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* I was advised to post this on my blog. When Hollywood talks, you listen!
The Shabbos Goy by Joe Velarde
Snow came early in the winter of 1933 when our extended Cuban family moved into the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. I was ten years old. We were the first Spanish speakers to arrive, yet we fit more or less easily into that crowded, multicultural neighborhood. Soon we began learning a little Italian, a few Greek and Polish words, lots of Yiddish and some heavily accented English.
I first heard the expression Shabbos is falling when Mr. Rosenthal refused to open the door of his dry goods store on Bedford Avenue. My mother had sent me with a dime to buy a pair of black socks for my father. In those days, men wore mostly black and Navy blue. Brown and gray were somehow special and cost more. Mr. Rosenthal stood inside the locked door, arms folded, glaring at me through the thick glass while a heavy snow and darkness began to fall on a Friday evening. "We're closed already," Mr. Rosenthal had said, shaking his head. "Can't you see that Shabbos is falling? Don't be a nudnik! Go home." I could feel the cold wetness covering my head and thought that Shabbos was the Jewish word for snow.
My misperception of Shabbos didn't last long, however, as the area's dominant culture soon became apparent; Gentiles were the minority. From then on, as Shabbos fell with its mutable regularity and Jewish lore took over the life of the neighborhood, I came to realize that so many human activities, ordinarily mundane at any other time, ceased, and a palpable silence, a pleasant tranquillity, fell over all of us. It was then that a family with an urgent need would dispatch a youngster to "Get the Spanish boy, and hurry!"
That was me. In time, I stopped being nameless and became Yussel, sometimes Yuss or Yusseleh. And so began my life as a Shabbos Goy, voluntarily doing chores for my neighbors on Friday nights and Saturdays: lighting stoves, running errands, getting a prescription for an old tante, stoking coal furnaces, putting lights on or out, clearing snow and ice from slippery sidewalks and stoops. Doing just about anything that was forbidden to the devout by their religious code.
Friday afternoons were special. I'd walk home from school assailed by the rich aroma emanating from Jewish kitchens preparing that evening's special menu. By now, I had developed a list of steady clients, Jewish families who depended on me. Furnaces, in particular, demanded frequent tending during Brooklyn's many freezing winters. I shudder remembering brutally cold winds blowing off the East River. Anticipation ran high as I thought of the warm home-baked treats I'd bring home that night after my Shabbos rounds were over. Thanks to me, my entire family had become Jewish pastry junkies. Moi? I'm still addicted to checkerboard cake, halvah and Egg Creams (made only with Fox's Ubet chocolate syrup).
I remember as if it were yesterday how I discovered that Jews were the smartest people in the world. You see, in our Cuban household we all loved the ends of bread loaves and, to keep peace, my father always decided who would get them. One harsh winter night I was rewarded for my Shabbos ministrations with a loaf of warm challah (we pronounced it "holly") and I knew I was witnessing genius! Who else could have invented a bread that had wonderfully crusted ends all over it -- enough for everyone in a large family?
There was an "International" aspect to my teen years in Williamsburg. The Sternberg family had two sons who had fought with the Abraham Lincoln Brigade in Spain. Whenever we kids could get their attention, they'd spellbind us with tales of hazardous adventures in the Spanish Civil War. These twenty-something war veterans also introduced us to a novel way of thinking, one that embraced such humane ideas as From each according to his means and to each according to his needs. In retrospect, this innocent exposure to a different philosophy was the starting point of a journey that would also incorporate the concept of Tzedakah in my personal guide to the world.
In what historians would later call The Great Depression, a nickel was a lot of mazuma and its economic power could buy a brand new Spaldeen,our local name for the pink-colored rubber ball then produced by the Spalding Company. The famous Spaldeen was central to our endless street games: stick ball and punchball or the simpler stoopball. On balmy summer evenings our youthful fantasies converted South Tenth Street into Ebbets Field with the Dodgers' Dolph Camilli swinging a broom handle at a viciously curving Spaldeen thrown by the Giant's great lefty, Carl Hubbell. We really thought it curved, I swear.
Our neighbors, magically transformed into spectators kibitzing from their brownstone stoops and windows, were treated to a unique version of major league baseball. My tenure as the resident Shabbos Goy came to an abrupt end after Pearl Harbor Day, December 7, 1941. I withdrew from Brooklyn College the following day and joined the U.S. Army. In June of 1944, the Army Air Corps shipped me home after flying sixty combat missions over Italy and the Balkans. I was overwhelmed to find that several of my Jewish friends and neighbors had set a place for me at their supper tables every Shabbos throughout my absence, including me in their prayers. What mitzvoth! My homecoming was highlighted by wonderful invitations to dinner. Can you imagine the effect after twenty-two months of Army field rations?
As my post-World War II life developed, the nature of the association I'd had with Jewish families during my formative years became clearer. I had learned the meaning of friendship, of loyalty, and of honor and respect. I discovered obedience without subservience. And caring about all living things had become as natural as breathing. The worth of a strong work ethic and of purposeful dedication was manifest. Love of learning blossomed and I began to set higher standards for my developing skills, and loftier goals for future activities and dreams. Mind, none of this was the result of any sort of formal instruction; my yeshiva had been the neighborhood. I learned these things,absorbed them actually says it better, by association and role modeling, by pursuing curious inquiry, and by what educators called "incidental learning" in the crucible that was pre-World War II Williamsburg. It seems many of life's most elemental lessons are learned this way.
While my parents' Cuban home sheltered me with warm, intimate affection and provided for my well-being and self esteem, the group of Jewish families I came to know and help in the Williamsburg of the 1930s was a surrogate tribe that abetted my teenage rite of passage to adulthood. One might even say we had experienced a special kind of Bar Mitzvah. I couldn't explain then the concept of tikkun olam, but I realized as I matured how well I had been oriented by the Jewish experience to live it and to apply it. What a truly uplifting outlook on life it is to be genuinely motivated "to repair the world."
In these twilight years when my good wife is occasionally told "Your husband is a funny man," I'm aware that my humor has its roots in the shticks of Second Avenue Yiddish Theater, entertainers at Catskill summer resorts, and their many imitators. And, when I argue issues of human or civil rights and am cautioned about showing too much zeal, I recall how chutzpah first flourished on Williamsburg sidewalks, competing for filberts (hazelnuts) with tough kids wearing payess and yarmulkes. Along the way I played chess and one-wall handball, learned to fence, listened to Rimsky-Korsakov, ate roasted chestnuts, read Maimonides and studied Saul Alinsky. I am ever grateful for having had the opportunity to be a Shabbos Goy.
Aleichem sholom
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Monday, July 03, 2006
JULY 4
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Tomorrow is America's birthday.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA!
Tomorrow is my dear father's birthday.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD.
There are not enough stars in the sky, enough fireworks being lit across America's landscape, to reflect my love for you. Endless and evermore...
Meme's the Word...Again
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I spotted this cool -- I thought! -- meme on another blog, so I borrowed it for myself:
Instructions:
1. Go to Wikipedia.
2. In the Search box, type your birth month and day (but not year).
3. List three events that happened on your birthday.
4. List two important birthdays and one interesting death.
5. One holiday or observance (if any).
Re. September 23
EVENTS:
1941 - The first gas experiments are conducted at Auschwitz
1962 - The Jetsons aired for the first time.
1980 - Bob Marley's last concert.
BIRTHDAYS:
1926 - John Coltrane, American saxophonist and composer
1930 - Ray Charles, American musician and singer
DEATH:
1939 - Sigmund Freud, Austrian psychiatrist
HOLIDAY/OBSERVANCE: (This particular one makes me say "Hmmm..." as I imagine Sigmund Freud would!)
September 23rd of every year is designated as Celebrate Bisexuality Day and celebrated by members of the bisexual community and their allies worldwide. Observed annually since 1999.
I spotted this cool -- I thought! -- meme on another blog, so I borrowed it for myself:
Instructions:
1. Go to Wikipedia.
2. In the Search box, type your birth month and day (but not year).
3. List three events that happened on your birthday.
4. List two important birthdays and one interesting death.
5. One holiday or observance (if any).
Re. September 23
EVENTS:
1941 - The first gas experiments are conducted at Auschwitz
1962 - The Jetsons aired for the first time.
1980 - Bob Marley's last concert.
BIRTHDAYS:
1926 - John Coltrane, American saxophonist and composer
1930 - Ray Charles, American musician and singer
DEATH:
1939 - Sigmund Freud, Austrian psychiatrist
HOLIDAY/OBSERVANCE: (This particular one makes me say "Hmmm..." as I imagine Sigmund Freud would!)
September 23rd of every year is designated as Celebrate Bisexuality Day and celebrated by members of the bisexual community and their allies worldwide. Observed annually since 1999.
"Summertime...and the Livin' Is Easy"**
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** contrary to Randi/Cruisin' Mom's belief!
The other day I read a wonderful post written by Cruisin' Mom, as she reminisced about summer. It was picturesque, conjuring up mental images of my own. So I'm carrying the torch that Randi unwittingly passed on to me with that post, and I will proceed to share a few of my own summertime images...
--sitting on the front porch, watching the sky darken, heavy clouds floating by, the onset of rain, first some fat drops, then a light drizzle, then a torrential downpour heightened by the sound-and-light show in the sky...and if we were lucky: a rainbow to follow the summer storm
--sitting with my older brothers and watching as they used magnifying glasses and the sun's hot rays to perform "science experiments"
-- not just running through sprinklers, as Randi and her friends did, but I'd try to walk slowly through them, head held high, with a little swish of the derriere, as I mimicked a fashion model walking down a runway
--family picnics in a lovely park or at a lake
--outdoor concerts at Ontario Place, listening to the Toronto Symphony, or seeing the National Ballet of Canada in performance
--lying on a chaise in the backyard with a stack of old SEVENTEEN magazines, reading and rereading...over and over and over...the articles and checking out the (now-outdated) fashions
--going to the drive-in theater...when they were still around in my area
--going to the Canadian National Exhibition every summer with my mother and my brothers
--sticky watermelon juice dripping off my chin
--ripe, plump peaches, and deep-red cherries eaten in abundance
--visits to the country; exploring barns and discovering cats and kittens
--bicycling around familiar and not-so-familiar neighborhoods
--seeking out a breeze amidst the sticky, hot and humid air of our house (pre-air conditioner days)
Perhaps some of you have a summer image of your own that you've captured and would like to share...?
Sunday, July 02, 2006
"Oh, Lord, Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood..."
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How many of you have been singing songs for years, perhaps having learned them at a young age and just routinely singing them: anthems, school songs, patriotic songs, family favorites, Hebrew songs, Yiddish songs, Top 40 songs...?
Did you ever stop to actually read the printed words to a particular song that you're supposedly so familiar with, and then been shocked to see that what you've been singing is contrary to what you SHOULD have been singing?
Canada celebrated its national holiday on Saturday, July 1, and somewhere I caught a printed snippet of "Oh, Canada," our anthem. I read "...true patriot love" and was just jarred a bit -- I always sang, "true patret love"! I never stopped to think if what I was singing made any sense, but since I was a kid, learning the anthem, that's how it sounded to me, and I don't recall ever verifying the words in print.
Every now and again, a local radio station plays snippets of contemporary or older songs; the deejays tell the listening audience what "is heard" when these songs are played, and what the lyrics really say.
I've discovered a great Web site to illustrate the "art of being misunderstood" musically.
http://www.kissthisguy.com/
So I guess it's time to make the time to listen a little closer to songs being sung or to take the time to seek out the lyrics of a song.
You know what? Scratch that last bit of advice. Sometimes the lyrics we sing, the lyrics we imagine to be correct, are more fun than the actual published ones.
I'll get you started with a misinterpreted lyric I used to sing; the song was by Hot Chocolate.
"I believe in Malcom
Where you from, you sexy thing..."
The correct lyrics are "I believe in miracles..." but every time I heard the song or sang the song, I always wondered who "Malcom" is!
Do any of you have song lyrics that you misheard...and mis-sang for years. How did you discover the true lyrics, and when you discovered what they REALLY should be, how stupid did you feel!?
How many of you have been singing songs for years, perhaps having learned them at a young age and just routinely singing them: anthems, school songs, patriotic songs, family favorites, Hebrew songs, Yiddish songs, Top 40 songs...?
Did you ever stop to actually read the printed words to a particular song that you're supposedly so familiar with, and then been shocked to see that what you've been singing is contrary to what you SHOULD have been singing?
Canada celebrated its national holiday on Saturday, July 1, and somewhere I caught a printed snippet of "Oh, Canada," our anthem. I read "...true patriot love" and was just jarred a bit -- I always sang, "true patret love"! I never stopped to think if what I was singing made any sense, but since I was a kid, learning the anthem, that's how it sounded to me, and I don't recall ever verifying the words in print.
Every now and again, a local radio station plays snippets of contemporary or older songs; the deejays tell the listening audience what "is heard" when these songs are played, and what the lyrics really say.
I've discovered a great Web site to illustrate the "art of being misunderstood" musically.
http://www.kissthisguy.com/
So I guess it's time to make the time to listen a little closer to songs being sung or to take the time to seek out the lyrics of a song.
You know what? Scratch that last bit of advice. Sometimes the lyrics we sing, the lyrics we imagine to be correct, are more fun than the actual published ones.
I'll get you started with a misinterpreted lyric I used to sing; the song was by Hot Chocolate.
"I believe in Malcom
Where you from, you sexy thing..."
The correct lyrics are "I believe in miracles..." but every time I heard the song or sang the song, I always wondered who "Malcom" is!
Do any of you have song lyrics that you misheard...and mis-sang for years. How did you discover the true lyrics, and when you discovered what they REALLY should be, how stupid did you feel!?
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Want 'Em, Need 'Em, Got 'Em**
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Am I a needy person? Sometimes.
Sometimes I need attention; sometimes I need privacy; sometimes I need reassurance and a sense of security; sometimes I need to retreat while other times I need to soar.
And over time I've decided that I need a blog. I need my blog. I need others' blogs.
Yes, I had a life BB (Before Blogging) -- and I certainly have a life with blogging.
A fellow blogger once implied something, which my brain just won't shake off. He implied that the blogging world is just that: a world of bloggers. We are strangers, who primarily continue to be strangers.
But I beg to differ. My already-rich world has certainly expanded. Because over the years I've had dwindling patience to read novels (I read 8 hours/day for my job; it saturated me), reading blogs has become, in a sense, my open door to learning about the world. I've learned many life lessons by reading the words of people who put their hearts on the line. I've learned about music, politics, current events, medicine, literature. I've learned about psychology, sociology, religion and the culinary arts.
Reading a blog is not always the equivalent to reading a newspaper or a magazine. I may get insight to a situation, but it is a first-hand account, a personal retelling that creates color for its readers, creates the need oftentimes to comment.
I think I can count a number of bloggers as friends, and not merely acquaintances. Perhaps it's because I choose to often correspond offline, and so we step outside the perimeters of our posts. We have a first name, and a last name. Our personal histories, our impressions are shared.
And it is about sharing. "Listening" when someone else "speaks." Offering up advice, a personal POV, an editorial or literary critique, etc.
Over the past several months, in my blogging world, I've watched babies being born, family members being sick, beloved friends and family members dying. I've watched people prepare for aliyah, people preparing for marriage, people finding their way in this world. Mazel Tovs, messages of condolence, Yasher Koachs have been exchanged. I've watched blessings pass through cyberspace time and time again -- blessings for good health, blessings of compassion, blessings for happiness.
All in my little community of bloggers.
My path has crossed with people whose paths would probably not have crossed mine in the real world: a fifty-year-old funny gal, a Hollywood screenwriter, a mystery author, a former actress-turned-businesswoman, children's authors, a funny teacher in NJ, fathers in the Midwest and near the Capitol, doctors on the West Coast, a Swiss miss, gifted writers who are half my age or more, parents who've had to live through terrible personal challenges and wear a cloak of grief.
I want these people in my world, I need these people in my world, I've got these people in my world.
And I am truly blessed...
___
** The title of this post hails back to my childhood when friends collected sports cards and other collectibles. The person would sort through the collection for friends, in order to do some trading, and a refrain of "Got it! Need it! Want it!" could be heard.
Am I a needy person? Sometimes.
Sometimes I need attention; sometimes I need privacy; sometimes I need reassurance and a sense of security; sometimes I need to retreat while other times I need to soar.
And over time I've decided that I need a blog. I need my blog. I need others' blogs.
Yes, I had a life BB (Before Blogging) -- and I certainly have a life with blogging.
A fellow blogger once implied something, which my brain just won't shake off. He implied that the blogging world is just that: a world of bloggers. We are strangers, who primarily continue to be strangers.
But I beg to differ. My already-rich world has certainly expanded. Because over the years I've had dwindling patience to read novels (I read 8 hours/day for my job; it saturated me), reading blogs has become, in a sense, my open door to learning about the world. I've learned many life lessons by reading the words of people who put their hearts on the line. I've learned about music, politics, current events, medicine, literature. I've learned about psychology, sociology, religion and the culinary arts.
Reading a blog is not always the equivalent to reading a newspaper or a magazine. I may get insight to a situation, but it is a first-hand account, a personal retelling that creates color for its readers, creates the need oftentimes to comment.
I think I can count a number of bloggers as friends, and not merely acquaintances. Perhaps it's because I choose to often correspond offline, and so we step outside the perimeters of our posts. We have a first name, and a last name. Our personal histories, our impressions are shared.
And it is about sharing. "Listening" when someone else "speaks." Offering up advice, a personal POV, an editorial or literary critique, etc.
Over the past several months, in my blogging world, I've watched babies being born, family members being sick, beloved friends and family members dying. I've watched people prepare for aliyah, people preparing for marriage, people finding their way in this world. Mazel Tovs, messages of condolence, Yasher Koachs have been exchanged. I've watched blessings pass through cyberspace time and time again -- blessings for good health, blessings of compassion, blessings for happiness.
All in my little community of bloggers.
My path has crossed with people whose paths would probably not have crossed mine in the real world: a fifty-year-old funny gal, a Hollywood screenwriter, a mystery author, a former actress-turned-businesswoman, children's authors, a funny teacher in NJ, fathers in the Midwest and near the Capitol, doctors on the West Coast, a Swiss miss, gifted writers who are half my age or more, parents who've had to live through terrible personal challenges and wear a cloak of grief.
I want these people in my world, I need these people in my world, I've got these people in my world.
And I am truly blessed...
___
** The title of this post hails back to my childhood when friends collected sports cards and other collectibles. The person would sort through the collection for friends, in order to do some trading, and a refrain of "Got it! Need it! Want it!" could be heard.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Hit the Twilight Zone Music
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This morning, my youngest was up, dressed, watching TV and wanting breakfast. I said, "Soon," and headed for the computer to do a write-up of my parents' party. I quickly thought, "Maybe I should give him breakfast first," but I knew that the show he was watching would temporarily provide him with food for thought.
So I started typing my post, using, links, Google images, and heartfelt words, and before I knew it, 50 minutes had passed by. I was ready to hit Publish when I saw that my computer had frozen, and nothing I'd written could be saved and published later. I was DISAPPOINTED to say the least, P.O.'d to be more accurate. Maybe I just wasn't meant to publish that post.
Yup, G-d works in mysterious ways... breakfast for children should come before blogging for adults!
This morning, my youngest was up, dressed, watching TV and wanting breakfast. I said, "Soon," and headed for the computer to do a write-up of my parents' party. I quickly thought, "Maybe I should give him breakfast first," but I knew that the show he was watching would temporarily provide him with food for thought.
So I started typing my post, using, links, Google images, and heartfelt words, and before I knew it, 50 minutes had passed by. I was ready to hit Publish when I saw that my computer had frozen, and nothing I'd written could be saved and published later. I was DISAPPOINTED to say the least, P.O.'d to be more accurate. Maybe I just wasn't meant to publish that post.
Yup, G-d works in mysterious ways... breakfast for children should come before blogging for adults!
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Edge of Outside
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Because of a post I'd done about THE BIRDS by Hitchcock, I was recently made aware by e-mail of a documentary series soon to be released on the TCM Channel (Turner Classic Movies).
Here is the press release:
Turner Classic Movies Turns the Lens Toward the Fringe of Cinema in EDGE OF OUTSIDE, July 5
New Documentary Features Interviews with Martin Scorsese, Peter Falk, Spike Lee and Others
In a year that saw independent movies taking center stage at the Oscars, Turner Classic Movies (TCM) explores the uncompromising vision, creative spirit and maverick determination of independent filmmakers, both classic and current, in its first fully in-house produced original documentary, EDGE OF OUTSIDE , premiering Wednesday, July 5, at 8 p.m. ET.
EDGE OF OUTSIDE kicks off a month-long movie festival dedicated to filmmakers who have worked on the edges of Hollywood. A complete movie schedule is attached.
A tribute to the fight for artistic freedom in American independent cinema, EDGE OF OUTSIDE features original interviews with Martin Scorsese , Peter Falk , Ed Burns , Spike Lee , Henry Jaglom , Arthur Penn , Gena Rowlands and John Sayles as well as friends and crew members who worked with classic filmmakers, including Nicholas Ray, John Cassavetes and Sam Peckinpah. Offering an intimate look at the various issues, creative and personal, financial and emotional, this documentary illustrates the struggles endured by many classic filmmakers to create a personal vision, a vision mirrored by many contemporary directors today. EDGE OF OUTSIDE dispels the notion that an independent film is simply a low-budget film, instead defining the genre by the maverick filmmaker's ability to infuse his or her films with creative spirit and determination.
The documentary also illustrates the work of several maverick filmmakers including Orson Welles , Stanley Kubrick, Nicholas Ray , Samuel Fuller , Sam Peckinpah and John Cassavetes . Each of these directors took a different approach to producing films, whether part of the Hollywood studio system or not. Some have been able to survive within the system, others felt it necessary to be on their own and others were banished because of their fierce independence. However, their adamant drive to create a personal vision, despite many obstacles, exemplifies the significant influence they have had on the independent film movement of today.
“Classic films aren't represented only by box-office blockbusters and Oscar® nominees,” said Tom Karsch, executive vice president and general manager of Turner Classic Movies. “Turner Classic Movies takes pride in recognizing all cinematic accomplishments, no matter how small or large the director or studio, and bringing those triumphs to viewers' attention.”
EDGE OF OUTSIDE is directed and produced by Shannon Davis, senior vice president of original production for TCM and executive-produced by Chris Merrifield, vice president and creative director of TCM on-air creative.
Turner Classic Movies, currently seen in more than 70 million homes, is a 24-hour cable network from Turner Broadcasting System, Inc., a TimeWarner company. TCM presents the greatest motion pictures of all time from the largest film library in the world, the combined Time Warner and Turner film libraries, from the ‘20s through the ‘90s, commercial-free and without interruption. Expanding TCM's role as a curator of movie history, the network recently launched TCMdb, one of the Internet's most media-rich interactive movie databases. For more information, please visit www.tcm.com .
Now I don't get the channel, but hopefully some of you do, and will tune in.
Lights, cameras, ACTION!
Because of a post I'd done about THE BIRDS by Hitchcock, I was recently made aware by e-mail of a documentary series soon to be released on the TCM Channel (Turner Classic Movies).
Here is the press release:
Turner Classic Movies Turns the Lens Toward the Fringe of Cinema in EDGE OF OUTSIDE, July 5
New Documentary Features Interviews with Martin Scorsese, Peter Falk, Spike Lee and Others
In a year that saw independent movies taking center stage at the Oscars, Turner Classic Movies (TCM) explores the uncompromising vision, creative spirit and maverick determination of independent filmmakers, both classic and current, in its first fully in-house produced original documentary, EDGE OF OUTSIDE , premiering Wednesday, July 5, at 8 p.m. ET.
EDGE OF OUTSIDE kicks off a month-long movie festival dedicated to filmmakers who have worked on the edges of Hollywood. A complete movie schedule is attached.
A tribute to the fight for artistic freedom in American independent cinema, EDGE OF OUTSIDE features original interviews with Martin Scorsese , Peter Falk , Ed Burns , Spike Lee , Henry Jaglom , Arthur Penn , Gena Rowlands and John Sayles as well as friends and crew members who worked with classic filmmakers, including Nicholas Ray, John Cassavetes and Sam Peckinpah. Offering an intimate look at the various issues, creative and personal, financial and emotional, this documentary illustrates the struggles endured by many classic filmmakers to create a personal vision, a vision mirrored by many contemporary directors today. EDGE OF OUTSIDE dispels the notion that an independent film is simply a low-budget film, instead defining the genre by the maverick filmmaker's ability to infuse his or her films with creative spirit and determination.
The documentary also illustrates the work of several maverick filmmakers including Orson Welles , Stanley Kubrick, Nicholas Ray , Samuel Fuller , Sam Peckinpah and John Cassavetes . Each of these directors took a different approach to producing films, whether part of the Hollywood studio system or not. Some have been able to survive within the system, others felt it necessary to be on their own and others were banished because of their fierce independence. However, their adamant drive to create a personal vision, despite many obstacles, exemplifies the significant influence they have had on the independent film movement of today.
“Classic films aren't represented only by box-office blockbusters and Oscar® nominees,” said Tom Karsch, executive vice president and general manager of Turner Classic Movies. “Turner Classic Movies takes pride in recognizing all cinematic accomplishments, no matter how small or large the director or studio, and bringing those triumphs to viewers' attention.”
EDGE OF OUTSIDE is directed and produced by Shannon Davis, senior vice president of original production for TCM and executive-produced by Chris Merrifield, vice president and creative director of TCM on-air creative.
Turner Classic Movies, currently seen in more than 70 million homes, is a 24-hour cable network from Turner Broadcasting System, Inc., a TimeWarner company. TCM presents the greatest motion pictures of all time from the largest film library in the world, the combined Time Warner and Turner film libraries, from the ‘20s through the ‘90s, commercial-free and without interruption. Expanding TCM's role as a curator of movie history, the network recently launched TCMdb, one of the Internet's most media-rich interactive movie databases. For more information, please visit www.tcm.com .
Now I don't get the channel, but hopefully some of you do, and will tune in.
Lights, cameras, ACTION!
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Letters from the Heart
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G-d willing, this Shabbat, June 24, my parents will be sharing a special day: their 50th wedding anniversary.
In 1956, on a visit to Toronto from Switzerland my mother met a wonderful man. A survivor -- in every sense of the word. Six weeks later she was married to this wonderful man, and thus started a wonderful life...with three wonderful kids...and a wonderful and warm environment in which to raise them.
True teammates, true helpmates. We should all be so fortunate in life to share such a special relationship.
Along the way, however, as in many marriages, there were speed bumps; not everything was paved with gold, even if it was perceived to be. Health issues, several serious health issues made for those speed bumps, so for that reason, thank G-d, my parents have reached this memorable time in their lives.
Fifty years is a long time to be with the same person. Imagine half a century together. Some couples can't even stand to be together in the same room for 15 minutes; they tolerate one another, but silently despise each other. And yet they stay together in this unhealthy environment for whatever reasons.
My oldest brother arranged a dinner for the closest family and friends at a restaurant on Sunday evening. No doubt, it will bring back some memories for my parents who I believe married in a shul and then had the seudah in a Kosher restaurant all those years ago. Thank G-d some of the same guests from 1956 will be in attendance this Sunday 2006; unfortunately, many others have left our lives and only photographs and memories remain...
I'm generally known in the family circles for my birthday/special occasion limerick type poems, and I toyed for a while with the idea of writing something more sentimental or designing something even catchier. When my oldest brother married, I wrote cover copy for a book jacket -- about my brother and his wife-to-be -- and one of the designers at work put the package together. It was unique and very personal, and it would have been nice to do something equally creative for my parents.
But of course, I resorted to my poetry, familiar and true. And here is the result:
Letters from the Heart: A Special Poem for Two Special People
A is for Adler, the eagle soaring above
B is for Basel, left behind in search of love
C is for care, what you both do for each other
D is for devotion, which you’ve shown as father and mother
E is for each, ‘cause each day you show us your heart
F is for finish, you try to finish what you start
G is for Germany, where Dad lived a few years
H is for home, created with both smiles and tears
I is another word for ego, which neither one of you displays
J is for Jerry Joseph, your second child along the way
K is for kindness, which you represent with love and pride
L is for Lilli, who came along to become your bride
M is for Michael, the number one son, your bechor
N is for nice, for which you both get complimented galore
O is for ours, ‘cause you taught us each to share
P is for Poland, we’re so glad Jack got out of there
Q is for questions, of which you’ve each answered many
R is for relatives, even though few, we’re glad to have any
S is for simple, the kind of life you’ve made your own
T is for thankful, for surviving the medical emergencies we’ve known
U is for unity, something that has helped keep you bound
V is for valuable, as in the marriage that you found
W is for wishes, hopefully at least some of yours have come true
X is for Xtra, wishes to be granted for you
Y is for yesterday, specifically 50 years ago
Z is for zee end, no more letters you know.
Having used all twenty-six letters
Of the English alphabet
I hope this little verse of mine
Has certainly met
Any and all of your expectations
That I might write a ditty
For such a special occasion
It is important to be witty.
And as we’re gathered here today
To wish Jack and Lilli all the best
We’re also wishing them gesundt and glick
For living out the rest
Of the years they have together
Let’s round it up some more
‘Bis a hundred und tzvanzik
May your brachos be ever more
MAZEL TOV!
An Explosion of Mid-Blog Crisis
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You've heard of a mid-life crisis, in which a person decides -- consciously or subconsiously -- that they need to try something new, that they're tired of something old, that something is missing from their life.
Lately I've seen a trend of what I can only call a mid-blog crisis.
When I have been visiting some of my favorite blogs, I suddenly see posts that are self-questioning. These bloggers are wondering aloud if their blog has met their needs and those of their readers. They wonder if their blog has taken the right direction for them. They wonder if their blog has done what it was meant to and has reached a point of no return. And yes, some bloggers have gone the next step, said goodbye and stayed away.
I, too, have questioned my blog at times and have received many pep talks from readers who encourage me to continue, who tell me they enjoy what they're reading, who tell me they'd miss me.
I think each one of us needs a little ego stroking when we blog, unless we're so confident in ourselves and what we have to say, that we might as well be on our own island. But admit it, isn't it nice when friends compliment you? And isn't it even a touch nicer when strangers come out of the woodwork to do the same, and tell you that what you have to say is worthwhile?
Some bloggers resurrect themselves, whether on their blogs that lay dormant for a while, or whether in a new format. But interestingly enough, their "voices" don't change; their style doesn't change. They are the same entertaining writers whom we missed.
I kept a detailed journal for so many years. The night I got engaged, I happened to be at the end of one of the books -- I wrote about my engagement and had my fiance write a few words in the book, too. Then I signed off with "Chazak, chazak, v'nitzchazek," closed the cover and said goodbye to journal writing. It was as if I no longer had "the need" to do so.
Perhaps blog writers feel that sense of completion too. "I said what I had to say, and that's it...there ain't no more."
Well, you bloggers know who you are. I hope you only take a brief hiatus, not a permanent departure. You'll be missed, and hope you send us postcards at least, which read: "Having a wonderful blog-free time. Wish you were here."
So, to all you bloggers suffering from a mid-blog crisis, I say, at least pop in once in a while and tell us how/what you're doing. You'll notice that no doubt there's lots to say--and POOF!--that will be a new and fun post right there.
You've heard of a mid-life crisis, in which a person decides -- consciously or subconsiously -- that they need to try something new, that they're tired of something old, that something is missing from their life.
Lately I've seen a trend of what I can only call a mid-blog crisis.
When I have been visiting some of my favorite blogs, I suddenly see posts that are self-questioning. These bloggers are wondering aloud if their blog has met their needs and those of their readers. They wonder if their blog has taken the right direction for them. They wonder if their blog has done what it was meant to and has reached a point of no return. And yes, some bloggers have gone the next step, said goodbye and stayed away.
I, too, have questioned my blog at times and have received many pep talks from readers who encourage me to continue, who tell me they enjoy what they're reading, who tell me they'd miss me.
I think each one of us needs a little ego stroking when we blog, unless we're so confident in ourselves and what we have to say, that we might as well be on our own island. But admit it, isn't it nice when friends compliment you? And isn't it even a touch nicer when strangers come out of the woodwork to do the same, and tell you that what you have to say is worthwhile?
Some bloggers resurrect themselves, whether on their blogs that lay dormant for a while, or whether in a new format. But interestingly enough, their "voices" don't change; their style doesn't change. They are the same entertaining writers whom we missed.
I kept a detailed journal for so many years. The night I got engaged, I happened to be at the end of one of the books -- I wrote about my engagement and had my fiance write a few words in the book, too. Then I signed off with "Chazak, chazak, v'nitzchazek," closed the cover and said goodbye to journal writing. It was as if I no longer had "the need" to do so.
Perhaps blog writers feel that sense of completion too. "I said what I had to say, and that's it...there ain't no more."
Well, you bloggers know who you are. I hope you only take a brief hiatus, not a permanent departure. You'll be missed, and hope you send us postcards at least, which read: "Having a wonderful blog-free time. Wish you were here."
So, to all you bloggers suffering from a mid-blog crisis, I say, at least pop in once in a while and tell us how/what you're doing. You'll notice that no doubt there's lots to say--and POOF!--that will be a new and fun post right there.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
School's Out for the Summer...
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My three children finished school today. They completed grade 5, grade 3 and SK.
"Yashar, yashar, kadimah."
Their report cards were glowing, and they each had wonderful relationships with their teachers and classmates. All in all, a positive year for them.
Yes, I truly didn't want to be working full-time anymore, but no, I didn't want to leave under the circumstances that I did. But I will say this much: I am thankful that I had 2 1/2 months with my children while at home.
What a difference it made...being able to take them to school and pick them up from school. Being there when they woke up in the morning, and being there to give them an after-school snack.
I felt a connection to the children, I felt a connection to the school. It was a good feeling.
(I also noticed just how many live-in nannies help run the households of the school's population, and just how many minivans and SUVS and extended-cab trucks help chauffeur the kids in these households!)
I'm not sure what I'll be doing in September, once they're back in school, but I hope that my children will continue to get to see my front side and not just my backside as they've had for all these years, as I was part of a full-time workforce.
The schoolyard, I've noticed, is just like life. There are fun things, there are dangerous things, there are friends to make, there are bullies to avoid. My children are primarily laughing, I've noticed, while in the schoolyard. They are busy with sports and acrobatic tricks on the jungle gym, they are interacting with all ages and plainly just having a good time amongst the crowd. Witnessing all this makes for my own romance. Who needs to read these books when you can live out your own love for your husband and children!
My three children finished school today. They completed grade 5, grade 3 and SK.
"Yashar, yashar, kadimah."
Their report cards were glowing, and they each had wonderful relationships with their teachers and classmates. All in all, a positive year for them.
Yes, I truly didn't want to be working full-time anymore, but no, I didn't want to leave under the circumstances that I did. But I will say this much: I am thankful that I had 2 1/2 months with my children while at home.
What a difference it made...being able to take them to school and pick them up from school. Being there when they woke up in the morning, and being there to give them an after-school snack.
I felt a connection to the children, I felt a connection to the school. It was a good feeling.
(I also noticed just how many live-in nannies help run the households of the school's population, and just how many minivans and SUVS and extended-cab trucks help chauffeur the kids in these households!)
I'm not sure what I'll be doing in September, once they're back in school, but I hope that my children will continue to get to see my front side and not just my backside as they've had for all these years, as I was part of a full-time workforce.
The schoolyard, I've noticed, is just like life. There are fun things, there are dangerous things, there are friends to make, there are bullies to avoid. My children are primarily laughing, I've noticed, while in the schoolyard. They are busy with sports and acrobatic tricks on the jungle gym, they are interacting with all ages and plainly just having a good time amongst the crowd. Witnessing all this makes for my own romance. Who needs to read these books when you can live out your own love for your husband and children!
Is He Ezzie? (say this really fast!)
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The phone rang this afternoon. It was a long-distance ring and I number I didn't recognize.
"May I please speak to Pearl?"
"Pardon me?"
"May I please speak to Pearl?"
"Speaking."
"Hi, Pearl. This is Ezzie Goldish."
"I'm sorry, who?"
"Ezzie Goldish."
So, so much for first impressions, huh?
Let me explain...I'd walked into the house not ten minutes earlier so my head wasn't quite there yet; I didn't recognize the phone number or voice; because Ezzie was on a cell phone, his voice was breaking up from time to time, so I didn't hear him clearly; I thought if I was going to hear from Ezzie, it would be tomorrow. So I WAS COMPLETELY THROWN OFF!
I knew Ezzie was coming to a wedding in Toronto, knew it was this evening, but assumed we'd speak tomorrow. What a nice surprise to hear from him!
The irony was that just after 2 p.m. or so, I left my parents' house, where I'd taken my daughter for a lunch visit, and headed northward home.
Sometime closer to 2:30, Ezzie arrived at the home he'd be staying in overnight for the wedding. I happen to know that family, know where they live...about a three minute drive south of my parents.
Ezzie was going to be leaving the house around 5:30 to go to the wedding at a social hall in the north end of the city. That social hall is a 3 minute drive north of where my husband works.
Unfortunately, there was no way we would be able to meet this evening...unless I'd become a Jewish wedding crasher. Listen, anyone can dress up in the right clothes, put on the right jewelery and accessories and walk right in to the chupah or kabbalat panim and mingle with the rest of the guests.
I joked with Ezzie that if I'd crash the wedding, I'd have to be like a limo/car service driver and hold up a sign saying "MR. GOLDISH."
We're not sure we will get a chance to meet tomorrow, as he's somewhat south and I'm somewhat north, but even if we don't, at least we had a chance to have a nice (according to me; for Ezzie maybe it's a different story altogether!) conversation that ran for about 45 minutes.
I teased Ezzie and said that he could be my son 'cause I'm 44 going on 45. He thought that for some reason, I along with several other bloggers, am about 37. DO I HEAR 36 or 35? Going, going...yup, GONE!
I'm a fairly good judge of character, and from Ezzie's blog, and from our conversation and a few emails, I sense that Ezzie is a good hubby, a great daddy, and and all-round nice guy who makes a good friend.
If we do get to meet, I'll add to this post. And if we don't meet, I'll say that it was really nice of Ezzie to call, good that he managed to catch me, and here's hoping that this TO-RON-O Pearl one day meets up with this fine young blogger!
****
Okay, well, Ezzie and I did get to meet briefly after all. I was going to my parents this morning with the kids for a late breakfast, and while there, called the family where he was staying. Yup, he was still there for a short while, so I said I'd be right over to say hi and bring a little something for Elianna. (a kids' book, which my kids also have, and one I love giving as a gift -- it's called BABY LOVES)
Max the dog and the three kids chose to join me, and we headed over and found Ezzie packing up the car.
I can say: he does look like his photos, and he's pretty tall at 6 ft, so I had to look up at him when we talked. We just shmoozed briefly about the wedding he'd attended and some of his friends.
I hoped he wasn't embarrassed by the fact that I'm a married woman who's twice his age and I came around for a brief chat. Blogging isn't so familiar to everyone and certainly meeting other bloggers/strangers isn't either!
But now I can say I spoke to Ezzie and I met Ezzie; and he can add me to his list of bloggers whom he's met and tell people that even though I'm Canadian I sound American...as he also pointed out.
The phone rang this afternoon. It was a long-distance ring and I number I didn't recognize.
"May I please speak to Pearl?"
"Pardon me?"
"May I please speak to Pearl?"
"Speaking."
"Hi, Pearl. This is Ezzie Goldish."
"I'm sorry, who?"
"Ezzie Goldish."
So, so much for first impressions, huh?
Let me explain...I'd walked into the house not ten minutes earlier so my head wasn't quite there yet; I didn't recognize the phone number or voice; because Ezzie was on a cell phone, his voice was breaking up from time to time, so I didn't hear him clearly; I thought if I was going to hear from Ezzie, it would be tomorrow. So I WAS COMPLETELY THROWN OFF!
I knew Ezzie was coming to a wedding in Toronto, knew it was this evening, but assumed we'd speak tomorrow. What a nice surprise to hear from him!
The irony was that just after 2 p.m. or so, I left my parents' house, where I'd taken my daughter for a lunch visit, and headed northward home.
Sometime closer to 2:30, Ezzie arrived at the home he'd be staying in overnight for the wedding. I happen to know that family, know where they live...about a three minute drive south of my parents.
Ezzie was going to be leaving the house around 5:30 to go to the wedding at a social hall in the north end of the city. That social hall is a 3 minute drive north of where my husband works.
Unfortunately, there was no way we would be able to meet this evening...unless I'd become a Jewish wedding crasher. Listen, anyone can dress up in the right clothes, put on the right jewelery and accessories and walk right in to the chupah or kabbalat panim and mingle with the rest of the guests.
I joked with Ezzie that if I'd crash the wedding, I'd have to be like a limo/car service driver and hold up a sign saying "MR. GOLDISH."
We're not sure we will get a chance to meet tomorrow, as he's somewhat south and I'm somewhat north, but even if we don't, at least we had a chance to have a nice (according to me; for Ezzie maybe it's a different story altogether!) conversation that ran for about 45 minutes.
I teased Ezzie and said that he could be my son 'cause I'm 44 going on 45. He thought that for some reason, I along with several other bloggers, am about 37. DO I HEAR 36 or 35? Going, going...yup, GONE!
I'm a fairly good judge of character, and from Ezzie's blog, and from our conversation and a few emails, I sense that Ezzie is a good hubby, a great daddy, and and all-round nice guy who makes a good friend.
If we do get to meet, I'll add to this post. And if we don't meet, I'll say that it was really nice of Ezzie to call, good that he managed to catch me, and here's hoping that this TO-RON-O Pearl one day meets up with this fine young blogger!
****
Okay, well, Ezzie and I did get to meet briefly after all. I was going to my parents this morning with the kids for a late breakfast, and while there, called the family where he was staying. Yup, he was still there for a short while, so I said I'd be right over to say hi and bring a little something for Elianna. (a kids' book, which my kids also have, and one I love giving as a gift -- it's called BABY LOVES)
Max the dog and the three kids chose to join me, and we headed over and found Ezzie packing up the car.
I can say: he does look like his photos, and he's pretty tall at 6 ft, so I had to look up at him when we talked. We just shmoozed briefly about the wedding he'd attended and some of his friends.
I hoped he wasn't embarrassed by the fact that I'm a married woman who's twice his age and I came around for a brief chat. Blogging isn't so familiar to everyone and certainly meeting other bloggers/strangers isn't either!
But now I can say I spoke to Ezzie and I met Ezzie; and he can add me to his list of bloggers whom he's met and tell people that even though I'm Canadian I sound American...as he also pointed out.
"Skinny" Is In the Eyes of the Beholder
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I'll admit. I'm not as slim as I once was.
I look at my daughter, with her long legs and skinny-minnie waist and think, "That was me many years ago."
What can I say? I discovered I like to eat, I like to nosh. I guess I got comfortable once I got married.
Okay, I also did give birth to three kids in less than five years, so there was still plenty of baby fat jiggling around. I guess jiggling around enough for idiotic, rude people to ask, "Are you pregnant?" or "Are you expecting?"
Well, I had to learn to come up with quick comebacks for these unwelcome comments: For "Are you pregnant?" I learned to answer, "No, this is just baby fat...from the last baby!" And for "Are you expecting?" I learned to answer, "No...but I was expecting you to ask that!"
My size is not ideal, but thank G-d I'm still tall, because otherwise I might be called, "short and fat". Right now I'm just tall and a little overweight.
Yes, I can do something about it...and sometimes I do. I watch what I eat, I exercise more, I don't just eat for the sake of eating. But I should do these things more often, shouldn't I?
I went to my doctor today for a follow-up from my annual physical that I had a couple of weeks back. I'd been fearful of the results, knowing that my family's medical history has begun to change, and that diabetes, hypertension have been written onto the medical charts of other family members. I did not want those showing up on mine.
Thank G-d they didn't, and I had great feedback. I asked my doctor to look back at my weight over the years I'd been with him. Yes, I'd had some pre- and post-pregnancy weights in there, so there was real fluctuation over the years, but realistically I know I'd feel better if I were slimmer again. I wouldn't have lower back pain as I do more and more lately; I'd have more energy to deal with my kids; I'd have a more positive self-image; shopping wouldn't be such a horror movie. (every time I go into a change room, I look in the mirror and do a silent scream when things don't fit.)
After I went to the doctor I went shopping, primarily for items for my kids, but came across a couple of items for me -- one a skirt, the other a sweater. The interesting thing about the skirt is that I bought one that is too snug, and at least one size too small for me. But it was the last of its kind, I liked it so much and the price was more than right. I bought the skirt with the hope that perhaps with watching what and how I eat, and exercising more, I WILL be able to fit into it, perhaps by the end of summer.
The sweater was a definite, and cozy fit.
When I came home I modeled both the skirt and sweater for my family. My youngest son had run upstairs to watch TV, my oldest son was eating dinner and not really interested, so that left my husband and daughter for whom to model.
My husband wished me luck in fitting into the skirt, as is my goal. My daughter announced it was cute, and her stylish eight-year-old self told me how I need to wear the accompanying scarf belt with the knot to the side, rather than the middle.
I then modeled the sweater on top of the skirt, and it was a nice, and classic combo.
Daughter piped up, "Mummy, you look skinny!"
Two seconds later, youngest son comes running down the stairs, TV remote control in hand. Now you have to understand that this child usually does not hear me when he's watching TV and I speak to him, even while standing beside him. I can repeat myself several times and he's oblivious to my presence. But THIS he heard, and came running to check for himself.
"Ema's skinny? Yeah, you ARE skinny....you can do magic!"
Okay, so, kid, if I can do magic, here's my mantra:
"Abra-cadabra,
Kalamazoo
Let these pounds disappear
From me to you.
Let me slip into something
A little bit smaller
Please make it fit
And make me look taller.
If I lose twenty pounds
To Las Vegas I go
'Tis my reward
I want you to know
If I lose twenty more
Along with my tushie and hips
I'll visit Vegas again
To see Gladys Knight & the Pips
I'll revisit my clothes
That were kept stored away
And I hope a size 12
Will then fit me each day.
Now that's not a tiny size
But such is not my style
And size 12 is pretty ideal for me
I haven't been it in a while.
My size 12's haven't gone out of style
They are a classic fit and cut
For anyone who's skinny
And doesn't have a butt or gut.
I hope to report
That many pounds will disappear
And after a while
It will be made quite clear.
It's mind over matter
That begins the weight loss
Show your food and drink
That you're the boss
You make the decisions
You choose what you eat
And once in a while
You can have a small treat.
Yes, I'm a magician
My son is quite right
Those pounds will disappear
And I'll again be skinny and slight!"
I'll admit. I'm not as slim as I once was.
I look at my daughter, with her long legs and skinny-minnie waist and think, "That was me many years ago."
What can I say? I discovered I like to eat, I like to nosh. I guess I got comfortable once I got married.
Okay, I also did give birth to three kids in less than five years, so there was still plenty of baby fat jiggling around. I guess jiggling around enough for idiotic, rude people to ask, "Are you pregnant?" or "Are you expecting?"
Well, I had to learn to come up with quick comebacks for these unwelcome comments: For "Are you pregnant?" I learned to answer, "No, this is just baby fat...from the last baby!" And for "Are you expecting?" I learned to answer, "No...but I was expecting you to ask that!"
My size is not ideal, but thank G-d I'm still tall, because otherwise I might be called, "short and fat". Right now I'm just tall and a little overweight.
Yes, I can do something about it...and sometimes I do. I watch what I eat, I exercise more, I don't just eat for the sake of eating. But I should do these things more often, shouldn't I?
I went to my doctor today for a follow-up from my annual physical that I had a couple of weeks back. I'd been fearful of the results, knowing that my family's medical history has begun to change, and that diabetes, hypertension have been written onto the medical charts of other family members. I did not want those showing up on mine.
Thank G-d they didn't, and I had great feedback. I asked my doctor to look back at my weight over the years I'd been with him. Yes, I'd had some pre- and post-pregnancy weights in there, so there was real fluctuation over the years, but realistically I know I'd feel better if I were slimmer again. I wouldn't have lower back pain as I do more and more lately; I'd have more energy to deal with my kids; I'd have a more positive self-image; shopping wouldn't be such a horror movie. (every time I go into a change room, I look in the mirror and do a silent scream when things don't fit.)
After I went to the doctor I went shopping, primarily for items for my kids, but came across a couple of items for me -- one a skirt, the other a sweater. The interesting thing about the skirt is that I bought one that is too snug, and at least one size too small for me. But it was the last of its kind, I liked it so much and the price was more than right. I bought the skirt with the hope that perhaps with watching what and how I eat, and exercising more, I WILL be able to fit into it, perhaps by the end of summer.
The sweater was a definite, and cozy fit.
When I came home I modeled both the skirt and sweater for my family. My youngest son had run upstairs to watch TV, my oldest son was eating dinner and not really interested, so that left my husband and daughter for whom to model.
My husband wished me luck in fitting into the skirt, as is my goal. My daughter announced it was cute, and her stylish eight-year-old self told me how I need to wear the accompanying scarf belt with the knot to the side, rather than the middle.
I then modeled the sweater on top of the skirt, and it was a nice, and classic combo.
Daughter piped up, "Mummy, you look skinny!"
Two seconds later, youngest son comes running down the stairs, TV remote control in hand. Now you have to understand that this child usually does not hear me when he's watching TV and I speak to him, even while standing beside him. I can repeat myself several times and he's oblivious to my presence. But THIS he heard, and came running to check for himself.
"Ema's skinny? Yeah, you ARE skinny....you can do magic!"
Okay, so, kid, if I can do magic, here's my mantra:
"Abra-cadabra,
Kalamazoo
Let these pounds disappear
From me to you.
Let me slip into something
A little bit smaller
Please make it fit
And make me look taller.
If I lose twenty pounds
To Las Vegas I go
'Tis my reward
I want you to know
If I lose twenty more
Along with my tushie and hips
I'll visit Vegas again
To see Gladys Knight & the Pips
I'll revisit my clothes
That were kept stored away
And I hope a size 12
Will then fit me each day.
Now that's not a tiny size
But such is not my style
And size 12 is pretty ideal for me
I haven't been it in a while.
My size 12's haven't gone out of style
They are a classic fit and cut
For anyone who's skinny
And doesn't have a butt or gut.
I hope to report
That many pounds will disappear
And after a while
It will be made quite clear.
It's mind over matter
That begins the weight loss
Show your food and drink
That you're the boss
You make the decisions
You choose what you eat
And once in a while
You can have a small treat.
Yes, I'm a magician
My son is quite right
Those pounds will disappear
And I'll again be skinny and slight!"
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Chizuk
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"Chizuk" (m., pl. "Chizukim"); encouragement, derived from the root "chet" "zayin" "kuf," meaning ;" to be strong;" as in "The Torah teacher gave his student ‘chizuk,’ ‘encouragement,’ in his study of Torah."
I was at shul this evening to listen to a dvar Torah given by a congregant at seudat shlishit (the third meal). Afterwards I was talking to another congregant, someone I don't know too well, but whom I enjoy speaking with whenever I'm at shul.
She's friendly, has an "open face" so to speak, is someone to learn from and emulate. Her four children range in age from 16 to 25, so one would think that we don't have much in common, and she is about 8 years older than I. But she is a warm and wonderful person to know. I usually go home and tell my husband about our latest conversation.
In talking to her this evening, she threw back at me almost what I just described about her. She told me how she always enjoys speaking to me, how I'm friendly and open with my thoughts, how she perceives ME to be calm and laid-back about my kids (I straightened her out), how we can talk even though we're of different generations.
I responded: "You know how there are Jewish Mutual Benefit/Benevolent societies? Well, I think we're members of the Mutual Admiration Society!"
She laughed and told me that she goes home and thinks about our conversations, and the greatest compliment she gave me tonight is that she said I give her a tremendous amount of chizuk.
Me? Giving HER chizuk? She's a businesswoman who's done a more-than-fine job, with her husband, of raising 4 children with clever Jewish heads and warm Jewish hearts. She is a fine woman with a good head and heart of her own.
What great pearls (or in my case, pearlies) of wisdom do I offer her that she'd equate it with chizuk?
But you wanna know what the greatest irony of the situation is? With her declaration that I offer her chizuk, she was giving me chizuk right back!
********
I usually don't name names in my posts, but I will. This woman, of which I speak so highly, is named Rosanne Teplitsky. She used to be an art teacher at a local Jewish day school for children with learning disabilities, but not too long ago, decided to wear a different hat. The result of that new hat is "Praline." Read the following:
The newest entry into kosher chocolates is Praline Chocolate Creations, at 1118 Centre St. in Thornhill, the first to service the kosher market north of Wilson. It’s no wonder co-owners Rosanne Teplitsky and Eti Kaufman sought to open their doors two months ago in the highest populated Jewish city in Canada.
Teplitsky said, “I was looking for something fun, something that would make people smile.”
She too hasn’t had any previous experience in chocolate making but she does work with a professional chocolatier one day a week. The interior of Praline looks like a jewellery store.
Teplitsky said, “It was designed by my daughter,” complete with glass cases filled with truffles and goodies instead of diamonds and rubies.
Teplitsky added, “Of the 700 square feet I rent, almost 500 is devoted to chocolate making.”
The inventory includes truffles, both dairy and parve, Teplitsky said, adding that “we have glass and leatherwear, which can be filled for gift giving.
“We are the only store selling kosher, parve fudge in North America.”
Rosanne Teplitsky brings her own brand of sweetness to life. Chocolate! Now isn't that a variation on chizuk?
"Chizuk" (m., pl. "Chizukim"); encouragement, derived from the root "chet" "zayin" "kuf," meaning ;" to be strong;" as in "The Torah teacher gave his student ‘chizuk,’ ‘encouragement,’ in his study of Torah."
I was at shul this evening to listen to a dvar Torah given by a congregant at seudat shlishit (the third meal). Afterwards I was talking to another congregant, someone I don't know too well, but whom I enjoy speaking with whenever I'm at shul.
She's friendly, has an "open face" so to speak, is someone to learn from and emulate. Her four children range in age from 16 to 25, so one would think that we don't have much in common, and she is about 8 years older than I. But she is a warm and wonderful person to know. I usually go home and tell my husband about our latest conversation.
In talking to her this evening, she threw back at me almost what I just described about her. She told me how she always enjoys speaking to me, how I'm friendly and open with my thoughts, how she perceives ME to be calm and laid-back about my kids (I straightened her out), how we can talk even though we're of different generations.
I responded: "You know how there are Jewish Mutual Benefit/Benevolent societies? Well, I think we're members of the Mutual Admiration Society!"
She laughed and told me that she goes home and thinks about our conversations, and the greatest compliment she gave me tonight is that she said I give her a tremendous amount of chizuk.
Me? Giving HER chizuk? She's a businesswoman who's done a more-than-fine job, with her husband, of raising 4 children with clever Jewish heads and warm Jewish hearts. She is a fine woman with a good head and heart of her own.
What great pearls (or in my case, pearlies) of wisdom do I offer her that she'd equate it with chizuk?
But you wanna know what the greatest irony of the situation is? With her declaration that I offer her chizuk, she was giving me chizuk right back!
********
I usually don't name names in my posts, but I will. This woman, of which I speak so highly, is named Rosanne Teplitsky. She used to be an art teacher at a local Jewish day school for children with learning disabilities, but not too long ago, decided to wear a different hat. The result of that new hat is "Praline." Read the following:
The newest entry into kosher chocolates is Praline Chocolate Creations, at 1118 Centre St. in Thornhill, the first to service the kosher market north of Wilson. It’s no wonder co-owners Rosanne Teplitsky and Eti Kaufman sought to open their doors two months ago in the highest populated Jewish city in Canada.
Teplitsky said, “I was looking for something fun, something that would make people smile.”
She too hasn’t had any previous experience in chocolate making but she does work with a professional chocolatier one day a week. The interior of Praline looks like a jewellery store.
Teplitsky said, “It was designed by my daughter,” complete with glass cases filled with truffles and goodies instead of diamonds and rubies.
Teplitsky added, “Of the 700 square feet I rent, almost 500 is devoted to chocolate making.”
The inventory includes truffles, both dairy and parve, Teplitsky said, adding that “we have glass and leatherwear, which can be filled for gift giving.
“We are the only store selling kosher, parve fudge in North America.”
Rosanne Teplitsky brings her own brand of sweetness to life. Chocolate! Now isn't that a variation on chizuk?
One Year Ago
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One year ago this weekend, I was wearing a new skirt for Shabbos dinner.
I wore that same skirt to shul this Shabbos.
One year ago this weekend, it was VERY HOT & HUMID but with a BALMY BREEZE.
This Shabbos it was the same weather.
One year ago this weekend, I was in Los Angeles.
This Shabbos I was in Toronto.
One year ago this weekend, I was invited for Shabbos meals to a friend's home, and was treated just like family.
This Shabbos I invited friends and family to Shabbos meals in my home.
One year ago this weekend, our pug, Tyson, died.
This Shabbos our shih-poo, Max, was full of life.
One year ago this weekend, I was out of town over Father's Day.
This year I'm in town for Father's Day.
One year ago this weekend, I made long-distance calls to my father and husband for Father's Day.
This year I can celebrate in person with both my father and my husband.
A lot can happen in a year. I thank G-d for both my father and my husband.
Happy Father's Day to two very special men in my life.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Eleven
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My oldest son is 11 today. That means I've been a mom for 11 years. That means I became a member of the parenthood club 11 years ago. That means if you look closely enough, you might count a few more wrinkles and a few more gray hairs.
BUT WELL WORTH IT!
I know I have good children, decent children, happy children. And this past year has been somewhat of a character study for my husband and I. We've watched as eldest son evolved as a person with wonderful interests, and a pleasant and mature personality. Although he's two years from being bar-mitzvahed, G-d willing, if you didn't know it, you'd already think he is 13. With the addition of glasses and braces in his life in the past 4 weeks, and with his height -- he's up to my collarbone already, and I'm 5'7" or slightly taller -- he appears older.
I wish you, A, only good things. May Hashem continue to be kind to you, may you continue to be a good student, a wonderful son and brother and the happy and decent person that you already demonstrate to those around you.
Eleven years ago, you were born, but had to remain in hospital an extra couple of days when things were a little awry. But thank G-d we could bring home a healthy infant. You were released from the hospital on Father's Day...but wouldn't you know it, we'd already celebrated Father's Day -- and Mother's Day! -- a few days earlier, when you arrived.
Thanks for making me a mom -- specifically YOUR mom . Happy birthday, little buddy, and many more.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
"Endless Love" Revisited
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Lionel and Diana, seemingly good friends of mine, were a tad jealous that Neil Diamond and Barbra Streisand's "You Don't Bring Me Flowers" had been redone. They insisted I do the same with their bestselling song. Of course I had to indulge them... So here, for the first time is "Endless Blog."
ENDLESS BLOG (Diana Ross and Lionel Ritchie)
My blog, there's only you in my life,
One of the few things I write.
My first blog, you're every keyboard opportunity that I take,
For you spare moments I make.
And I, I want to share all my words with you,
No other blog will do
And your I's -- and spell-check -- they tell me how much you care
Oh yes, you will always be, my endless blog.
Pearlies of Wisdom, a title as good as any one.
My blog certainly has not just begun.
For as long as I need to, I'll keep typing away,
Even if not every day.
My blog, I'll be a fool for you I'm sure,
You know I don't mind.
'Cause you, you help bring comments to me.
Oh, I know I've found in you, my endless blog.
My blog, I'll be a fool, for you, I'm sure.
You know I don't mind.
And yes, you'll be the only one.
'Cause no one can deny,
This blog is funny and fine.
I give you all I've got,
My blog, my blog, my endless blog.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Rainbows...of the Garden Variety Kind
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I have always loved rainbows. We're talking since I was a child...and I'm in the middle of my fourth decade right now, so that's a long time.
As a kid, whenever the sky was dark and menacing following a rainstorm or a thunderstorm, but I caught a glimpse of a rainbow peeking through the gloominess, I'd run through the house shouting, "Come look...there's a rainbow...come see it!"
For some reason, perhaps because rainbows have a magical, awe-inspiring and mystical sense about them, I never thought they could be captured on film. As a young teen, I'd traveled on a frosty December day to Niagara Falls for a Jewish youth trip, and suddenly saw a rainbow over the Horseshoe Falls amidst the iciness of the scene. Still not believing the photo would develop to show the rainbow, I was thrilled when it did. That personal misconception of mine was gone.
But you have to admit that rainbows are beautiful with their spectrum of colors, a beautiful palette for the eyes. They are something to view and appreciate, and for that reason we are to say a special bracha/blessing upon viewing one.
It is rare for me to see a rainbow. An oil spill on pavement can sometimes provide the closest thing to a rainbow; look closely at a fine opal and you will see something of a rainbow in the stone; my diamond engagement ring reflects the light and creates color prisms on the ceiling...but still not a true rainbow.
I have recently discovered how to bring a rainbow into my everyday life. I go out to our backyard, turn on the garden hose and cast a mist spray over our vegetable garden or lawn. Voila! A rainbow.
And I am a happy little girl once more...
(that is not a picture of our backyard; however we also have a playhouse/storage in our yard)
I have always loved rainbows. We're talking since I was a child...and I'm in the middle of my fourth decade right now, so that's a long time.
As a kid, whenever the sky was dark and menacing following a rainstorm or a thunderstorm, but I caught a glimpse of a rainbow peeking through the gloominess, I'd run through the house shouting, "Come look...there's a rainbow...come see it!"
For some reason, perhaps because rainbows have a magical, awe-inspiring and mystical sense about them, I never thought they could be captured on film. As a young teen, I'd traveled on a frosty December day to Niagara Falls for a Jewish youth trip, and suddenly saw a rainbow over the Horseshoe Falls amidst the iciness of the scene. Still not believing the photo would develop to show the rainbow, I was thrilled when it did. That personal misconception of mine was gone.
But you have to admit that rainbows are beautiful with their spectrum of colors, a beautiful palette for the eyes. They are something to view and appreciate, and for that reason we are to say a special bracha/blessing upon viewing one.
It is rare for me to see a rainbow. An oil spill on pavement can sometimes provide the closest thing to a rainbow; look closely at a fine opal and you will see something of a rainbow in the stone; my diamond engagement ring reflects the light and creates color prisms on the ceiling...but still not a true rainbow.
I have recently discovered how to bring a rainbow into my everyday life. I go out to our backyard, turn on the garden hose and cast a mist spray over our vegetable garden or lawn. Voila! A rainbow.
And I am a happy little girl once more...
(that is not a picture of our backyard; however we also have a playhouse/storage in our yard)
Thursday, June 08, 2006
You Don't Read My Blog
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Barbra Streisand & Neil Diamond performed "You Don't Bring Me Flowers." It received several nominations for the Grammy Award in various categories, but the song did not win, even losing out in one category to the Canadian singer Anne Murray (who, apparently, doesn't live too far from my house), and to the Doobie Brothers in another.
Nevertheless, I've made it a winner. I have reworked the lyrics for the new millennium version. Imagine me singing it with Michael Buble...
You Don't Ready My Blog
You don't read my blog
You no longer leave any comments
It's not my URL you type in anymore
When you come through the door
At the end of the day
I remember when...
You couldn't wait to read me
You used to hate to leave me
Now after plugging in late at night
When it's good for you
And you're feeling all right
Well you just hit EXIT
And you turn out the light
And you don't read my blog anymore
It used to be so natural
To post about anything
Used-to-be's don't count anymore
They're just a number in the stats
'Til they get wiped out
And readers, I remember
All the things you taught me
I learned how to laugh
And I learned how to cry
Well I learned how to love
Even learned how to spy
You'd think I could learn
How to tell you goodbye
'Cause you don't read my blog anymore
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Ahoy, Matey!
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I can't spend too long on this post. I have to get busy and learn some new lingo: pirate lingo. As in: "Walk the plank." "Arr." "Ahoy, matey."
And I need to find me some pirate clothing: maybe Wardrobe still has that puffy shirt from Seinfeld, which I can borrow. And I need an eye patch, a bandana, some britches and fine calfskin knee-length boots.
Why this sudden interest in pirates, you wonder? Well, I was on www.craigslist.com a short while ago, looking at job listings for Toronto, and under part-time I found this most sensational (tongue-in-cheek) opportunity:
Pirates/Sailors/Mercenaries
Reply to: job-168762661@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-06-06, 8:31PM EDT
Tired of your current job (or lack thereof)? Perhaps you'd prefer one in which you can: - Work as a member of a close-knit team - Travel - Learn about the industry that Forbes listed as the "3rd fastest growing in North America" in 2005 - International Piracy. - Advance quickly, regardless of education level or prior experience I am looking for a dedicated crew to accompany me on an open-ended expedition to South America, where we will pillage cities, board merchant vessels and conduct raids on the ports of small nations. No experience is required, although skills related to sailing, gunnery, hand-to-hand combat and pirate accents are a plus. The successful applicant will also be: - Motivated and a self-starter - In possession of a HS diploma - Able to work individually or as a member of a team - Able to work under intense pressure and rapidly changing conditions - In possession of a boat, or a good credit rating and thus the means with which to aquire one 10-15 positions are available immediately, however captured ships will need to be crewed shortly as well. The Ship is an equal opportunity employer. We welcome applications from members of protected groups, and will make any reasonable accomodations to workers with disabilities.
Job location is Carribean/South Atlantic
Compensation: $2000+; free uniform; travel expenses; room and board; dental
Telecommuting is ok.
This is a part-time job.
This is a contract job.
This is an internship job
no -- Principals only. Recruiters, please don't contact this job poster.
no -- Please, no phone calls about this job!
no -- Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.
yes -- Reposting this message elsewhere is OK.
yes -- OK to repost to Job Developers for Persons with Disabilities.
I can't spend too long on this post. I have to get busy and learn some new lingo: pirate lingo. As in: "Walk the plank." "Arr." "Ahoy, matey."
And I need to find me some pirate clothing: maybe Wardrobe still has that puffy shirt from Seinfeld, which I can borrow. And I need an eye patch, a bandana, some britches and fine calfskin knee-length boots.
Why this sudden interest in pirates, you wonder? Well, I was on www.craigslist.com a short while ago, looking at job listings for Toronto, and under part-time I found this most sensational (tongue-in-cheek) opportunity:
Pirates/Sailors/Mercenaries
Reply to: job-168762661@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-06-06, 8:31PM EDT
Tired of your current job (or lack thereof)? Perhaps you'd prefer one in which you can: - Work as a member of a close-knit team - Travel - Learn about the industry that Forbes listed as the "3rd fastest growing in North America" in 2005 - International Piracy. - Advance quickly, regardless of education level or prior experience I am looking for a dedicated crew to accompany me on an open-ended expedition to South America, where we will pillage cities, board merchant vessels and conduct raids on the ports of small nations. No experience is required, although skills related to sailing, gunnery, hand-to-hand combat and pirate accents are a plus. The successful applicant will also be: - Motivated and a self-starter - In possession of a HS diploma - Able to work individually or as a member of a team - Able to work under intense pressure and rapidly changing conditions - In possession of a boat, or a good credit rating and thus the means with which to aquire one 10-15 positions are available immediately, however captured ships will need to be crewed shortly as well. The Ship is an equal opportunity employer. We welcome applications from members of protected groups, and will make any reasonable accomodations to workers with disabilities.
Job location is Carribean/South Atlantic
Compensation: $2000+; free uniform; travel expenses; room and board; dental
Telecommuting is ok.
This is a part-time job.
This is a contract job.
This is an internship job
no -- Principals only. Recruiters, please don't contact this job poster.
no -- Please, no phone calls about this job!
no -- Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.
yes -- Reposting this message elsewhere is OK.
yes -- OK to repost to Job Developers for Persons with Disabilities.
Okay, men, I am ready to plunder and pillage. Count me in.
Monday, June 05, 2006
And Now A Word from My Boys...
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This post is cross-referenced on Our Kids Speak.
Scenario One:
While driving home from school today, my oldest son (11 in two weeks) announced "I hope we go fishing this summer"!
I asked: "Who's 'we' "?"
Me, Abba, and Yossi bracket Les." Yossi is known to some people as Yossi and to others as Les. My son gave our friend's name the distinction it deserves...
Scenario Two:
Dinner time. I doled out into everyone's bowl a yummy pureed veggie soup I make every now and again. It's been such a hit with my kids and visiting family and friends since day one. And I thought today would be no different.
Youngest son (6) did not want to eat the soup. Silly me took the time to argue about it because I wanted him to at least have a few spoonsful. I reminded him that he's eaten it before, and he was adamant that he didn't have a taste for the soup, explaining, "I didn't even like it that Shabbat when I ate three bowls of it!"
This post is cross-referenced on Our Kids Speak.
Scenario One:
While driving home from school today, my oldest son (11 in two weeks) announced "I hope we go fishing this summer"!
I asked: "Who's 'we' "?"
Me, Abba, and Yossi bracket Les." Yossi is known to some people as Yossi and to others as Les. My son gave our friend's name the distinction it deserves...
Scenario Two:
Dinner time. I doled out into everyone's bowl a yummy pureed veggie soup I make every now and again. It's been such a hit with my kids and visiting family and friends since day one. And I thought today would be no different.
Youngest son (6) did not want to eat the soup. Silly me took the time to argue about it because I wanted him to at least have a few spoonsful. I reminded him that he's eaten it before, and he was adamant that he didn't have a taste for the soup, explaining, "I didn't even like it that Shabbat when I ate three bowls of it!"
CROCS (TM) Are the Now Thing
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Oh. My. Gosh.
My daughter has become a sales agent for this new trendy shoe called Crocs. She has come up with just about every reason why it's a worthwhile shoe, never mind that she wants them...needs them....has just got to have them!
I made the mistake of telling her that I had a couple pairs of clogs when I was a kid.
"SEE...you had clogs, I can have Crocs!"
She is not willing to have knock-offs; she "needs" the real thing. And suddenly so does my youngest guy -- he wants them too. Several of my daughter's school friends have them; several of those friends have little brothers who are friends with my youngest son...and they have them.
So, since yesterday afternoon, I have become a croc hunter. Look out, Steve Irwin, I'm your newest competition!
Update: Monday evening:
My daughter is the very happy owner of a pair of pink Crocs; my young son is unhappy as there were none in his size. These are a very POPULAR shoe and apparently there are back order wait lists for customers at some locations.
I "met" my daughter halfway and told her these are an early birthday present -- she was okay with that and mentally scratched off the IPod that was on her birthday wish list. "It's okay...I wouldn't even know how to download onto it."
A big sigh of relief from Mom.
A Seraphic Session
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Next Sunday morning, June 11, is the 3rd Annual Ariel Avrech Yahrzeit/Memorial Lecture, being held at the Young Israel of Century City, in Los Angeles. The guest speaker will be Rachel Friedman, a world renowned scholar on The Five Books of Moses, and The Prophets. The title of her lecture is: How Can We Come to Know G-d?
Of course I would like to be among the audience, and for a time hoped it would be possible, but not this year... I did make the trip last summer, thinking it was high time that I meet the Avrechs and honor the memory of their very special son at the annual yahrzeit lecture.
Although I feared I might have set a precedence in traveling across the country -- if I made the effort to attend the lecture once, perhaps everyone expected me to attend each subsequent one -- I was certainly not sorry I made the trip. (I am sorry, however, that I didn't get to meet Cruisin' Mom that day, who also attended the lecture.)
If anyone lives in the Los Angeles vicinity and has made the time and effort to read Seraphic Secret, or The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden, and has gotten a taste of what Robert Avrech is all about, and has gotten a taste of what Ariel Avrech was all about, do make it a point to honor the family with your presence at the lecture.
Tell them "Pearl sent me...!"
Sunday, June 04, 2006
It's a Sad, Sad Situation
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Sometimes I wonder if certain posts are not meant to be written. You sit and type away and edit a post for 45 minutes or longer, and then in a flash the post is gone for whatever reason. That just happened to this post, but I'll try to re-create it.
It's almost a year ago that our family took its first road trip to Florida. My children often reminisce about aspects of the trip and the other day I was reminded of an aspect of the trip, a rather sad one that I never wrote about on our return home.
We'd been staying in Kissimmee, Florida, and spending most of our days at Universal Studios and its neighboring theme park, Islands of Adventure. And we knew that we were going to still be in Florida over the American long weekend, and planned how we'd spend July 4: we'd go early to Universal, but not stay extended hours. Instead we'd come back to our hotel, relax, make some dinner, then go back for a movie at the City Walk, and by the time we'd come out of the movie, people would have begun gathering for the July 4th fireworks at City Walk, just outside the theme parks.
All was going to plan, but when we drove back to our hotel, Howard Johnson's Enchanted Land resort -- now, I don't know why it's called Enchanted Land or a resort; nothing enchanted or "resort" about it! -- we saw several police cars on the parking lots, a couple of K-9's and even a helicopter circling the area from above. My kids asked to go swimming before dinner, so we gave in and headed off to the pool. I came a bit later than hubby and the children and saw that a hotel staff member was unlocking room doors with a police officer by his side, and they were performing room checks. When I got to the pool, my husband told me he'd asked at the front desk what was going on: a child had gone missing about 90 minutes earlier. We were disturbed and kept a close eye on our children alongside us in the pool.
An officer questioned my husband and I in the pool, asking how long we'd been there, if we'd seen a little boy, etc, and questioned the few other people in the pool and on the pool deck. My husband and I got the heebie-jeebies and began to look suspiciously at people and kept our children in our sight at all times. It was disturbing, but we remained in the pool for about 40 minutes, then headed to our room for dinner and to prepare for our big July 4th night out.
By the time we got back to the hotel, it was well past midnight and immediately, I saw a news truck on the premises, and as we drove past the pool, we saw yellow police tape cordoning the area off. We hurried to watch the late night news, and were shocked by what we learned:
http://www.local6.com/news/4680611/detail.html
To think that we'd been swimming in the deep end and somewhere below us lay the body of a boy was so very heartbreaking and shocking.
We kept asking the how and why questions of ourselves and realized that no way would one of us seen him -- the water was that dark and thick-looking. And in researching this piece, I learned the following:
KISSIMMEE -- Across Osceola County, residents and tourists are stepping into communal pools and spas that failed Health Department inspections at least once this year.A review of county Health Department inspection records this year found that more than one in five bathing areas has been shut down since January for chlorine or acidity violations.
In most cases, the problems were corrected within a day or two.Another 23 pools or spas were cited for pH or chlorine violations but allowed to stay open because the operators corrected the problems on the spot.The 133 pools closed by the Health Department -- 22 percent of the 607 pools and spas it checks -- ranged from the Remington subdivision's wading pool to the swimming pool at Howard Johnson Enchanted Land on West U.S. Highway 192 where a 7-year-old boy drowned two weeks ago in water that was too cloudy for bystanders to see him struggling.The Health Department, a state agency, inspects all public or commercial swimming pools, hot tubs and wading pools at least twice a year. When inspectors find too little or too much chlorine or a pH reading that's too high or low, they watch the operator correct the problem or they close the pool.
We were at the hotel for another day and a half, and I was truly anxious to leave the scene of this tragedy and head for home. Our hearts were bleeding for the family of this young boy...this family who had come to spend a holiday weekend in a supposed "enchanted land" and instead were faced with an unspeakable horror.
I know that this July 4th, I will be thinking of them and thinking of their tremendous loss...
Sometimes I wonder if certain posts are not meant to be written. You sit and type away and edit a post for 45 minutes or longer, and then in a flash the post is gone for whatever reason. That just happened to this post, but I'll try to re-create it.
It's almost a year ago that our family took its first road trip to Florida. My children often reminisce about aspects of the trip and the other day I was reminded of an aspect of the trip, a rather sad one that I never wrote about on our return home.
We'd been staying in Kissimmee, Florida, and spending most of our days at Universal Studios and its neighboring theme park, Islands of Adventure. And we knew that we were going to still be in Florida over the American long weekend, and planned how we'd spend July 4: we'd go early to Universal, but not stay extended hours. Instead we'd come back to our hotel, relax, make some dinner, then go back for a movie at the City Walk, and by the time we'd come out of the movie, people would have begun gathering for the July 4th fireworks at City Walk, just outside the theme parks.
All was going to plan, but when we drove back to our hotel, Howard Johnson's Enchanted Land resort -- now, I don't know why it's called Enchanted Land or a resort; nothing enchanted or "resort" about it! -- we saw several police cars on the parking lots, a couple of K-9's and even a helicopter circling the area from above. My kids asked to go swimming before dinner, so we gave in and headed off to the pool. I came a bit later than hubby and the children and saw that a hotel staff member was unlocking room doors with a police officer by his side, and they were performing room checks. When I got to the pool, my husband told me he'd asked at the front desk what was going on: a child had gone missing about 90 minutes earlier. We were disturbed and kept a close eye on our children alongside us in the pool.
An officer questioned my husband and I in the pool, asking how long we'd been there, if we'd seen a little boy, etc, and questioned the few other people in the pool and on the pool deck. My husband and I got the heebie-jeebies and began to look suspiciously at people and kept our children in our sight at all times. It was disturbing, but we remained in the pool for about 40 minutes, then headed to our room for dinner and to prepare for our big July 4th night out.
By the time we got back to the hotel, it was well past midnight and immediately, I saw a news truck on the premises, and as we drove past the pool, we saw yellow police tape cordoning the area off. We hurried to watch the late night news, and were shocked by what we learned:
http://www.local6.com/news/4680611/detail.html
To think that we'd been swimming in the deep end and somewhere below us lay the body of a boy was so very heartbreaking and shocking.
We kept asking the how and why questions of ourselves and realized that no way would one of us seen him -- the water was that dark and thick-looking. And in researching this piece, I learned the following:
KISSIMMEE -- Across Osceola County, residents and tourists are stepping into communal pools and spas that failed Health Department inspections at least once this year.A review of county Health Department inspection records this year found that more than one in five bathing areas has been shut down since January for chlorine or acidity violations.
In most cases, the problems were corrected within a day or two.Another 23 pools or spas were cited for pH or chlorine violations but allowed to stay open because the operators corrected the problems on the spot.The 133 pools closed by the Health Department -- 22 percent of the 607 pools and spas it checks -- ranged from the Remington subdivision's wading pool to the swimming pool at Howard Johnson Enchanted Land on West U.S. Highway 192 where a 7-year-old boy drowned two weeks ago in water that was too cloudy for bystanders to see him struggling.The Health Department, a state agency, inspects all public or commercial swimming pools, hot tubs and wading pools at least twice a year. When inspectors find too little or too much chlorine or a pH reading that's too high or low, they watch the operator correct the problem or they close the pool.
We were at the hotel for another day and a half, and I was truly anxious to leave the scene of this tragedy and head for home. Our hearts were bleeding for the family of this young boy...this family who had come to spend a holiday weekend in a supposed "enchanted land" and instead were faced with an unspeakable horror.
I know that this July 4th, I will be thinking of them and thinking of their tremendous loss...
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
$1.3 Million
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We bought this, our second home, almost three years ago. It's a lovely home in a wonderful neighborhood.
Although my home is an older one (circa 1987), the neighborhood is still developing, and whenever I walk the dog I check out the progress.
Since the time we'd moved in, there'd been an empty lot behind us. I used to tell our friends and family about it and say, "You want to buy the lot? We can knock down our back fence and have a communal yard." "How much is it?" "Oh, probably $750, 000." "That's with the house, right?" "Nope...just the lot."
Well, the lot never did get sold, nor did several lots on the next street. So the builder did the next best thing: he started building. I guess he follows the motto: "Build it and they will come...and buy."
When we left last summer for our road trip to Florida, they'd fenced off the lot behind us; when we got home 12 days later, they'd already dug a hole. So, summer, fall, winter and spring, we watched this house slowly but surely go up.
An elegant, custom home if ever there was one. The builder now is offering "Open House" so I and my hubby went in last weekend -- separately. That way we'd see the home independent of each other and form our own opinions.
Okay, it's a nice house -- nice rooms, nice high ceilings, some equally nice finishing touches. But please tell me: WHAT THE HECK MAKES IT COME WITH A $1.3 MILLION DOLLAR PRICE TAG? Wouldn't someone want to design their own custom home for that kind of money?
I can maybe scrounge up the .3 part, but 1 million? Nuh-uh.
Perhaps the only nice thing about having this piece of real estate literally in my backyard is that my house just increased in value multifold. (but probably so did our property tax --*sigh*) The price tag on our home was nowhere close to that number, and even though we've made some wonderful upgrades, it's still nowhere close to the price of my neighboring home.
But as in everything, there's a lesson to be learned here too. Buy a smaller property, even an older property, in a nice neighborhood. Make your smaller house a home...and it'll soon become your castle.
*****************************
Hope you all have a wonderful Shavuot and a good Shabbos.
We bought this, our second home, almost three years ago. It's a lovely home in a wonderful neighborhood.
Although my home is an older one (circa 1987), the neighborhood is still developing, and whenever I walk the dog I check out the progress.
Since the time we'd moved in, there'd been an empty lot behind us. I used to tell our friends and family about it and say, "You want to buy the lot? We can knock down our back fence and have a communal yard." "How much is it?" "Oh, probably $750, 000." "That's with the house, right?" "Nope...just the lot."
Well, the lot never did get sold, nor did several lots on the next street. So the builder did the next best thing: he started building. I guess he follows the motto: "Build it and they will come...and buy."
When we left last summer for our road trip to Florida, they'd fenced off the lot behind us; when we got home 12 days later, they'd already dug a hole. So, summer, fall, winter and spring, we watched this house slowly but surely go up.
An elegant, custom home if ever there was one. The builder now is offering "Open House" so I and my hubby went in last weekend -- separately. That way we'd see the home independent of each other and form our own opinions.
Okay, it's a nice house -- nice rooms, nice high ceilings, some equally nice finishing touches. But please tell me: WHAT THE HECK MAKES IT COME WITH A $1.3 MILLION DOLLAR PRICE TAG? Wouldn't someone want to design their own custom home for that kind of money?
I can maybe scrounge up the .3 part, but 1 million? Nuh-uh.
Perhaps the only nice thing about having this piece of real estate literally in my backyard is that my house just increased in value multifold. (but probably so did our property tax --*sigh*) The price tag on our home was nowhere close to that number, and even though we've made some wonderful upgrades, it's still nowhere close to the price of my neighboring home.
But as in everything, there's a lesson to be learned here too. Buy a smaller property, even an older property, in a nice neighborhood. Make your smaller house a home...and it'll soon become your castle.
*****************************
Hope you all have a wonderful Shavuot and a good Shabbos.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Color My World
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Firstly, I must reiterate: I write these posts with American spelling, because I know most of my readers are American. I KNOW how to use Canadian spelling, so I do know that I can color in the States and I can colour in Canada. And if you're American, you'd better honor my choices, and if you're Canadian, honouring me is the only choice.
Good, that aside, I can continue...
My family and I went on the annual Toronto Walk for Israel today -- it was a gorgeous day, a beautiful turnout, and a fun time was had by all.
Fun is the result of several events of the day, among them promotional freebies that are given out along the route or at the final checkpoint. My kids were busy doing something at the after-walk festival, so I picked up a few of the goodies for them. One of them was three packs of crayons, one per child. Afterward, I thought to myself, "I stood in line for 25 minutes for THIS??!! I could sell THEM crayons...we have so many at home."
But later this evening, I looked at the box of crayons, and saw something rather interesting (at least to me!) about the box. No, not that the artwork -- 3 panda bears eating bamboo leaves -- sucks (It does! What's the correlation with panda bears and crayons except that they both might originate in China?!). But under the name of the company, and the word CRAYONS, it says MADE FROM SOYBEANS!
Hmm...so is this company saying, These crayons are so healthy, you could eat them. Should I feed my kids something like soup, salad and pita pockets for a Sunday lunch, and say, "Here. Have a couple of these colorful crayons to go with that. They're healthy too!"
Many crayons say "environmentally safe, and non-toxic" as this box does, but it also explains these crayons are "pure" as well as "smoother, brighter, no waxy flaking because Fun Pro contains no petroleum wax, only pure soybean oil!" (And what's with the exclamation marks? Will these sell better because of a little punctuation?)
I guess there are some people who are much more "natural thinkers" than I might profess to be; perhaps they look for crayons like these; perhaps they only use bean-based crayons...
Just picture it!
Firstly, I must reiterate: I write these posts with American spelling, because I know most of my readers are American. I KNOW how to use Canadian spelling, so I do know that I can color in the States and I can colour in Canada. And if you're American, you'd better honor my choices, and if you're Canadian, honouring me is the only choice.
Good, that aside, I can continue...
My family and I went on the annual Toronto Walk for Israel today -- it was a gorgeous day, a beautiful turnout, and a fun time was had by all.
Fun is the result of several events of the day, among them promotional freebies that are given out along the route or at the final checkpoint. My kids were busy doing something at the after-walk festival, so I picked up a few of the goodies for them. One of them was three packs of crayons, one per child. Afterward, I thought to myself, "I stood in line for 25 minutes for THIS??!! I could sell THEM crayons...we have so many at home."
But later this evening, I looked at the box of crayons, and saw something rather interesting (at least to me!) about the box. No, not that the artwork -- 3 panda bears eating bamboo leaves -- sucks (It does! What's the correlation with panda bears and crayons except that they both might originate in China?!). But under the name of the company, and the word CRAYONS, it says MADE FROM SOYBEANS!
Hmm...so is this company saying, These crayons are so healthy, you could eat them. Should I feed my kids something like soup, salad and pita pockets for a Sunday lunch, and say, "Here. Have a couple of these colorful crayons to go with that. They're healthy too!"
Many crayons say "environmentally safe, and non-toxic" as this box does, but it also explains these crayons are "pure" as well as "smoother, brighter, no waxy flaking because Fun Pro contains no petroleum wax, only pure soybean oil!" (And what's with the exclamation marks? Will these sell better because of a little punctuation?)
I guess there are some people who are much more "natural thinkers" than I might profess to be; perhaps they look for crayons like these; perhaps they only use bean-based crayons...
Just picture it!
For the Birds -- Part 2
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So you've had time to think about birds, have you not? Okay, back to that line of thought...
When we moved into this house 2 1/2 years ago, we replaced most of the windows. The previous owner had replaced a handful of them, but clearly not the same quality we'd opted for. So clear in fact, that a couple of the screens don't fit well into the frames.
And how did I discover that? Soon after we moved in, I'd left my sons' bedroom window open and later in the day I went into the room and the screen had fallen inward so that fresh air (and dust and pollen and whatever else) had been free to enter the room. I was annoyed about the situation and that was that.
Several days later, one late Saturday night, I was sitting in our family room watching TV. I think hubby was in the bathroom at the time and I was lounging on the sofa in our sunken family room (a few steps to go down into the family room, and the kitchen overlooks the family room, which by the way has a very high, cathedral-type ceiling).
SUDDENLY, I sensed something was in the room with me. I could've sworn something had flown past. I looked up, and there was a small bird flying rings around the ceiling, and swooping, like dive-bombing, toward the furniture. I had visions of Hitchcock's THE BIRDS.
I screamed for my husband; he came running. "WHAT? WHAT?" I pointed to the bird flying in circles and swooping, as I kept ducking my head and body.
He started grabbing a sofa pillow, and like an airport runway engineer who stands with flashlight-type lights in his hands, guiding an aircraft to a particular laneway to direct his plane, he was trying to do the same with the pillow. He was shooing the bird who flew up and down, up and down, back to the second story and then to the main level. It took a few minutes, but somehow hubby managed to shoo that bird out of the house.
All I could say was "Ooh, ooh, ooh" and wonder how much bird poop had been dropped by this very anxious flying machine.
Then hubby and I calmed down a bit and tried to figure out how the damn bird had gotten in the house, and WHEN he'd gotten in the house, how long he might've been in the house, and WHERE he'd been hiding out in the house.
We narrowed down the possibilities to a couple choices:
1. We'd often leave the screen door wide open to let our former dog come back into the house after he'd do his business outside.
2. The bird had somehow flown into my sons' bedroom that day I'd found the screen had fallen inward and onto the floor. Okay, but we couldn't figure out where the bird had been for a few days. We thought he might've hit a wall or piece of furniture upon his landing, been a bit stunned and managed to find a perch somewhere atop an armoire or cabinet where he wouldn't be readily seen.
We're pretty sure he must've come in through the bedroom window. Why he chose to make his appearance known at that particular time on that particular night is byond me. I wish I could say it was The Birds I was watching on TV; alas, no. I think it was Saturday Night Live...and that feathered friend just wanted its 15 minutes of fame...
"LIVE, from the family room in TorontoPearl's house, it's THE BIRD...!"
Saturday, May 27, 2006
"S" Marks the Spot
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My youngest child has some trouble with the "s" sound, so a few sessions of speech therapy were in order this school year. And of course, homework was involved, and I was usually the homework buddy.
We did one of the exercises this evening; a chart with pictures was given and my child was supposed to tell me about the pictures, or repeat the phrases I said about them...phrases that were provided as part of the exercise. But one of the exercises involves the child elaborate on the given phrase.
The phrase was: ThiS iS the biggeSt Star. My son had to repeat that phrase and elaborate on it. He said: "This is the biggest star...so that Hashem can hug it!"
*smile*
My youngest child has some trouble with the "s" sound, so a few sessions of speech therapy were in order this school year. And of course, homework was involved, and I was usually the homework buddy.
We did one of the exercises this evening; a chart with pictures was given and my child was supposed to tell me about the pictures, or repeat the phrases I said about them...phrases that were provided as part of the exercise. But one of the exercises involves the child elaborate on the given phrase.
The phrase was: ThiS iS the biggeSt Star. My son had to repeat that phrase and elaborate on it. He said: "This is the biggest star...so that Hashem can hug it!"
*smile*
Friday, May 26, 2006
For the Birds
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Alfred Hitchcock's classic horror film, The Birds, screened in 1963, was based on a short story by Daphne du Maurier.
The Birds and other Stories
by Daphne du Maurier was published by Penguin Books in 1963; this collection of short stories enabled her devoted readership to see her, for the first time, in a very different guise as an exponent of the sinister and macabre.
The idea for this famous story came to her one day when she was walking across to Menabilly Barton farm from the house. She saw a farmer busily ploughing a field whilst above him the seagull s were diving and wheeling. She developed the idea about the birds becoming hostile and attacking him.
In her story, the birds become hostile after a harsh winter with little food, first the seagulls, then birds of prey and finally even small birds, all turn against mankind.
The nightmarish idea appealed to Hitchcock who turned it into the celebrated film. Daphne disliked the film and particularly disliked the translation of the setting from Cornwall, with its small fields and stone hedges, to small-town America.
Peck at those seeds of information for a while, and I'll get back to my story soon enough.
Shabbat Shalom.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
It's Not Cool
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Since when do little kids feel the need to make fashion statements?
Okay, in this house, since the age of about 2 1/2. Both the sons and the daughter.
One would think that daughter would prefer to dress a certain way, to reflect a certain image, regardless if she's eight or eighteen. From a young age, she has displayed a true fashion sense -- granted, I buy her the clothes, but it's she who puts the look together. People are forever commenting to me at shul and in public about how sweet she looks, how in style she looks... Sometimes it's a knit hat she wears at a jaunty angle, other times it's black suede "fashion boots" that she sports that help complete her look. Even in her green plaid school uniform and white blouse or polo shirt, she's got flare.
Okay, so daughter is sort of a given, but sons...?
When not in school uniform, oldest son never wanted to wear jeans, neither as a real youngster, nor does he still. He prefers to just pull on sweatpants, or jogging pants, and a nice polo shirt. The easier the look, the better it is.
What's with child # 3? For the past year, I've noticed that he walks around or stands around a lot with his hands in his pockets. He looks sort of cool, I think to myself. A little like something out of West Side Story. He has a crocheted kippah collection, and suede kippah collection, and even some black velvet ones hiding out with the suede ones, but it's a beautiful Boukkharian one he prefers to wear. And atop that kippah, he wears a black ballcap with Los Angeles imprinted on the front. So imagine kippah sinking low, baseball cap sitting high, hands in pockets and like his older brother, preferably not in jeans, but in sweats or cotton pants.
This child has a particular look, and particular tastes. Just last week, as I prepared some clothes for him to wear to school, I pulled out one shirt. "No," with vigorous head shaking. I pulled out another shirt. "Nope!" And another shirt. "No...it's not cool." Another shirt? "No, it's not cool either!" I stared at this child. What is cool to a six-year-old? He announced that he was happy I hadn't bought him PJs that had fire engines on them; he told me another time that I had to give away a shirt I'd bought for him that had trucks on it. "I don't like trucks," he declared. Since when are motor vehicles not acceptable on young children's clothing? And dinosaurs? Forget those...they crept out of the clothing decoration picture for him a few years ago. He made them more extinct than they already were!
I think I'm just about ready for child # 3 to wear a school uniform...for the next 8 years! At least I'll have that many years to convince him of the fact that wearing a uniform is C-O-O-L...!
Monday, May 22, 2006
Hey, Vicky, They Say It's Your Birthday...
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I just had to get away from the halachot of my last post; I think I might've opened a can of worms with it...
My six-year-old son went around the house yesterday, whispering, "Tomorrow is Victoria Day." Today he went around the house, whispering, "Today is Victoria Day."
In fact it was. A long weekend to honour the birthday of the late, great Queen Victoria.
I think many people, if not most, don't know why we have a long weekend, why people cross the border to shop in Buffalo, why people drive up north to open their cottages for the season, why people drive to Niagara Falls to spend the weekend there, why services and stores are closed throughout the city, and why we light fireworks.
So, fellow Canadians, and neighboring Americans, here is a brief history lesson.
Even though she's been dead for over a century, Canada has been celebrating Queen Victoria's birthday for years. Wouldn't it be cool if everyone could take a day off work or school on your birthday?
What is Victoria Day? Queen Victoria was born on May 24th but Canadians celebrate Victoria Day on the Monday before May 25. People in England celebrate it in June. Victoria Day became a popular holiday in Ontario (it was Canada West back then) in 1845 and a national holiday in 1901. During the 1900s, it used to be called Empire Day and then it changed to Commonwealth Day. Now Canadians call it Victoria Day.
Who Was Queen Victoria? Victoria, who was queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and empress of India, was born in 1819. She was only 18 when she took over the throne in 1837 after her uncle George IV died. She ruled until her death in 1901, then her son Edward the VII became the King of England.
Queen Victoria - Did U Know?
The earliest postage stamps in the world were the Penny Black of the United Kingdom and had the head of Queen Victoria on them. They were first used on May 6, 1840.
As a kid, Queen Victoria was trained to keep her chin up. To help her out, holly was put under her collar to irritate her if her head was down.
Victoria's mom spoke German at home and even though she ruled England for 64 years, Victoria never learned to speak perfect English.
As soon as she could (after taking over the throne), 18 year-old Victoria moved her bed from her mom's bedroom to her own room.
Queen Victoria was the last teenager to rule England.
***********
Could you imagine a teenager ruler in present-day England, or in any other country for that matter....?
"Um, like I don't feel like getting out of bed today. I think I'll call the masseur into my suite to give me a massage and shiatsu."
"But, Miss, you must meet the visiting dignitaries from Zaire. They are lunching with you and the press secretary in four hours."
"Aw, c'mon, Jeeves. Do I have to? You can show those folks a good time. Say I've got some rare, communicable disease. I'll prepare the Twister (tm) game, you can put on some funky music, I'll order in some Chinese food and you deal with the Zairians/Zairees/whatever....'kay?"
"Miss..."
"Jeeves, I know what I'm saying. I'm not going to go to lunch, and that's that! You want anything else from me...? Talk to the hand!"
I just had to get away from the halachot of my last post; I think I might've opened a can of worms with it...
My six-year-old son went around the house yesterday, whispering, "Tomorrow is Victoria Day." Today he went around the house, whispering, "Today is Victoria Day."
In fact it was. A long weekend to honour the birthday of the late, great Queen Victoria.
I think many people, if not most, don't know why we have a long weekend, why people cross the border to shop in Buffalo, why people drive up north to open their cottages for the season, why people drive to Niagara Falls to spend the weekend there, why services and stores are closed throughout the city, and why we light fireworks.
So, fellow Canadians, and neighboring Americans, here is a brief history lesson.
Even though she's been dead for over a century, Canada has been celebrating Queen Victoria's birthday for years. Wouldn't it be cool if everyone could take a day off work or school on your birthday?
What is Victoria Day? Queen Victoria was born on May 24th but Canadians celebrate Victoria Day on the Monday before May 25. People in England celebrate it in June. Victoria Day became a popular holiday in Ontario (it was Canada West back then) in 1845 and a national holiday in 1901. During the 1900s, it used to be called Empire Day and then it changed to Commonwealth Day. Now Canadians call it Victoria Day.
Who Was Queen Victoria? Victoria, who was queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and empress of India, was born in 1819. She was only 18 when she took over the throne in 1837 after her uncle George IV died. She ruled until her death in 1901, then her son Edward the VII became the King of England.
Queen Victoria - Did U Know?
The earliest postage stamps in the world were the Penny Black of the United Kingdom and had the head of Queen Victoria on them. They were first used on May 6, 1840.
As a kid, Queen Victoria was trained to keep her chin up. To help her out, holly was put under her collar to irritate her if her head was down.
Victoria's mom spoke German at home and even though she ruled England for 64 years, Victoria never learned to speak perfect English.
As soon as she could (after taking over the throne), 18 year-old Victoria moved her bed from her mom's bedroom to her own room.
Queen Victoria was the last teenager to rule England.
***********
Could you imagine a teenager ruler in present-day England, or in any other country for that matter....?
"Um, like I don't feel like getting out of bed today. I think I'll call the masseur into my suite to give me a massage and shiatsu."
"But, Miss, you must meet the visiting dignitaries from Zaire. They are lunching with you and the press secretary in four hours."
"Aw, c'mon, Jeeves. Do I have to? You can show those folks a good time. Say I've got some rare, communicable disease. I'll prepare the Twister (tm) game, you can put on some funky music, I'll order in some Chinese food and you deal with the Zairians/Zairees/whatever....'kay?"
"Miss..."
"Jeeves, I know what I'm saying. I'm not going to go to lunch, and that's that! You want anything else from me...? Talk to the hand!"
Friday, May 19, 2006
Heads Up, Everyone
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I received a very interesting email today from my friend A Simple Jew. He wanted to inform me of something he'd learned this morning:
Love stories are forbidden to be read on Shabbos. Even to look at them without uttering words is forbidden....Love stores have an additional prohibition because they entice the yetzer hara.
(Kitzur Shulchan Aruch 90:13)
For those who aren't familiar with "yetzer hara"...that's your evil side, the evil inclinations you might display. We are each bestowed with a yetzer tov and a yetzer hara. May the better yetzer reign!
Wow, to think that I spent years in the romance arena and never knew this. Okay, I didn't work on Shabbos, nor did I have the inclination to spend my precious weekends reading these books that I worked on five days a week,. But just think of those Jewish working girls or housewives who want some escapist literature on the weekends. They reach onto their night tables or shelves for some Nora Roberts, some Jennifer Weiner, or any other top-selling romance fiction or chick-lit author.
Nuh-uh-uh...not so fast....!
Put that book down, lady! Slowly back away from that torrid romance, that dog-eared covered paperback you've been "enjoying" so much in your evenings. Today is Shabbos. You may not touch that book. Don't look at it, don't talk about it, don't even think about it. A pure no-no.
I'm the thought police. And you just never know where your thoughts could lead...
So I entice you to pick up the Jewish Week, pick up Jewish Action, pick up the Jewish Press, pick up the Los Angeles Jewish Journal, pick up Moment magazine. But whatever you do, DON'T pick up that romance novel.
Understood?
Good.
Now go and have yourself a good Shabbos, ya hear?
I received a very interesting email today from my friend A Simple Jew. He wanted to inform me of something he'd learned this morning:
Love stories are forbidden to be read on Shabbos. Even to look at them without uttering words is forbidden....Love stores have an additional prohibition because they entice the yetzer hara.
(Kitzur Shulchan Aruch 90:13)
For those who aren't familiar with "yetzer hara"...that's your evil side, the evil inclinations you might display. We are each bestowed with a yetzer tov and a yetzer hara. May the better yetzer reign!
Wow, to think that I spent years in the romance arena and never knew this. Okay, I didn't work on Shabbos, nor did I have the inclination to spend my precious weekends reading these books that I worked on five days a week,. But just think of those Jewish working girls or housewives who want some escapist literature on the weekends. They reach onto their night tables or shelves for some Nora Roberts, some Jennifer Weiner, or any other top-selling romance fiction or chick-lit author.
Nuh-uh-uh...not so fast....!
Put that book down, lady! Slowly back away from that torrid romance, that dog-eared covered paperback you've been "enjoying" so much in your evenings. Today is Shabbos. You may not touch that book. Don't look at it, don't talk about it, don't even think about it. A pure no-no.
I'm the thought police. And you just never know where your thoughts could lead...
So I entice you to pick up the Jewish Week, pick up Jewish Action, pick up the Jewish Press, pick up the Los Angeles Jewish Journal, pick up Moment magazine. But whatever you do, DON'T pick up that romance novel.
Understood?
Good.
Now go and have yourself a good Shabbos, ya hear?
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