Monday, February 23, 2009

Oh, Isn't It Nice To Dream?

Do any of you ACTUALLY know anyone who was written up in the New York Times' wedding/social pages?

I like to look at them from time to time to see how people present themselves to the world and to their intended spouse and future in-laws.

Of course, I could never have appeared in there.

Pearl Adler, of Toronto, Canada, is to wed Ron Saban on December 19, 1993 at the Paradise Hall, with Rabbi J. Burak officiating. She will gladly take on the Saban name as her own, even if it means a hassle with having to change all official documentation and her nameplate at work.

Mr. Saban, who was born in Israel and raised in Winnipeg, Canada, is a controller for a medical lab. Ms. Adler, who was born and raised in Toronto, is a copy editor with Harlequin Books, Inc.

The couple met briefly in synagogue when Mr. Saban was dating one of Ms. Adler's friends. A year later, someone officially set them up. The rest is history.

The not-so-young couple will reside in Toronto, and will honeymoon in the early part of 1994...their destination being wherever they get the best sell-off vacation!

The couple's parents prefer not to be mentioned on this page; they are extremely modest people. Suffice it to say that they are very happy with the upcoming nuptials and with their children's choice of spouse.

Interesting Meme I Spotted

Album cover meme
1 - Go to "wikipedia." Hit “random”or click

The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to "Random quotations"or click

The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”or click

Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4 - Use photoshop or similar to put it all together.

Keep It? Toss It? Keep It? Toss It?

I am what one would do you say it?...a PACK RAT! I hoard items for what I deem sentimental value or because I think they might prove to be needed at some time in the future.

In my parents' house, there is a place for everything. In my house, there is everything and no place to house it!

I used to collect all, and I mean every single one, of my kids' art pieces when I lived in our last house. One day, I figured, one of them might grow up to become an artist, and they might want to review the chicken scratch artwork they did in preschool. It wasn't even as if I was displaying their drawings, but I was boxing them and drawering them scattered throughout the house.

One day, before our intended move, my husband insisted I toss much of the artwork. "Save a few pieces from each child" was his suggestion. Believe me, when I say it was difficult to do.

When I think about what I saved, it was probably the same piece done by each of the kids when they were each in that same grade. So it might've been a Purim megillah (times three) that I saved from senior kindergarten, and a Rosh Hashanah letter written to the family saved from grade two.

Since we moved over five years ago, I have cut back on some of the collected artwork, but I have still saved many other items.

Yesterday, I spent a few morning hours going through my armoire drawers -- normally meant for clothing, but not in my case! -- and gathering all types of cards I've collected over the years. All the birthday cards for each child and for my husband and myself, anniversary cards, our engagement cards and wedding cards. I categorized them in large manila envelopes and put them together in a clear box, which I'll shelve in another bedroom cupboard.

I have other boxes such as this in my walk-in closet. They house other written collections: an entire five year or so letter collection from a pen-pal I had in Long Island from the time I was about twelve; a collection of earlier b'day cards and postcards and mail that I wanted to keep over the years. I truly don't need all these bits and pieces of my past, 'cause I don't even make the time to take these boxes down from the shelves and give up three hours to read through their contents. I'm just afraid that if I do toss them, I'll be sorry.

I've learned through experience, though, and from hearing stories, that it's easier to do the tossing yourself than somewhere, years down the road, having some family members just dump everything because the contents of such boxes have no meaning to them.

Sometime last year or the year before, my mother handed me an envelope. It was filled with congratulatory cards she'd received when I was born back in September 1961. I'm so glad she never tossed those cards, but knew exactly where in the house she could retrieve those cards from to pass along to me. I'd like to think that one day I might do the same for my children.

"Here, Avi/Adina/Noam, here are all the birthday cards you ever received from family and friends."

AVI: "What am I supposed to do with these?"

ADINA: "Thanks." And she'd probably proceed to look through them, laugh and remember friends' names and personalities.

NOAM: "What am I supposed to do with these?"

Sometimes I wish I weren't so sentimental. But then again, I volunteered, doing archival work for many years, and I think that all my collections -- which might not really mean much to others -- tell a story and reveal who I was, who I am, and who I might (still) become.

All those journals, letters I wrote while spending six months in Israel, snippets of ideas that never yet became literary pieces, reveal more about me than just what's on the surface.

Anybody want to learn more about me? My archive hours are Monday thru Friday from 9:00 a.m. to 12 noon. No sign-out privileges.