The Pain of Writing Poetry

I don't like to "work" at being creative. I don't want to have to chase down creativity, or wave frantically to get its attention...as one would do in trying to flag down a bull.

I like my creativity to slowly edge into my thoughts, motion to me and let me know that it's there, waiting in the side wings for my pen to lift to paper or my fingers to lift to the keyboard.

I want my creativity to be part of me. Accessible when I want it to be. Nearby for safekeeping.

Part of the natural order of things.

But sometimes poetry doesn't work that way. It can have a mind of its own, playing stubborn, and not wanting me to access it so readily.

Today was one of those days. I wanted to write a poem, but it didn't come to me in a flash. So it became like a homework assignment: I had the topic, I had to do research, and I had to flesh out my ideas. It took time; it took effort.

Ideas and words were set down on screen, then the backspace and delete keys were hit time and time again. Type. Enter. Type. Enter. Type. Delete. Delete. Delete. Change font. Create a mood. Create a visual display of wordthoughts.

And in the end the poem was strong. Had meaning. Said what it should.

I worked on it, just as it worked on me.

*****

(I can't share the poem with you just yet, as I wrote it to submit to a literary journal for April, hoping it'll be accepted and published. If that's the case, I should be able to share it with you thereafter.)

My Funny Valentine: Wendy Liebman

Valentine's Day is reserved for love and romance; it's a time to recognize that being with the one you love is a gift.  As Stephen Stills penned, "Love the one you're with..."


Chocolate, champagne and wine, strawberries and whipped cream, candlelight dinners, sentimental or funny cards, Cupid, and hearts are associated with this special day. Rogers and Hart embodied the thought of love in their wonderful and timeless song, "My Funny Valentine".


To celebrate this special day, I would like to share my funny valentine with you --  no, not my husband, not my kids, not even my beloved pooch, Max. I'd like to introduce you to comedienne Wendy Liebman, literally a funny valentine.

Wendy is one of those gals whose served-straight-up humor lights up a room; although self-deprecating, her humor targets those everyday things that we might gloss over and not really appreciate...until she draws our attention to them.




"I've gone on so many blind dates I should have gotten a free dog."


"I was a secretary before doing stand up, and we did not have computers! Can you imagine your job without ... solitaire?”


"My love life is like a fairy tale -- Grimm."


" I got my first bikini. It's a 3-piece: A top, a bottom and a blindfold for you."


"I don't come from money, I come from coupons. Always got hand-me-downs and second-hand smoke."


Wendy Liebman grew up in Roslyn, NY, the younger of two girls. Post high-school she went to I.O.U.[Wendy's name for it], better known as Wellesley College, where she graduated with a degree in psychology.


In 1984, she began performing stand-up comedy in the Boston area. She was hooked, and she was popular. So popular in fact, that eventually -- in 1996 to be exact -- Wendy was awarded the American Comedy Award for Female Stand-up Comedian of the Year. Wow, what a coup!


Wendy has appeared on countless TV talk shows, doing her thing and keeping her fans wanting more.
She most definitely appreciates her fans -- she is connected to them with appearances on stages, large and small; on podcasts; with guest appearances on TV and radio shows; on Twitter; on Facebook; and on her blog Laughing My Ass Off With Wendy.


I was familiar with Wendy's humor, but I've been able to get to know her a bit better via her Facebook page, which I discovered in the fall of 2010. Her wacky worldviews keep showing up in her status updates, and then all hell breaks loose -- her readers and friends try to top her status with comments and reflections of their own. It's like open mic night, and the jokes just keep coming. Wendy entertains us this way, and according to her comment  -- "I LOVE THIS THREAD!" -- which often appears,  I believe we're entertaining Wendy as well.


Her blog is another facet to her personality; with it, Wendy exposes us to health of body, health of mind and ways to achieve these -- whether by talking about herself, or introducing us to other people whose interesting lives we might strive to emulate.


Wendy is clearly well-liked by all who know her; she is sympathetic, she is empathetic, she is honest, she is entertaining, she is a cheerleader for people and for causes...the type of person one would be honored to call a "friend."


I contacted Wendy and asked if she'd be willing to be "my funny valentine" on February 14th, to be interviewed and featured on my blog. She happily agreed to answer my "no-rhyme-no-reason" questions...

PEARL: Wendy, Valentine’s Day is a day set aside for love and romance. Do you and your husband, Jeffrey, mark it as a special day, and if so, how might you celebrate it? -- no need for X-rated descriptions.  Or, do you feel that, like the song lyrics to “My Funny Valentine” “...Each day is Valentine’s Day...”?

WENDY: I usually work on Valentine's Day, out of town, away from Jeffrey. So we celebrate whenever I'm home! In the past he has sent me roses which were brought up to me on stage...awwwww...romantic! (BUT WHERE'S MY F*CKING CHOCOLATE?!)

I once dated a really cheap guy.  This Valentine's Day he gave me a Whitman Sample.

BUT THIS YEAR I WILL BE HOME ON FEBRUARY 14th! So, we'll probably have a candlelight dinner. Cause I look better in the dark. Also because he won't be able to see what he's eating.

By the way, you know how couples have a song? My parents' song is My Funny Valentine. So I grew up hearing and singing that song. (Jeffrey and I have 3 songs: Help, Love the One You're With, and 100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.)

 PEARL : I discovered and listened to a podcast interview with you that was featured on The Mental Illness Happy Hour. As the featured guest on that episode, you talked about anorexia, anxiety, therapists, among other things. It was quite an in-depth interview, and I sat there with my jaw hanging open at times. But I also thought, “Good for Wendy. She tells it like it is, and maybe in doing so, she can help some other people at the same time.” I now wonder if you had any afterthoughts of having revealed too much of your personal life and some of the emotional and mental hurdles that you’ve had to overcome. Or is such an interview therapeutic in its own way?

WENDY: The interview was in Paul Gilmartin's house, and I was sort of unaware of the microphone. I guess I was candid! The thing I regret talking about only because it's so painful, and here I'm highlighting it again, is that I wish I were a better stepmom.

PEARL:  Describe a typical day in the life of Wendy Liebman -- when you’re not on the road…or sleeping.

WENDY:  Oy. Really? Never typical. I eat and sleep like a krazy person.

Okay. I wake up at 6:50 am (which is coincidentally the time I was born) to wake my 16 year old for school. Then I go back to sleep for a bunch of hours. Errands, chores, social media, Starbucks, walk the dogs a couple of times, the dentist. Talk to my manager, a family member, and my bff on the phone. Take a nap. Eat. Repeat. Dinner with family, watch the news and Jeopardy, then maybe a sitcom (Big Bang Theory) or a reality show (American Idol). Fold laundry. Stay up until 2 or 3 watching Chopped or The Nanny and playing Words with Friends.

 [A Note from Pearl: Wendy reconsidered a typical day in her life and contacted me with this amendment.]

I thought of a funnier typical day:   I wake up, read my facebook and twitter timelines, and then it's dinner.

       PEARL: You are the sidekick for a new radio show which airs on KCSN 88.5 on Saturday nights in Los Angeles: Unbound with Terri Nunn. Can you give me the backstory of how that gig came to be, and tell me a bit about the show and your new vocation as an on-air personality.

WENDY: This is so amazing, and thank you for promoting it, Pearl!

Jeffrey met Terri's brother, Elliot at a musical theater showcase. Jeffrey couldn't find a seat, and Elliot said, "Sit here!" They talked before the showcase started and Jeffrey told Elliot that his father and uncle had written the music for Mary Poppins. Elliot pulled out his phone and showed Jeffrey a picture of a little girl, surrounded by Mary Poppins paraphernalia. He said, "That's my sister! When she was little." Well his sister is Terri Nunn :) Jeffrey had actually met her once briefly and had been a huge fan of hers and her band Berlin. [A note from Pearl:  Nunn's greatest success with Berlin was the top-selling single "Take My Breath Away", the love theme from the film  Top Gun which reached the #1 spot on the Billboard Hot 100.] It was just one of those WEIRD COINCIDENCES that happen to me ALL THE TIME!

So we all became friends. And when Terri had a podcast with Gaye Ann Bruno, she asked me to be a guest. Then a guest host. And we had a great rapport. She thinks I'm a nut. Anyway, when she got the call from Sky Daniels at KCSN, she said she wanted to have a sidekick and ran me by him and he was so cool and said yes!  

It has been a thrill so far!

      PEARL: You will be turning 51 later this month [A Note from Pearl: Don't forget to wish Wendy a happy birthday on February 27th]. Your 50^th birthday was a big production in every sense of the word…and the best present of all, I guess, was the release of your SHOWTIME one-hour special, “Taller on TV.” How in the world can you ever hope to top that fabulous 50^th birthday celebration that you shared with long-time friends and family members…and that has now also had a vast viewing audience?

WENDY: I will never top that!

And Jeffrey gave me the sweetest gift in the world: He produced and sold the show!

I guess it's all downhill from here. (Isn't that easier? Though I'm scared of heights. So I better take it slowly and I better not look down.)

When I'm 51 I'll sell Taller on TV as a DVD. We're looking into doing it similarly to how Louis CK just sold his -- over the internet for five dollars.

Cheap and easy.

       PEARL: I’ve noticed through the years that comedian Richard Lewis likes to wear black a lot. I’ve noticed in your TV appearances that you also like to wear black much of the time. If I were to come by and inspect the contents of your walk-in closet, would I see any colorful outfits? What is your favorite color?

  WENDY: It has taken me 27 years to figure out what to wear on stage, Pearl, and now I have it and it's like my uniform. I wear it almost every show. Black corduroy leggings by HUE, flat boot-shoes by Brighton, a long white soft cotton T-shirt, and a blue or black velvety pea-coat, both from Target.

In my closet you'll find monochromatic clothing (does that mean solid colors, cause that's what you'll find), mostly black, white, and lavender.

I never know what to wear. I didn't even know if I should wear white to my wedding, because I've always been such a sl...oppy eater.

      PEARL:  You’re definitely one of those “Women Who Write”: comedy material, blog posts, FB posts, the answers to interview questions…and you wrote and published a wonderful essay in the anthology Make Mine a Double: Why Women Like Us Like to Drink (Or Not). Is there more public writing on your personal agenda, Wendy?

WENDY: Thanks Pearl!

I wrote an article for LA Magazine about my breasts. (http://www.lamag.com/features/Story.aspx?ID=1535659)

I wrote a book called SWEAR ON LILY that I published at Office Depot. (But seriously) I plan on selling it myself on Kindle or however else. It's a collection of my philosophies and humor. Basically, I started writing it years before facebook and twitter and I was actually updating my status without knowing it, writing tidbits every day.

Yes, and you mentioned my blog, www.lmaoww.blogspot.com.

And as always, I write a lot of checks.   They're not very good. Mostly fiction.

 

 PEARL: You're booked to go onstage at a comedy club in a few hours. How are you preparing for the gig?

WENDY: Shower, blow hair, straighten hair, curl hair, put product in hair, make up, dress, get to club, straighten green room, drink a Coke (not diet), watch the comics on stage before me.

PEARL: The Internet and computer are down; your phone isn't working. Are you suffering from FB/Twitter withdrawal symptoms? : )

WENDY: Yes! This is basically what it's like when I'm on a plane. I might actually read, play the piano, do a crossword puzzle, watch TV, walk the dogs, or SLEEP!

PEARL: Fill in the blanks, Wendy. 

What I like best about being a comedian is when people know I'm a comedian they seem lighter around me. But if I couldn't be a comedian, I think I would like to be a notary public (or in advertising, or a kindergarten teacher).

********

I've LOVED answering your questions. Happy Valentine's Day to you and your readers!

xowendy

Wendy, thank you so much for making the effort and taking the time to answer my questions. You are a very funny, yet deep individual who, in looking at yourself and the world around you, and sharing yourself and your observations in different ways, is able to make us laugh.


In the words of the Sherman Brothers [Wendy's father-in-law and uncle-in-law], "...We love to laugh/ Loud and long and clear/ We love to laugh / So ev'rybody can hear / The more you laugh / The more you fill with glee / And the more the glee / The more we're a merrier we!"

Happy Valentine’s Day, Wendy -- and Jeffrey.


And to my readers, and those friends and fans of Wendy Liebman who've linked to this blog post, I hope you've enjoyed my Valentine's Day gift to you!

The Breakdown of a Breakup

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life by Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wishing you all meaningful lives and wonderful inspiration in 2012.

Wrap It Up...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I gawked at her. "WHAT!?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Braggers, Beware

I do not like to hear bragging.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crybaby for a Homecoming

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soho Suite

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lost in Thought

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

I was thinking of my father. And my mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Book Review: A Dog Named Slugger

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes that just has to be enough.

A Tisket, A Tasket, A Deepest Sympathy Basket

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Changing It Up!

I have neglected Blogger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Judy Blume Journal Contest

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



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

To Tell the Truth

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

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

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

A button is pushed, and the words simply come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I kissed him. I thanked him.

++++++++++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears are telling. Words are telling.

Thank you for listening.

One Never Truly Grows Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On a Day Like Today

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

On a Day Like Today

On a day like today --

a cool, overcast and damp fall day

my father would have been standing

alongside my mother

at the kitchen counter,

newspaper pages open and laid out,

paring knives handy,

a pot ready to be filled,

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

Classical music would have played in the background –

Chopin always welcome in our home.

With paring knife in hand, he would have proceeded.

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

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

One after another, the apples were left naked.

Cut and cored, seeded too,

then tossed into the pot to await their duty.

For an hour or two, my parents stood there,

 comfortable in the silence,

not needing to make conversation, just doing this task,

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

Applesauce. They would make applesauce.

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

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

A touch of sugar added to enhance the natural flavours.

Applesauce. They would make applesauce.

And when the apples had simmered and softened and cooled

they were jarred.

Jar upon jar. Lidded and labeled.

Placed in the basement refrigerator for

each time a jar was called upon,

a jar was needed.

I miss those days.

I miss their applesauce.

At What Point Are We Considered Older?

"Everything old becomes new again."

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

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

Am I old?

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

Am I old?

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

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

Am I old?

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

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

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

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

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

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