I Want To Be a Pooch Pal

Welcome to the neighborhood. An area where the houses stand large and tall, the lawns are beautifully manicured with very tasteful landscaping, expensive vehicles sit in garages and dogs abound.

For some reason there are a lot of white poodles, Bijons, malteses and the like where I live. And then there's our MAX -- a black dog who doesn't truly fit in 'cause he's just a blend of breeds. But he's smart, and he's sweet, and he's very friendly -- of course he takes after his owner!

Well, this morning, I was out walking the dog. The neighborhood was quiet, as children had already left for school, grownups had already left for work, stay-at-home moms had already left for their health clubs and coffee with girlfriends. I took Max to a nearby park, to let him off the leash and romp freely. In the distance I spotted a woman walking a little white dog.

Not to be mean, nor sound condescending, but I just knew she was a nanny. There are a lot of them around here...just not at my address, nor has there ever been one, nor will there ever be one! And this woman was definitely a nanny. I just figured that her [human] charges had left for school and now she was left with a canine charge for the day, aside from household duties.

As she's walking the dog, another woman -- whom I also figured to be a nanny -- passed her, and she also had a white dog. The two women stopped to chat while the two dogs sniffed each other. Max charged off, ready to check out the canines, but I called his name and he so nicely stopped, turned around and raced back to me.

As I watched these two women and the dogs, I thought, "Wouldn't that be nice? To be a nanny for a dog, or I prefer to call it 'a pooch pal.' " I'd get room and board -- and a salary, and days off -- just for looking after a coochie-poochie.

As it was time for me to leave the park, I started walking to the path, where the first woman was. Max immediately headed to sniff out and bounce on the dog, who...by the way....was wearing a little pink t-shirt with a knot at the end. Imagine a teenage girl tying a t-shirt at her navel; yup, that was the pooch. And I began to talk to the woman who was indeed the nanny. I asked if the kids were at school; oh, no, they're married. So this woman looks after a household and a very spoiled, but beautiful Bijon named Phoebe. Not only did Phoebe wear a t-shirt, she also had a raincoat that the nanny was carrying. She told me Phoebe doesn't go in the rain without it, and the sky did look ominous.

When I asked where this eleven-year-old princess slept, the nanny told me, "In an antique bed beside mine. My employer bought twin beds, and they're side by side. Phoebe sleeps beside me right in the middle." I was also informed that Phoebe gets groomed every three weeks. It is true I have to admit; she did have beautiful curly hair -- um, I mean fur -- done up in a fashionable doggie way.

I was impressed by the patience that this nanny/pooch pal had with the dog. She didn't mind carrying her from the park to her house, along with the dog's raincoat, and bags for going potty. Although I saw Phoebe as spoiled, I did figure she is old, she paid her dues, she's now behaving like some Hollywood vamp who likes attention. And she's getting it.

So I'm appealing to you, my readers, if any of you need a pooch pal/dog nanny -- and no, I don't just mean a dog walker 'cause, of course, anyone can do THAT job -- you know where to find me. And I come with great references. Just ask Tyson -- oh, wait, you can't ask him anymore! Okay, just ask Max; he'll tell you how nice, friendly, helpful, considerate I am to him. "Won't you, Max?.... Max?...MAX????"

My Favorite Time of the Day...or Rather, the Night!

It is now 2:30 a.m. I am going to haul myself off to bed, away from this computer, where I've just spent the last very long while making editorial changes to something I'm working on. I not only will haul myself off to bed, but will also throw myself into bed and fall asleep post-haste.

But before I do that, I will shuffle into my children's rooms, peeking in on them as they sleep, these quiet little children who can do no wrong when settled for the night.

My oldest son makes nocturnal noises, sometimes like a wild animal in distress, as he clears his throat in his sleep. Scary, when I first hear it, but slowly I accept the sound as his. I lean over to gently kiss his cheek.

My younger son, who shares the bedroom, lies under a smattering of blankets -- a Blue Jays fleecy blanket, as well as a quilt from the crib ("Cowboy Blankie"), a quilt that has been used by all three of my children.

Sometimes when I look in on this little one, he is on his tummy, or rather on his knees, with his tushie up in the air...just like a baby in a crib. Other times, he lies swaddled, but with those small toes peeking out from a kicked-away blanket. I cover his feet, kiss his brow and step away.

My daughter is like a princess in her room, with her queen size bed and its many blankets and cushy and plushy decorative pillows. These days, she opts to sleep in the lovely day bed in her room. Perhaps the smaller space makes her feel cozier, is a better fit, for this girl of mine. She is no longer a princess in a queen size bed, but rather a little birdie in a nest of blankets and pillows and warmth.

I stroke her cheek and slip away.

My serene family. My sense of peace. My children at sleep...

Some Food for Thought

This lovely message was forwarded to me from Danny Bloom, a Jewish writer-journalist-blogger who lives and works in Taiwan, and whom I met in "blogland" almost two years ago.

I think this is worth sharing with the rest of you. It's definitely something to think about as many of you will stand in synagogue starting tomorrow night and pray for forgiveness, atoning for all the wrongdoings you've committed this past year, and praying to be signed and sealed in the Book of Life.

I'll pray for you that you all are...

Have an easy fast, and a g'mar chatimah tovah.

A voyaging ship was wrecked during a storm at sea and only two of the men on it were able to swim to a small, desert like island. The two survivors, not knowing what else to do, agree that they had no other recourse but to pray to God. However, to find out whose prayer was more powerful, they agreed to divide the territory between them and stay on opposite sides of the island.

The first thing they prayed for was food. The next morning, the first man saw a fruit-bearing tree on his side of the land, and he was able to eat its fruit. The other man's parcel of land remained barren.

After a week, the first man was lonely and he decided to pray for a wife. The next day, another ship was wrecked, and the only survivor was a woman who swam to his side of the land. On the other side of the island, there was nothing.

Soon the first man prayed for a house, clothes, more food. The next day, like magic, all of these were given to him. However, the second man still had nothing.

Finally, the first man prayed for a ship, so that he and his wife could leave the island. In the morning, he found a ship docked at his side of the island. The first man boarded the ship with his wife and decided to leave the second man on the island. He considered the other man unworthy to receive God's blessings, since none of his prayers had been answered.

As the ship was about to leave, the first man heard a voice from heaven booming, "Why are you leaving your companion on the island?"

"My blessings are mine alone, since I was the one who prayed for them," the first man answered. "His prayers were all unanswered and so he does not deserve anything."

"You are mistaken!" the voice rebuked him. "He had only one prayer, which I answered. If not for that, you would not have received any of my blessings."

"Tell me," the first man asked the voice, "what did he pray for that I should owe him anything?"

"He prayed that all your prayers be answered."

For all we know, our blessings are not the fruits of our prayers alone, but those of another praying for us.

My Own Pretty Woman

(I don't know who modified this photo to include that person in the tub with Julia, but it isn't my doing!)



I'm guessing that most of you remember or saw Pretty Woman, the comedy starring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere. It was a cute, light, feel-good "knight-in-shining-armor" story for the big screen. I'm not sure we all wanted to be like Julia Roberts, but I know we all wanted dear, dear Richard Gere in our life!

Early this week, I surprised my daughter with a visit to a record store and I bought her the James Blunt CD, "Back to Bedlam." I don't hear her listening all that much to the radio, but she seems to know all the lyrics to very current songs, so I thought I'd treat her to her favorite artist of the day.

To say she was thrilled is minimizing the story. She came home, asked if she could play the CD after she'd done all her homework and read and gotten ready for bed, etc. I told her she could listen while she did her homework. That concept hadn't even crossed her mind! But she gratefully put the CD in her personal player and sat down at her desk.

I sat down in our office down the hall from her room, and every now and again, I heard little singsong murmurings. And I smiled. A girl after my own heart. A girl who likes music.

Tonight there was a repeat performance of doing homework while listening to the CD...and me in the office overhearing her singsong. And then I had a flashback...

Do you recall the scene in "Pretty Woman" when Julia Roberts, aka Vivian, is taking a bubble bath, with a Walkman attached to her ears. She is happily immersed in bubbles, with the earphones tuning out the world and tuning Julia in to music. She is smiling, bobbing her head to the beat and we see/hear bits and pieces of songs.

THAT is my daughter. My own "pretty woman."

CROCs Revisited...Yet Again

The other day I posted a photo of CROCs in my vestibule. I received no comments, so I wrote my own comment.

Today I found this wonderful comment -- by Jac -- to the post.

I think that the bat mitzvah girl was very lucky to get a pair of CROCs along with the accompanying sentiments...and we're very lucky to be able to read this message. I wanted to share it with you because otherwise it would remain lost in the world of comments to earlier posts!

Here was my Crocs blessing for a Bat Mitzvah girl: "These shoes may be crocs but they are NOT a Crock. They are no hoax, for they stand for all that has delivered the Jewish people on treacherous journeys on land and sea, over mountains and through dangerous passes, These only weigh 6 oz., yet they also carry a weighty message that will help you leave vital footprints across the sands of time.
We bestow them upon you with the hopes that just like these shoes your journey will match that of the Israelites throughout our long and soulful history. As the Crocs are tough, and the Jews are tough, so may you be strengthened on your journey, As the holes allow sand and water to filter out, so may you filter out all that which is negative and deters your chosen path among your holy wandering community. As they function both well on land and sea, may you be protected wherever your life leads you. As they have a long life span so may you be blessed .
May the nonslip soles, remind you to keep your own soul intact and remain true to the values you've learned from our Torah, our history and our heritage.":)

SORRY

It is customary at this time of the year to say sorry to people and to ask for forgiveness for anything you might have done to intentionally or unintentionally hurt someone.

I found this interesting question and answer that has relevance here:

Virtual Forgiveness

From: E. T. in Denver

Dear Rabbi,
Is it permissible to ask for mechila (forgiveness) over an email network rather than in person? I know it's not preferable, but many of us work in large networked environments. We considered the option of sending it receipt-requested to a specific address rather than an all-points broadcast. Thanks!

Dear E. T.
There are two components in achieving forgiveness from someone we have wronged. One is the initiative of asking for forgiveness; the other is the granting of the forgiveness. Ideally, we try for both. While doing so in person is the best way to appease someone, it is not always possible. Asking for forgiveness in a written letter, over the phone or in cyber space is also acceptable particularly when the person responds. Nevertheless, even if a person doesnt confirm his forgiveness, in the pre-Kol Nidre confession a Jew says that he forgives anyone who wronged him, and prays that Heaven will inspire others to forgive him as well.

That being the case, "I'm sorry"!

http://www.aish1.com/videos/sorry.swf

Gluckel of Hamelin

On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, I left the main sanctuary to listen to a speaker -- Paul Shaviv, headmaster of the Community Hebrew Academy of Toronto, a scholar and a blogger to boot.

Professor Shaviv gave a talk about Gluckel of Hamelin who'd been a wife, mother, merchant and Medieval Jewish diarist. She died on the 2nd day of Rosh Hashanah in 1724, thus Professor Shaviv found it fitting to speak about her.

We live in the twenty-first century. Many of us are wives and mothers. Some of us blog, while others still maintain handwritten journals. Our blogs and the pages of our journal speak about the world as we know it today.

Can you imagine reading details of family life, religious life, communal life, the life of a female -- a Jewish female -- in the late 1600s? As Paul Shaviv's handout stated, "Her diary, written in seven notebooks, covers the period 1689-1715. It is one of the most famous sources of Medieval Jewish domestic history and a unique picture of the life of a late-medieval Jewish woman."

Fascinating reading. Fascinating figurehead Gluckel was.

And lovely accent, Professor Shaviv!

A Sweet Birthday Indeed

Shana Tovah, everyone. A happy and healthy New Year to you all. Hope the holiday was filled with good food, warm family times and meaningful synagogue experiences. Hope the sound of the shofar roused you from the spiritual sleep you might've fallen into this past year.

As I said in recent posts, my 45th birthday (English calendar) fell on the first day of Rosh Hashanah this year. My birthday always seems to fall somewhere between Rosh Hashanah and the end of Sukkot every year.

I consulted the Hebrew calendar last week; September 23, 1961 was a Saturday, the 13th of Tishrei, Parshat Haazinu (which happens to be next week's parsha, and happens to be one that my daughter has to prepare a parshat hashavuah for to present to her classmates next Friday). I was born a couple days before Sukkot.

My mother told me that in 1961, when Yom Kippur was done, and the men went out to pray to the moon, her uncle (the reason she came to Toronto in the first place, from Switzerland) kept her in mind and prayed that she'd have an easy time of delivering me when the time was right. And after I was born, he walked rather far, from his home to the hospital, to visit my mother and me, the newborn, and brought the lulav and etrog to the hospital so that my mother could witness and partake in the brachot.

And apparently I was born about three weeks early. I believe that must be the only time I've ever been early for anything!

Okay, so personal birth history aside, Saturday was my birthday. My parents and family and a couple close friends had already wished me well before the holiday. My husband had told me on Friday: "You can take a nap on Shabbos afternoon, and I'll look after the kids. That's my birthday gift to you!"

I like my Shabbos naps, and after working so hard to prepare for the holiday, and having been rundown with my cold all week, it was to be a treat.

At shul on Saturday, a couple of people wished me a happy birthday -- one was a longtime friend, but it was a pleasant surprise to me that she'd remember; the other person is a shul fixture, whom I only know for a few months, and I just thought my husband must've mentioned it to him. He gave me some funny answer as to how he knew it.

So at lunchtime, I was already pretty tired and said, "Can we hurry it up. There's a bed with my name on it." Everyone insisted I go to sleep and not walk the dog as I contemplated doing before my nap. And off I went to lullaby land.

I woke up to hear a bright and loud voice downstairs. It sounded vaguely familiar to me as someone from shul, but I wondered what they were doing here. I made myself presentable then went downstairs.

Yes, I saw a couple from shul and I also saw a sweet table spread out on the dining room table. My kids were hovering around and wishing a happy birthday....and slowly, couples began trickling in, doing the same.

Apparently, a short time before Yom Tov came in, my husband contacted several couples from shul, who are good acquaintances or even better friends, to invite them for tea and to celebrate my birthday. He'd only told my two oldest kids before lunch, and they helped set up everything while I was asleep.

There were about eight couples in my home, and lovely people. My husband had picked the right people to invite -- people who have been welcoming and warm to us since we joined this particular minyan and became involved. (my husband is treasurer; and both he and I are on the setting-up-kiddush committee) People we know a little, and whom we'd like to get to know more.

I am not one for surprises (I feel very vulnerable with things out of my control) nor is he, but he chose to do this for me. It was a beautiful, subtle and low-key gesture and thus very welcome, and I felt very comfortable with the whole thing.
The surprise worked, and the happiness remained...

Thank you, TorontoPearl's husband, for once again showing just how much you care, and how much I mean to you. And thank you to my dear children for happily keeping the secret, if even for a few short hours, and helping your abba to pull it off.

One of my guests had asked me if I'd asked my husband for a particular gift. I said, "No." She continued. "Don't you have a wish list?" I said, "No." In all honesty, and maybe with the wisdom of an old(er) Jewish lady, I can say that standing in shul today, being able to hear the blowing of the shofar with my family around me, knowing that my parents and my siblings and families were in their respective shuls doing the same, is a wonderful gift.

And I hope next year that we will all be able to share the gift once more...

NU? Year.

Shanah Tovah, everyone, from the TorontoPearl clan. Best wishes for a year of good health and happiness; may your aspirations be within reach and may you reach many of them!

Pearl

CROCS (tm) 'R' Us

When my daughter had a birthday party in August, her nine friends that came to our house for a jewellery-making party wore the most popular footwear. (okay, so one of them wasn't sent the fashion bulletin, and wore plain old sandals)

These CROCS dressed up our vestibule, and I took the shoes and put them in(more of) a heap for a photo op. Above is the result.

Thus far in my family of five, we have two authentic CROCS-wearing people, one imitation-CROCS-wearing person, and one soon-to-be imitation-CROCS-wearing person. And I'll give you a hint: it ain't me!

But I have this to say about CROCS-wearing people: "They've got a lot of SOLE."

And about the photo above, I say, "Aw...what a bunch of CROC(s)!"

Menu Madness

Rosh Hashanah, along with Shabbat, starts Friday night and ends Sunday night. That means we need a Yom Tov dinner, lunch, dinner, lunch and dinner. That means food. That means a variety of food. That means putting on the thinking cap and planning menus.

My thinking cap is still somewhat askew, but I can throw out some dishes at you that I have already made, will make or am thinking of making.

Gefilte fish. (loaf)
Gefilte fish. (patties)
Moroccan fish balls
Caesar salad
Chicken soup with matzoh balls
Stir-fry, vegetables
Carrot, sweet potato soup OR Potato-leek soup
Potato kugel
Roasted potatoes
Oven-baked rice/pilaf dish
Apple-carrot kugel
Walnut bars
Sweet-and-sour meatballs
Brisket
Breaded chicken
Turkey schnitzel
Butternut squash something-or-other
Zucchini-tomato something-or-other
Israeli salad

I've got lots of work ahead, so I'd better say "Ciao for now" and you'd better say,
"Bon appetit!"

The Farewell Tour

I just noticed that this is my 619th post -- I've even exceeded 613, which is the number of commandments/mitzvot.

In any case, I'm calling this post "The Farewell Tour" -- not that I'm going anywhere, mind you. But aren't you familiar with all these performing artists who launch huge marketing and press campaigns advertising a "farewell tour" concert? Where are they going? I think only to the bank, as they rake in even MORE dollars with that sales ploy. It's not a final tour. They're going to hit a stadium or concert hall stage again...maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon...

So it's not my farewell tour, and it's not for any kind of readership gimmick that I'm affixing that title to this post. It's solely 'cause I identify with the title and the patterns I've seen behind it.

When I wrote my Sunday-morning post, I was feeling cruddy already and knew Yom Tov was just teasing me from 'round the corner, so I really didn't think I'd be back at the computer, back at my blog. But there I was, later on Sunday, and again on Monday, and again now, in the wee hours of the morning (Wednesday). My excuse is "You can't keep a [good] writer down" and I'll let you be the judge of that bracketed bit.

Although I'm still bogged down with a very bad cold, and although I have a freelance deadline to contend with and a Rosh Hashana menu deadline to contend with, here I sit. Tap, tap, tapping away.

But I wanted to throw out a question with this post: When you were a child, did your mother ever have reasons to come to your school in the middle of the day, and if you spotted her, were you embarrassed or were you proud?

My mother used to come in to the school every once in a while to bring me something or visit the tuition office, and I recall when I saw her I'd feel such pride, the happiness would want to burst forth from my smiling cheeks. Girls in my class would say to her, "Hi, Mrs. A....." and after she'd leave they'd tell me, "Your mother is so pretty." And she was, and still is, all these years later.

I saw that same happiness and pride today on my children's faces. I came to their school just after noon with Max. Max was going to be an object of show-and-tell, in the schoolyard and nearby park, for my oldest son's class, for a school assignment. That son is somewhat shy, so he didn't seek the limelight as everyone gathered 'round me and Max to play with him, and pet him and ask questions. But I saw him beaming. I was happy to be able to be there, and give my son some welcome attention, and witness it from others.

But it was my other two children who spotted me, while they were out at recess, and came rushing over with their friends to give both me and the dog a wonderful reception. The happiness shone through on their faces and in their voices, and no, their happiness was not just for the dog's presence!

Here was a mother who, for most of their school years and daycare years, was not around the school setting. I was at work, and pining to be at home. And now that I'm home -- for however much longer that will be -- I can pop in at the school at the drop of a hat. And should I see my children in the hallways or schoolyard, that's a bonus for me, and if they spot me, that's a bonus for them.

I know this. Because they've told me.

As for THE FAREWELL TOUR, Pearlies of Wisdom CDs, posters and bookmarks will be sold right after the show...so stick around. There's more coming your way....!

A Place between Your Heartbeats

While getting my regular fix of blog posts this morning, I found a beautiful turn of phrase in one of Robert Avrech's Seraphic Secret posts. I commented and asked if I could use it for some poem at some future time, and was granted permission.

Now, it is rare for me to be inspired to write poetry. The muse seldom hits me, but when it does, I can very well be on a roll and will write one or more very moving pieces, some very personal pieces, or some very quirky pieces. And then there could be a lull of several months or sometimes a year or two before I take an inspirational cue once more.

Well, once I had that turn of phrase, I couldn't let it go, and within a few short minutes, this came from my pen -- um, my keyboard:

******************
To Find a Place…

As your day begins with the rays of the sun
The dark storminess of the night disappears –

Having been tossed and turned upon waves of sleep,
Waves of remembering,
Waves of grasping and grappling with truths
You now breathe a sense of calm.

But only for a moment.

You shudder, then grope for courage,
For the strength to shine like the rays of the sun.
To beam heavenward, as his smile forever beamed,
Forever beams…

You wrap your tallis around you,
Your cloak of beliefs
And with each word uttered in silent prayer
And with those words that come through moving lips
You find a place…a place between your heartbeats.

A place for Ariel.
**************

I just threw right back at Robert the phrase he'd thrown out to us. Only, I dressed it up a bit.

People often ask me how I can write such personal pieces, how I can capture exactly how another person might think or feel.

Empathy. Sensitivity. Projection. Using these "gifts" of empathy and sensitivity, I put myself temporarily into the person's shoes, looking out temporarily at the world that they must look out at all the time.

I'm glad that phrase crossed my path today, and I'm glad I felt inspired instantaneously to write something. You try working that phrase into a poem or into a piece of fiction...

More Mere Coincidence?

Okay, so I wasn't sure I'd be back to blogging this week, but here I am again, with this to share.

It is said that things happen for a reason. Here's my story:

It is rare for me to send Rosh Hashanah greeting cards-- I might send e-greetings, but I rarely send print cards. It seems like just such a "grownup" thing to do, and remember I'm just a 44-year-old kid...

Anyhow, impulsively I decided late this afternoon to write 2 Rosh Hashanah cards, because I wasn't sure I'd get the chance to call and get into conversation with the recipients and it's so rare for me to see or speak to them otherwise. Just before 5:00 p.m. I mailed the cards.

Just before 7, I took two of my kids and drove to a nearby supermarket that is primarily Kosher AND open on Sunday nights. On the way, I passed one of the people to whom I mailed the card not even two hours earlier. She was walking to the same supermarket, so I gave her a ride and caught up on her life and on ours. I told her I'd give her a ride home, too.

About fifteen minutes later, my shopping was done and I see my friend waiting in the store's vestibule for me, along with my daughter. Beside them is...the other person to whom I sent a Rosh Hashanah card!

I was shocked!! The second friend knew I was shopping here 'cause she'd stopped by my house to wish a Shanah Tovah and a happy birthday and to give me a gift from another friend, and my son had told her where I was, and she had to go shopping here anyhow.

Yes, it was so freaky to meet these two women who were the sole recipients of greetings from me. And to top that off, the gift that friend #2 dropped off was from a friend from out of town. But that out-of-town friend had been in today for a family unveiling. I was not able to make the unveiling this morning, and shortly before leaving for the supermarket, I'd emailed that friend to tell her why I couldn't make the unveiling.

Now I knew I owed her another email: a thank-you for the gift.

It's oddities of life like these that keep my head askew, keep me asking and wondering: "HUH?"

ReNew

I'm feeling downright blah--a cold kicked in the last couple of days, and it's not just a little sniffles type. A full-fledged, achy body, achy chest, achy head cold. I lay around most of Shabbos day, wallowing in the yukkiness of it all. But what made me feel good was drinking a wonderful tea -- Lemon Ginger -- by Stash Teas.

But the sweetest and best medicine is when my children cautiously wander into the room in the morning and quietly ask, "Are you feeling better?" or say, "I hope you feel better," before they leave the room.

Yes, I'll feel better in a few days, no doubt. Just in time to stand in shul on Rosh Hashanah and listen to the coughing and sneezing going on all around me. This is the time of year that I usually do catch a cold, and evidently so do others!

This is also the time of the year that I'm supposedly wiser...just because I grow older. This year, with the Jewish New Year I will be a year older.

45. (but Ezzie, you can keep me at 38!) Oh, where did the years go? I don't look 45, I don't feel 45. But I know I'm turning 45.

I'm not sure if I'll have time, nor inspiration, to write in my blog any more this week so...

I wish you all the sweetest, happiest and healthiest of New Years. May you enjoy the company of family and friends. May you enjoy any new experience you may partake in (Jeremiah?). And may we continue to share the good things in our lives.

This is 44-year-old Pearl wishing you a Shanah Tovah!

45-year-old Pearl will meet you next year to check out how things have been at your end.
*****

Found the perfect birthday card to send to myself this year! Somewhere in that link is a Rosh Hashanah/birthday card with lots of honey with my name on it.

As Luck Would Have It

Tuesday and Wednesday evenings were Curriculum Nights at my children's school -- the teachers were giving overviews of the curriculum for the different grades and different classes.

Because there are so many teachers and classes, the event had to be spread over two nights, depending on the grades of your children (nursery through grade 8), and I had to go both nights.

It was important for me to go the first night because it was for my son in grade 6 and I felt I needed to know what was going on for the year, as I'd not experienced it before.

And it was well worth it, especially for the English studies. My son's teacher is like a stand-up comic; she had the parents cracking up -- and heckling -- and the atmosphere was so leibedik (lively). I know she creates an equally entertaining atmosphere in which to teach. How do I know that? Because said teacher was recognized a couple of years ago with a Teacher of the Year Award as voted by students throughout the Jewish day school and Jewish after-school system in Toronto and its outskirts. I think my son is in for a treat this year!

My other children, in grades 1 and 4, have familiar teachers, and my attitude was "Been there, done that!" so I thought it wasn't so imperative that I go. But my 9-year-old daughter begged me to go so that I may view her artwork in her classroom, saying it might be my only chance to see it.

And I listened to my daughter.

I was supposed to be in the classroom for 8:00 for the English studies curriculum, but probably made it there about 5 minutes late. The information evening was already in session, with parents scattered around the room in the mini desks and chairs. I moved quickly into the room and sat down at an available spot.

After settling in, and getting a handout from a person nearby, I looked down at the desk I was sitting at. And lo, and behold, on the placecard atop the desk, was written my daughter's name!

In a classroom of over twenty-four desks and chairs, set in groups of four (two side by side facing two others, side by side), I had ended up sitting at the same spot my daughter goes to every morning.

Later, I spoke to the teacher, made mention of the same thing and she, too, had noticed where I had chosen to sat.

Merely coincidence...?

Overlooked/ A Disjointed Poem

As children we need to know
that a person cares...
that they will gently guide us
which way we go.

We look to a parent, a friend, a camp counsellor
or a teacher to be our guidepost.

When we raise our hands in class and say, "Oh, oh. Pick me!"
we need to know that someone cares enough
to listen to what we have to say.

When a teacher says, "Stop antagonizing me," that comment stays for life.

Is it a sign that I care too much, need to say too much?

Is that why I'm ignored?

The silence meets me like a block of glass.
Cold. Cold. COLD.
When all I want to do is exude warmth.

Overlooked again, my words scatter into the wind.

Silence.

UMAN...Comes from HUMAN?

In my last post -- which may be continued at some point -- I was a gift giver. 'Tis better to give than to receive is the general consensus.

I "gave" A Simple Jew a trip to Uman for Rosh Hashanah and a journal and videocam with which to record his adventures.

In response, he gave me a link to a video. This video is a sneak preview of a documentary filmed by Hollywood director Paul Mazursky. I was in awe that Paul had taken on such a project. But I think he probably has a lot to say and show in his work, and I look forward to seeing it at some point in time. Just put it on the "To See" list alongside "Ushpizin" and "When Do We Eat?"

So, folks, in the meantime, you and I can both view a trailer for "Yippee"!

The Perfect Gift

I love giving gifts even more than I love to receive them. I take so much pleasure in matching what I think is the right gift for the right person.

I've noted the birthdays of two fellow bloggers who are born in November. Last year I decided to surprise each of them with "the perfect gift." In their case, their gifts were kits from Magnetic Poetry. Their kits were specific to their jobs, to their interests, and I know they were appreciated, as was the thought. Magnetic Poetry is a wonderful gift to buy for or send people; it is creative-- you make each kit unique with your choices of "creativity."

Even if you're not the creative type, but rather a serious nose-to-the-grindstone type, don't tell me you won't start shifting around those magnetic words as they sit on your refrigerator door. So don't create a poem or a nonsensical sentence, write a mini scientific theory or about a current event!

If I had to select the "perfect gift" for some of the bloggers I read, the list might look something like this:

Cruisin' Mom-- a gift certificate for a commercial-size tub of Ben & Jerry's ice cream for each month of the year...and an OPEN HOUSE invitation to her childhood home.

A Simple Jew -- a round-trip ticket to Uman for Rosh Hashanah, and a blank journal and video camera with which to record his adventures. And to have some personal genealogical puzzles solved.

Citizen of the Month -- a Victoria's Secret catalog, hand-delivered by a Victoria's Secret model, and a daily lifestyle column in the LA Times: NEILOCHKA KNOWS BEST.

NY's Funniest Rabbi -- a life-size, room-size photo of the Kotel; tickets to a reading series at the 92nd Street Y; a poetry book with his name on the copyright page and cover.

Jew Eat Yet? -- a couple of original chairs from an Art Deco movie theater in Hollywood, and some original , signed classic movie scripts to read while reclining in those chairs. And a publishing contract. And a family reunion with ALL the relatives the world over.

PsychoToddler -- a funky-looking, funky-sounding acoustic guitar, and a recording contract and the chance to work with some of the Jewish and secular world's top guitarists.

The QC Report -- a role on THE SIMPSONS, not as the child star she was, but as the businesswoman she is, hawking her baby carriers. And an animal shelter in her backyard.

That's just a partial list of bloggers, a partial list of the perfect gifts.

Perhaps you should each send me your birthdate. I can get thinking of what would be the perfect gift for you, and you never know -- there might just be a UPS delivery man at the door with a bouquet of sunflowers for you, and a box with a huge bottle of Elizabeth Arden's SUNFLOWERS to go along with that. Or maybe a box of nice Cuban cigars and a weekend getaway to Cuba to go with that.

Then again, maybe you'll just get a card saying: "Happy Belated Birthday. Sorry I missed it, and missed sending you the perfect gift. Bet you're sorry too!"

PEARL: A PRODUCTive Name

Apparently, I'm so much more than the simple gemstone depicted in this photo...

Tampax Pearl.
Pearl Drums.
BlackBerry Pearl.
Pearl Drops Tooth Polish.
Pearl Beer.
Pearl Flutes.
Pearl Paint.
Pearl: A Literary Magazine.
Pearl Vodka.
Pearl Software.
Pearl: A Robot for the Elderly.
Pearl Bluegrass Event (held in Pearl, Texas, at the Pearl Community Center).
Pearl Soymilk.
Pink Pearl Erasers.

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!"