Living the High Life

Meet Suite (tm) Retreat Barbie (R). The description reads as follows:

Suite Retreat™ Barbie® doll is a sophisticated siren who oozes glamour and luxury. This sultry redhead wears a charmeuse pajama jacket with faux pearl buttons and blousy, chiffon sleeves. Her matching tap pants are trimmed in black and made of the same luscious cream. She completes the loungewear look with high-heeled black sandals and faux pearl-drop earrings.

She's looking like some 1940s glamour girl in this outfit/pose, isn't she? She looks like she's living the high life -- perhaps in an apartment hotel in NYC. Or maybe...she's living in a condominium for the new millennium. Specifically in a model suite....

Yeah, she lives in a model suite. Yeah, that's right. She lives in a model suite -- actually she COMES WITH the model suite. Yeah, that's right.

Buy a two-million-dollar condo in some sky-high tower and Barbie (tm) comes with it! What a marketing trick. What a bonus!

But really, I was thinking about condominiums yesterday. They are cropping up everywhere in this city and people are snatching them up in lieu of rentals. Some buildings are pure prestige, and even the names connote that. Here is a sampling of some alphabetically:


Aberdeen Place
Arboretum, The
Ascot Mansions
Ashley Court
Barclay Terrace
Beacon Hall
Bellair-on-the Park, The
Bentley, The
Berkshire House
Bradley Estates
Broadway Plaza
Bronte Harbour Club
Burnham Glen
Canyon Springs
Castle Terrace
Celebrity Place
Chedington, The
Colony, The
Ellington, The
Emerald Place
Empress Plaza

And of course, with names such as these, one would think the buildings are all shiny like a new penny. Not necessarily so. Many are converts -- rentals with some touch-ups and some minor facelifts that allow for the name CONDOMINIUM. And the subtitle: MONTHLY MAINTENANCE FEES.

But even if not all the condominiums are newly built, their model suites don't reflect that. For the most part, model suites can also be known as "designer suites." The furnishings, the carpets, the bedding, the artwork and accoutrements scattered around the apartment -- which should be renamed SHOWROOM -- reflect the tastes of top-of-the-line interior designers who work hand in hand with the architects to reflect the consumer market being sought for the building.

I've never gone to an open house for a condominium, but I've seen advertorials for them. And I always wonder at the elegance that is depicted in just about every photo. Seemingly this elegance comes with a hefty price tag, too, but not everyone can outfit a new condo in Bauhaus leather furniture and Agam prints and Laura Ashley bedding, and Royal Doulton tableware. It is just not a lifestyle that everyone can afford or may not even aspire to. For some people, IKEA is the way to go, for other people, it's GOODWILL; and for others it's "heimishe" (homey)

Okay, picture this: You pass a condo building -- The FRESSER -- advertising a unit you think you can afford -- "$200,000...but make me an offer I can't refuse!"

You call the Realtor and say you'd like to see the unit. "What floor is it on?"

"Fourteen."

"How many floors are in this building?"

"Thirteen."

"How could it be thirteen when the unit is on the fourteenth floor?"

"We don't believe in using thirteen in our buildings, G-d forbid, so the unit is on the 14th, but it's really the 13th. Get it?"

"Okay, so when can I see it?"

"How's about now? Are you nearby? I could be there in ten."

"So could I. See you then. Should I meet you in the lobby?"

"Oh, Miss, we don't call it a lobby anymore."

"Okay, so I'll meet you in the foyer."

"Not that either. We real estate folk call it an 'atrium.' "

"Okay, in the atrium. In ten minutes. By the elevator. Oh, wait...how will I know who you are?"

"I'll be the one wearing a button in my lapel that says, 'I'm Sam. Talk to me about finding a palace for you.' "
"
"
"
"
"
"
But first Sam takes you to see the Fresser's model suite. And a heimishe model suite is "just like home." There's a welcome mat on the outside of the front door, a mezuzah on the doorpost. And when you walk in, another mat and a sign -- "Please remove shoes at door." You do so, then move into the living room. The flowery couch and love seat are covered in thick plastic, and you dare not sit down for you know that your tuches will stick to the plastic and burn your upper legs when you get up.

You move into the kitchen, following the aroma of a freshly baked coffee cake. The table in the eat-in kitchen is set with bagels and lox and cream cheese and baby dills. "Just in case you want a little nosh as you're looking around," Sam explains. "But please use a plate and napkin."

You pass over the inviting food -- you're going to your parents for dinner and your mother would be terribly offended if you don't eat, and G-d forbid 'cause you had a nosh in a model suite.

The guest bathroom has a sign on the counter: "Tell them Sam sent you and you'll get a good seat!"

The master bedroom is a bit small, but that's because there's a queen-size bed and a day bed -- for overnight guests -- in the room, along with a dresser and a television and a mini bar fridge -- "In case you need a little nosh in the middle of the night."

The master bath is Art Deco black and white floor tiles, and the towels are bloodred ("Bought at a close-out sale," explains Sam). There is a floor scale that, when you stand on it to check your weight, calls out, "I'M NOT LYING!"

There is not enough cupboard space, you notice, and comment. "Cupboards, shmupboards," says Sam. "Put your stuff under the bed or in the bathtub and just draw the curtain to hide it...."

*******

Okay, so maybe I took this heimishe model suite scenario just a bit too far (and believe me when I say there was not one bit of plastic covering our furniture when I grew up, so it's not a personal heimishe memory), but it started out just because I realized that not everyone's life and possessions are as attractive as the interiors of model suites. Sometimes it would just probably be nicer to be able to relate to something familiar...and yes, even in a model suite.

Maybe the bloodred towels have to go, but I think the bagels, lox and cream cheese ought to stay...don't you?

Amy Zoe Mason

Two women buy a desk in a thrift shop. In the desk they find a secret compartment. In the compartment they find a diary/journal of one Amy Zoe Mason.

These women attempt to find out exactly who Amy Zoe Mason was. She died young, a few years ago.

Their discovery of the diary and their attempts to learn about Amy Zoe Mason get turned into a manuscript.

The manuscript is picked up by Simon & Schuster, with the journal published as a piece of fiction.

This work and the women's attempts at detective work sound fascinating...and mysterious.

The book is called Journal: The Short Life and Mysterious Death of Amy Zoe Mason.

******
If anyone were to find my handwritten diaries and journals after I'm gone, and if the person approaches a publisher and the publisher deems the books worthy of publication, please, in the press kits, or on the book jackets, don't refer to my life as FICTION.

The Sun'll Come Out TOMORROW...

...or at least, I hope it will. For tomorrow is the first day of school. Memorable for all.

In this house, the wee ones will be going into grades 1, 4 and 6. The one in grade 6 will experience "boys only" as this is the year that the boys are separated from the girls. (but believe me, they make up for that in later years!) Bodies are changing, interests are developing... Mix that in with "limudei Kodesh" (holy teachings: Torah, Mishnah, Gemara, Navi...) and it could be a problem. And so, there will now be THE BOYS vs. THE GIRLS.

My oldest isn't yet interested in girls anyhow, so he's not complaining! In fact, post kindergarten, I find that the boys and girls stick with their own kind anyhow...

Hopefully the sun will shine. We will take the traditional "first day of school" photos -- uniforms and all -- and will head off to greet the mayhem that the school parking lot and surrounding streets become.

We will escort our nervous and excited children to their respective classrooms, meet the teachers and move on to the coffee morning for parents. We will play the "What did you do this summer?/Did you go anywhere?/Where did the kids go for camp?/What class are they in?/What programs are they signed up for after school?" game.

I'm not that great at the game. I am not comfortable with small talk, nor am I comfortable with certain members of the school population.

Heck, I think I'm regressing to my eight-year-old self, aren't I, 'cause it's the first day of school.

So anyhow... What class are YOU in? What teacher do YOU have? What did YOU do this summer?

...but more importantly: DO YOU WANT TO SIT WITH ME AT LUNCH!?

I Want To Be Your First

AHA!! So you thought the title meant something else, did you? Get your mind out of that gutter, people.

It is the Hebrew month of Elul, a time for reflection, a time for action. I'm taking those two a step further. I'm thinking that "Zreezut" (Hebrew for hastiness; quick action) is the key here. I'm thinking that I want to be the first to wish you the best for the coming new year, and so I'm dedicating a post to this topic.

Sure, give it another three weeks and you'll read posts galore about the Jewish New Year, sweetness, honey, speculation, blah, blah, blah. But I know I'll have been there first! Usually, I work on adrenaline, having become a last-minute type of gal. But this year is different....

While others are still thinking of who to send greetings to, I'll have already sent them! While others are browsing the Hallmark and American Greetings card racks for Rosh Hashanah cards to send, I'll be smiling 'cause my good deed was already done.

It's usually when I'm out in public, grocery shopping or at some function, and it's nearing the holidays, that I wish someone I know whom I meet a Happy New Year. I usually preceed the greeting with "You're the first person I'm wishing a Happy New Year to." It's always so momentous.

Last week, in response to a personal email I received on my Etty Zigler post, I wished the sender a Happy New Year, telling her she was the first for the year. She responded in kind, and told me I was the first, too.

But I now have a public domain to holler out to all of you some three weeks before the actual event: SHANAH TOVAH u'METUKAH (a happy and sweet year),a "gut gebenched yor " (a good and blessed year)!

Do me a favor everyone. When you see my husband, tell him that you already got Rosh Hashanah greetings from me. "Zreezut" is his famous "moral of the story" -- so you can tell him that I told the story just a little faster this year.

Shanah Tovah, everyone. May there be peace in your lives, in your homes, in Israel and around the world. May we continue to read and hear good things about each other...whether via blogs or personal emails.

And when talk of Rosh Hashanah greetings come around soon enough, remember: Pearl was your first!

[I think I can say about this plan of getting ahead: "SHOFAR SHO GOOD!" --groan]

The Whole World's Jewish

Driving in the car today down Toronto's "Jewish" street -- Bathurst Street -- I was with my two younger children. My youngest, who'll be entering grade 1 next week, G-d willing, is actively reading anything and everything, including signs.

Out of the blue, he announces to his sister and me, "The whole world's Jewish."

Both his sister and I say no. She explains nicely that not everyone is Jewish; people go to church and not just synagogues.

The little guy was adamant but gave in after a while. "Okay, maybe not the whole world. But all of Toronto is Jewish."

I said, "I don't think so... Yes, there are a lot of Jews here, but neither the whole world or all of Toronto is Jewish."And his sister also tried to convince him of the fact.

He relented. "Okay, but some of the people are Jewish."And with his next announcement, I understood from where this entire dialogue had materialized.

"But I saw the sign that said: www.JewishToronto.com."

(cross-posted on Our Kids Speak)

Return to Sender

Am I a total idiot, or what?

I received an email from someone whose name I recognized, someone I'd done freelance work for several times.

I hadn't heard from this person for several months, and thought the person now had some freelance work for me.

And so I opened the email, to find this lead-in:

Dear Pearl,

I hope you’re well and that your writing is coming along well, too!

It sounded like a warm opening, especially because I hadn't heard for quite some time from this person.

"This person cares about me, about my writing," I thought, and smiled to myself. And then I continued to read and saw the message was a general one, not specific, no doubt sent to hundreds of people in this person's address book. No longer was I special, I'd become just an automated receiver.

And damn, if that message didn't make me slightly angry. It was describing a business venture this person had undertaken. Duh!! Not news to me. Not. At. All. One of my freelance assignments had been to edit/copy edit a manuscript describing this very business venture, and I knew all details about it. What the heck did I have to hear about it for...from a robot sender?

It is no longer a new business venture...but perhaps one that is faltering somewhat, because I could have sworn that I received a similar message months ago, when the business venture was in fact new!

I sulked when I read the message, but did not delete it. I need it as a reminder to show me that: 1. "You can't always get what you want" 2. "Sometimes I feel like a nut...sometimes I don't".

We're taught not to look a gift horse in the mouth...especially one that sends a check. But who says we can't give him a good swift kick in the ---

I guess you're wondering why the heck an email message would anger me so. Perhaps it's because although the words behind this message delivered to me are meant to have some meaning...some words delivered previously from the same source were actually empty.

It's those empty words I'm remembering...

We Like Them...Old & Dirty

On Monday evening we were in our hotel room in Niagara Falls (see previous post), eating our dinner and watching TV before planning to go out on the town with the kids and hang out in a games arcade on the main strip.

Interestingly enough, pairs of two adults' and three children's eyes were glued to the TV set -- The Antiques Roadshow was on -- and each of us, from ages 6 1/2 to 46 1/2 were happily watching the small screen, watching the finds and the dollar amounts attached to their worth.

I was amazed when my oldest child suddenly felt the need to turn the channel and quickly see the sports scores and youngest child screeched, "Don't!! TURN BACK!!" Is my child entering grade one becoming a historian, a connoisseur of fine art or turn-of-the-century pottery and furniture? Will he start to appraise any object that crosses his path?

My daughter tried to figure out which of our household objects might be considered antiques -- "Is that chair in the living room an antique? How about the old radio we have?"

Hmmm...did they just think "OLD" makes something an antique? Are my husband and I beginning to qualify...in their eyes?

Hmmm...I wonder how much The Antiques Road Show would appraise us at!?

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

What to do? Where to go? When to go?

These were the three most important questions we had to ask ourselves aside from How much do we want to spend?

First we talked briefly about Boston, where my brother lives.

Then we talked about Chicago, where my aunt lives. And if we're already driving all the way to Chicago, let's maybe go to Wisconsin Dells, famous for water parks galore. (Did I tell you I'm not a fan of water parks? Did I tell you I don't get to vote in this case?) And if we're going to Chicago and Wisconsin Dells, let's plan the trip around meeting PsychoToddler. Even better, let's plan the trip around meeting PsychoToddler and attending his band's free concert in the park. And in Chicago I hoped to meet the blogger behind Ten Li Koach.

And we talked, and we planned, and hubby researched, and we confirmed dates.

AND THEN...

We received two Toronto-area bar mitzvah invitations for the same week we thought we might be away. And we wanted to attend these bar mitzvahs. Maybe just a wee bit more than PsychoToddler's concert!

AND SO...we began to make other travel plans.

We would be attending the Thursday morning and Thursday evening bar mitzvah affair in Toronto, and the weekend and Shabbat bar mitzvah would be taking place in Hamilton, Ontario, about a 45 minute drive west of Toronto.

Should we make Hamilton alone our "summer vacation"? Then I suggested going from Hamilton on to Niagara Falls and maybe Buffalo, NY, for a bit of shopping for school and Yom Tov wear. And there was a consensus!

UNTIL...the main planner decided that we would spend a couple of days at the Fallsview Indoor Waterpark, supposedly the largest, enclosed waterpark in North America. Still relatively new, several hotels offered one and two night packages that included the waterpark, so official family planner made a reservation with one of them.

So our planned vacation was to have three parts to it: Hamilton from Friday afternoon through Sunday morning; Niagara Falls from Sunday afternoon through Tuesday morning; Buffalo from Tuesday morning through the late afternoon.

Okay, okay, I agreed to grin and bear the waterpark leg of the trip...

And we also had to do the unavoidable: we had to put Max in a kennel for a few days. It was his/our first time, and we were worried and torn about having to do so, but we knew he'd be in good hands.

So all went well. My kids had a blast over Shabbat in Hamilton, making new friends very quickly and having play dates on Shabbat afternoon with these new playmates, even exchanging e-mail addresses after Shabbat was over.

Just a note about Hamilton: Hamilton has a lovely Jewish community -- yes, small, but people are close -- both geographically and emotionally, and helpful. The Orthodox shul draws quite the variety of people because there is only one Orthodox shul in the community, so you see black hatters davening with knit kippot. You see women with wigs chatting with women who don't even cover their hair. But they are all accepting of one another...how a Jewish community should be.

The current rabbi is the son of the longtime Orthodox rabbi in the community. Father sits alongside his son, as Rabbi Emeritus. I can only imagine how the father kvells each and every time his son speaks or davens. One son stayed in Hamilton to follow in his father's footsteps; the other sons live and work in Toronto.

A sad footnote about Hamilton is their Yeshiva high school. People from Toronto would send their sons to Hamilton Yeshiva because of its reputation and quality of learning. We stayed in a private residence beside the yeshiva high school -- the school is empty, like a ghost town. Now a couple nights a week there are classes held in the building, but it is not the vibrant learning center it once was -- a sign of the dwindling community...

Anyhow, we had a lovely few days in Hamilton, then drove on to the wondrous city of Niagara Falls, Ontario. Yes, the falls are magnificent, and we watched late-night fireworks over them on Sunday night. Yes, I know that many people come from all over the world to view the falls. Yes, I know that many people have come from all over the world to honeymoon in Niagara Falls. But please tell me: WHEN DID IT BECOME SUCH A FAMILY-ORIENTED CITY? WHEN DID IT BECOME SUCH A BRIGHT AND CHEAP-LOOKING (but certainly not cheap prices) CENTER? WHEN DID IT BECOME KITSCHY, WITH A CARNIVAL MIDWAY FEEL TO IT, OR EVEN A VEGAS FEEL TO IT?

It is certainly a city of sights and sounds, with lots of games, lots of eateries (even a Kosher pizzeria, a sister branch to one that's down the street where I live, finally opened up there; Ezzie, while we were there, I kept my eyes open for you. The likelihood of you walking in while we were there was strong indeed), and lots of opportunities to drop money along the way!

As for the waterpark...my kids were THRILLED with it. My youngest was fearless, going down as many of the water slides and tubes as the height allowance alloted. I'd barely see my daughter as she ran past with a wave and a smile, on to another tube. Oldest son was nary in sight, either, off with his rubber raft or ring and cascading down a tube called "the bowl" -- similar to flushing something down a toilet.

Dear old mom was plain CHICKEN, and I went down one raft, on the least adventurous tube of all. (read: the least dangerous tube of all!)

But I did enjoy the wave pool, sitting atop a rubber raft as the ever-frequent, time-controlled waves rocked and rolled me...oftentimes back to the "beach".

And when I wasn't out there in the wave pool, I was actually reading...something that has eluded me for too long. I'd toted along a book that my former employer had produced for their NEXT line, for the older reader. Yikes, I'm in that class already!? I'd given my mother a copy of this book, had given my sister-in-law a copy of the book, and each had thoroughly enjoyed it. And I hoped that I might allow myself the pleasure to read. And read I did -- no, I didn't finish the book yet, but it drew me in enough to drown out the sounds in the waterpark.

And so, may I suggest Riggs Park by Ellyn Bache, a very interesting, well-written book...

And today we went to Buffalo to check any and all deals we could find. But time was of the essence, and although we did get to a couple of places and picked up a few things (I think my daughter is following in my footsteps, excuse the pun, 'cause I bought her 4 pairs of shoes today!), including several groceries that we can't get back home, we had to head back at a reasonable hour in order to allow for lineups at the border, slowdowns due to traffic, and to pick up our beloved Max at the kennel.

And now it's already the wee hours of Wednesday morning, and we've been home for about 5 hours already, two loads of laundry already being done. Our official summer vacation is over, the prepare-for-school mode has begun, and it's back to my regularly scheduled blogging...!

"Take Me Out To The Ballgame..."

Quick! Cover your children's eyes. Don't let them read what I'm about to tell you!

I AM A BASEBALL VIRGIN!
OR AT LEAST I WAS UNTIL LAST NIGHT.

I attended my first professional baseball game at the Rogers Centre (formerly referred to as the Dome Stadium. You can see it in the photo above, situated alongside the CN Tower, the world's tallest free-standing structure...or so it was advertised as such 30 years ago when it opened). It was the Toronto Blue Jays playing against the Oakland Athletics. And wouldn't you know it -- darn, at my "coming out" game, the Blue Jays lost.

It was interesting for me to note on the Jumbotron that many of the Toronto Blue Jays were originally from California. And one of them used to actually play for the Oakland Athletics.

All summer, my husband had been taking a different child to a few games. It was the first time that my husband had opted to buy into a group of season's tickets with several other men. Most of the games we got tickets for (based on the lottery system) were on Sunday afternoons, which were great. Off would trot Dad and one out of three children for the exciting afternoon.

My children became seasoned fans, while I, THE MOTHER, wondered at all the hoopla surrounding the game. My husband decided to let me see for myself, and along with our two regular seats, he bought three others way, way up high, and priced down, down low. He told me to sit with our number one baseball fan, my 11 year old, in "the good seats" and he'd sit with the other two in the nosebleed section, and sometime in the evening we'd switch off.

So here sat the Virgin Mother alongside number one fan. He was my guiding light, explaining the moves, telling me stats he recalled for players and their plays, and just keeping me from embarrassing him too much with questions about the game.

I sat there, looking at the stadium all around me -- from the stands to the playing field -- and explaining to him something too. I told him, "A, it's not just about playing the game of baseball, and watching the game, it's about a baseball culture." People have been number-one fans much longer than this 11-year-old boy of mine, and it shows: in their manner of dress, in their attitude, in their knowledge, in their lingo.

And yes, there was certainly lots to learn last night about the game...and how it ties in to life in general:

1. Whether you view the game from the cheap seats or from great seats, always keep your eye on the ball.

2. It's not whether you win or lose; it's how you play the game.

3. Always give it your best shot.

4. Chewing gum, spitting and scratching your crotch in public is very unsightly.

5. A home run always means so much more when you've got someone special in the stands to watch you make it!

A Woman We Are To Remember/A Woman Who Used Her Memories To Teach

ETTY ZIGLER was born and raised in Bukovina, Romania. In 1941, Etty and her family were deported in cattle cars to Transnistria, a territory in western Ukraine given to the Romanians by Hitler as a reward for their alliance. Etty's grandmother died of dysenteric disease, her father of typhoid fever and her younger sister of tuberculosis. Etty emerged ravaged by a skin disease called lupus tuberculosis, which engulfed her nose, most of her face and left her horribly disfigured. In 1944, when the Soviets liberated camps, Etty learned that 90 per cent of her family had perished. In desperate need of medical help, Etty traveled to Czernowitz, where she received some help that halted the disease, but did not cure it. In 1945, she was reunited with her mother and received proper treatment in Bucharest. Her face critically deformed, she was encouraged to seek help in the U.S. In 1951, she had reconstructive surgery in New York, rejoined her family in Cuba and in 1961, immigrated to Canada with her husband and three children. It took more than 20 surgical procedures to reconstruct her face. Etty volunteered for ORT, helping and educating underprivileged children all over the world. She joined the Toronto Board of Education to educate students about the Holocaust and became a resource person by speaking about her personal ordeal. Later, she mentored children with behavioural problems. In 1986, Etty became a member of the Holocaust Education and Memorial Centre's Speakers' Bureau. Etty is currently the president of the Transnistria Survivors Association.

Unfortunately, I had to attend a funeral on Monday -- that of Etty Zigler.

I was not a close friend of this 84-year-old woman, but I'd known her from the time I got married and davened with my husband in a shtiebel, we lovingly referred to as "the old man's minyan". She was welcoming and warm to me, the new bride, even though I was 40 years her junior.

And when we moved to our current home just about three years ago, and began to attend one of two shuls, my husband and I were happy to reunite with the Ziglers, who'd given up their home a few years earlier and moved into a condominium not too far from us.

Every Shabbat, every Yom Tov, whether we were davening in their shul, or passing the Ziglers while we were walking to our other congregation, we always stopped to chat with the older but very able-bodied and able-minded couple.

Last year, Etty was one of several Holocaust survivors in Ontario,who were honored by our premier for their contribution to the community. Etty, with her tireless efforts to educate a younger generation of both Jews and Gentiles about the Holocaust and asserting that it should never happen again, had been chosen.

As a synagogue community we were honored to have Etty in our midst, this modest woman, who didn't know what to do with the recognition bestowed on her by the Canadian government. She was embarrassed by the attention drawn to her, but she did know that she was performing a much-needed task of educating people.

Unfortunately, Etty was hit by a car about three weeks ago, crossing the street just ahead of her husband. Her pelvis had been greatly damaged, but she was managing and underwent surgery, which was a success. But after some time, recovery from the surgery did take its toll her body, and she did not survive.

The funeral chapel was overflowing with men, women and young people on Monday afternoon -- a testament to the woman who used her memories to teach, and to the people whose lives she touched.

The world was made much richer by Etty's presence, and her absence will be greatly felt by many.

Etty Zigler, may you rest in peace.

Broken Engagement

I know someone who just broke off an engagement. I think the wedding was to have been next weekend.

That someone is very young -- she was introduced to the boy in February, I believe, and after a few dates they knew they were getting married. When I was eighteen, I surely still didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, much less with whom to do it.

The girl's mother told me before Passover that the hall was already booked for August -- and that her daughter and the young man were going to get engaged sometime after Passover.

They did get engaged...and they had an engagement party...and also a henna, which is the boy's family tradition. All the happiness of these parties, and of the young couple and their respective families was captured on www.onlysimchas.com.

Sometimes it looks to me as if people just can't wait to appear on the pages of this website, whether because of an engagement or a wedding or a henna or making aliyah. Of course, we want to share our happiness with others, and this website is the megaphone for doing so, and allows friends and family to comment on the simcha and accompanying photos, if there are any.

On Friday night, I said to my husband, "I guess ____+_____ are getting married next week....I wonder if this marriage will last." I didn't intend to put an ayin hara (evil eye) on matters, but I'd seen the young couple together over the past few months, and they were just like strangers with one another in terms of how they behaved together. It was all too formal-looking.

Yesterday after shul, my husband says, "Remember what you said last night about ___+____ marrying...? Well, there are no longer any mazel=tovs coming their way. It's kaput...apparently she broke it off."

Did I see something there that didn't ring true? Is that why I wondered why this young bride-to-be, who already had her sheitel, and a condo bought by the fiance, and a first-year free shul membership and whatever accoutrements a new bride has, was really ready for marriage? Her mother was eighteen when she married, and that was 4 kids ago, and several countries ago, so it's not a bad example her daughter has been seeing.

Anyhow, after Shabbat, when I was on the computer, I wandered over to www.onlysimchas.com, and sure enough, everything related to this bride-to-be and groom-to-be had been wiped off the system. Gone were a birthday pic, gone were the engagement pics, gone were the henna pics, gone were the happy smiles, gone was the entree to a marriage.

We can only hope that this breakup was beshert, that happiness will reign once more for these two young people, and that pictures and announcements will be made at some point in the future, showing a happy couple...who were meant to be together!

Nu? So What's with the Goyishe Kop?

Remember a couple years ago a funny book came out entitled "Yiddish with Dick and Jane"?

Well, now, we've got Yiddish with George and Laura Bush!Or maybe we'll just refer to him as Georgenu and her as Lauranu...

The authors of the bestselling Yiddish with Dick and Jane are back--with a new vocabulary list, a new story, and a whole new cast of characters.

If you thought Dick, Jane, and Sally were fun, just watch what happens when the President of the United States takes his lovely wife and their beautiful twin daughters to a birthday party at Kennebunkport.

You'll not only learn useful new words like shpotzir, hekdish, and umglick, you'll discover that, no matter how old you get, a visit with the parents can turn you right back into the child you used to be.

It Takes Time

When I was in my teens, for some reason I always pictured myself marrying not so young, but "older", perhaps at age 27. But there was nothing and nobody on the horizon for me at age 27.

My father kept gently reminding me, "You need mazel [luck]. We all need mazel."

Well, I got married a few months after I turned 32. I was no longer "older," as I thought I'd be when I married... I was -- plain and simple -- old!

But thank G-d children came soon enough and I was an older mom with young children...presumably to keep me young!

I am nearing my 45th birthday. And as I look back on the dating -- relatively little -- I did before I snagged the right one for me -- I realize that marrying at 32 wasn't really old. Okay, so my two closest friends already had one or two children and had been married for several years, but I always say that G-d saved the best for last and I also loved to spout, "Good things come to those who wait."

I waited...and I was blessed -- with a wonderful spouse, who is also a magnificent father to our children...and just a really nice person.

Some people I hung out with in my later single years have not even yet married...and they're now in their late 40's and early 50's. And some of those people who married 5 and 7 years before me, or even 2 and 3 years after me are now undergoing divorces or already have received a "get".

It may have taken me time to find the right person for me; it took them time to find out that the person they thought was the "right person," was indeed the "wrong person."

I think I ought to amend my post title from It Takes Time to It Takes Time...and MAZEL!

(This post was inspired by a beautiful story I just finished reading on www.aish.com.)

Old Posts Revisited

It's nice to get comments on posts, as I've said many times before. It's almost even nicer to get comments well after the posts have "aired" and been commented on. It shows that someone is still reading your words well after you've written them.

Back in June, I wrote a post about rainbows...of the garden variety kind. I found a stunning picture that just captured the message and I posted it too. People commented then, and I got a new comment this morning.

I am the photographer who took this photo and it is of course in my backyard or garden as we say here in Switzerland.

I just wanted to thank you for posting this on the 12th of June as coincidentally it happens to be my birthday.The photo is in the gallery on my old site but if ever you are interested you can see my latest posts at http://www.justgraham.net.

Have a nice day! Graham.

It was so nice for me to receive that comment. Someone's thanking ME for using it, and #2, there's that personal Swiss connection again!

I did also feel somewhat guilty because the photo hadn't been attributed to anything when I posted it. But you should know, that unless I specify where a photo is from, all of them are always from GOOGLE images...so that's like my blanket copyright statement!

So, thank YOU, Graham, for taking such a lovely picture that gave me and many other people a taste of simple pleasure.

And last week, I found this comment on an old July post, "Sweet Home, Alabama":

I am from Hatchechubbe, Alabama. It's not that hard to say. Try this one on for size if you think Hatchechubbee is hard to pronounce... Chunnenuggee or Tchefuncte.

One really has to be careful with what one says in their blog; it becomes part of the Internet files -- anyone can have access to them at any time...even months after, and years later. We type our posts, we forget about them...and then there are readers like Graham and "Anonymous" who remind us about them!

Classical Past

While driving to a friend's this evening, I had my car windows down and was enjoying the light and refreshing breeze. One hand on the wheel, the other on the radio dial, I tuned in to my favorite all-classical music station...the one I used to play 24 hours a day in the nursery when my children were babies and toddlers. And while listening to a piece of music, I was carried back to my childhood...

We went quite regularly down to Ontario Place, a beautiful entertainment venue at the lakefront, and sat to watch open-air concerts that took place, the Toronto Symphony playing with many talented and world-renowned soloists accompanying the orchestra.

To sit on the benches under the covered roof, or on a blanket on the grassy hillside, if we were too late for the concert, was a beautiful setting. The breezy air, the stars overhead, airplanes flying overhead and momentarily drowning out thunderous applause or magnificent music, the cawing of seagulls overhead... All lent themselves to the beautiful ambience of listening to classical music.

I can almost guarantee that if any of you readers -- even those who normally wouldn't be listening to classical music, favoring rock music, alternative, heavy metal, even R & B or country -- tune in to a classical music station, while under a canopy of stars and dark sky, or driving at night with a warm breeze on your cheeks and slightly mussing your hair, you will be caught up in the music, in the magic of the moment.

Get musical with Mendelssohn; slumber with Stravinsky; vacation with Vivaldi; repose with Rimsky-Korsakov.

Classical music...what a gas!

Parental Wisdom

I always love to read blogger Quinn Cummings' THE QC REPORT. Formerly a child actor, Quinn has definitely grown up. She is a wonderful writer who throws curve balls constantly in her posts and keeps you on your toes. If she weren't busy being a business woman these days, I'd say she has a good chance at being a professional writer, an essayist for well-read publications!

Anyhow, Quinn's latest post has to do with parental wisdom, advice from our elders. She shares some wit from her mom and asks her readers to share advice they received from their parents. Overall, very entertaining. Do check it out.

Quick Change Artist

Please go to this YouTube link and enjoy. You will be mystified.

http://www.youtube.com/v/RB-wUgnyGv0

Music To My Ears

Okay, everyone, let's get back to that famous (filler) blog topic M U S I C.

It appears that music always gets people going, so that fact, along with being inspired by a recent post of Elie's, inspired this post.

Everyone has a song that is associated with a particular person or event in their life. Some people remember the first song they danced to with their sweetheart, others remember the most popular song at the time their child was born.

And (no) thanks to Elie, I can't get "American Pie" out of my head. That is the song that was a hit when I was still in my early days of learning to ice skate. It came out in late 1971 when I was 10 years old.

My mother and I, hand in hand, would circle the public rink on Motzei Shabbos. It was the thing to do: parents and children, boyfriends and girlfriends...gracing the ice with smooth glides, sleek turns and unsightly falls.

Music blared overhead from speakers -- some uptempo songs, others slower waltzes and ballads...like the haunting lyrics and melody of "American Pie."

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

Do you have a particular song associated with a particular person, event or a time in your life?

Lessons for Living...As Taught By Max

I'm "pawsitively" sure that dogs are smarter than you think. After all, think about the word DOGMA


Max, our shih-poo, is a wise young puppy. He is full of canine "sechel" (wisdom; bright ideas), and without his knowing I'm doing this, I will share some of his lessons for living.

1. Always keep your nose to the ground. It's a fine way to sniff out good opportunities, and let people know you're serious about your business.

2. Be friendly to men, women, children and other animals. It doesn't matter if they're big or little, black or white. [Max is black, and he's most attracted to other white dogs.]

3. Know when to listen and when to speak up. Oftentimes, sitting patiently works better than hounding others for attention.

4. Life is like a water bowl. Sometimes it's half full, other times it's half empty. It's all a matter of how you look at things.

5. Brush your teeth, or else your breath will stink!

6. Sometimes it's okay to just lounge around and watch the world go by.

7. It's not very appealing to "kiss a**". Doing so usually comes right back to bite you in yours.

8. Being up to "your usual tricks" is only good for a short while. After a while, it tires you out -- and your audience.

9. Sometimes life throws you a bone...and you gotta take it.

10. Biting the hand that feeds you will get you nowhere.

Samuel L. Jackson Called When You Were Out

My husband pointed me in the direction of a link to a new movie: Snakes on a Plane, coming out in a little over a week. Not only does it feature information about the movie, it offers a treat: a phone call from Samuel L. Jackson -- or an email, if you're not willing to disclose a phone number.

Hubby told me to play a trick on someone I know who could very well have Samuel L. Jackson call him about business. The only difference is that Mr. Jackson would probably not be saying these things to my friend. But I could control what Mr. Jackson chooses to say.

But modern technology is so damn modern, that the system wouldn't recognize the name Pearl as the sender; I tried so many different sender names and the computer didn't recognize any of them, ie. didn't think they bore repeating, so I had to plagiarize a name that doesn't belong to me, in order to get Mr. Jackson to contact a friend. A different friend.

I could not play a trick on my husband's suggestion. Firstly, it might not be appreciated; secondly, it might not be appreciated.

But there is someone out there who will (hopefully) laugh because ___ sent Samuel L. Jackson her way. Remember, it's Samuel L. Jackson, NOT Laurence Fishburne, who's often mistaken for him. And as Mr. Jackson has been known to say: "May the force be with you!"

What's Black & White...

...and bled all over?


SAN ANTONIO, Texas (Reuters) -- Twenty-one penguins were rescued on a hot east Texas highway Tuesday after a truck carrying the wildlife to a temporary home south of Houston overturned, said a state trooper.

Four penguins and some exotic fish were killed in the accident, including three penguins that were hit by passing motorists, said Texas Department of Public Safety Trooper Richard Buchanan.

"The rest of the penguins kind of stayed together in the ditch," he said.

The truck, also carrying an octopus that was uninjured, was bound for Moody Gardens, a tourist destination in Galveston, an hour south of Houston, a resort spokeswoman said.

The wildlife was being transported to Texas from the Indianapolis Zoo while that zoo's ocean exhibit is being remodeled, said Jerri Hamacheck of Moody Gardens.

The trooper said it was the oddest traffic accident he had ever handled.

"We've worked several wrecks involving cows, horses, pigs, even fish, but this is the first where the live animals were penguins."

Buchanan said he was glad the accident was not worse.

"There was another truck full of snakes and alligators that was an hour ahead of them, so luckily we didn't have to deal with the alligators," Buchanan said.

The first truck arrived safely in Galveston by late afternoon, Hamacheck said.

Forgive me for my bad entree to this post...but it's 1:30 a.m., this piece just caught my eye on online CNN, and although it's sad, there's something rather comical to this scenario.

Can you imagine a husband and wife riding down this stretch of Texas highway and a penguin is waddling across the median of this 2-lane highway as their minivan approaches.

"Honey, is that a penguin?" she says, pointing straight ahead.

"Nuh-uh. Nothin' like that on this piece of road. I think it's time to get those eyeglasses adjusted."

"Honey," she cajoles. "I really think it's a penguin I'm seeing down there."

"Now what in blazes hell would a penguin be doin' in this neck of the woods? We ain't got no penguins runnin' 'round loose in Texas, last I heard."

And they bicker back and forth about the fact that it might or might not be a formally dressed bird...when suddenly C! R! U! N! C! H!

"What was that?" asks the wife.

"I'll stop the car to check," says her husband.

He does just that, gets out, walks around the minivan, his wife watching in the rearview mirror all along. He gets back into the car.

"You know what, honey?"

"What?"

"I owe you a mighty fine apology. What you were seeing was in fact a penguin. I mean, what you saw WAS a penguin!"

Melancholy Baby

I came home a short while ago from walking Max.

Could somebody please tell me how for the past several weeks, we were experiencing heat waves; even at 10, 11 and 12 at night, the air was so thick, you could (barely) cut it with a knife, yet tonight, I could've stood to wear a jacket, could have worn closed shoes.

I just know it -- fall is in the air. The fresh coolness of the evening tells me so...and in a couple more weeks, the coolness of the mornings will echo that message.

Don't get me wrong...I love this type of weather I just got a sense of while out on the walk. Give me fresh, give me a light breeze, give me slightly cool and I'll be a kept woman. But this weather makes me melancholy in thinking that summer is nearing its end, school is soon starting, and the cycle continues...

Where did those summer days go? Where were all the plans we had for family outings? Why did they not happen? Where is all the time I'd planned to spend to help review math with my daughter and speech with my son? Where did all our good intentions fly to?

So fall is just around the corner, people. I guess I'd better dig out the Welcome mat for when it formally arrives. I'd just much rather prefer to put out a sign saying, Gone Fishing. Closed for the Season.

Summer, and every season, signifies beginnings and endings...and that probably lends itself to my sense of melancholy.

As a child, to me summer seemed endless, but as an adult, it flies by. Am I the only one who thinks this way? Who prefers to keep autumn from showing its face and would rather keep making summer memories for a much longer period of time?

aRTsmaRt

It has often been said that there is a thin line between madness and genius.(most interestingly enough, when I first typed this, I typed "a think line")

It has also often been said that art means something different to everyone.

Andy Warhol exemplified both these statements. Whether he was indeed a madman or genius stands to be proven -- of course he had some of his freaky quirks and phobias, we all know that -- but he was CREATIVE. And he defined art in a very different and very special way.

I used to view Warhol's work as that of a nutjob. Couldn't I copy a Brillo box or soup can, depict it in several colors and stick it on a canvas? But he was so much more than that...as I discovered not all so long ago on an evening at the Art Gallery of Toronto, together with some friends.

It wasn't that I was overly anxious to see this special exhibit, it wasn't that I would've done anything to garner tickets, but the opportunity came along, and I grabbed it. More than anything, it was an evening that was giving me back a bit of my youth.

I used to go fairly frequently to local, smaller galleries and to the larger Art Gallery of Ontario when I was younger, when I was single. There were always special shows to see, gifts to buy at the gift shops and friends to share the experience with. But in all the years I've been married, I don't recall going back to the gallery -- there was never the time, nobody thought of it, nobody relished trekking downtown by subway any longer when we were all married and living way out in the suburbs.

So getting together with three friends for this outing was special. And seeing Warhol's show was special.

He was a most interesting/unusual person, with a bizarre outlook on the world, which translated into his "masterpieces". The particular special exhibit now in Toronto is on loan from the Walker Center in Minneapolis and it was guest-curated by Canadian film director David Cronenberg.

This exhibition brings together more than 20 of the greatest paintings created by Andy Warhol, the icon of Pop Art.

In 1962, Warhol began using the silkscreen technique to make paintings - many of which presented serial images of stars such as Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor and Elvis Presley. Also in the early 1960s, Warhol created paintings of disturbing disaster imagery, depicting graphic car crashes, suicides and the unremitting motif of an electric chair. The polarity within Warhol's imagination that pairs celebrity with tragedy forms the focus of this exhibition, which showcases several of the artist's rarely-seen early masterworks and films.

We are each individual -- in our behavior, in our thinking. Andy certainly was that, and it is depicted in his weird (to some, "wonderful") films; one of them was like a test screen but without talking. The subjects just stood before the camera doing what they'd normally be doing. It was like a 1960s version of a web cam. There was a film of Rock Hudson sleeping, and the camera was on him all the time -- this wasn't footage screened for a sleep disorders clinic, this was simply Rock Hudson in lullaby-land, and Andy thought it would be cool to film.

The voyeur in Andy comes through loud and clear in several of the very sexual films that were playing, and in essence, he makes all his viewers become voyeurs, as well.

It is worth Googling Warhol and his life. It is worth viewing an exhibit of his if it comes to your neck of the woods.

Maybe it was even worth it to paint a soup can or two...or three...or four...

It's A...Whatchamacallit

This a.m., my 6 1/2 y.o. son complained of an itchy foot -- inside his Crocs. We pulled off his shoes and socks, indeed saw a red foot and no doubt a bug bite, put a cold compress on it and forgot about it.

Later in the day, he was resting beside me, barefoot. I looked at his foot again, saw the raised skin and said, "Oh. So do you think it's a mosquito bite?"

"No."

"Do you think it's a rash?"

"No."

"Do you think it's a blister?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. It's a...whatchamacallit? It's a...BOO-BOO!"


*********
(cross-posted on Our Kids Speak)

Swiss Miss

I'm Swiss by osmosis -- and by paying many Swiss francs many years ago to earn that nationality alongside my name.

I'm not that patriotic, but I do recall that August 1st is a Swiss National Holiday.

Instead of shvitzing in this heat upstairs by the computer, I should be out there somewhere, on a hillside, lighting fireworks and marching around with Chinese lanterns.

When I was about 12 years old, I visited my great-uncle and great-aunt in Geneva, Switzerland. It was August 1st and off we traipsed somewhere in the city's outskirts, I believe, to stand on a hillside and watch the glorious colors as the sky lit up with fireworks.

Funny thing about that? I was not even Swiss then! And now, here I am Swiss, and not lighting fireworks. What's wrong with me!!!

The Right To Write

Many of us suffer from writer's block. We didn't truly know we were writers until we had the urge to write and nothing was happening. That has happened to the best of us and has given us a syndrome: writer's block. "I really wanted to put something on paper, but I've been suffering --- from writer's block." "I think I have what you have -- writer's block." "I have so much to say, it just doesn't want to come out." Sound familiar?

A stagnant time. A brain lull. A quiet...because the disquiet and the need to write about it isn't there.

I own several books that have writing exercises meant to open your mind. Have I used any of these books ever? Nah...they just sit on the shelf and wait. Once in a while, I open them and just read some of the writing prompts because: 1. they are ridiculous or 2. they are often funny.

A wonderful Web site, www.writersdigest.com offers a section of writing prompts. Some of the ideas are so creative and would make wonderful assignments for school kids. Here's the latest prompt:

Hollywood producers are making a film based on your life and have put you in charge of casting. They want it as realistic as possible, so they ask that you pick actors and actresses who look the part. Who would you pick to play your family and friends, and, more importantly, who will play you?

Now, I want to tell you about my friend Randi. She wrote a wonderful post about her writer's block. What is the key word in that previous sentence: "wrote"! Someone with writer's block wrote a post, claiming that they were suffering from writer's block. Huh? Not only did she write a post, she wrote a funny post, which is often her style, and a wonderful and creative image accompanied that post.

Guess what, Randi? Your post about writer's block inspired this post... Now what do you have to say about that?!

If you think you suffer from writer's block, don't try too hard, and don't announce it to us; just step back for a while, go about your life and something no doubt will inspire you. Whether that's tracking the mundane activities in your daily life, whether it's writing about family and friends, pets, and professional people; whether it's skipping through your blogroll and peeking in at others' posts, something is sure to stir you. (my previous post was inspired by my looking through a Talbots catalog) And guess what? No doubt soon enough you'll have "something to write home about" and I'm guessing the ideas will just keep coming!

Today's post has been brought to you by the letters W R I T E and by the exclamation point!

I'm Putting On My Thinking Cap

Apparently, Ezzie Goldish seems to think that I'm pretty knowledgeable when it comes to children's books. He included me in a meme he was tagged to do:

List 5 bloggers and in what subjects (or fields) you think they're especially knowledgeable.

As you can tell from the photo, I'm such a dummy, but I've just put on my stylish thinking cap to complete this meme, which was tossed my way. Here goes:

1. Life of Rubin -- Chaim knows EVERYTHING and more you'd ever want to know about Jewish music. You don't have to tune in to the radio...tune in to Chaim's blog!

2. Jew Eat Yet? -- Danny Miller is a walking encyclopedia of Hollywood: its motion picture industry, its celebrities, its historical value. A treasure trove of information, Danny takes the time to often write detailed and wonderful posts that relate to the world of motion picture and theatrical entertainment.

3. A Simple Jew -- My buddy over at this wonderful blog is knowledgeable in the field of Jewish genealogy: he has tracked personal family history as well as Rabbinical history. His resources are widespread across continents, and he knows whom to approach for information, and how to approach for information. Both Rabbinical history and the paths that the history has taken, as well as his own family, help shape his life, his identity...giving his readers introspection to what A Simple Jew is all about.

4. Sara, Elie, Robert, Alan & Glen -- Unfortunately, and we shouldn't know personally, these fine people, each one of them parents, know about grief: the loss of a child. Of course, not one of them wanted to become knowledgeable in this delicate and heart-heavy area, but they are now all in the know. And they share. And even amidst the sadness, they manage to make us smile. And we "listen" and learn...

5. Jake, Randi, Neil, Mark, Ralphie -- These people know about humor, making us laugh or grimace as we read about their world, their foibles, and the world in general that is magnified for us and for our funny bone to be tickled (and Neil, maybe you "magnify" some other things for us, too!).

***

I will not pass this meme on to anyone. As Ezzie says, "...whoever feels like doing it, should. Let's all heap praise upon one another (except on me - my expertise is football). It would be interesting to see what talents people think one another have, wouldn't it?"

Model Behavior

This "glam girl" and photo setup is the type we can see in magazines like Vogue, Cosmopolitan, and countless other North American and European high-fashion magazines.

This is a pretty "sedate" photo: purely classy and elegant.

But other editorial photo spreads or ad campaigns can feature models who look like they just rolled out of bed, with bed head or Bride of Frankenstein big hair, and dark rings around their eyes reminiscent of raccoons but really just kohl-rimming accents. Half the time the models are ugly -- or actually they might be pretty in real life, but with the way they're "made up" they are suddenly ugly; the clothing -- which costs in the hundreds and thousands -- looks highly unwearable and I wonder why a designer bothered to lose sleep or swear in Italian or French while putting together the collection that this garb is part of.

I myself prefer the classic, timeless look. A look that a company like Talbots offers.

Huey Lewis & the News had the song "Hip To Be Square." I think subconsciously -- and consciously -- I've always made that my motto. As the song lyrics say:


"...Don't tell me that I'm crazy
Don't tell me I'm nowhere
Take it from me
It's hip to be square."

Now, not everything in a classic-clothing company catalog is perfectly nice, perfectly beautiful. Sometimes I look at the offerings, supposedly timeless, and wonder: What time period are these from? They're gross, they're dated, they're yukky, they just miss the mark! I guess it is possible to be too timeless!

And then there are catalogs like Sears (Sears-Roebuck to you Americans) and newspaper inserts/flyers like Wal-Mart.

Okay, let's take Sears, for example. The models might be plainly pretty, but some of the clothing...? I think I'm looking at a catalog from the late sixties, early seventies! Which models have the "good fortune" to be featured in the winter jacket/coat spread, or the fall footwear spread, or the eveningwear pages? Do they say to themselves, "Phew...thank G-d they didn't have me doing the sportswear and casual dresses. Those designs are enough to make me puke up my breakfast."

I don't know about Wal-Mart in the States, but here our newspaper inserts feature employees and their extended family members as the models. So Carol from Consumer Relations (a nice name for Customer Service) might be modeling jeans, while Timmy, "nephew of Carol from Consumer Relations" might be modeling infant wear. What about Betty, a "Greeter," who is showing off this week's underthings selection, and LaTicia, "neighbor of Alice, who is a daughter-in-law to LaTicia, a greeter." WHAT?! Couldn't they get someone to model, someone who's a little bit closer to home? Um, I mean Wal-Mart?)

As you look through catalogs and photo spreads featuring models or just everyday people, as is the Wal-Mart way, do wonder what they're thinking about what they're modeling in that shot. Is it something you'd wear? Is it something you think THEY'D wear? It would be nice to do a Model Survey after the photo shoot...

1. On a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being best, how would you rate this outfit you just wore?
2. Would you willingly pick up something like that to wear?
3. Would you be more likely to use it as an article of clothing for yourself, or would you use it as a rag to polish your car?
4. Would you be model for us again?
5. Would you be a little likely to model for us again?
6. Would you be willing to model for us again?
7. What incentives would we have to offer to have someone wear this outfit?

Okay, I must go now and do something with my bed head and raccoon eyes. You can look for me on page 114 of the Sears Fall catalog, where I'm modeling a La-Z-Boy chair... leaning back in one, eyes closed!

(How many of you are actually going now to check out the catalog!?)

Staying Safe

Tonight, well after Shabbos was over, I went into my email account and found this message:


In response to an attack by a gunman at the offices of the Jewish Federation of Greater Seattle on Friday evening, UJA Federation of Greater Toronto and Canadian Jewish Congress Ontario are urging members of Toronto’s Jewish community to be vigilant, but assure them that all necessary steps are being taken to ensure their safety.

Immediately following the attack the following measures were taken as per existing security plans:
Consultations with Toronto and York Regional Police took place immediately
The Lipa Green Building, the Bathurst JCC, Nadal JCC and Wolfond Centres were shut down and evacuated.
Toronto Police and private security guards and vehicles were positioned in front of the institutions mentioned above.
A security plan has been put into place which will result in an increased police and security presence at the above mentioned Jewish institutions and facilities around the GTA so those that regularly open on Saturday and Sunday can do so as per their normal schedule.
Synagogues and Communal agencies have been informed of developments and alerted to the situation to the best of our ability given that Shabbat had just begun.

We regret sending this message during Shabbat but felt it was necessary to inform the community as to what security measures have taken place.

I read my emails after I'd already seen a news bit on the Internet about that Seattle shooting at the Federation offices. That sickened me.

To get this message is disturbing, especially because of the last sentence about sending the message during Shabbat. Disturbing that there's a NEED to send such a message during Shabbat.

Shabbos is a time for rest, but I find it so hard sometimes not to be in the know about matters for 24 hours. Nobody talked about this story at shul; no announcements were made about it. It took a small header in a news site and a personal email for me to learn about it tonight. Sad, isn't it.

Let us all hope and pray for our personal safety the world over and that of our IDF men and women fighting on all our behalf in Eretz HaKodesh.

Sand and Stone

Two friends were walking through the desert.

During some point of the journey they had an argument and one friend slapped the other one in the face.

The one who got slapped was hurt, but without saying anything, wrote in the sand: Today my best friend slapped me in the face.

They kept on walking, until they found an oasis, where they decided to take a bath.

The one who had been slapped, got stuck in the mire and started drowning. The friend saved him.

After he recovered from the near drowning, he wrote on a stone: Today my best friend saved my life.

The friend who had slapped and saved his best friend asked him, "After I hurt you, you wrote in the sand, and now you write on a stone. Why?"

The other friend replied, "Where someone hurts us we should write it down in sand, where winds of forgiveness can erase it away. But when someone does something good for us, we must engrave it in stone where no wind can ever erase it."

LEARN TO WRITE YOUR HURTS IN THE SAND AND TO CARVE YOUR BENEFITS IN STONE.

Chazak, Chazak

In case you haven't seen this video, nor heard this song, please link to
http://www.voicesforisrael.org/video.html.

You'll be glad you did.

AM YISROEL CHAI!

Ode to a Jelly Belly (TM) Giver

On Friday I retrieved my mail
From our mailbox down the street
And when I put my hand in the box
I found something real neat.

A padded manila envelope
That was addressed to me
I saw the name of the sender
And smiled with childish glee

I squeezed that padded package
Trying to guess what might be inside
I managed to get inside my house
Before tearing the envelope open wide

My first guess had been correct
It was candies galore
But in fact not simple candies
Rather, enough Jelly Bellies (tm) to open a store!

A two-pound bag of that sweet delight
Had come to me from the West Coast
From a fabulous and fun gal pal of mine
Who is also quite a talented blog host.

She had held a contest on a post --
Her readers had to find the movie source for a quote
"I'll send the winner a bag of Jelly Bellies"
Is what that California gal wrote.

I knew which movie, I could picture the speaker
But as for the title I could not remember its name
So I had to do the next best thing
And use Google to help stake my claim.

But I'd forgotten about the contest
I thought this gift referred to a different post
But it really makes no difference
'Cause this package was the most...

Sweetest treat she could send me
All the official flavors, so fun to explore
Enough for me and the hubby
And for the kids, JBs galore.

So I thank you, Jelly Belly (tm) giver
It was really a sweet prize
But what made it extra-special
Was that it was a wonderful surprise.

You told me not to share them
But my family I can't deny
As for friends? Well, they're another story
So don't any of you even try...

To ask me for an offering
Of a Jelly Belly (tm) or two
I'll hide the pack behind my back
And this is what I'll say to you:

"Yes, I'm all for sharing
But I'm sorry, you've got to get your own
I know JBs are expensive
So I'm offering you a loan.

To track them down and buy some
Then you can be like me
And indulge yourself in that package of flavors
And not share with anyone, see?"

You know I'm just being silly
Of course I'll share my JBs with you all
But note that's for just this once
Next time it'll be like talking to a wall.

So you'd better hurry and ask me
If you want these delectable delights
'Cause sooner than later the bag will be empty
You'll be disappointed with that truly sad sight.

Are You Being Served?

Ahh...Shabbos. Ahh...Yom Tov. A time for eating, and eating, and eating; a time to be with family and friends.

Now, my husband and I don't do anything in a small way -- we are generous with others. We treat company like kings and queens, preparing a royal banquet for guests, whether they be family or friends.

Perhaps the deterrent by us is often that: 1} I try new recipes out on guests; thus, they become my guinea pigs, so to speak, and 2} I am a poor judge of quantity.

I've never been a good judge of proportions, so I always say to my husband when he or I plan menus: "Do you think that will be enough? Maybe we should make more!" He always looks at me like I'm crazy, and says that the quantity we've planned for is more than enough and if we make even more, we'll be dealing with leftovers galore.

You know what? Usually he's right...like always.

Let me tell you how we do things for a typical Shabbos lunch meal when there are guests...just because most of you will probably never have the privilege of having a meal at our table, although you ARE invited to do so.

Let me say, though, that we're not preparing gourmet-type dishes that need a lot of "patchke-ing"; we are preparing simple dishes, but a variety.

First there's fish -- one or two kinds; there's eggplant and chumus; pickles and olives and maybe marinated peppers; there is a standard Caesar salad we make that's a big hit, and maybe two other salads; there's rice or potatoes or kugel, or sometimes two or all three; there's a chicken dish or two, a meat dish, perhaps meatballs or roast beef; there's maybe a veggie side dish. Dessert is usually a fresh fruit platter, a cake, smaller nosh, and tea/coffee.

A lot of work, yes, but seeing guests enjoy the meal and having them feel relaxed as guests of ours is the reward. We know that we are not doing anything special in order to impress guests; we are just being ourselves.

Part of the food preparation is the presentation -- something I LOVE to do. I pull out several of the glass and serving dishes and trays and serving utensils I received for hostess or shower or engagement gifts; I arrange the food in a lovely way; I dress up the table with the simplest white napkins (paper) and cobalt-blue glasses and our plates that pick up those colors. It is simple, but elegant. Certainly nothing for the pages of Epicure or Gourmet magazines.

Yes, I love to host, and I also enjoy going as a guest to other homes -- it's interesting to observe how people do things in their homes. Some exceed what we do, both in quantity and presentation; others come nowhere close to us, and could stand to take classes in Culinary Class 101. The spectrum is wide and varied.

Based on observation, I learn things too -- what to do, what not to do. I get ideas for recipes, I get ideas for display, I get ideas for what conversation topics work well and don't work well at a table.

Of course we're not all cut from the same cloth -- or in culinary terms, perhaps I should say, we don't all wear the same style apron -- so it can make a meal memorable for a good reason or for a bad one. But I have learned at least one important thing:

"A meal always tastes better in the company of family and friends" IS A FALLACY!

Judgement Day

This 80 year old woman was arrested for shop lifting. When she went before the judge in Cincinnati he asked her, "What did you steal?"

She replied, "A can of peaches."

The judge then asked her why she had stolen the can of peaches and she replied that she was hungry. The judge then asked her how many peaches were in the can. She replied 6. The judge then said, "I will then give you 6 days in jail."

Before the judge could actually pronounce the punishment, the woman's husband spoke up and asked the judge if he could say something.

The judge said, "What is it?"

The husband said, "She also stole a can of peas."

Musical Chairs...for Dogs

Max has been a member of our household since mid January. He really is the fourth child; he is not yet one year old, but is experiencing the terrible two's at times.

He chews on everything, including my fingers. It's as if he sucks MY thumb instead of his.

I bought a very durable, nylon dog toy yesterday, spending a pretty penny on it. Within an hour, he'd already destroyed it. There went that brilliant idea of mine...!

In any case, Max is a sweetie; lively and likeable and just darn cute. Unfortunately, because he's black, he doesn't show up in photos too well, and he always ends up with "red-eye" although he's got gorgeous brown eyes.

Being that I've been home since early April, I can see this dog's habits during the day. One of those habits is that he doesn't stay in one place very long. I see him settled on the white sofa; next time I look, he's on the pale green carpet. Fifteen minutes later, he's on the white love seat. Another quarter hour later, he's in his doggie bed in the central hall. Next time I look he's not there...and I don't see him. I call his name... No answer.

Finally I find him in his favorite spot: a leather chair and ottoman that faces a window to the front of the house and the street. That is not only Max's favorite chair, but also my mother-in-law's. She, however, doesn't get camouflaged against the black background of the seat as the dog does.

Is Max settled with us? Or, as he continues to play musical chairs, is he just "finding his place"?

Sadie & Yetta

( These people are Yetta & Morris, or how I imagine them to look...)

Sadie and Yetta, two widows, are talking:

Sadie: "That nice Morris Finkleman asked me out for a date. I know you went out with him last week, and I wanted to talk with you about him before an answer I give him."

Yetta: "Vell.... I'll tell you. He shows up at my apartment punctual like a clock. And like such a mensch he is dressed. Fine suit, vonderful lining. And he brings me such beautiful flowers you could die from. Den he takes me downstairs and what's there but such a beautiful car you should never know.... a limousine even, uniformed chauffeur and all. Den he takes me out for a dinner....marvellous dinner. Kosher even. Den ve go see a show... let me tell you Sadie, I enjoyed it so much I could just plotz!



So den ve are coming back to my apartment and into an ANIMAL he turns...... so completely crazy that he tears off my expensive new dress and has his way with me!"

Sadie: "Oy vey... so you are telling me I shouldn't go out with him den?"

Yetta: "No... I'm just saying that if you go, wear a shmatta."

Into Every Generation

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Please check out this 1-minute film put together by Aish HaTorah.

It only takes a minute...

http://www.aish.com/movies/everygeneration.asp

Summer Schedule

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Remember watching TV (I rarely do anymore, so I pose the question to you) and over the summer, series would go on hiatus and they'd bring you repeat episodes or "the best of," just to keep you in touch with the show until the fall?

I'm not on hiatus, but I've decided that I'm going to go through "THE BLOG FILES" and every now and again will randomly pull something up and reprint it for you.

Doing so is certainly not a new and novel concept for others; it is for me.

It's like the infomercial, late-night shows that try to sell you "The Best of..." musical compilations. "The Best of Bread," "The Best of Chicago," "The Best of Joni Mitchell," "The Best of the Seventies" -- the offscreen announcer or the onscreen MC says, "Do you remember this one?"

So, folks, do you remember this one?

http://wwwpearliesofwisdom.blogspot.com/2006/02/with-microphone-in-hand.html

Any newish readers have a song to call their own?

I've Been Searching So Long...

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Recently, some of you may have found me by typing:

* Zayde made us laugh

* Jewish actors name changer

* Cleopatra being carried by slaves

* Information on aerial acrobatic tricks

* Who sang take the load off Granny

Wouldn't it just have been easier to type http://wwwpearliesofwisdom.blogspot.com ? I think so...

Wishing You Enough

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I just dug up an old email in my files; it had been forwarded to me and then I'd sent it to a few people. Now I'm sharing it with you all.

Recently I overheard a mother and daughter in their last moments together at the airport. They had announced the departure. Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the mother said, "I love you and I wish you enough." The daughter replied, "Mom, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Mom." They kissed and the daughter left. The mother walked over to the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see she wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on her privacy but she welcomed me in by asking "Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?"

"Yes, I have," I replied. "Forgive me for asking but why is this a forever good-bye?"

"I am old and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is - the next trip back will be for my funeral," she said.

"When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say 'I wish you enough.' May I ask what that means?"

She began to smile. "That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone." She paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail and she smiled even more.

"When we said 'I wish you enough' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them." Then turning toward me she shared the following as if she were reciting it from memory:

"I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye."

She then began to cry and walked away.

They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but then an entire life to forget them.

TAKE TIME TO LIVE.....

To all my friends and loved ones,

I WISH YOU ENOUGH!!!

Just Jokin'

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You know how in this world you meet people who are always "on" -- always talking (often about themselves); always wanting to be heard; always trying to top another person's story. Always assuming that they are funny and that people will laugh at their jokes.

I'm sometimes "on," not always, and yes, my jokes often miss the mark, so I've seen both sides of the coin. But I know several people who actually get on my nerves when they try to outtalk, outjoke, outdo other people, and the best thing is either to just nod my head to them, and not encourage them by asking questions or making comments, if I have to be in their company.

Recently I spent a Shabbos meal with such a person. That person makes it sound as if he/she is the best, knows the most, tries the hardest, all the while looking for the audience reaction to his/her comments and stories, no doubt hoping they'll laugh.

After listening to this person go on and hog the conversation a lot of the time, in spite of there being several guests around the table, and overshadowing both his/her spouse and others, there was a momentary lull after a string of one-liner type bits.

Suddenly my 8 1/2 -year-old daughter fills the silence: "Are these jokes?" (implying very discreetly: "Are we supposed to be laughing?")

Cross-posted on Our Kids Speak

Knowing When To Say "Thank You"

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I received this email from our Jewish Federation today:

Dear Pearl,

Please note this urgent message from CJPAC – Canada’s grassroots Jewish advocacy organization - about the importance of expressing our gratitude to Prime Minister Harper for his strong stand in Israel’s favour during the current conflict.

We wrote to you a few days ago with a request to help support Israel in these difficult times. Since then, the situation has intensified. Rockets launched by the Hezbollah terror organization killed eight people today in Haifa and yesterday struck Tiberias. Here in Canada, anti-Israel groups are stepping up their mobilization to undermine the Canadian Government's support for Israel. It is more essential than ever that we make our voices heard.

If you have not already done so, please contact the Prime Minister's Office at 613-992-4211 to express your gratitude for Canada's principled position and support for Israel. You can also e-mail Prime Minister Harper at pm@pm.gc.ca
This will take less than a minute and is extremely important. You may want to read the Government's most recent statement and the Prime Minister's comments on the situation.

We also urge you to support the UJA Federation Israel Crisis Relief Fund, which is helping to send children under rocket attack to camps that are removed from confrontation regions and purchasing equipment such as toys and games for use in bomb shelters. To make a donation, please click here.

May the days ahead bring peace and security to Israel.


So I immediately typed an email without much thought:


We, the Jewish people of Canada, and the world, thank you for your stance regarding Israel.

It is not easy to sit on the sidelines and watch entire communities live in fear for their lives; it is not easy to sit and watch history continually repeat itself; it is not easy to sit and watch people who are against you, time and time again, try to beat you down.

But it is easy to say thank you. So once again, thank you.

May the resolutions be quick and positive.

Pearl XXX & family,

Toronto, Canada

Roll/Role Call

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I'm very sorry. I know chaos is reigning over in the Middle East, wildfires are burning in California, and the world is full of daily ugliness, but I have to write lighter posts at a time like this. I read all these "heavy" posts elsewhere -- they both inform me and leave me heavy-hearted. I can't write like that right now. I'll leave it for others...

Growing up as the youngest child and the only daughter, I figured it was clear that I was a girl, especially since I had a girl's name to prove it. So why then did my mother often call me by my brothers' names or my father's name? I couldn't understand when she stumbled on her words in trying to get out the right name. Wasn't it plain to see? Pearl was standing beside her. Pearl and ONLY Pearl. So why was I suddenly being referred to as Jacob (my father's name)?

Well, Mom, I apologize for all those times that I personally wondered, "WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, MOM? CAN"T YOU TELL WHO I AM BY NOW?"

Why do I apologize? Because I've noticed that I do the same damn thing!

I want to talk to my daughter who is beside me. I know it's my daughter. I know she's the only one in the room with me. I know she was given a beautiful feminine Hebrew name at birth. So what on earth possesses me to call her by one of her brothers' names? Better yet, why do I often do a roll call when I'm calling for her, and only her. I will somehow yell out all three kids names, one after the other, stumbling over each as I realize my mistake and try to get the RIGHT name for the right kid.

Why is it that when my oldest brother is in town, or if I talk to him on the phone, I will call him by my husband's name and I'll call my husband by my brother's name? This only happens with this particular brother.

But the best/worst scenario of all: since we became dog owners some 3 1/2 years ago, why is it that I would mix up the dogs' names with my youngest son's? Why did I call both Tyson, and now Max, by child #3's name? Worse, why do I call my child by the dog's name?

Why does this phenomenon only happen with my youngest child's name? Something to make you get in Rodin's "The Thinker" pose and say "Hmmm...."

I thought it bizarre, and I truly feel guilty each time it has happened to me over the years. This past Friday night after dinner and when everyone had gone to sleep, I walked Max, and saw a friend, a fellow dog owner. I asked her very cautiously, "Do you ever make the mistake of calling Jasper (a white Westie) by one of your kids' names, or call one of your kids by the dog's name?"

When I heard "I do it all the time -- and only with my youngest child," I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Guess I'm not the only freak out there!

Any dog owners out there willing to admit they've done, or do, the same?