Dear Lord

I received this email today:

Dear Lord

This last year you took away my favorite singer,

MICHAEL JACKSON,

my favorite actor,

PATRICK SWAYZE

and my favorite actress,

FARRAH FAWCETT.

Let me remind you

that my favorite politician is

MAHMOUD AHMEDINEJAD.

Please don't forget!

Thank you very much!

Slogan City

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Film Suggestion

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namaste.

It's *Snow* Not Winter Here

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

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

And apparently someone up there was listening...

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

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

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

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

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

Boycott Mel Gibson

Boycott Mel Gibson

Hey, Dr. Robin, check this out!

Hi-Tech Kids

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dosing Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shabbat Shalom, Everyone

Two Ladies(I Love This!)

Playback

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleven Months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The heart is heavy.

Mark It a Favorite

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

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

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


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

Translation Needed

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

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

"Ya know what I'm saying?"

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

Ding-a-ling-a-ling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bonus!

...it's BONELESS!

TIME PASSAGES

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


For so long

the words didn’t come

nestled as they were

beneath my breastbone

close to my heart.



Refusing to make an appearance --

in fear

of saying too much

of revealing the gaping wounds

as tangled up as they were

with a death.



With my father’s death.

A year ago.

A mere threehundredandsixtyfive days ago.



In a hospital bed.

With a breathing mask

to allow the chest to rise and fall

rise

and fall

throughout that night

…and into the morning.



We changed the clocks.

Spring ahead / Fall back.



I watched the big hand and little hand

circle ‘round the numbers

again and again

continuously

throughout that night

and into the morning.



5:55.

The last breath was taken.

It was gentle, it was peaceful.

It was over.



A life was over.



Death had begun.

Come Fly with Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It Comes Down To This...

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

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

What exactly does that say about me??

Picture This! -- Part 3

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

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

I didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

KING OF THE CORNER

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


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

King of the Corner (2005)
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The Ramen Girl

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

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

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

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

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

I give it 4 ****.

The Year in Review: A Brief Summary

What can I say?

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

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

We traveled as a family to Israel in August.

My oldest child started high school in September.

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

Some of my poetry was published.

I marked 16 wonderful years of marriage to my beshert.

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

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

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

A Blog Oops

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

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

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

Thanking you in advance...

Grey Gardens

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another "thinking man's film."

Condoms & Jewish History

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let's Talk Turkey

"Gobble, Gobble, Gobble."

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

Now count your many blessings and say "Amen."

My Fourth Child

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

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

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

Fitting Words

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

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

הוֹלֵךְ תָּמִים, וּפֹעֵל צֶדֶק; וְדֹבֵר אֱמֶת, בִּלְבָבוֹ

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

No Purse Snatchers Here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ponderings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life Cycles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MOTHERS & DAUGHTERS aka Three Generations

Thought for the Day

To smile with one’s eyes is a gift.

To smile with one’s heart is a blessing.

My father smiled with his eyes and his heart.

And we were gifted and blessed.

Stripes, Prints or Solids?

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

What do you see?

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Sweetie by Any Other Name

Taffy. Honey. Candy. Sherry.

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

Female names. Ewwww. Overkill.

'Nuff said.

Seen on the Scene

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



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

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


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



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



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

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

...And on Yom Kippur It Is Sealed

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

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

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

Bejeweled Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

--patience is necessary at all times

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

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

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

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

The New Year Takes Healing

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

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

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

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

I miss that. I guess I always will.

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

This is the end of our year


We hope it did bring you good cheer


Now it is time to prepare


Rosh Hashanah is upon us -- beware.





Take all your acts that you've done


Review them each, one by one,


And if you don't like what you see


Improve them so that you can be...





A better Jew!

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

Etched in Stone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May you all have a long life!!

Wrong Again!

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

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

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

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

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

Less Is More

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

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

So here is a personal essay about this subject:

Less Is More



The end.

Please Tell Me...

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

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

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

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

A Mother's D'var Torah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coincidences of the Wonderful Kind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only in Israel....

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

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

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

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

*BLUSH*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Glimpses into the Holy Land

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Israel...IS Real.

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

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

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

The message read:

Poil Baby:

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

Stay well,

Zei Gesundt [this was actually written in Yiddish]

Robert Cait

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We're Raising a Graduate

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

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

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

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

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

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

We love you.

My Parents

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Life in Pictures

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

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

Happy Birthday...Now Pay Up!

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

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

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

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

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

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

1000th Post aka The Men in My Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Someone Left His Good Manners at Home

This is just going to be a rant post.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One can only hope!

Scared Canine Gets Smart!

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

Here's the perfect example from tonight:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smart dog -- he was right!

A Shoe-In

What do Dorothy and the Pope have in common?

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

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

Nope. Not the answer I was looking for.

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

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

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

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

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

Skin-Deep

Thanks to good genes, I have good skin. My whole life, my face was normal to dry, so for the past 25+ years, I've used daily moisturizer, namely Pond's. A simple cream for simple needs.

The past year or so I've begun to notice a bit of sagging in the lower mouth area and a few more laugh lines round my eyes. Okay, granted, I certainly don't get enough sleep nor do I drink enough water. Lack of those two makes for these facial skin changes, I'm sure, but now I have to work with what I've got.

It's time I need a little more than what Pond's Daily Moisturizing Cream has to offer, but I don't want to spend big bucks either on beauty products. And so I've been working with some sample-size products before I make any purchases.

But I just looked over the array of samples, and I don't like what I'm seeing -- the names of these products:

Dove Pro*Age (ready to give back to your skin what it needs right now): Neck & Chest Beauty Serum

Olay Definity: Re-energizing Serum
(Night) Restorative Sleep Cream

Lise Watier L'Experience: Morning Potion
Age Spot Control Serum
Nighttime Skin Rescue Creme

L'Oreal: Advance Revitalift Deep-Set Wrinkle Repair


Ewww, the word "serum" has such medical connotations; I don't like to think I need a serum to help prevent aging.

n. serum [ˈsiərəm]
a watery fluid which is given as an injection to fight, or give immunity from, a disease

There are other options, I know, but plastic surgery isn't one of them...I'm simply not that vain enough for any mini Botox or Restylane injections.

Here is probably the best solution to my problem. But until I get to the hardware store to buy a lifetime supply of light bulbs, I'll stick to my Pond's.

Red, White and Blue

So I'm driving north on Bathurst Street (the unofficial/official Jewish thoroughfare in Toronto) late yesterday afternoon, and the farther north I got, I began to hear honking and see people waving flags out of car windows and from sun roofs -- huge flags, medium-sized ones -- and cheering.

When I reached some major intersections, cars began honking at one another in greeting, and people are waving to each other... It was as if they had a secret language, one I was not privvy to.

People at bus stops are waving at each of the cars bearing flags, and vice versa. Fists shoot up in a victorious manner.

And all the while, I'm clueless. What country are these flags from? What is the emblem on that flag over there; which country is that from?

When I reached a certain intersection, where there' s a plaza and large parking lot, I see cars assembled on the parking lot, with flags flapping madly all around.

Was there some sort of international soccer game I hadn't heard about? No doubt there had been some sporting event...so when I reached home, I immediately went online to do my research.

Of course, Russia beat Canada in the World Hockey Championships in Bern, Switzerland.

That was the flag/emblem of Russia I was seeing; the northern neighborhood I was driving in is very Russian-oriented, and they were the people assembled and celebrating in the plaza parking lot and waving from the bus stops.

I can well imagine how many bottles of vodka people went through yesterday in celebration of this sports victory. Although immigrants to Canada, and many of them rather recently, these people still salute the Russian flag and their homegrown winning sports teams.