DIAL That Number

We were at my folks' house yesterday--the house I grew up in-- and our kids were with us. At some point, my daughter was downstairs in the rec room -- does anyone even have a rec room anymore, or just a family room or entertainment room?

In any case, my daughter runs upstairs very excited about something she wants me to see downstairs. I ask what she wants. She said she wants to know what something is. I say I can't come downstairs, to just tell me what it is or bring it upstairs.

"I can't bring it upstairs. It's plugged in."

So I try to envision the rec room and what she might be referring to.

She continues. "It's black and has a round thing on it (at this she describes it with her hands)..."

It hits me. A black rotary telephone. Our original black rotary telephone. My parents' telephone that they got when they moved into the house in 1958. (We were a one-phone family for many, many years.)

And I start to laugh. My daughter -- my children -- are not familiar with rotary telephones. Then I began to think of what else they've missed out on in the years they've been around: b&W TVs, typewriters, life without any kind of remote control, life without a microwave, record players, eight-track tapes, etc. They even learn how to tell time via digital watches! And kids learn to tie their shoelaces later on in their young years, when you can no longer find sneakers in their size with Velcro fasteners.

To that end, I think we should have some kind of survival show for kids, introducing the use of these appliances, electronics and tchochkes that they are not familiar with in their everyday lives. Let's watch them concentrate, get frustrated and try to figure out how these things work.

And if they run into trouble, let them use that black rotary telephone and DIAL INFORMATION!

****
Update: I was telling my husband tonight at dinner about this post. He corrected my error; my daughter KNEW it was a telephone, but she did not know how to USE it because it is a rotary one.

So my husband guided her in how to use it...and he had her call his cell phone, which he had with him. She could see the process ...or should we call it ''progress"?

My husband also reminded me of a nephew of ours who, a few years ago, saw me take an ice tray out of the freezer and he asked "What is that?" Even at age 7 or whatever he was, he was not familiar with a simple ice tray. Why? Because he had the type of refrigerator that provides ice cubes and ice water right in the door!

I Go Ga-Ga for GOOGLE....Images

I remember when I was in grade six ("sixth grade" to you Americans!) my English teacher tried something in creative writing. It was a springboard, as it were, for a photojournalism assignment.

Along the ledge in front of the chalkboard, she laid out several b & w pictures torn from magazines and we were to write a brief headline and piece about that photo.

I don't recall exactly what I wrote, but I do know it had to do with loneliness, and children, as it was a photo of an empty playground with an idle swing.

I've always loved photos and captions and trying to combine the two. There are always contests sponsored by magazines and newspapers to do exactly that: give a header to a photo, or a bit of dialogue to the people featured in a photo.

And I'm a fan of GOOGLE images...always searching for just the perfect one to accompany my blog posts.

So why don't we try an exercise, just like I did in grade six? You don't have to write a story, but you can write a header and/or a brief description to the pic.
These free-for-alls don't always work in blogs, I've noticed. People are hesitant to participate oftentimes. But I just want to experiment a bit, so let me have my fun!

Here are my contributions to the photos above:

re. top b&w photo: "A penny for my thoughts!"

re. top colored photo: "No, honey -- you're not supposed to close the Murphy bed with me still in it!"

re. Groucho: "Hmmm...and I thought he really meant that I should bite the bullet."

re. artsy image: "Psst...aren't we a couple of bad asses!?"

You may comment on these images or link to your own in the comments and entitle them or add some commentary.

So, Nu? Say Something Already!

Over a year ago, I worked on /freelance copy edited this book. It was quite a challenge for me.

I am not a native Yiddish speaker, and you could even say I'm not a Yiddish speaker, but I understand quite a bit. But even my father, whose mameloshen would've been Yiddish and then Polish, did not know all the expressions I had to verify. He explained to me that many of the expressions were regional -- so, if you lived in Lublin, you might've cursed differently than if you lived in Tarnow.

Go figure -- "gei in drerd" ("go to hell") would have to be phrased differently, depending on where you lived. In my mind, "drerd" is "drerd"!

In any case I was at the Toronto Jewish Book Fair last Sunday, looking at books on display, and spotted this Epstein book. It looked familiar to me at first, but I was a little "fermisht" and it didn't register that I'd worked on it. I picked it up and riffled through the pages and then it hit me -- yup, this book was my baby. I had a hand in it. G-d, I hope I did a good job with it.

...if not, Lita Epstein will be cursing me -- left, right and center!

So why not pick up this book if you can...and put it to good use. I'm sure you have friends and family members on whom you can try out these expressions! :)

Numbers & Pearl Don't Mix

I can add; I can subtract; I can multiply; I can divide; I can figure out percentages. I can decide if a price I see on a tag or label is a good buy.

But that's about it.

Talk numbers to me -- I'm lost.

Talk investment returns -- and I'm befuddled.

Talk measurement conversions -- and I screw up with a recipe.

Is that why I married an accountant? I wonder.

And no, not ALL accountants are boring people, contrary to their reputation!

It's All in the Jeans...

...aka When a Spelling Error Just Won't Do!




The following job posting is available for the 2006-2007 school year:

Jewish Studies Middle School Half-Time Position

Requirements: Knowledge of Hebrew Language Arts, Bible Studies, Denim, T'fillah and Oral Law

C'mon, people, hire me already. I will edit your work before you post it for all the world to see!

"It's the law!"

(Denim is actually supposed to say "Dinim"--which means Jewish laws)

E.S.P.*

* Extra Sensory Persuasion ... for the sake of this post!

How often have you found yourself saying, "Great minds think alike" when you find yourself having the same idea as another person. You might reach for the phone to call someone, and just then your phone rings and it's that person at the other end. You might decide it's high time you write a note to a friend, and before you attempt to write one, you go to your mailbox and find a note from that friend waiting for you.

I have always had that "psychic" relationship with my mother. I can forever hear her saying, after I've said something, "How did you know I was going to say that?" or "How did you know it was me on the other end of the line?" or "I was just going to call you" when it's me who calls her.

Surprisingly enough, I have that rapport with my husband, too. Even when we were dating, I "clicked" with him in more ways than one. "How did you know I was going to say that?" became a common refrain between us.

Tonight I had another taste of our connectedness. My husband went grocery shopping after Shabbos, in preparation for a light supper we're hosting tomorrow night for family.We'd decided he was going to buy sugar waffle cones -- something we never buy -- because we have ice cream at home, and that would make for a nice dessert.

When he was gone, I realized that waffle cones are rather big, thus take a lot of scoops per cone, and we probably didn't have enough ice cream to go around. So I decided to call him with a change of plans. Only problem was that his phone didn't get picked up and I was forced to leave a message. I said that perhaps instead of cones, he should buy waffle cone cups instead so it would be more appropriate for the amount of ice cream we have, and maybe some strawberries or berries to cut up on top and whipped cream to decorate with. (we've never bought waffle cone cups, and it is once every several years that we buy whipped cream)

Well, he came home, dropped off some bags, then went to the van to get more. As I unpacked the first bunch of bags, I saw a can of whipped cream. And I thought, "Good, so he got my message."

He walked into the house again and I said, "Good, I see you got my message."

"What message?"

"The one I left you. I was afraid you didn't hear it."

"I didn't check for messages.... I want to show what I got.... I decided instead of waffle cones to buy waffle cups. It'll be really a nice dessert." And he pulls a box of these out of a shopping bag.

"And I didn't buy them tonight, but I thought we could buy strawberries or berries tomorrow to put on top. I did buy whipped cream, though."

Another coincidence for the books.

I asked, "Did you really not listen to the phone message I left?"

"No."

"Please listen to it!"

I announced then, "There's a reason Hashem put us together!"

Excuse-Moi???

I was just looking at a job description (yes, I'm still looking for a full-time or part-time job) and saw this in the last line of qualifications:

Fluency in French is an asset, as is membership in/designation from The International Ass

No wonder this job is called PUBLIC AFFAIRS ASSOCIATE...!

Whitney & Bobby

Whitney Houston filed for divorce from Bobby Brown...

FINALLY!!!!

What the heck brought you two together? What the heck was keeping you two together for 14 years amidst the drugs, the alchohol, the arrests...basically, the nasty entertainment headlines?

Enough is enough.

Check Out These Links

I found this a link to this great website while visiting over at Marallyn ben Moshe's blog. Her blog ain't bad, either!

Link to http://www.paulsadowski.com/birthday.asp and find out interesting and little known facts having to do with your birthdate. And while you're at it, link to http://www.paulsadowski.com/Numbers.asp and find out interesting and little known facts having to do with your name.

Seraphic Silence...No More

Seraphic Secret is apparently up and running...no doubt, much to the pleasure of Robert Avrech and his many fine readers.

I hope you took my advice from several hours ago and reviewed some of Seraphic Secret's earliest posts.

There will be a quiz tomorrow.

A Seraphic Silence

I've been advised by the powers that be -- Robert J. Avrech -- to please let readers know that Seraphic Secret is temporarily silent.

Due to technical difficulties -- *&%$%^#%^!!!!! -- Robert is unable to post.

In the meantime, why not read some of Seraphic Secret's older posts? Why not start at the beginning? Rediscover the early days of this warm and wonderful blog.

Please make certain to have tissues handy. You might just need them....

I Like Jeremiah's Idea

In the comments section of my last post, Jeremiah had a good idea: the question behind my post could be the premise of a plausible independent film. He stressed "independent."

Does that mean that no studio would care to join forces with me?

Does that mean that it is the story of an independent blogger after all, that no match can be made in blogland?

Truth is....NOTHING. I have no personal stories to share and so I'd hoped that perhaps one of you might've heard something or come across a story about bloggers trysting and maybe taking it further, ie. trysting " 'til death do they part."

Apparently, some of you folks have suspicious minds. "Is Pearl hinting at something personal?"..."Is Pearl keeping back 'the whole story'?"... "Is PsychoToddler Pearl's long-distance paramour?"

Nothing to be suspicious about. I lead a boring -- but happy -- life, interspersed with some personal blog posts. Yes, I consider myself sort of friends or long-distance acquaintances with some bloggers, but that's it. But somewhere deep down, my subconscious must've been trying to set me up for something it considered exciting.

The other night I had a dream. Yes, Martin Luther King and I both had a dream. His had to do with racial justice; mine had to do with a blogger who was at some social gathering where I was, and apparently said blogger was trying to woo me, so much so that I believe that the social gathering turned into an engagement party of sorts. An engagement party for me...and the blogger. All along in this dream, I was thinking, "But I'm happily married....!"

AND THEN I WOKE UP.

The dream niggled at my thoughts. Why this blogger? Why this dream?

And I began to wonder about such a scenario -- not in my life, but in others' -- and that led to the premise of my last post. Which apparently is now the possible premise of an independent film...if there are any takers out there?

There are people who, no doubt, discover that life and love can co-exist in blogland. Whether they expressively seek this new love out, or just stumble upon it, I'm sure that somewhere there also already exists a blog or a bulletin board/forum where bloggers can write about loves lost in real life, and loves found in blogland.

* A personal note to Dr. Bean: PsychoToddler was only a temporary diversion. Please take him back. He's all yours. As for Cruisin' Mom, she can be yours too...for the price of a babka!

Something To Ponder

Have you heard of any bloggers who have left their spouses and/or significant others...FOR A BLOGGER?

Learning Any Which Way

My boys LOVE LOVE LOVE GameCube. They play games for one, they play games for two, they trade in games that they tire of.

GameCube can be the cause of many distractions, many parent-child disagreements in our home.

Why not just take it away from the boys? you ask. Truth is, I do, from time to time, but always end up giving it back at the end of the day or a few days later.

And I've just decided that there's another reason I can't take it away for good -- at least not from my six-year-old. And why is that?

Because...he learns a lot from GameCube.

Like what? you ask.

Well, for starters, he learns hand-eye coordination; he learns about high tech and how to make things work for you. In playing certain games, he learns all about sports, specifically current hockey and baseball players. He knows names of players, of teams, knows their stats, and more importantly, learns geography.

On Friday nights, while sitting around the Shabbos table, we often play Geography. We go around the table and everyone says a place name using the last letter of the last place name given by the prior player.

My little guys thinks of the most obscure places! I wonder how he knows of them -- my husband pointed out to me this weekend: GameCube. Because my son knows team names, he knows what city these baseball and hockey teams play in, eg. Anaheim, San Diego, Detroit, he stores the names up to use in future Geography games.

It is a wonderful game, and all of us -- ages 6, 9, 11 1/2, 45 and 46 -- play and enjoy it thoroughly!

So...could I interest you in GameCube to start...and then perhaps a game of Geography?

One Thing To Say, Mom...

Vill Glück zum Geburri!

Women in Tights

So...is this image saying matter-of-factly that tights please people, ie. men and women... Or is it a request, "I want tights, please" ?

In my case, it's a bit of both...

When I was a child, I wore cotton or nylon tights of all patterns and all shades. The unfortunate thing is that the nylon ones would run easily, and the cotton ones would pill. I remember sitting in class at school, plucking at all these little pills on those leggings!

And because I was tall and leggy, it was often difficult to find the right length of tights. And when I did, I also had to be assured that the hosiery wouldn't shrink. Oftentimes, I sagged big time in the crotch area; the tights weren't sitting flush, as they should, and it was uncomfortable. I always imagined that if someone were to throw a tennis ball against my tights, I could've bounced the ball right back to the pitcher, using the material's tension in the way the tights sat on my body, a few inches below where they should have.

I never danced ballet or jazz when I grew up, so I never had tutus and leggings or tights; and I never took great notice of the superheroes wearing their tights, save for Catwoman and perhaps Robin, in his dorky outfit.

But I'm grown up now. And I've decided that I love tights. So much so that I had to go to a nice local store and sort through their display of tights and buy myself a few pairs.

I went for basic black. No patterns. Just stark black with a shimmer from the Lycra.

I've been wearing tights now for the past three days. I almost don't want to take them off! Yes, they keep my legs cozy in this early fall-early winter weather we've been having of late. But it's more than that...

They give me superpowers. Call me Catwoman. I can purr and meow now with the best of the other tights wearers in the world. I can slink down a catwalk -- okay, maybe not in spiked heels, but in a comfortable-looking and comfortable-feeling pair of shoes -- 'cause my tights are just about ready for anything.

Tights make me feel sexy. They make my legs look flawless. They make my legs look longer. They make me walk straighter. They make me feel self-assured.

Okay, nylons are good too-- patterns and prices abound -- but give me a pair of tights and I swear, it's like I'm wearing a "second skin."

If I go so gaga over a pair of tights -- especially a pair that fit! -- imagine what a pair of ankle sports socks with pom-poms do to me...!

An E-mail I Received Today

I dreamt that I went to Heaven and an angel was showing me around. We walked side-by-side inside a large workroom filled with angels.

My angel guide stopped in front of the first section and said, "This is the Receiving Section. Here, all petitions to Hashem said in prayer are received." I looked around in this area, and it was terribly busy with so many angels sorting out petitions written on voluminous paper sheets and scraps from people all over the world.

Then we moved on down a long corridor until we reached the second section. The angel then said to me, "This is the Packaging and Delivery Section. Here, the graces and blessings the people asked for are processed and delivered to the living persons who asked for them." I noticed again how busy it was there. There were many angels working hard at that station, since so many blessings had been requested and were being packaged for delivery to Earth.

Finally at the farthest end of the long corridor we stopped at the door of a very small station. To my great surprise, only one angel was seated there, idly doing nothing. "This is the Acknowledgment Section," my angel friend quietly admitted to me. He seemed embarrassed.

"How is it that? There's no work going on here?" I asked.

"So sad," the angel sighed. "After people receive the blessings that they asked for, very few send back acknowledgments.

"How does one acknowledge HaShem's blessings?" I asked.

"Simple," the angel answered. "Just say, 'Thank you, Hashem.'

"What blessings should they acknowledge?" I asked.

"If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep ... you are richer than 75% of this world.

"If you have money in the bank, in your wallet, and spare change in a dish, you are among the top 8% of the world's wealthy.

"And if you get this on your own computer, you are part of the 1% in the world who has that opportunity.

"Also .....If you woke up this morning with more health than illness ...... you are more blessed than the many who will not even survive this day.

"If you have never experienced the fear in battle, the loneliness of imprisonment, the agony of torture, or the pangs of starvation ... you are ahead of 700 million people in the world.

"If you can attend a shul meeting without fear of harassment, arrest, torture or death ... you are envied by, and more blessed than, three billion people in the world.

"If your parents are still alive and still married, you are very rare.

"If you can hold your head up and smile, you are not the norm, you are unique to all those in doubt and despair."

Ok, what now? How can I start?

If you can read this message, you just received a double blessing in that someone was thinking of you as very special and you are more blessed than over two billion people in the world who cannot read at all. Have a good day, count your blessings, and if you want, pass this along to remind everyone else how blessed we all are.

"Attn: Acknowledge Dept.: Thank You Hashem!

"Thank you Hashem, for giving me the ability to share this message and for giving me so many wonderful people to share it with."

Fashion Sense

I was sorting through my daughter's dresser drawers and bedroom closet today, seeing what still fit and what didn't. She has A LOT of clothes and as my husband says all the time, "You have to get rid of stuff for all the new stuff [many of which are gifts] that comes in. Otherwise we'll have to buy another house."

Some of the stuff I just made a judgment call on and removed and bagged to pass on to a friend for her daughter. About others I announced, "This doesn't fit you anymore."

My daughter piped up, "Oh yes it does." And she proceeded to put it on over whatever she dressed in this morning.

This scene kept repeating itself with each new item of clothing that I held up for inspection. "Oh yes it does." Another article of clothing went on.

After a few minutes my daughter was wearing a short sleeved sweater, under a turtleneck sweater, with a vest on top, and a housecoat on top of that, and a summer dress over her pants.

Talk about the layered look... Talk about trying to convince me to keep her stuff... Talk about a creative way to argue one's point....

Talk about a fashion sense...

Child # 4

Notice the "before" pic of me, taken almost a year ago, before Pearl and the family even considered getting another dog.
But it was this pic that drew them in. I was still Snoopy in that period of my life.

Since the family got me in January, I'm now known as Max.

Yay, Pearl finally posted a recent picture of me. I threatened to pee on her Persian rug if she didn't!

She got a new camera phone, took some pics and took longer to try to figure out how to download them to her computer and then on to her [really cool] blog.

Aren't I cute? I can hear you saying "Poo, Poo, Poo" as opposed to the more familiar Jewish "Pu, Pu, Pu"...but that's okay, 'cause I am a shih-poo after all, and sometime ago, Pearl blogged about me after taking me for a late-night walk one day and announced that I'm not really a shih-poo, but rather a three-poo. Guess you figured that out, too!

So...was I worth the wait? Talk about puppy dog eyes...

A Violin Speaks

If you ever need to have a good cry, but the tears won't necessarily come, tune in to this performance by Itzhak Perlman -- the theme from Schindler's List. Unless you are made of rock, you will be weeping.

It is a magnificent piece of music, scored by John Williams, a master of movie soundtracks. Perlman, like always, makes his violin speak...and sing...and cry.

Shabbat Shalom. May there be peace in your homes and in your lives.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGXMZK6T_Fo

Canine-a-Hora

Hi, guys. It's Max -- formerly known as Snoopy. If you read Pearl's blog religiously, you already knew that. If not, let me explain very quickly.

Pearl and her family adopted me. My given name was Snoopy. She decided I'm not worthy of being called Snoopy. She asked child # 3 to name me when he saw a photo of me -- he didn't know yet, nor did his siblings, that I was about to enter their lives -- and he said I looked like a "Tyson." Pearl decided it wouldn't be good luck to give me the name of their dog who died last year, so she told her son that name had already been taken and to think of another. He chose "Max." And it stuck.

I may be a little snoopy, keeping my nose close to the ground and sniffing/snooping around for clues, but I'm more of a max. I live life to the max; I have energy to the max; and I'm the sweetest pooch to the max.

I've come to like Pearl's family, especially Pearl. She calls me her baby or child # 4 and I refer to her as the mom I never had. I follow her all over the house, and even find her behind closed doors. She does get mad, though, when I push open the bathroom door without knocking and just sit there, staring at her, watching her go about her business. I know it's rude and all, but she watches ME go about MY business, too.

In any case, I like my family; I like my yard; I like my neighborhood; and I love the canine connections I've made around here. On a good day, I might just see half a dozen of my pals. Of course, they're not always as excited to see me as I am to see them. But I really do have lots have pals, and if you don't want to call them pals, then at least consider them acquaintances. I'm VERY friendly and could easily become the neighborhood Welcome Wagon. (TM)

[Max had me edit his post and I informed him that he MUST insert a (TM) there. I once learned the hard way, when that trademark wasn't used in the nicest way in a manuscript, that a trademark is not meant to be presented in a poor light. But that company went to the extreme; my company was no longer able to use the trademark at all in our books.

So I'm glad that Max listened to me and put in the copyright symbol; I don't want the company coming after me and my blog!]

Let me name some of the cool dogs 'round here:

Phoebe (#1) -- Maltese (my girlfriend!)
Phoebe (#2) -- Poodle
Terry -- Schnauzer/Terrier
Oriel -- Shnauzer
Wilson -- Shih-Tzu
Riley -- Wheaten Terrier
Tyler -- Poodle
Cody -- Poodle
Rolex-- Pug
Tiffany -- Pug
[Rolex and Tiffany are not siblings, but come from the same breeder and the owner wanted each dog to have company, so that's why he got two. They replace his pug, Brisket, who passed away earlier this year. Our pug, Tyson, and Brisket, were often mistaken for each other...just because they were both so overweight.]
Jasper -- Westie
Pugley -- Pug
Chiclet -- Pug
(also owned by same owner; Chiclet is a young pug, and a companion to the older Pugley)

There are other dogs that I know -- by smell, of course. Pearl complains that she only knows the dogs' names, not the owners'! Is that good etiquette, she wonders? Who am I to tell her about good etiquette? I lift my leg and pee wherever I get a chance!

In any case, I know that Phoebe is my girlfriend -- how do I know, you ask?

She dances and prances all around me and wiggles her tushy in my face when she sees me. If that doesn't mean she wants me, then what does?

But even though Phoebe is my girlfriend (supposedly the girl-next-door -- except she lives three houses away from me), I could always stand to see some pics of your pooches if you'd like to share them. Maybe I'll know somebody around here who's available for your pooch. No, not me.

Hey, what a great idea: MAX, THE SHIH-POO SHADCHAN (matchmaker). They say that if you make three matches in this world, your place is set in the world to come. I'd like my place to be set with a sheepskin-rug-trimmed bed, lots of snacks and a professional pooper-scooper! Someone who follows me around heaven, cleaning up after me. I'm not sure that Pearl will get up here to do the job!

Can you imagine if I, Max the shih-poo, made a match between a neighborhood dog and one from across the country? I'd be saying "Canine-a-hora" and I'd be dancing a "canine-a-hora!"

I want to see your dog pics, and I know you want to see mine, but because I'm all black, with dark brown eyes, I'm hard to photograph -- I sort of get camouflaged all the time. I'll try to get Pearl to snap a recent and decent one of me, so you can all see how I've changed over the past several months since the family welcomed me.

I now send a hearty bark your way and will head over to my bed to sleep. I thank you for your time and hope we someday get to meet -- and not in heaven either. Although I am planning to meet five people there.... [Please forgive Max. He thinks he's funny. The last bit refers to Mitch Albom's book title, The Five People You Meet in Heaven.]

You Talkin' to Me?

Pssst! You wanna go shopping with Pearl? She'll show you how to shop for bargains, how to buy and return merchandise if family members don't like it, and how to just be a shopping diva.

Truth is, I'm NOT a shopping diva; I'm not a diva and I don't like shopping. But I do like bargains and grabbing some great finds.

I don't care to shop for myself and find it easier to shop for others, usually going to a store looking for a particular item for someone and buying up items I don't need but that might come in handy.

Although I don't care to shop, I do like the thrill of perhaps hearing THE VOICE.

"The Voice?" you ask. "Are you hearing things, Pearl?"

No, I'm not hearing things, I don't have imaginary friends, and no 6-foot-tall white rabbit named Harvey has taken up residence in my life.

"Phew," you say. "You had me worried there for a minute. I thought that perhaps because you go to bed so late 'cause you're on the computer, you don't get enough sleep, and the result is that you're hearing voices."

But yes, I'm sometimes driven by the Voice.

This is the voice that, in Jerusalem, said to me many years ago, "Hey, habibi, you like me? You have Canadian or American dollars to spend on me?"

A pair of dangling earrings with coral pieces was speaking to me. How did those earrings know that my cousin had just given me a coral necklace to keep? It would be a perfect match -- one made in Jerusalem. But I wasn't wearing the necklace right then! But I figured that Israelis are forward and make assumptions, and this pair of coral earrings was no different!

And then there was that time in Miami, when I was browsing. Simply browsing in the ladies' section of the department store I was in. I heard a "Psst" and looked over to a rack, where a gorgeous, multicolored cotten-woven sweater was waving me over.

"Hey, lady. You want to have a multicolored sweater such as myself in your wardrobe? You'll really light up a room when you walk in, and the bold and bright colors will make you feel good. Happy, happy, happy. That's what I, as a representative of the Liz Claiborne industry believe anyhow."

How could I resist? Guess I'm a pushover for a pullover!

Not too long ago I was browsing in ladies' wear and heard my name. This time it was a beautiful, black cashmere wool skirt, with assymetrical embroidered hems, doing the calling. I approached, then slowly backed away. Beautiful, yes, but pricey too.

I circled the area some more and felt myself being called back. "Try me, try me...you might like me."

Now I don't just hear the Voice, I talk back, too! "I do like you. That's the problem. I like you too much, but I don't like your price tag."

"But I'm on sale. And I'm your size. And I'm the only skirt like this left. Isn't it destiny that we should be together?"

What could I do, but listen to these smooth-talking skirt? I tried it on, twirling in front of the three way mirror in the change room, and loving how the bottom flared out. I knew this skirt was a show-stopper, and I just had to have it.

The Voice had won me over again.

Last night, the Voice beckoned me again, as I was rushing through a Sears store. This time it was a wine caddy doing the talking.

"You know you want me. I'm just the right price, marked down twice. I'll fulfill all your needs -- um, all your bottles' needs. I'll help keep your dining room clean of bottles on the floor in the corner, and I am rather eye-appealing, don't you think?"

I walked away, managed to go a few short steps, then turned back to the Voice. He was still talking. "Look, take me home, let your husband check me out too. If you don't like me, you can always return me."

Now the Voice had a point. I guess he knew me well. I am notorious for buying and returning merchandise after second thoughts.

"Deal or no deal?"

I shouted, "Okay, okay. But if I change my mind or my husband doesn't want you, you get sent back...understood?"

The Voice said, "I don't think you'll send me back. I'm gonna wine and dine you!"

Well, I got home with the box, and lo and behold, the Voice hadn't been that upfront with me. He never said that he had to be assembled...and with lousy instructions, too.

Soon my voice, and my husband's voice could be heard: "What kind of ****** directions are these!? Where the **** does this piece go, and this piece?"

The Voice was chuckling and said, "Oh, stop WHINING. The frustration will pass, but the beauty will remain..."

******

So I guess the point of telling you about the Voice is to remind you that shopping can be quite an experience. You browse and suddenly you're being summoned by something or other. When I get comments or compliments about a purchase, I often tell the person, "It spoke to me, " or "It called out my name."
Sometimes you've just got to listen to that voice...

Especially when it drowns out your own!

GameCube Gets a Hechsher

Last evening, I was in the kitchen, which overlooks our family room. My 6 1/2-year-old son was happily and busily beginning to play GameCube while I got dinner together.

Suddenly he pipes up. "This game is Kosher."

"What?" I repeat, just so he'll repeat his comment.

"This game is Kosher."

"And how do you know that?"

"It has an R."

[Explanation for those who might not get this kid's mind: one of the Kosher U.S.. symbols is a U inside an O, and it stands for Orthodox Union. My son noticed an R inside an O somewhere on the game screen and interpreted it to mean Kosher.

Okay, okay...so it was funny at the time.]

Too Many Secrets -- Part 2

Remember this? Remember you wanted to know what secrets I have to tell? Guess you were wondering if I had any good, juicy gossip to share, or tantalizing, wicked family tales to reveal.

No particular secrets per se to share. Actually I do have secrets, but I CAN'T share them with you, or you, or even YOU! (Randi) Why? Because we are told to keep secrets, and they are not meant for curious eyes or ears.

Psst! Can you keep a secret? How many times in your years of growing up were you asked that? How many times did you say you could keep a secret, yet told the first person you could whatever that secret was?

Shhh! It's a surprise. Don't tell anybody. I'm sure that over the years people wanted to let you in on surprises, be they related to parties or gifts, and the information was just sizzling inside you, in anticipation of the surprise and reactions to it.

I'm only telling you. Don't tell a soul. Promise? Sound familiar? How'd you do with that promise?

Often it's easy to tell secrets. It's harder to keep them. When I was growing up and my friends told me what they deemed secrets and they told me to tell nobody, I understood that they meant my peers. But secrets were like poison to me, and like a pot that begins to boil over, the secrets wanted to spill forth from my mouth. Did I tell my peers? No. But I often, at my discretion, told my mother.

Yes, I did. I didn't perceive it as not being able to keep a secret. My mother was my mother, not another kid at school. In my eyes, my mother didn't count, so to speak.

My mother is not a gossip, nor was she ever. She has always maintained her discretionary distance and respected my privacy. She is the one who always told me to look out for certain friends or certain relatives who would probe for information, looking for secrets and ready to pass them along.

Because of my mother's wonderful character makeup, I deemed her "safe." I would share information that others might've shared with me, just because she was my sounding board, a receptacle for my information, so to speak. She would not judge the people that I was telling her about. She would just listen, take it all in, nod and do nothing with the information I'd disclosed. How much better a person can you find to keep secrets safe?

As the years passed, I just didn't want to learn any more secrets. But they were told to me anyway. And instead of sharing some with my mother, I shared them with my journals. If those pages could only talk....

Secrets are a means of information. In essence a means of power. The power to control...and the power to hurt. And for that reason, I have grown up surrounded by secrets and the common phrase: Don't tell Mom/Dad/brother/brother/sister-in-laws/nieces/nephews/aunts/uncles.... They don't need to know. They shouldn't find out.

In many, if not all the cases, these secrets have not been about power, but about protection. We were continually protecting one another from the pain of knowing something hurtful or challenging, upsetting or angering. Major family medical and personal crises were guarded, monitored with protective hush-hush attitudes. We did not want to hurt others, we did not want to add salt to wounds; we did not want to bear bad news and see reactions.

For a long time I thought this was only my family's practice, but I married and saw similar practices in my husband's family's or in-laws' families. I began to recognize the practice in friends' families, too.

The secret was out!

We are often not alone in the way we live our lives, in the way we treat those we love and in the way they treat us. We have mirror reflections throughout the world -- people who have secrets just like we do, people who reveal their secrets just like we do.

The personal life of every individual is based on secrecy, and perhaps it is partly for that reason that civilized man is so nervously anxious that personal privacy should be respected. -- Anton Chekhov

The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart. -- Saint Jerome

Babs Meets Yentl

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Qp4MtQ9aMY

I've decided I really love YouTube. Can you tell? No, really...can you tell?

Splitting Hairs

And now for your viewing pleasure:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=haep1oIYgAw

Musical Interlude

I love this song. I love this rendition of the song.

Find someone you love, and listen closely to the lyrics -- I hope they prove to be true for you, as well.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8Szc7i2q0w

Exercise. Shop. Eat. Repeat.

I'm a Curves gal. Not that I have any of my own that bear much attention, but I'm a paying member of Curves, seeking some nice curves to call my own.

Before I was a Curves gal, I was a Women's Fitness Club gal.

Before that, I was a Jewish Community Center gal.

Before that, I was an active kid.

So let's start at square one: active kid. What does that mean, or rather, what did it mean for me? It meant I ran, I walked, I rode my bike, I ice skated, I sort of swam. Nothing physically demanding, just basic.

And probably after coming inside the house from doing that basic running or riding of my bike, I'd have a snack. I'd drink some juice. I refueled, so to speak.

When I was a Jewish Community Center gal, aside from several years of volunteering with special needs adults in a social-recreational program, I used to go to fitness classes. And I used to jog a bit or power walk. And I used to swim a bit.

And after finishing my volunteering session or my workout session, what did I do? I went into the cafeteria and bought a snack. And bought some juice. I refueled, so to speak.

Now the Women's Fitness Club is situated in a large, suburban shopping mall. The few times I went to the club, I'd do fitness classes, or work out on the different circuit machines.

And what did I often do before or after my session at the club? I'd parade around that mall, step in and out of stores, finding bargains and making purchases. Here I was, supposedly going to lose a few pounds, instead picking up pounds of purchases along the way. Is that considered a good workout?

These days, my workout locale is a strip mall. Curves is located near a wonderful Kosher bakery and a gourmet chocolate store. Mmmm.... But I stay at my end of the mall, making sure my path doesn't cross with those two wonderful specialty food emporiums.

But also nearby my workout is a large supermarket. I often work out, then drive (not walk) over to the next strip mall where the supermarket is located, go in and load my buggy up with essentials, and often some not-so-essential essentials! It is funny when I pass a woman who'd just been in the Curves working out when I was. Her buggy is just as full as mine.

Nonchalantly, I strain to look what no-no's she's hoarding in that aluminum-and-steel cart. Who am I to talk, though? I've just done a 30 minute circuit, a five-minute warm-down, and I'm buying junk food!?

Oh, not for me, you should know. Never for me. Always for my three kids. That's right (WINK, WINK!) -- JUST for my three kids.

So over the years I've noticed a trend re. my exercise habits -- either I'm exercising opening and closing my wallet after exercising, or I'm exercising opening and closing my mouth....when I eat the junk food that I BOUGHT FOR MY THREE KIDS!

Hey, I discovered a new and improved form of physical exercise: SHOP 'TIL YOU DROP!

But I think I ought to get over my work-out-then-shop-or-eat habits and try this ideal form of exercise: RESISTANCE TRAINING!

...Next Year Again, G-d Willing

I grew up in a household where things were not taken for granted. It took hard work, mental or physical effort to achieve certain things. Some prayer and mazel thrown in for good measure.

Good health was never taken for granted because health issues abounded. Medical emergencies, some more serious than others, are part of my memories of childhood and adulthood.

It is for that reason that whenever I kissed my mother and father, and wished them a good yom tov -- whether Pesach or Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur or Sukkot -- or even a good birthday or anniversary or Mother's Day or Father's Day, both parents, primarily my father, always said to me, "We should be able to wish each other the same...next year again, G-d willing." When we finished the second Pesach seder, or broke the Yom Kippur fast, or lit the Chanukah candles on the last night of Chanukah, it was "We should be able to do this...next year again, G-d willing."

My parents were with us for the second day of Sukkot. Upon leaving my home, my parents and I wished each other a good Yom Tov and then we each said, "We should be able to wish each other the same...next year again, G-d willing. We should be able to do this...next year again, G-d willing."

The calendar year is a cycle -- twelve months pass, one after the other. Seasons pass, one after the other. We take the months and the seasons for granted.

The Jewish calendar is also a cycle -- the months pass, holidays come and go, the seasons change. We take the months, the seasons and the Jewish holidays for granted.

Life is also a cycle -- the calendar years pass, the seasons come and go, milestones and celebrations greet us, and unfortunately, sometimes so do difficult and sad times.

And although life stares at us -- and we stare back, hopefully being able to smile as well -- we should never take it for granted.

Each and every one of us should learn to say, "...next year again, G-d willing."

No Easy Feat

A man decided that life would be more fun if he had a pet. So, he went to the pet store and told the owner that he wanted to buy an unusual pet. After some discussion, he finally bought a talking centipede (100-legged bug), which came in a little white box to use for his house. He took the box home, found a good location for the box and named his new pet Sheldon.

He decided that he would like to take his new pet to the synagogue with him. So, he asked the centipede in the box, "Sheldon, would you like to go to Shul with me today? We will have a good time."

But there was no answer from his new pet. This bothered him a bit, but he waited a few minutes and then asked him again, "Sheldon, how about going to Shul with me and receive blessings?"

But again, there was no answer from his new friend and pet. So he waited a few minutes more, thinking about the situation. He decided to ask him one more time, this time putting his face right up against the box and shouting, "Hey, in there! Would you like to go to Shul with me and learn about The Lord!?"

A little voice came out of the box........................

"I heard you the first time, I'm putting on my shoes!!!!! "

Too Many Secrets

...of course you want to know what secrets I have to tell , but if I told you, they wouldn't be secrets anymore -- now, would they?

Is It Just Me?

I know my thought patterns are sometimes offbeat, and I see the world through an interesting, colored lense...but tell me -- Is it just me?....or as you unpack your sukkah decorations and put them up, do you think that these decorations are like X-mas decorations?

I mean, I've lived in this house for three years, and my previous house for nine years. My oldest child is eleven and a few months; my youngest is 6 1/2 years old. I don't have any sukkah "family heirlooms" to speak of, but when I see the pieces of artwork we've laminated, pieces that have withstood the rains and winds of fall, as they sat proudly on the sukkah walls, I equate them with X-mas decorations...that get unpacked year in, year out, and then packed up again year in , year out. Some of these tree and room decorations, along with family stories, get passed on to younger generations.

I dated my children's artwork that we use for our decorations. So it's a pleasure for me to sit and view work done by my 6 1/2-year-old who was 2 1/2 when he drew or colored in a picture.

They continue to bring home more developed, sophisticated works of art to use as sukkah decorations, but my eyes skim the familiar, sometimes faded, pieces on the walls, and my heart is warmed...

Wishing you all a chag sameach, a happy holiday. Remember your cue: "Sniff (the etrog) & Shake (the lulav)!

I Want To Be a Pooch Pal

Welcome to the neighborhood. An area where the houses stand large and tall, the lawns are beautifully manicured with very tasteful landscaping, expensive vehicles sit in garages and dogs abound.

For some reason there are a lot of white poodles, Bijons, malteses and the like where I live. And then there's our MAX -- a black dog who doesn't truly fit in 'cause he's just a blend of breeds. But he's smart, and he's sweet, and he's very friendly -- of course he takes after his owner!

Well, this morning, I was out walking the dog. The neighborhood was quiet, as children had already left for school, grownups had already left for work, stay-at-home moms had already left for their health clubs and coffee with girlfriends. I took Max to a nearby park, to let him off the leash and romp freely. In the distance I spotted a woman walking a little white dog.

Not to be mean, nor sound condescending, but I just knew she was a nanny. There are a lot of them around here...just not at my address, nor has there ever been one, nor will there ever be one! And this woman was definitely a nanny. I just figured that her [human] charges had left for school and now she was left with a canine charge for the day, aside from household duties.

As she's walking the dog, another woman -- whom I also figured to be a nanny -- passed her, and she also had a white dog. The two women stopped to chat while the two dogs sniffed each other. Max charged off, ready to check out the canines, but I called his name and he so nicely stopped, turned around and raced back to me.

As I watched these two women and the dogs, I thought, "Wouldn't that be nice? To be a nanny for a dog, or I prefer to call it 'a pooch pal.' " I'd get room and board -- and a salary, and days off -- just for looking after a coochie-poochie.

As it was time for me to leave the park, I started walking to the path, where the first woman was. Max immediately headed to sniff out and bounce on the dog, who...by the way....was wearing a little pink t-shirt with a knot at the end. Imagine a teenage girl tying a t-shirt at her navel; yup, that was the pooch. And I began to talk to the woman who was indeed the nanny. I asked if the kids were at school; oh, no, they're married. So this woman looks after a household and a very spoiled, but beautiful Bijon named Phoebe. Not only did Phoebe wear a t-shirt, she also had a raincoat that the nanny was carrying. She told me Phoebe doesn't go in the rain without it, and the sky did look ominous.

When I asked where this eleven-year-old princess slept, the nanny told me, "In an antique bed beside mine. My employer bought twin beds, and they're side by side. Phoebe sleeps beside me right in the middle." I was also informed that Phoebe gets groomed every three weeks. It is true I have to admit; she did have beautiful curly hair -- um, I mean fur -- done up in a fashionable doggie way.

I was impressed by the patience that this nanny/pooch pal had with the dog. She didn't mind carrying her from the park to her house, along with the dog's raincoat, and bags for going potty. Although I saw Phoebe as spoiled, I did figure she is old, she paid her dues, she's now behaving like some Hollywood vamp who likes attention. And she's getting it.

So I'm appealing to you, my readers, if any of you need a pooch pal/dog nanny -- and no, I don't just mean a dog walker 'cause, of course, anyone can do THAT job -- you know where to find me. And I come with great references. Just ask Tyson -- oh, wait, you can't ask him anymore! Okay, just ask Max; he'll tell you how nice, friendly, helpful, considerate I am to him. "Won't you, Max?.... Max?...MAX????"

My Favorite Time of the Day...or Rather, the Night!

It is now 2:30 a.m. I am going to haul myself off to bed, away from this computer, where I've just spent the last very long while making editorial changes to something I'm working on. I not only will haul myself off to bed, but will also throw myself into bed and fall asleep post-haste.

But before I do that, I will shuffle into my children's rooms, peeking in on them as they sleep, these quiet little children who can do no wrong when settled for the night.

My oldest son makes nocturnal noises, sometimes like a wild animal in distress, as he clears his throat in his sleep. Scary, when I first hear it, but slowly I accept the sound as his. I lean over to gently kiss his cheek.

My younger son, who shares the bedroom, lies under a smattering of blankets -- a Blue Jays fleecy blanket, as well as a quilt from the crib ("Cowboy Blankie"), a quilt that has been used by all three of my children.

Sometimes when I look in on this little one, he is on his tummy, or rather on his knees, with his tushie up in the air...just like a baby in a crib. Other times, he lies swaddled, but with those small toes peeking out from a kicked-away blanket. I cover his feet, kiss his brow and step away.

My daughter is like a princess in her room, with her queen size bed and its many blankets and cushy and plushy decorative pillows. These days, she opts to sleep in the lovely day bed in her room. Perhaps the smaller space makes her feel cozier, is a better fit, for this girl of mine. She is no longer a princess in a queen size bed, but rather a little birdie in a nest of blankets and pillows and warmth.

I stroke her cheek and slip away.

My serene family. My sense of peace. My children at sleep...

Some Food for Thought

This lovely message was forwarded to me from Danny Bloom, a Jewish writer-journalist-blogger who lives and works in Taiwan, and whom I met in "blogland" almost two years ago.

I think this is worth sharing with the rest of you. It's definitely something to think about as many of you will stand in synagogue starting tomorrow night and pray for forgiveness, atoning for all the wrongdoings you've committed this past year, and praying to be signed and sealed in the Book of Life.

I'll pray for you that you all are...

Have an easy fast, and a g'mar chatimah tovah.

A voyaging ship was wrecked during a storm at sea and only two of the men on it were able to swim to a small, desert like island. The two survivors, not knowing what else to do, agree that they had no other recourse but to pray to God. However, to find out whose prayer was more powerful, they agreed to divide the territory between them and stay on opposite sides of the island.

The first thing they prayed for was food. The next morning, the first man saw a fruit-bearing tree on his side of the land, and he was able to eat its fruit. The other man's parcel of land remained barren.

After a week, the first man was lonely and he decided to pray for a wife. The next day, another ship was wrecked, and the only survivor was a woman who swam to his side of the land. On the other side of the island, there was nothing.

Soon the first man prayed for a house, clothes, more food. The next day, like magic, all of these were given to him. However, the second man still had nothing.

Finally, the first man prayed for a ship, so that he and his wife could leave the island. In the morning, he found a ship docked at his side of the island. The first man boarded the ship with his wife and decided to leave the second man on the island. He considered the other man unworthy to receive God's blessings, since none of his prayers had been answered.

As the ship was about to leave, the first man heard a voice from heaven booming, "Why are you leaving your companion on the island?"

"My blessings are mine alone, since I was the one who prayed for them," the first man answered. "His prayers were all unanswered and so he does not deserve anything."

"You are mistaken!" the voice rebuked him. "He had only one prayer, which I answered. If not for that, you would not have received any of my blessings."

"Tell me," the first man asked the voice, "what did he pray for that I should owe him anything?"

"He prayed that all your prayers be answered."

For all we know, our blessings are not the fruits of our prayers alone, but those of another praying for us.

My Own Pretty Woman

(I don't know who modified this photo to include that person in the tub with Julia, but it isn't my doing!)



I'm guessing that most of you remember or saw Pretty Woman, the comedy starring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere. It was a cute, light, feel-good "knight-in-shining-armor" story for the big screen. I'm not sure we all wanted to be like Julia Roberts, but I know we all wanted dear, dear Richard Gere in our life!

Early this week, I surprised my daughter with a visit to a record store and I bought her the James Blunt CD, "Back to Bedlam." I don't hear her listening all that much to the radio, but she seems to know all the lyrics to very current songs, so I thought I'd treat her to her favorite artist of the day.

To say she was thrilled is minimizing the story. She came home, asked if she could play the CD after she'd done all her homework and read and gotten ready for bed, etc. I told her she could listen while she did her homework. That concept hadn't even crossed her mind! But she gratefully put the CD in her personal player and sat down at her desk.

I sat down in our office down the hall from her room, and every now and again, I heard little singsong murmurings. And I smiled. A girl after my own heart. A girl who likes music.

Tonight there was a repeat performance of doing homework while listening to the CD...and me in the office overhearing her singsong. And then I had a flashback...

Do you recall the scene in "Pretty Woman" when Julia Roberts, aka Vivian, is taking a bubble bath, with a Walkman attached to her ears. She is happily immersed in bubbles, with the earphones tuning out the world and tuning Julia in to music. She is smiling, bobbing her head to the beat and we see/hear bits and pieces of songs.

THAT is my daughter. My own "pretty woman."

CROCs Revisited...Yet Again

The other day I posted a photo of CROCs in my vestibule. I received no comments, so I wrote my own comment.

Today I found this wonderful comment -- by Jac -- to the post.

I think that the bat mitzvah girl was very lucky to get a pair of CROCs along with the accompanying sentiments...and we're very lucky to be able to read this message. I wanted to share it with you because otherwise it would remain lost in the world of comments to earlier posts!

Here was my Crocs blessing for a Bat Mitzvah girl: "These shoes may be crocs but they are NOT a Crock. They are no hoax, for they stand for all that has delivered the Jewish people on treacherous journeys on land and sea, over mountains and through dangerous passes, These only weigh 6 oz., yet they also carry a weighty message that will help you leave vital footprints across the sands of time.
We bestow them upon you with the hopes that just like these shoes your journey will match that of the Israelites throughout our long and soulful history. As the Crocs are tough, and the Jews are tough, so may you be strengthened on your journey, As the holes allow sand and water to filter out, so may you filter out all that which is negative and deters your chosen path among your holy wandering community. As they function both well on land and sea, may you be protected wherever your life leads you. As they have a long life span so may you be blessed .
May the nonslip soles, remind you to keep your own soul intact and remain true to the values you've learned from our Torah, our history and our heritage.":)

SORRY

It is customary at this time of the year to say sorry to people and to ask for forgiveness for anything you might have done to intentionally or unintentionally hurt someone.

I found this interesting question and answer that has relevance here:

Virtual Forgiveness

From: E. T. in Denver

Dear Rabbi,
Is it permissible to ask for mechila (forgiveness) over an email network rather than in person? I know it's not preferable, but many of us work in large networked environments. We considered the option of sending it receipt-requested to a specific address rather than an all-points broadcast. Thanks!

Dear E. T.
There are two components in achieving forgiveness from someone we have wronged. One is the initiative of asking for forgiveness; the other is the granting of the forgiveness. Ideally, we try for both. While doing so in person is the best way to appease someone, it is not always possible. Asking for forgiveness in a written letter, over the phone or in cyber space is also acceptable particularly when the person responds. Nevertheless, even if a person doesnt confirm his forgiveness, in the pre-Kol Nidre confession a Jew says that he forgives anyone who wronged him, and prays that Heaven will inspire others to forgive him as well.

That being the case, "I'm sorry"!

http://www.aish1.com/videos/sorry.swf

Gluckel of Hamelin

On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, I left the main sanctuary to listen to a speaker -- Paul Shaviv, headmaster of the Community Hebrew Academy of Toronto, a scholar and a blogger to boot.

Professor Shaviv gave a talk about Gluckel of Hamelin who'd been a wife, mother, merchant and Medieval Jewish diarist. She died on the 2nd day of Rosh Hashanah in 1724, thus Professor Shaviv found it fitting to speak about her.

We live in the twenty-first century. Many of us are wives and mothers. Some of us blog, while others still maintain handwritten journals. Our blogs and the pages of our journal speak about the world as we know it today.

Can you imagine reading details of family life, religious life, communal life, the life of a female -- a Jewish female -- in the late 1600s? As Paul Shaviv's handout stated, "Her diary, written in seven notebooks, covers the period 1689-1715. It is one of the most famous sources of Medieval Jewish domestic history and a unique picture of the life of a late-medieval Jewish woman."

Fascinating reading. Fascinating figurehead Gluckel was.

And lovely accent, Professor Shaviv!

A Sweet Birthday Indeed

Shana Tovah, everyone. A happy and healthy New Year to you all. Hope the holiday was filled with good food, warm family times and meaningful synagogue experiences. Hope the sound of the shofar roused you from the spiritual sleep you might've fallen into this past year.

As I said in recent posts, my 45th birthday (English calendar) fell on the first day of Rosh Hashanah this year. My birthday always seems to fall somewhere between Rosh Hashanah and the end of Sukkot every year.

I consulted the Hebrew calendar last week; September 23, 1961 was a Saturday, the 13th of Tishrei, Parshat Haazinu (which happens to be next week's parsha, and happens to be one that my daughter has to prepare a parshat hashavuah for to present to her classmates next Friday). I was born a couple days before Sukkot.

My mother told me that in 1961, when Yom Kippur was done, and the men went out to pray to the moon, her uncle (the reason she came to Toronto in the first place, from Switzerland) kept her in mind and prayed that she'd have an easy time of delivering me when the time was right. And after I was born, he walked rather far, from his home to the hospital, to visit my mother and me, the newborn, and brought the lulav and etrog to the hospital so that my mother could witness and partake in the brachot.

And apparently I was born about three weeks early. I believe that must be the only time I've ever been early for anything!

Okay, so personal birth history aside, Saturday was my birthday. My parents and family and a couple close friends had already wished me well before the holiday. My husband had told me on Friday: "You can take a nap on Shabbos afternoon, and I'll look after the kids. That's my birthday gift to you!"

I like my Shabbos naps, and after working so hard to prepare for the holiday, and having been rundown with my cold all week, it was to be a treat.

At shul on Saturday, a couple of people wished me a happy birthday -- one was a longtime friend, but it was a pleasant surprise to me that she'd remember; the other person is a shul fixture, whom I only know for a few months, and I just thought my husband must've mentioned it to him. He gave me some funny answer as to how he knew it.

So at lunchtime, I was already pretty tired and said, "Can we hurry it up. There's a bed with my name on it." Everyone insisted I go to sleep and not walk the dog as I contemplated doing before my nap. And off I went to lullaby land.

I woke up to hear a bright and loud voice downstairs. It sounded vaguely familiar to me as someone from shul, but I wondered what they were doing here. I made myself presentable then went downstairs.

Yes, I saw a couple from shul and I also saw a sweet table spread out on the dining room table. My kids were hovering around and wishing a happy birthday....and slowly, couples began trickling in, doing the same.

Apparently, a short time before Yom Tov came in, my husband contacted several couples from shul, who are good acquaintances or even better friends, to invite them for tea and to celebrate my birthday. He'd only told my two oldest kids before lunch, and they helped set up everything while I was asleep.

There were about eight couples in my home, and lovely people. My husband had picked the right people to invite -- people who have been welcoming and warm to us since we joined this particular minyan and became involved. (my husband is treasurer; and both he and I are on the setting-up-kiddush committee) People we know a little, and whom we'd like to get to know more.

I am not one for surprises (I feel very vulnerable with things out of my control) nor is he, but he chose to do this for me. It was a beautiful, subtle and low-key gesture and thus very welcome, and I felt very comfortable with the whole thing.
The surprise worked, and the happiness remained...

Thank you, TorontoPearl's husband, for once again showing just how much you care, and how much I mean to you. And thank you to my dear children for happily keeping the secret, if even for a few short hours, and helping your abba to pull it off.

One of my guests had asked me if I'd asked my husband for a particular gift. I said, "No." She continued. "Don't you have a wish list?" I said, "No." In all honesty, and maybe with the wisdom of an old(er) Jewish lady, I can say that standing in shul today, being able to hear the blowing of the shofar with my family around me, knowing that my parents and my siblings and families were in their respective shuls doing the same, is a wonderful gift.

And I hope next year that we will all be able to share the gift once more...

NU? Year.

Shanah Tovah, everyone, from the TorontoPearl clan. Best wishes for a year of good health and happiness; may your aspirations be within reach and may you reach many of them!

Pearl

CROCS (tm) 'R' Us

When my daughter had a birthday party in August, her nine friends that came to our house for a jewellery-making party wore the most popular footwear. (okay, so one of them wasn't sent the fashion bulletin, and wore plain old sandals)

These CROCS dressed up our vestibule, and I took the shoes and put them in(more of) a heap for a photo op. Above is the result.

Thus far in my family of five, we have two authentic CROCS-wearing people, one imitation-CROCS-wearing person, and one soon-to-be imitation-CROCS-wearing person. And I'll give you a hint: it ain't me!

But I have this to say about CROCS-wearing people: "They've got a lot of SOLE."

And about the photo above, I say, "Aw...what a bunch of CROC(s)!"

Menu Madness

Rosh Hashanah, along with Shabbat, starts Friday night and ends Sunday night. That means we need a Yom Tov dinner, lunch, dinner, lunch and dinner. That means food. That means a variety of food. That means putting on the thinking cap and planning menus.

My thinking cap is still somewhat askew, but I can throw out some dishes at you that I have already made, will make or am thinking of making.

Gefilte fish. (loaf)
Gefilte fish. (patties)
Moroccan fish balls
Caesar salad
Chicken soup with matzoh balls
Stir-fry, vegetables
Carrot, sweet potato soup OR Potato-leek soup
Potato kugel
Roasted potatoes
Oven-baked rice/pilaf dish
Apple-carrot kugel
Walnut bars
Sweet-and-sour meatballs
Brisket
Breaded chicken
Turkey schnitzel
Butternut squash something-or-other
Zucchini-tomato something-or-other
Israeli salad

I've got lots of work ahead, so I'd better say "Ciao for now" and you'd better say,
"Bon appetit!"

The Farewell Tour

I just noticed that this is my 619th post -- I've even exceeded 613, which is the number of commandments/mitzvot.

In any case, I'm calling this post "The Farewell Tour" -- not that I'm going anywhere, mind you. But aren't you familiar with all these performing artists who launch huge marketing and press campaigns advertising a "farewell tour" concert? Where are they going? I think only to the bank, as they rake in even MORE dollars with that sales ploy. It's not a final tour. They're going to hit a stadium or concert hall stage again...maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon...

So it's not my farewell tour, and it's not for any kind of readership gimmick that I'm affixing that title to this post. It's solely 'cause I identify with the title and the patterns I've seen behind it.

When I wrote my Sunday-morning post, I was feeling cruddy already and knew Yom Tov was just teasing me from 'round the corner, so I really didn't think I'd be back at the computer, back at my blog. But there I was, later on Sunday, and again on Monday, and again now, in the wee hours of the morning (Wednesday). My excuse is "You can't keep a [good] writer down" and I'll let you be the judge of that bracketed bit.

Although I'm still bogged down with a very bad cold, and although I have a freelance deadline to contend with and a Rosh Hashana menu deadline to contend with, here I sit. Tap, tap, tapping away.

But I wanted to throw out a question with this post: When you were a child, did your mother ever have reasons to come to your school in the middle of the day, and if you spotted her, were you embarrassed or were you proud?

My mother used to come in to the school every once in a while to bring me something or visit the tuition office, and I recall when I saw her I'd feel such pride, the happiness would want to burst forth from my smiling cheeks. Girls in my class would say to her, "Hi, Mrs. A....." and after she'd leave they'd tell me, "Your mother is so pretty." And she was, and still is, all these years later.

I saw that same happiness and pride today on my children's faces. I came to their school just after noon with Max. Max was going to be an object of show-and-tell, in the schoolyard and nearby park, for my oldest son's class, for a school assignment. That son is somewhat shy, so he didn't seek the limelight as everyone gathered 'round me and Max to play with him, and pet him and ask questions. But I saw him beaming. I was happy to be able to be there, and give my son some welcome attention, and witness it from others.

But it was my other two children who spotted me, while they were out at recess, and came rushing over with their friends to give both me and the dog a wonderful reception. The happiness shone through on their faces and in their voices, and no, their happiness was not just for the dog's presence!

Here was a mother who, for most of their school years and daycare years, was not around the school setting. I was at work, and pining to be at home. And now that I'm home -- for however much longer that will be -- I can pop in at the school at the drop of a hat. And should I see my children in the hallways or schoolyard, that's a bonus for me, and if they spot me, that's a bonus for them.

I know this. Because they've told me.

As for THE FAREWELL TOUR, Pearlies of Wisdom CDs, posters and bookmarks will be sold right after the show...so stick around. There's more coming your way....!

A Place between Your Heartbeats

While getting my regular fix of blog posts this morning, I found a beautiful turn of phrase in one of Robert Avrech's Seraphic Secret posts. I commented and asked if I could use it for some poem at some future time, and was granted permission.

Now, it is rare for me to be inspired to write poetry. The muse seldom hits me, but when it does, I can very well be on a roll and will write one or more very moving pieces, some very personal pieces, or some very quirky pieces. And then there could be a lull of several months or sometimes a year or two before I take an inspirational cue once more.

Well, once I had that turn of phrase, I couldn't let it go, and within a few short minutes, this came from my pen -- um, my keyboard:

******************
To Find a Place…

As your day begins with the rays of the sun
The dark storminess of the night disappears –

Having been tossed and turned upon waves of sleep,
Waves of remembering,
Waves of grasping and grappling with truths
You now breathe a sense of calm.

But only for a moment.

You shudder, then grope for courage,
For the strength to shine like the rays of the sun.
To beam heavenward, as his smile forever beamed,
Forever beams…

You wrap your tallis around you,
Your cloak of beliefs
And with each word uttered in silent prayer
And with those words that come through moving lips
You find a place…a place between your heartbeats.

A place for Ariel.
**************

I just threw right back at Robert the phrase he'd thrown out to us. Only, I dressed it up a bit.

People often ask me how I can write such personal pieces, how I can capture exactly how another person might think or feel.

Empathy. Sensitivity. Projection. Using these "gifts" of empathy and sensitivity, I put myself temporarily into the person's shoes, looking out temporarily at the world that they must look out at all the time.

I'm glad that phrase crossed my path today, and I'm glad I felt inspired instantaneously to write something. You try working that phrase into a poem or into a piece of fiction...

More Mere Coincidence?

Okay, so I wasn't sure I'd be back to blogging this week, but here I am again, with this to share.

It is said that things happen for a reason. Here's my story:

It is rare for me to send Rosh Hashanah greeting cards-- I might send e-greetings, but I rarely send print cards. It seems like just such a "grownup" thing to do, and remember I'm just a 44-year-old kid...

Anyhow, impulsively I decided late this afternoon to write 2 Rosh Hashanah cards, because I wasn't sure I'd get the chance to call and get into conversation with the recipients and it's so rare for me to see or speak to them otherwise. Just before 5:00 p.m. I mailed the cards.

Just before 7, I took two of my kids and drove to a nearby supermarket that is primarily Kosher AND open on Sunday nights. On the way, I passed one of the people to whom I mailed the card not even two hours earlier. She was walking to the same supermarket, so I gave her a ride and caught up on her life and on ours. I told her I'd give her a ride home, too.

About fifteen minutes later, my shopping was done and I see my friend waiting in the store's vestibule for me, along with my daughter. Beside them is...the other person to whom I sent a Rosh Hashanah card!

I was shocked!! The second friend knew I was shopping here 'cause she'd stopped by my house to wish a Shanah Tovah and a happy birthday and to give me a gift from another friend, and my son had told her where I was, and she had to go shopping here anyhow.

Yes, it was so freaky to meet these two women who were the sole recipients of greetings from me. And to top that off, the gift that friend #2 dropped off was from a friend from out of town. But that out-of-town friend had been in today for a family unveiling. I was not able to make the unveiling this morning, and shortly before leaving for the supermarket, I'd emailed that friend to tell her why I couldn't make the unveiling.

Now I knew I owed her another email: a thank-you for the gift.

It's oddities of life like these that keep my head askew, keep me asking and wondering: "HUH?"

ReNew

I'm feeling downright blah--a cold kicked in the last couple of days, and it's not just a little sniffles type. A full-fledged, achy body, achy chest, achy head cold. I lay around most of Shabbos day, wallowing in the yukkiness of it all. But what made me feel good was drinking a wonderful tea -- Lemon Ginger -- by Stash Teas.

But the sweetest and best medicine is when my children cautiously wander into the room in the morning and quietly ask, "Are you feeling better?" or say, "I hope you feel better," before they leave the room.

Yes, I'll feel better in a few days, no doubt. Just in time to stand in shul on Rosh Hashanah and listen to the coughing and sneezing going on all around me. This is the time of year that I usually do catch a cold, and evidently so do others!

This is also the time of the year that I'm supposedly wiser...just because I grow older. This year, with the Jewish New Year I will be a year older.

45. (but Ezzie, you can keep me at 38!) Oh, where did the years go? I don't look 45, I don't feel 45. But I know I'm turning 45.

I'm not sure if I'll have time, nor inspiration, to write in my blog any more this week so...

I wish you all the sweetest, happiest and healthiest of New Years. May you enjoy the company of family and friends. May you enjoy any new experience you may partake in (Jeremiah?). And may we continue to share the good things in our lives.

This is 44-year-old Pearl wishing you a Shanah Tovah!

45-year-old Pearl will meet you next year to check out how things have been at your end.
*****

Found the perfect birthday card to send to myself this year! Somewhere in that link is a Rosh Hashanah/birthday card with lots of honey with my name on it.

As Luck Would Have It

Tuesday and Wednesday evenings were Curriculum Nights at my children's school -- the teachers were giving overviews of the curriculum for the different grades and different classes.

Because there are so many teachers and classes, the event had to be spread over two nights, depending on the grades of your children (nursery through grade 8), and I had to go both nights.

It was important for me to go the first night because it was for my son in grade 6 and I felt I needed to know what was going on for the year, as I'd not experienced it before.

And it was well worth it, especially for the English studies. My son's teacher is like a stand-up comic; she had the parents cracking up -- and heckling -- and the atmosphere was so leibedik (lively). I know she creates an equally entertaining atmosphere in which to teach. How do I know that? Because said teacher was recognized a couple of years ago with a Teacher of the Year Award as voted by students throughout the Jewish day school and Jewish after-school system in Toronto and its outskirts. I think my son is in for a treat this year!

My other children, in grades 1 and 4, have familiar teachers, and my attitude was "Been there, done that!" so I thought it wasn't so imperative that I go. But my 9-year-old daughter begged me to go so that I may view her artwork in her classroom, saying it might be my only chance to see it.

And I listened to my daughter.

I was supposed to be in the classroom for 8:00 for the English studies curriculum, but probably made it there about 5 minutes late. The information evening was already in session, with parents scattered around the room in the mini desks and chairs. I moved quickly into the room and sat down at an available spot.

After settling in, and getting a handout from a person nearby, I looked down at the desk I was sitting at. And lo, and behold, on the placecard atop the desk, was written my daughter's name!

In a classroom of over twenty-four desks and chairs, set in groups of four (two side by side facing two others, side by side), I had ended up sitting at the same spot my daughter goes to every morning.

Later, I spoke to the teacher, made mention of the same thing and she, too, had noticed where I had chosen to sat.

Merely coincidence...?

Overlooked/ A Disjointed Poem

As children we need to know
that a person cares...
that they will gently guide us
which way we go.

We look to a parent, a friend, a camp counsellor
or a teacher to be our guidepost.

When we raise our hands in class and say, "Oh, oh. Pick me!"
we need to know that someone cares enough
to listen to what we have to say.

When a teacher says, "Stop antagonizing me," that comment stays for life.

Is it a sign that I care too much, need to say too much?

Is that why I'm ignored?

The silence meets me like a block of glass.
Cold. Cold. COLD.
When all I want to do is exude warmth.

Overlooked again, my words scatter into the wind.

Silence.

UMAN...Comes from HUMAN?

In my last post -- which may be continued at some point -- I was a gift giver. 'Tis better to give than to receive is the general consensus.

I "gave" A Simple Jew a trip to Uman for Rosh Hashanah and a journal and videocam with which to record his adventures.

In response, he gave me a link to a video. This video is a sneak preview of a documentary filmed by Hollywood director Paul Mazursky. I was in awe that Paul had taken on such a project. But I think he probably has a lot to say and show in his work, and I look forward to seeing it at some point in time. Just put it on the "To See" list alongside "Ushpizin" and "When Do We Eat?"

So, folks, in the meantime, you and I can both view a trailer for "Yippee"!

The Perfect Gift

I love giving gifts even more than I love to receive them. I take so much pleasure in matching what I think is the right gift for the right person.

I've noted the birthdays of two fellow bloggers who are born in November. Last year I decided to surprise each of them with "the perfect gift." In their case, their gifts were kits from Magnetic Poetry. Their kits were specific to their jobs, to their interests, and I know they were appreciated, as was the thought. Magnetic Poetry is a wonderful gift to buy for or send people; it is creative-- you make each kit unique with your choices of "creativity."

Even if you're not the creative type, but rather a serious nose-to-the-grindstone type, don't tell me you won't start shifting around those magnetic words as they sit on your refrigerator door. So don't create a poem or a nonsensical sentence, write a mini scientific theory or about a current event!

If I had to select the "perfect gift" for some of the bloggers I read, the list might look something like this:

Cruisin' Mom-- a gift certificate for a commercial-size tub of Ben & Jerry's ice cream for each month of the year...and an OPEN HOUSE invitation to her childhood home.

A Simple Jew -- a round-trip ticket to Uman for Rosh Hashanah, and a blank journal and video camera with which to record his adventures. And to have some personal genealogical puzzles solved.

Citizen of the Month -- a Victoria's Secret catalog, hand-delivered by a Victoria's Secret model, and a daily lifestyle column in the LA Times: NEILOCHKA KNOWS BEST.

NY's Funniest Rabbi -- a life-size, room-size photo of the Kotel; tickets to a reading series at the 92nd Street Y; a poetry book with his name on the copyright page and cover.

Jew Eat Yet? -- a couple of original chairs from an Art Deco movie theater in Hollywood, and some original , signed classic movie scripts to read while reclining in those chairs. And a publishing contract. And a family reunion with ALL the relatives the world over.

PsychoToddler -- a funky-looking, funky-sounding acoustic guitar, and a recording contract and the chance to work with some of the Jewish and secular world's top guitarists.

The QC Report -- a role on THE SIMPSONS, not as the child star she was, but as the businesswoman she is, hawking her baby carriers. And an animal shelter in her backyard.

That's just a partial list of bloggers, a partial list of the perfect gifts.

Perhaps you should each send me your birthdate. I can get thinking of what would be the perfect gift for you, and you never know -- there might just be a UPS delivery man at the door with a bouquet of sunflowers for you, and a box with a huge bottle of Elizabeth Arden's SUNFLOWERS to go along with that. Or maybe a box of nice Cuban cigars and a weekend getaway to Cuba to go with that.

Then again, maybe you'll just get a card saying: "Happy Belated Birthday. Sorry I missed it, and missed sending you the perfect gift. Bet you're sorry too!"

PEARL: A PRODUCTive Name

Apparently, I'm so much more than the simple gemstone depicted in this photo...

Tampax Pearl.
Pearl Drums.
BlackBerry Pearl.
Pearl Drops Tooth Polish.
Pearl Beer.
Pearl Flutes.
Pearl Paint.
Pearl: A Literary Magazine.
Pearl Vodka.
Pearl Software.
Pearl: A Robot for the Elderly.
Pearl Bluegrass Event (held in Pearl, Texas, at the Pearl Community Center).
Pearl Soymilk.
Pink Pearl Erasers.