing these songs for the first time, when in fact they're passe for me....
To go to a toy store and still see Easy Bake Ovens around makes me feel happy; I remember being eight years old, and visiting my uncle, aunt and many cousins in Mexico City (my first airplane trip from Canada to Mexico), and one of my cousins had one. I was fascinated by the concept that this little light bulb could help bake a cake. Do you think they can recreate that in a massive size, like a regular oven?
If you're a classic type of person, the current Coco Chanel type of woman's suit with fringed cuffs might still be found at the back of your closet. Yes, it's the rage today, but so it was many years ago, and so you held on to it.
Okay, fashions and toys aside, I wish that some of the oldie but goodie TV shows would still be around on mainstream television. For some of them, the themes or jokes would no longer apply to our lifestyles, nor would they be understood by the younger generations, but how I wish they'd come back to haunt us. Here are some family-time shows around which many of my long-term memories are made:
I Love Lucy/The Lucy Show
The Lawrence Welk Show
The Ed Sullivan Show
The Carol Burnett Show
All in the Family
The Red Skelton Show
Bonanza
Gunsmoke
Tiny Talent Time (a local talent show for kids)
Romper Room
Green Acres
CBC-Nighttime News (Canadian Broadcasting System)
CBS Evening News w/ Walter Cronkite
Truth or Consequences
Make Room for Daddy
Yes, I know that many of these shows are available on specialized cable channels, but if you don't have those channels or want to install them on your television system, you have to rely on your memories. And you have to try to recreate those memories for your children so that they can better understand where you're coming from.
So next time my daughter asks me to repeat the Fat Albert refrain, I'll tell her not just that it used to be a cartoon when I was a kid, but I'll give her details about the show and tell her why I liked it. And she'll better understand that Eema (Mom) was once a young girl like her...
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