BANANAS: aka A Mass Appeal Fruit

I received this email this morning. Thought I'd share it for the interest factor.

After Reading this, you will NEVER look at a banana in the same way again!

Bananas contain three natural sugars - sucrose, fructose and glucose
combined with fiber, a banana gives an instant, sustained and substantial boost of energy. Research has proven that just two bananas provide enough energy for a strenuous 90-minute workout. No wonder the banana is the number one fruit with the world's leading athletes. But energy isn't the only way a banana can help us keep fit. It can also help overcome or prevent a substantial number of illnesses and conditions, making it a must to add to our daily diet.

Depression: According to a recent survey undertaken by MIND amongst people suffering from depression, many felt much better after eating a banana. This is because bananas contain tryptophan, a type of protein that the body converts into serotonin, known to make you relax, improve your mood and generally make you feel better.

PMS: Forget the pills -- eat a banana. The vitamin B6 it contains regulates blood glucose levels, which can affect your mood.

Anemia: High in iron, bananas can stimulate the production of hemoglobin in the blood and so helps in cases of anemia.

Blood Pressure: This unique tropical fruit is extremely high in potassium yet low in salt, making it the perfect way to beat blood pressure. So much so, the US Food and Drug Administration has just allowed the banana industry to make official claims for the fruit's
ability to reduce the risk of blood pressure and stroke.

Brain Power: 200 students at a Twickenham (Middlesex England) school were helped through their exams this year by eating bananas at breakfast, break, and lunch in a bid to boost their brain power. Research has shown that the potassium-packed fruit can assist learning by making pupils more alert.

Constipation: High in fiber, including bananas in the diet can help restore normal bowel action, helping to overcome the problem without resorting to laxatives.

Hangovers: One of the quickest ways of curing a hangover is to make a banana milkshake, sweetened with honey. The banana calms the stomach and, with the help of the honey, builds up depleted blood sugar levels, while the milk soothes and re-hydrates your system.

Heartburn: Bananas have a natural antacid effect in the body, so if you suffer from heartburn, try eating a banana for soothing relief.

Morning Sickness: Snacking on bananas between meals helps to keep blood sugar levels up and avoid morning sickness

Mosquito bites: Before reaching for the insect bite cream, try rubbing the affected area with the inside of a banana skin. Many people find it amazingly successful at reducing swelling and irritation.

Nerves: Bananas are high in B vitamins that help calm the nervous system.

Overweight and at work? Studies at the Institute of Psychology in Austria found pressure at work leads to gorging on comfort food like chocolate and chips. Looking at 5,000 hospital patients, researchers found the most obese were more likely to be in high-pressure jobs. The
report concluded that, to avoid panic-induced food cravings, we need to control our blood sugar levels by snacking on high carbohydrate foods every two hours to keep levels steady.

Ulcers: The banana is used as the dietary food against intestinal disorders because of its soft texture and smoothness. It is the only raw fruit that can be eaten without distress in over-chronicler cases. It also neutralizes over-acidity and reduces irritation by coating the
lining of the stomach.

Temperature control: Many other cultures see bananas as a "cooling" fruit that can lower both the physical and emotional temperature of expectant mothers. In Thailand, for example, pregnant women eat bananas to ensure their baby is born with a cool temperature.

Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD): Bananas can help SAD sufferers because they contain the natural mood enhancer tryptophan.

Smoking: Bananas can also help people trying to give up smoking. The B6 and B12 they contain, as well as the potassium and magnesium found in them, help the body recover from the effects of nicotine withdrawal.

Stress: Potassium is a vital mineral which helps normalize the heartbeat, sends oxygen to the brain and regulates your body's water balance. When we are stressed, our metabolic rate rises, thereby reducing our potassium levels. These can be rebalanced with the help of
a high-potassium banana snack.

Strokes: According to research in "The New England Journal of Medicine," eating bananas as part of a regular diet can cut the risk of death from strokes by as much as 40%!

So, a banana really is a natural remedy for many ills. When you compare it to an apple, it has four times the protein, twice the carbohydrates, three times the phosphorus, five times the vitamin A and iron, and twice the other vitamins and minerals. It is also rich in potassium and
is one of the best value foods around. So maybe its time to change that well-known phrase so that we say, "A banana a day keeps the doctor away!"

Footnote:
If your roses are covered with Aphids, drape banana skins over the branches, I'ts amazing, but in a day or less, they are GONE! I've tried it, and I couldn't believe it, no more aphids, as long as I save my banana skins for the rose bushes!

Impressed? Well then, PASS IT ON TO YOUR FRIENDS!

Unzip a BANANA today!

An Artiste in the Making

That very funky behatted girl in the middle is my daughter. She recently won a city wide school contest sponsored by the Toronto Jewish Book Fair to design a book cover. Her age group, grades 4 & 5 had to design a book cover about a Biblical theme; she chose to do Moses in the basket amidst the bullrushes. From eighteen Jewish day schools and supplementary schools, from 500 submissions in total, she won in her category.

If you click on the photo, you can see it enlarged. Maybe you can make out her picture on the yellow board behind her; hers is the top left one. The voting committee loved her composition and use of color.

At one of the book fair events, she and the other two winners in the two other categories were called onto the stage and presented with lovely Jewish gift books and certificates. All art was displayed at the Leah Posluns Theatre throughout the 10-day-long fair.

My daughter, thank G-d, is rather creative. It shows in how she puts "her look" together; it shows in her artwork; it shows in her story and journal writing. Like her mother, she tends to be very detail-oriented, but in her case, it's turning out to be a good thing.

She sometimes claims she wants to be a fashion designer. Okay... but maybe she can become a dentist first!??? (to be read with a thick Yiddish accent and intonation!)

Fear Rears Its Ugly Head

Fear can be gripping.

It can make you sweat profusely; it can make you cry; it can make you tap-tap-tap your foot; it can make you chew your nails; it can make you shout and lash out at others; it can make you quiver and quaver.

Fear can make you S T O P in your tracks and simply paralyze you -- in your physical, emotional and mental abilities. Growth is thwarted, as a result.

I've suffered from many fears in my life, some more legitimate than others, some self-induced, some I've overcome, and some I'm still stuck in the mire with.

Whenever I overcome a particular fear, I'm thrilled. It's like "a small step for mankind."

This past week, I set aside a fear of mine and took some action. Okay...so it wasn't immediate action; that would have meant that I took some action two to three weeks ago at least. But I did what I'd intended to do, albeit several weeks down the pipe.

Some time ago, I opened my mouth with a suggestion to somebody who'd re-released a delightful Chanukah book (food for another post) that perhaps I could write a piece for a local, Canadian Jewish newspaper, so that the writer would get some Canadian exposure. He liked the idea, his publisher liked the idea, and I posed an article to a particular editor of the paper in such a way that he'd like the idea. I said this article should be written, whether by his own staff member or by me. Of course I hoped he'd want me to write it. And even as I said, "Okay, I'll do it," I was afraid. Had I just bitten off more than I could chew? I couldn't help but wonder.

I've always told and continue to tell people "I write. I'm not a writer." Now some of you who know me might claim a difference of opinion, but who knows me better than myself?

And because I did think I had bitten off more than I could chew, I put aside this assignment, not ready to tackle it. I hadn't been given a definite deadline for the piece, but it would make sense that if it was about a Chanukah book, then it should be submitted in time for a Chanukah issue. I was even ready to throw in the towel, contact the editor early this week and give some lame excuse why I couldn't write the piece, but that I have some PR material and the book and that I could pass it on to a newspaper staff person to write the piece. And then I thought, I've given in to the fear already for a few weeks,and enough was enough, and just do what I'd planned to do.

And so I, who doesn't know much about journalism, contacted the publisher, the marketing person, the author, sent out some questions, and got some wonderful answers in return to help me write the piece.

I am a bit old-fashioned, and like to write my prose and poetry and ARTICLES in long-hand and later do them on the computer, so with lined paper in hand, and sharpened pencils (not pens!), I sat and began writing on late Wednesday morning, I believe, and finished and sent off my article by early Thursday afternoon.

I could've kicked myself; I'd probably missed the actual pre-Chanukah edition deadline, would be lucky if the piece would appear in the issue during the latter days of Chanukah. But moreso, I was somewhat unhappy because fear (of what to write, how to write it, how to start writing, how to "interview" my subjects long-distance) had struck, sucked me down for a while, and when it finally let loose of me, I was on a roll with the writing. It came relatively easy, felt as if I was just putting together pieces of a jigsaw puzzle to make the pieces fit evenly and correctly, and I actually enjoyed writing.

One thing I've noticed about my "journalistic" writing, in the few articles I've published over the years, is that I can never write boldly and coldly; everything I write has to have a human touch, a sense of warmth, a security blanket wrapped around it, which, at the same time is being wrapped around me. I hope the readers sense this style as I put it on the page. Perhaps it's my method of overcoming and tamping down the fear of writing for the public, of writing in styles that have not been learned, just exercised. Poetry is my thing; humorous essays are my thing; personal heartfelt essays are my thing; general interest articles are not.

Perhaps my fear makes me a better writer, makes me seek out how to leave a lasting impression on a reader. Perhaps my fear heightens my other senses, giving me a strong sense of clarity of what needs to be done.

In any case, my fear might've held me hostage for a few weeks, but on Thursday, when I emailed the editor an article that made me feel good, that fear was gone and contentment prevailed....

Kiss & Tell

The other day, my youngest son made reference to "a sexy lady."

This morning, he prepared for "picture day" at school and was in my bathroom, where I was applying mousse to his hair. He noticed my makeup on the counter and then asked me, "Are you wearing lipstick?"

"Yes."

"Which one?"

So I pointed out the one I'd put on.

"Do you have other colors?"

"Yes."

"Where? Can I see them?"

And I showed him a few tubes of varying shades of copper, pink and red.

He pointed out one to me. "I think if you wear this one, you'll be a sexy lady."

(This son's name is Noam. After I went back to work after maternity leave, I was telling someone what his name was, and her immediate response was "to know'm is to love'm." It's "sexy lady" comments like these that help remind me of that!")

*******

Wednesday Night Update:

Okay, so I took CM's question and posed it to Noam. He explained that to be sexy, a woman has to be skinny, has to dress nice and has to wear red lipstick. Wow, this 6-year-old kid thinks like an adult, doesn't he?

See, I've been watching what I eat lately, so he must hear the word "skinny" said pretty often 'round these parts. So when I first asked him what "sexy lady" meant to him, his initial reaction was "You can't be fat. When are you going to be skinny? A sexy lady is skinny."

Just now, I repeated the story to my husband as he kissed Noam good night. He asked Noam, "Am I sexy?"

"Yes," he responded without any hesitation. Then my husband asked him, "Is Eema sexy?"

"ALMOST."

Someone Please Explain

Our dog is special to us, but he's not unlike any other dog. So can someone please explain this canine habit/ritual.

What is with this circling about five times in the same place and then settling down? I was lying on our bed the other day, and Max jumped up to be with me. He circled a spot a good half dozen times, then lowered his body to it. Not a minute later, he jumps up, moves to another spot on the bed, does the same, and settles. Again, not a minute passes before he's doing it a third time. Finally, ah...FINALLY...he finds an agreeable place, lowers himself and settles in for the long run -- or at least till I get off the bed: whichever comes first.

And as long as we're on the topic of canine questions...

What's with the habit, but in Max's case, not a regular one, of doing his business somewhere outside, then hoofing/kicking his legs backwards? As I said, Max doesn't do it all the time, in fact, rather infrequently. Tyson, the pug, did it just about every time he did his business.

If I keep noticing any other "MAXims" I'll post about them...

Will 19 Years Do...?

Found a job posting just now for a Copy Editor/Proofreader...which is exactly what I do. It's a U.S. based company, so there's no way I'm relocating, but I just wanted to read the job description and its requirements.

It's very clear that they're DEFINITELY in need of a copy editor/proofreader!

• Excellent knowledge of grammar, spelling and punctuation is required as this position is the quality control point between creative/production and printing.
• Must be extremely detail oriented and able to work within set, tight deadlines at maximum efficiency. Must thrive in a fast-paced work environment. Must be organized and able to arrange a daily work schedule based on priorities. Must be flexible in regards to scheduling and be able to shift priorities quickly. Must meet deadlines.
• Must be able to work independently as well as with a team and be a self-starter with initiative. Must be a team player, excellent communicator, amiable, flexible and someone who enjoys working in a fun environment (sense of humor encouraged). This position will occasionally require evening and/or weekend work.
• Extensive knowledge of Chicago Manual of Style preferred. Must be sensitive to advertising copy and use this "filter" when reviewing work.
• Must be able to follow the established process for work flow.
• Ideal candidate must have a college degree in English, journalism, or related field or equivalent work experience.
• 35 years' experience as a proofreader/copyeditor; additional related experience helpful.
• Agency experience preferred but not mandatory.

...I Love You the Most

My three children and I have somewhat of a routine whenever we say goodbye or goodnight to each one. I usually say "Good night, I love you," or "Goodbye, I love you." My children top that with "I love you more." Then I say, "I love you the most." To which I hear something like, "I love you the best...." I respond, then hear something from the other like "I love you the tallest.... I love you in the morning.... I love you at night... I love you in China.... I love you in India.... I love you every day...." This goes on and on till one of us stops the volleying of "I love you's."

My youngest son, over the year, has expanded his repertoire: "I'll love you when you're dead... I'll love you when you're with Hashem... I've love you when you're a cloud in the sky..."

Today, however I got the sweetest final retort, before he walked out the door to go to school: "I love you wherever I go, [even] when you're not there!"

As Long As We're Talking Turkey...

Firstly, to all my blogging friends living in America, or American expats living elsewhere, I want to wish you and your families a very Happy Thanksgiving.

Canada is a step ahead of you, and so Canadian Thanksgiving is celebrated in October. Interestingly enough, though, I really don't know any Jewish Canadians who celebrate the day. Why is it a bigger deal in the U.S., for Jews and others?

In any case, I'm sure you'll fill up with chicken and turkey and stuffing and pumpkin pie and pecan pie and roasted potatoes and sweet potatoes and whatever else makes us your family's or friends' traditional Thanksgiving meal.

So, as long as we're talking about food...

It occurred to me the other day that I display certain habits when I eat certain foods. Not necessarily GOOD habits, mind you, but more like quirky ways to eat these foods. Let me illustrate.

I was eating shelled sunflower seeds -- not right out of the pack, but I put them in a small bowl, and proceeded to eat them like an anteater attacking his enemies, seeing how many I could stick on my tongue at once, my face in the bowl.

Of course, it was rather late at night, and nobody in the family was around to watch me. I don't imagine I would eat sunflower seeds this way with an audience.

I began to think of other foods I eat in particular -- read: PECULIAR -- ways.

Pizza. I love pizza, and the cheesier it is, the better! I will bite into a piece, then start wrapping the cheese 'round and 'round my finger. Again, not usually done in public.

Back when I was in junior high, I sometimes would go to a bakery near my school after school, or even during lunch hour. I'd buy an eclair. In those days, the eclairs were filled with whipped cream, not custard or just plain vanilla-type pudding. I would not, could not share my eclair. It was a special treat just for me, and when I'd get home I'd rip open the paper bag it was in, and use it like an underplate. I'd take one bite out of the yummy pastry, and then I'd start dipping my finger into the whipped cream -- over and over again -- until the cream was gone and just the flaky-dough dessert remained. Again, nobody could watch me eat like this. I was aware of how King Henry VIIIth I must've looked, being gluttonous and eating my pastry in an uncouth way.

As a kid, I'd often put Cheerios on each finger and eat them that way, one at a time.

And of course, I'd swish Jell-O type desserts in my mouth and then proceed to gargle, which angered my lovely, "yekke" mother.

I'd bite the ends off of licorice sticks and use the licorice as a straw.

And it was always a treat -- still is -- to get a beef bone with marrow in a bowl of soup. The soup would disappear quickly, and I'd gnaw on the bone and noisily suck up as much marrow as I could.

And yes, when I was young...and still very SKINNY...I used to take the ends of a challah loaf and sop up the sauce/gravy from veal roasts and roast beef that my mother would prepare, the sauce dripping onto fingers and chins and kitchen counters. Not a pretty sight!

I do know how to eat nicely, regardless of what you may think, based on the above information. Invite me for a meal and I'll prove it to you. Just don't give me chopsticks; I am still a shlemazel when it comes to using those, and simply can't.

Many of you may be saying "Ewww, what else does Pearl make a spectacle of when she eats?"

And I ask, "What food/drink items do YOU have a weird way of eating? Do you eat that way in public, or only in private?"

A Honk for Every Occasion

The car horn in my Honda Civic sounds like a sick duck. The car horn in our Honda Odyssey minivan doesn't sound much better. In other words, these are not horns to be taken seriously. It's the loud cursing inside the interior of the vehicle that accompanies the beeps and bleeps and honks that I emit that might have more impact...were my windows rolled down!

This morning I did the first shift of getting my kids to school. As I entered the school driveway, a car ahead of me suddenly decided to stop a bit over to the side. Although it was my friend's husband, I gave a honk to indicate my annoyance that he'd suddenly stop and make me have to maneuver around him. I didn't knew if he saw me or not.

But while I was parked in the appropriate drop-off spot, letting my kids out of the van, my friend's husband drove past and gave a double honk. Was he answering my single honk? I first wondered. Then I realized that his must've been a greeting honk, as if he were saying "Hi, Pearl. I want to say good morning to you."

That's when I realized that he must've misinterpreted my annoyance honk for one of greeting, as well.

That's when I realized that I need to personalize my car horn and its honks for different occasions.

When I'm annoyed at another driver, or drivers, my horn should sound like an elephant about to charge through the jungle.

When I want to greet somebody, my horn should sound like Glinda the good witch's titter.

When I want to get someone's attention -- to let them know that they can move into traffic ahead of me, or that the light signal has changed color -- my horn should sound like Slyvester Stallone's raspy "Yo!"

And if I'm just cruising aimlessly, happily along city streets or country roads, the horn honk should sound like a "Yee-haw!"

I do know that you can personalize car horns to play bits of songs -- perhaps when the mood strikes me to hit my horn, one day you'll hear Donna Summer's "Bad Girls" bleeping and people will indeed get out of my way!

Until then, if you hear a duck honk behind you, or beside you, take a good look -- no doubt it'll be me waving hi...or giving you the finger!

A Birthday Poem

The 18th of November
A "mazeldik" date
Belongs to someone special
So don't be late...

In wishing her a happy birthday
It's her 51st, you know,
No wonder Cruisin' Mom
Has that special glow

It's the reflection of all those lit candles
Sitting upon her cake
She's more than half a century old
In life, there are no double-takes!

Let's hope she gets what she wishes for
With every candle that she blows out
Now don't ya'll forget to write her
And give her a birthday shout.

If anyone knows Carrie Fisher
Do share the news with that gal
Maybe she'll also give a shout-out to Randi
And they'll soon become great pals.

So, to our birthday girl, CM
Your friends in blogland say,
"Hope your birthday 's wonderful
In every special way!"

Happy (early) Birthday, Randi.

An Easy Mitzvah

In case I've never told you in my nearly-two years of blogging, I am a COUPON QUEEN! I'm a notorious collector of cents-off coupons or two-for-one, or whatever else I get.

Does that make me cheap? Not at all.

It makes me practical...to the point that I sometimes say to my husband who goes shopping and ends up buying something that he shouldn't have -- "Thanks for buying that. But YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE! I have a COUPON for it!"

People are amazed at what I save on, how much I save, and sometimes my husband tells people in this way: "This grocery was on at such-and-such a sale price. Pearl had a coupon for such-and-such an amount. At the end, the store had to pay Pearl!"

In any case, I cut all kinds of coupons that I think I might eventually use, and I trek them around either in my purse, or in a shopping bag. But I don't always stand there in the supermarket and look through them. And yes, sometimes the dates expire on them and I haven't made use of the coupons. Oh, well, the intention was there.

Which brings me to good intentions and the subject of this post: an easy mitzvah.

Knowing that I won't always use a particular coupon, but I cut them out all the same, I realize I can share them. Yesterday, I was in the supermarket and there was a frum man in the checkout ahead of me; I saw he had a particular item in his cart, and I knew I had a dollar-off coupon for that item but would probably not use it. So what did I do? I offered and gave it to the man! And he was most appreciative.

Not too long ago, I did the same with several diaper coupons I had in "my collection." Now my children haven't been in diapers for several years, so why did I even cut out those coupons? I don't know really, but maybe it was just G-d prodding me in the right direction to do a mitzvah -- I gave those coupons to a frum woman pushing a buggy in the supermarket, in which there sat a baby and toddler. I figured she could use them. And she was most appreciative.

So in essence, I am able to do a simple good deed by cutting out coupons. It never occurred to me when I pass these coupons along that I am doing it in order to perform a mitzvah; it is just my (thankfully) G-d-given nature to share, be friendly, and do nice things. Certainly not to earn brownie points. But yesterday, in particular, after I gave the man the coupon for Kleenex (tm), I realized I'd made him happy, I'm made myself happy, and in the long run made G-d happy.

So, people, get out there and start collecting coupons. You never know who you might just end up helping with a $1.00 off coupon for I Can't Believe It's Not Butter! (tm) or a 75 cent coupon for Pampers (tm) Wet Wipes or a $2.00 off coupon for Oil of Olay(tm) skincare products!

Mornings: Sometimes Something To Meow About!

Just for your information: in my humble opinion, this is a much better image than the one that got eaten up mysteriously by Blogger.

That Darn Google Image

My last post about mornings lost something: the attached image. I don't know where it went or why it went, but now some of that post makes no sense. So I'm finding another image to replace the first one.

Just bear with me...!

O Happy Day!

I'm not a morning person, but I love mornings...contrary to this image.

I love the heavy sigh of my children as they roll over in bed and try to cover up with blankets even though it's time to get up for school.

I love the steam of the shower and the wonderful acoustics of the bathroom that allow me to belt out some American standards as I'm soaping up.

I love the dog getting up from his doggie bed and stretching his paws languidly in front of him.

I love opening the shades and peeking out to determine the weather.

I love the crisp air outside that tinges cheeks and noses with natural rouge.

I love the dewey grass, fresh from Mother Nature's body mist.

I love walking the dog and seeing the neighborhood slowly wake up: cars being warmed up, school buses hurrying past, children and parents hustling each other out the door en route to school, seagulls circling overhead seeking breakfast.

I love taking the kids to school and seeing them anxious to get to class or play with friends.

I love sunny mornings.

If it's a drizzly, ugly morning....

FORGET ALL OF THE ABOVE.

If it's a drizzly, ugly morning....

THAT IS MY IMAGE AT THE TOP OF THIS POST.

DIAL That Number

We were at my folks' house yesterday--the house I grew up in-- and our kids were with us. At some point, my daughter was downstairs in the rec room -- does anyone even have a rec room anymore, or just a family room or entertainment room?

In any case, my daughter runs upstairs very excited about something she wants me to see downstairs. I ask what she wants. She said she wants to know what something is. I say I can't come downstairs, to just tell me what it is or bring it upstairs.

"I can't bring it upstairs. It's plugged in."

So I try to envision the rec room and what she might be referring to.

She continues. "It's black and has a round thing on it (at this she describes it with her hands)..."

It hits me. A black rotary telephone. Our original black rotary telephone. My parents' telephone that they got when they moved into the house in 1958. (We were a one-phone family for many, many years.)

And I start to laugh. My daughter -- my children -- are not familiar with rotary telephones. Then I began to think of what else they've missed out on in the years they've been around: b&W TVs, typewriters, life without any kind of remote control, life without a microwave, record players, eight-track tapes, etc. They even learn how to tell time via digital watches! And kids learn to tie their shoelaces later on in their young years, when you can no longer find sneakers in their size with Velcro fasteners.

To that end, I think we should have some kind of survival show for kids, introducing the use of these appliances, electronics and tchochkes that they are not familiar with in their everyday lives. Let's watch them concentrate, get frustrated and try to figure out how these things work.

And if they run into trouble, let them use that black rotary telephone and DIAL INFORMATION!

****
Update: I was telling my husband tonight at dinner about this post. He corrected my error; my daughter KNEW it was a telephone, but she did not know how to USE it because it is a rotary one.

So my husband guided her in how to use it...and he had her call his cell phone, which he had with him. She could see the process ...or should we call it ''progress"?

My husband also reminded me of a nephew of ours who, a few years ago, saw me take an ice tray out of the freezer and he asked "What is that?" Even at age 7 or whatever he was, he was not familiar with a simple ice tray. Why? Because he had the type of refrigerator that provides ice cubes and ice water right in the door!

I Go Ga-Ga for GOOGLE....Images

I remember when I was in grade six ("sixth grade" to you Americans!) my English teacher tried something in creative writing. It was a springboard, as it were, for a photojournalism assignment.

Along the ledge in front of the chalkboard, she laid out several b & w pictures torn from magazines and we were to write a brief headline and piece about that photo.

I don't recall exactly what I wrote, but I do know it had to do with loneliness, and children, as it was a photo of an empty playground with an idle swing.

I've always loved photos and captions and trying to combine the two. There are always contests sponsored by magazines and newspapers to do exactly that: give a header to a photo, or a bit of dialogue to the people featured in a photo.

And I'm a fan of GOOGLE images...always searching for just the perfect one to accompany my blog posts.

So why don't we try an exercise, just like I did in grade six? You don't have to write a story, but you can write a header and/or a brief description to the pic.
These free-for-alls don't always work in blogs, I've noticed. People are hesitant to participate oftentimes. But I just want to experiment a bit, so let me have my fun!

Here are my contributions to the photos above:

re. top b&w photo: "A penny for my thoughts!"

re. top colored photo: "No, honey -- you're not supposed to close the Murphy bed with me still in it!"

re. Groucho: "Hmmm...and I thought he really meant that I should bite the bullet."

re. artsy image: "Psst...aren't we a couple of bad asses!?"

You may comment on these images or link to your own in the comments and entitle them or add some commentary.

So, Nu? Say Something Already!

Over a year ago, I worked on /freelance copy edited this book. It was quite a challenge for me.

I am not a native Yiddish speaker, and you could even say I'm not a Yiddish speaker, but I understand quite a bit. But even my father, whose mameloshen would've been Yiddish and then Polish, did not know all the expressions I had to verify. He explained to me that many of the expressions were regional -- so, if you lived in Lublin, you might've cursed differently than if you lived in Tarnow.

Go figure -- "gei in drerd" ("go to hell") would have to be phrased differently, depending on where you lived. In my mind, "drerd" is "drerd"!

In any case I was at the Toronto Jewish Book Fair last Sunday, looking at books on display, and spotted this Epstein book. It looked familiar to me at first, but I was a little "fermisht" and it didn't register that I'd worked on it. I picked it up and riffled through the pages and then it hit me -- yup, this book was my baby. I had a hand in it. G-d, I hope I did a good job with it.

...if not, Lita Epstein will be cursing me -- left, right and center!

So why not pick up this book if you can...and put it to good use. I'm sure you have friends and family members on whom you can try out these expressions! :)

Numbers & Pearl Don't Mix

I can add; I can subtract; I can multiply; I can divide; I can figure out percentages. I can decide if a price I see on a tag or label is a good buy.

But that's about it.

Talk numbers to me -- I'm lost.

Talk investment returns -- and I'm befuddled.

Talk measurement conversions -- and I screw up with a recipe.

Is that why I married an accountant? I wonder.

And no, not ALL accountants are boring people, contrary to their reputation!

It's All in the Jeans...

...aka When a Spelling Error Just Won't Do!




The following job posting is available for the 2006-2007 school year:

Jewish Studies Middle School Half-Time Position

Requirements: Knowledge of Hebrew Language Arts, Bible Studies, Denim, T'fillah and Oral Law

C'mon, people, hire me already. I will edit your work before you post it for all the world to see!

"It's the law!"

(Denim is actually supposed to say "Dinim"--which means Jewish laws)

E.S.P.*

* Extra Sensory Persuasion ... for the sake of this post!

How often have you found yourself saying, "Great minds think alike" when you find yourself having the same idea as another person. You might reach for the phone to call someone, and just then your phone rings and it's that person at the other end. You might decide it's high time you write a note to a friend, and before you attempt to write one, you go to your mailbox and find a note from that friend waiting for you.

I have always had that "psychic" relationship with my mother. I can forever hear her saying, after I've said something, "How did you know I was going to say that?" or "How did you know it was me on the other end of the line?" or "I was just going to call you" when it's me who calls her.

Surprisingly enough, I have that rapport with my husband, too. Even when we were dating, I "clicked" with him in more ways than one. "How did you know I was going to say that?" became a common refrain between us.

Tonight I had another taste of our connectedness. My husband went grocery shopping after Shabbos, in preparation for a light supper we're hosting tomorrow night for family.We'd decided he was going to buy sugar waffle cones -- something we never buy -- because we have ice cream at home, and that would make for a nice dessert.

When he was gone, I realized that waffle cones are rather big, thus take a lot of scoops per cone, and we probably didn't have enough ice cream to go around. So I decided to call him with a change of plans. Only problem was that his phone didn't get picked up and I was forced to leave a message. I said that perhaps instead of cones, he should buy waffle cone cups instead so it would be more appropriate for the amount of ice cream we have, and maybe some strawberries or berries to cut up on top and whipped cream to decorate with. (we've never bought waffle cone cups, and it is once every several years that we buy whipped cream)

Well, he came home, dropped off some bags, then went to the van to get more. As I unpacked the first bunch of bags, I saw a can of whipped cream. And I thought, "Good, so he got my message."

He walked into the house again and I said, "Good, I see you got my message."

"What message?"

"The one I left you. I was afraid you didn't hear it."

"I didn't check for messages.... I want to show what I got.... I decided instead of waffle cones to buy waffle cups. It'll be really a nice dessert." And he pulls a box of these out of a shopping bag.

"And I didn't buy them tonight, but I thought we could buy strawberries or berries tomorrow to put on top. I did buy whipped cream, though."

Another coincidence for the books.

I asked, "Did you really not listen to the phone message I left?"

"No."

"Please listen to it!"

I announced then, "There's a reason Hashem put us together!"

Excuse-Moi???

I was just looking at a job description (yes, I'm still looking for a full-time or part-time job) and saw this in the last line of qualifications:

Fluency in French is an asset, as is membership in/designation from The International Ass

No wonder this job is called PUBLIC AFFAIRS ASSOCIATE...!

Whitney & Bobby

Whitney Houston filed for divorce from Bobby Brown...

FINALLY!!!!

What the heck brought you two together? What the heck was keeping you two together for 14 years amidst the drugs, the alchohol, the arrests...basically, the nasty entertainment headlines?

Enough is enough.

Check Out These Links

I found this a link to this great website while visiting over at Marallyn ben Moshe's blog. Her blog ain't bad, either!

Link to http://www.paulsadowski.com/birthday.asp and find out interesting and little known facts having to do with your birthdate. And while you're at it, link to http://www.paulsadowski.com/Numbers.asp and find out interesting and little known facts having to do with your name.

Seraphic Silence...No More

Seraphic Secret is apparently up and running...no doubt, much to the pleasure of Robert Avrech and his many fine readers.

I hope you took my advice from several hours ago and reviewed some of Seraphic Secret's earliest posts.

There will be a quiz tomorrow.

A Seraphic Silence

I've been advised by the powers that be -- Robert J. Avrech -- to please let readers know that Seraphic Secret is temporarily silent.

Due to technical difficulties -- *&%$%^#%^!!!!! -- Robert is unable to post.

In the meantime, why not read some of Seraphic Secret's older posts? Why not start at the beginning? Rediscover the early days of this warm and wonderful blog.

Please make certain to have tissues handy. You might just need them....

I Like Jeremiah's Idea

In the comments section of my last post, Jeremiah had a good idea: the question behind my post could be the premise of a plausible independent film. He stressed "independent."

Does that mean that no studio would care to join forces with me?

Does that mean that it is the story of an independent blogger after all, that no match can be made in blogland?

Truth is....NOTHING. I have no personal stories to share and so I'd hoped that perhaps one of you might've heard something or come across a story about bloggers trysting and maybe taking it further, ie. trysting " 'til death do they part."

Apparently, some of you folks have suspicious minds. "Is Pearl hinting at something personal?"..."Is Pearl keeping back 'the whole story'?"... "Is PsychoToddler Pearl's long-distance paramour?"

Nothing to be suspicious about. I lead a boring -- but happy -- life, interspersed with some personal blog posts. Yes, I consider myself sort of friends or long-distance acquaintances with some bloggers, but that's it. But somewhere deep down, my subconscious must've been trying to set me up for something it considered exciting.

The other night I had a dream. Yes, Martin Luther King and I both had a dream. His had to do with racial justice; mine had to do with a blogger who was at some social gathering where I was, and apparently said blogger was trying to woo me, so much so that I believe that the social gathering turned into an engagement party of sorts. An engagement party for me...and the blogger. All along in this dream, I was thinking, "But I'm happily married....!"

AND THEN I WOKE UP.

The dream niggled at my thoughts. Why this blogger? Why this dream?

And I began to wonder about such a scenario -- not in my life, but in others' -- and that led to the premise of my last post. Which apparently is now the possible premise of an independent film...if there are any takers out there?

There are people who, no doubt, discover that life and love can co-exist in blogland. Whether they expressively seek this new love out, or just stumble upon it, I'm sure that somewhere there also already exists a blog or a bulletin board/forum where bloggers can write about loves lost in real life, and loves found in blogland.

* A personal note to Dr. Bean: PsychoToddler was only a temporary diversion. Please take him back. He's all yours. As for Cruisin' Mom, she can be yours too...for the price of a babka!

Something To Ponder

Have you heard of any bloggers who have left their spouses and/or significant others...FOR A BLOGGER?

Learning Any Which Way

My boys LOVE LOVE LOVE GameCube. They play games for one, they play games for two, they trade in games that they tire of.

GameCube can be the cause of many distractions, many parent-child disagreements in our home.

Why not just take it away from the boys? you ask. Truth is, I do, from time to time, but always end up giving it back at the end of the day or a few days later.

And I've just decided that there's another reason I can't take it away for good -- at least not from my six-year-old. And why is that?

Because...he learns a lot from GameCube.

Like what? you ask.

Well, for starters, he learns hand-eye coordination; he learns about high tech and how to make things work for you. In playing certain games, he learns all about sports, specifically current hockey and baseball players. He knows names of players, of teams, knows their stats, and more importantly, learns geography.

On Friday nights, while sitting around the Shabbos table, we often play Geography. We go around the table and everyone says a place name using the last letter of the last place name given by the prior player.

My little guys thinks of the most obscure places! I wonder how he knows of them -- my husband pointed out to me this weekend: GameCube. Because my son knows team names, he knows what city these baseball and hockey teams play in, eg. Anaheim, San Diego, Detroit, he stores the names up to use in future Geography games.

It is a wonderful game, and all of us -- ages 6, 9, 11 1/2, 45 and 46 -- play and enjoy it thoroughly!

So...could I interest you in GameCube to start...and then perhaps a game of Geography?

One Thing To Say, Mom...

Vill Glück zum Geburri!

Women in Tights

So...is this image saying matter-of-factly that tights please people, ie. men and women... Or is it a request, "I want tights, please" ?

In my case, it's a bit of both...

When I was a child, I wore cotton or nylon tights of all patterns and all shades. The unfortunate thing is that the nylon ones would run easily, and the cotton ones would pill. I remember sitting in class at school, plucking at all these little pills on those leggings!

And because I was tall and leggy, it was often difficult to find the right length of tights. And when I did, I also had to be assured that the hosiery wouldn't shrink. Oftentimes, I sagged big time in the crotch area; the tights weren't sitting flush, as they should, and it was uncomfortable. I always imagined that if someone were to throw a tennis ball against my tights, I could've bounced the ball right back to the pitcher, using the material's tension in the way the tights sat on my body, a few inches below where they should have.

I never danced ballet or jazz when I grew up, so I never had tutus and leggings or tights; and I never took great notice of the superheroes wearing their tights, save for Catwoman and perhaps Robin, in his dorky outfit.

But I'm grown up now. And I've decided that I love tights. So much so that I had to go to a nice local store and sort through their display of tights and buy myself a few pairs.

I went for basic black. No patterns. Just stark black with a shimmer from the Lycra.

I've been wearing tights now for the past three days. I almost don't want to take them off! Yes, they keep my legs cozy in this early fall-early winter weather we've been having of late. But it's more than that...

They give me superpowers. Call me Catwoman. I can purr and meow now with the best of the other tights wearers in the world. I can slink down a catwalk -- okay, maybe not in spiked heels, but in a comfortable-looking and comfortable-feeling pair of shoes -- 'cause my tights are just about ready for anything.

Tights make me feel sexy. They make my legs look flawless. They make my legs look longer. They make me walk straighter. They make me feel self-assured.

Okay, nylons are good too-- patterns and prices abound -- but give me a pair of tights and I swear, it's like I'm wearing a "second skin."

If I go so gaga over a pair of tights -- especially a pair that fit! -- imagine what a pair of ankle sports socks with pom-poms do to me...!

An E-mail I Received Today

I dreamt that I went to Heaven and an angel was showing me around. We walked side-by-side inside a large workroom filled with angels.

My angel guide stopped in front of the first section and said, "This is the Receiving Section. Here, all petitions to Hashem said in prayer are received." I looked around in this area, and it was terribly busy with so many angels sorting out petitions written on voluminous paper sheets and scraps from people all over the world.

Then we moved on down a long corridor until we reached the second section. The angel then said to me, "This is the Packaging and Delivery Section. Here, the graces and blessings the people asked for are processed and delivered to the living persons who asked for them." I noticed again how busy it was there. There were many angels working hard at that station, since so many blessings had been requested and were being packaged for delivery to Earth.

Finally at the farthest end of the long corridor we stopped at the door of a very small station. To my great surprise, only one angel was seated there, idly doing nothing. "This is the Acknowledgment Section," my angel friend quietly admitted to me. He seemed embarrassed.

"How is it that? There's no work going on here?" I asked.

"So sad," the angel sighed. "After people receive the blessings that they asked for, very few send back acknowledgments.

"How does one acknowledge HaShem's blessings?" I asked.

"Simple," the angel answered. "Just say, 'Thank you, Hashem.'

"What blessings should they acknowledge?" I asked.

"If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep ... you are richer than 75% of this world.

"If you have money in the bank, in your wallet, and spare change in a dish, you are among the top 8% of the world's wealthy.

"And if you get this on your own computer, you are part of the 1% in the world who has that opportunity.

"Also .....If you woke up this morning with more health than illness ...... you are more blessed than the many who will not even survive this day.

"If you have never experienced the fear in battle, the loneliness of imprisonment, the agony of torture, or the pangs of starvation ... you are ahead of 700 million people in the world.

"If you can attend a shul meeting without fear of harassment, arrest, torture or death ... you are envied by, and more blessed than, three billion people in the world.

"If your parents are still alive and still married, you are very rare.

"If you can hold your head up and smile, you are not the norm, you are unique to all those in doubt and despair."

Ok, what now? How can I start?

If you can read this message, you just received a double blessing in that someone was thinking of you as very special and you are more blessed than over two billion people in the world who cannot read at all. Have a good day, count your blessings, and if you want, pass this along to remind everyone else how blessed we all are.

"Attn: Acknowledge Dept.: Thank You Hashem!

"Thank you Hashem, for giving me the ability to share this message and for giving me so many wonderful people to share it with."

Fashion Sense

I was sorting through my daughter's dresser drawers and bedroom closet today, seeing what still fit and what didn't. She has A LOT of clothes and as my husband says all the time, "You have to get rid of stuff for all the new stuff [many of which are gifts] that comes in. Otherwise we'll have to buy another house."

Some of the stuff I just made a judgment call on and removed and bagged to pass on to a friend for her daughter. About others I announced, "This doesn't fit you anymore."

My daughter piped up, "Oh yes it does." And she proceeded to put it on over whatever she dressed in this morning.

This scene kept repeating itself with each new item of clothing that I held up for inspection. "Oh yes it does." Another article of clothing went on.

After a few minutes my daughter was wearing a short sleeved sweater, under a turtleneck sweater, with a vest on top, and a housecoat on top of that, and a summer dress over her pants.

Talk about the layered look... Talk about trying to convince me to keep her stuff... Talk about a creative way to argue one's point....

Talk about a fashion sense...

Child # 4

Notice the "before" pic of me, taken almost a year ago, before Pearl and the family even considered getting another dog.
But it was this pic that drew them in. I was still Snoopy in that period of my life.

Since the family got me in January, I'm now known as Max.

Yay, Pearl finally posted a recent picture of me. I threatened to pee on her Persian rug if she didn't!

She got a new camera phone, took some pics and took longer to try to figure out how to download them to her computer and then on to her [really cool] blog.

Aren't I cute? I can hear you saying "Poo, Poo, Poo" as opposed to the more familiar Jewish "Pu, Pu, Pu"...but that's okay, 'cause I am a shih-poo after all, and sometime ago, Pearl blogged about me after taking me for a late-night walk one day and announced that I'm not really a shih-poo, but rather a three-poo. Guess you figured that out, too!

So...was I worth the wait? Talk about puppy dog eyes...

A Violin Speaks

If you ever need to have a good cry, but the tears won't necessarily come, tune in to this performance by Itzhak Perlman -- the theme from Schindler's List. Unless you are made of rock, you will be weeping.

It is a magnificent piece of music, scored by John Williams, a master of movie soundtracks. Perlman, like always, makes his violin speak...and sing...and cry.

Shabbat Shalom. May there be peace in your homes and in your lives.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGXMZK6T_Fo

Canine-a-Hora

Hi, guys. It's Max -- formerly known as Snoopy. If you read Pearl's blog religiously, you already knew that. If not, let me explain very quickly.

Pearl and her family adopted me. My given name was Snoopy. She decided I'm not worthy of being called Snoopy. She asked child # 3 to name me when he saw a photo of me -- he didn't know yet, nor did his siblings, that I was about to enter their lives -- and he said I looked like a "Tyson." Pearl decided it wouldn't be good luck to give me the name of their dog who died last year, so she told her son that name had already been taken and to think of another. He chose "Max." And it stuck.

I may be a little snoopy, keeping my nose close to the ground and sniffing/snooping around for clues, but I'm more of a max. I live life to the max; I have energy to the max; and I'm the sweetest pooch to the max.

I've come to like Pearl's family, especially Pearl. She calls me her baby or child # 4 and I refer to her as the mom I never had. I follow her all over the house, and even find her behind closed doors. She does get mad, though, when I push open the bathroom door without knocking and just sit there, staring at her, watching her go about her business. I know it's rude and all, but she watches ME go about MY business, too.

In any case, I like my family; I like my yard; I like my neighborhood; and I love the canine connections I've made around here. On a good day, I might just see half a dozen of my pals. Of course, they're not always as excited to see me as I am to see them. But I really do have lots have pals, and if you don't want to call them pals, then at least consider them acquaintances. I'm VERY friendly and could easily become the neighborhood Welcome Wagon. (TM)

[Max had me edit his post and I informed him that he MUST insert a (TM) there. I once learned the hard way, when that trademark wasn't used in the nicest way in a manuscript, that a trademark is not meant to be presented in a poor light. But that company went to the extreme; my company was no longer able to use the trademark at all in our books.

So I'm glad that Max listened to me and put in the copyright symbol; I don't want the company coming after me and my blog!]

Let me name some of the cool dogs 'round here:

Phoebe (#1) -- Maltese (my girlfriend!)
Phoebe (#2) -- Poodle
Terry -- Schnauzer/Terrier
Oriel -- Shnauzer
Wilson -- Shih-Tzu
Riley -- Wheaten Terrier
Tyler -- Poodle
Cody -- Poodle
Rolex-- Pug
Tiffany -- Pug
[Rolex and Tiffany are not siblings, but come from the same breeder and the owner wanted each dog to have company, so that's why he got two. They replace his pug, Brisket, who passed away earlier this year. Our pug, Tyson, and Brisket, were often mistaken for each other...just because they were both so overweight.]
Jasper -- Westie
Pugley -- Pug
Chiclet -- Pug
(also owned by same owner; Chiclet is a young pug, and a companion to the older Pugley)

There are other dogs that I know -- by smell, of course. Pearl complains that she only knows the dogs' names, not the owners'! Is that good etiquette, she wonders? Who am I to tell her about good etiquette? I lift my leg and pee wherever I get a chance!

In any case, I know that Phoebe is my girlfriend -- how do I know, you ask?

She dances and prances all around me and wiggles her tushy in my face when she sees me. If that doesn't mean she wants me, then what does?

But even though Phoebe is my girlfriend (supposedly the girl-next-door -- except she lives three houses away from me), I could always stand to see some pics of your pooches if you'd like to share them. Maybe I'll know somebody around here who's available for your pooch. No, not me.

Hey, what a great idea: MAX, THE SHIH-POO SHADCHAN (matchmaker). They say that if you make three matches in this world, your place is set in the world to come. I'd like my place to be set with a sheepskin-rug-trimmed bed, lots of snacks and a professional pooper-scooper! Someone who follows me around heaven, cleaning up after me. I'm not sure that Pearl will get up here to do the job!

Can you imagine if I, Max the shih-poo, made a match between a neighborhood dog and one from across the country? I'd be saying "Canine-a-hora" and I'd be dancing a "canine-a-hora!"

I want to see your dog pics, and I know you want to see mine, but because I'm all black, with dark brown eyes, I'm hard to photograph -- I sort of get camouflaged all the time. I'll try to get Pearl to snap a recent and decent one of me, so you can all see how I've changed over the past several months since the family welcomed me.

I now send a hearty bark your way and will head over to my bed to sleep. I thank you for your time and hope we someday get to meet -- and not in heaven either. Although I am planning to meet five people there.... [Please forgive Max. He thinks he's funny. The last bit refers to Mitch Albom's book title, The Five People You Meet in Heaven.]

You Talkin' to Me?

Pssst! You wanna go shopping with Pearl? She'll show you how to shop for bargains, how to buy and return merchandise if family members don't like it, and how to just be a shopping diva.

Truth is, I'm NOT a shopping diva; I'm not a diva and I don't like shopping. But I do like bargains and grabbing some great finds.

I don't care to shop for myself and find it easier to shop for others, usually going to a store looking for a particular item for someone and buying up items I don't need but that might come in handy.

Although I don't care to shop, I do like the thrill of perhaps hearing THE VOICE.

"The Voice?" you ask. "Are you hearing things, Pearl?"

No, I'm not hearing things, I don't have imaginary friends, and no 6-foot-tall white rabbit named Harvey has taken up residence in my life.

"Phew," you say. "You had me worried there for a minute. I thought that perhaps because you go to bed so late 'cause you're on the computer, you don't get enough sleep, and the result is that you're hearing voices."

But yes, I'm sometimes driven by the Voice.

This is the voice that, in Jerusalem, said to me many years ago, "Hey, habibi, you like me? You have Canadian or American dollars to spend on me?"

A pair of dangling earrings with coral pieces was speaking to me. How did those earrings know that my cousin had just given me a coral necklace to keep? It would be a perfect match -- one made in Jerusalem. But I wasn't wearing the necklace right then! But I figured that Israelis are forward and make assumptions, and this pair of coral earrings was no different!

And then there was that time in Miami, when I was browsing. Simply browsing in the ladies' section of the department store I was in. I heard a "Psst" and looked over to a rack, where a gorgeous, multicolored cotten-woven sweater was waving me over.

"Hey, lady. You want to have a multicolored sweater such as myself in your wardrobe? You'll really light up a room when you walk in, and the bold and bright colors will make you feel good. Happy, happy, happy. That's what I, as a representative of the Liz Claiborne industry believe anyhow."

How could I resist? Guess I'm a pushover for a pullover!

Not too long ago I was browsing in ladies' wear and heard my name. This time it was a beautiful, black cashmere wool skirt, with assymetrical embroidered hems, doing the calling. I approached, then slowly backed away. Beautiful, yes, but pricey too.

I circled the area some more and felt myself being called back. "Try me, try me...you might like me."

Now I don't just hear the Voice, I talk back, too! "I do like you. That's the problem. I like you too much, but I don't like your price tag."

"But I'm on sale. And I'm your size. And I'm the only skirt like this left. Isn't it destiny that we should be together?"

What could I do, but listen to these smooth-talking skirt? I tried it on, twirling in front of the three way mirror in the change room, and loving how the bottom flared out. I knew this skirt was a show-stopper, and I just had to have it.

The Voice had won me over again.

Last night, the Voice beckoned me again, as I was rushing through a Sears store. This time it was a wine caddy doing the talking.

"You know you want me. I'm just the right price, marked down twice. I'll fulfill all your needs -- um, all your bottles' needs. I'll help keep your dining room clean of bottles on the floor in the corner, and I am rather eye-appealing, don't you think?"

I walked away, managed to go a few short steps, then turned back to the Voice. He was still talking. "Look, take me home, let your husband check me out too. If you don't like me, you can always return me."

Now the Voice had a point. I guess he knew me well. I am notorious for buying and returning merchandise after second thoughts.

"Deal or no deal?"

I shouted, "Okay, okay. But if I change my mind or my husband doesn't want you, you get sent back...understood?"

The Voice said, "I don't think you'll send me back. I'm gonna wine and dine you!"

Well, I got home with the box, and lo and behold, the Voice hadn't been that upfront with me. He never said that he had to be assembled...and with lousy instructions, too.

Soon my voice, and my husband's voice could be heard: "What kind of ****** directions are these!? Where the **** does this piece go, and this piece?"

The Voice was chuckling and said, "Oh, stop WHINING. The frustration will pass, but the beauty will remain..."

******

So I guess the point of telling you about the Voice is to remind you that shopping can be quite an experience. You browse and suddenly you're being summoned by something or other. When I get comments or compliments about a purchase, I often tell the person, "It spoke to me, " or "It called out my name."
Sometimes you've just got to listen to that voice...

Especially when it drowns out your own!

GameCube Gets a Hechsher

Last evening, I was in the kitchen, which overlooks our family room. My 6 1/2-year-old son was happily and busily beginning to play GameCube while I got dinner together.

Suddenly he pipes up. "This game is Kosher."

"What?" I repeat, just so he'll repeat his comment.

"This game is Kosher."

"And how do you know that?"

"It has an R."

[Explanation for those who might not get this kid's mind: one of the Kosher U.S.. symbols is a U inside an O, and it stands for Orthodox Union. My son noticed an R inside an O somewhere on the game screen and interpreted it to mean Kosher.

Okay, okay...so it was funny at the time.]

Too Many Secrets -- Part 2

Remember this? Remember you wanted to know what secrets I have to tell? Guess you were wondering if I had any good, juicy gossip to share, or tantalizing, wicked family tales to reveal.

No particular secrets per se to share. Actually I do have secrets, but I CAN'T share them with you, or you, or even YOU! (Randi) Why? Because we are told to keep secrets, and they are not meant for curious eyes or ears.

Psst! Can you keep a secret? How many times in your years of growing up were you asked that? How many times did you say you could keep a secret, yet told the first person you could whatever that secret was?

Shhh! It's a surprise. Don't tell anybody. I'm sure that over the years people wanted to let you in on surprises, be they related to parties or gifts, and the information was just sizzling inside you, in anticipation of the surprise and reactions to it.

I'm only telling you. Don't tell a soul. Promise? Sound familiar? How'd you do with that promise?

Often it's easy to tell secrets. It's harder to keep them. When I was growing up and my friends told me what they deemed secrets and they told me to tell nobody, I understood that they meant my peers. But secrets were like poison to me, and like a pot that begins to boil over, the secrets wanted to spill forth from my mouth. Did I tell my peers? No. But I often, at my discretion, told my mother.

Yes, I did. I didn't perceive it as not being able to keep a secret. My mother was my mother, not another kid at school. In my eyes, my mother didn't count, so to speak.

My mother is not a gossip, nor was she ever. She has always maintained her discretionary distance and respected my privacy. She is the one who always told me to look out for certain friends or certain relatives who would probe for information, looking for secrets and ready to pass them along.

Because of my mother's wonderful character makeup, I deemed her "safe." I would share information that others might've shared with me, just because she was my sounding board, a receptacle for my information, so to speak. She would not judge the people that I was telling her about. She would just listen, take it all in, nod and do nothing with the information I'd disclosed. How much better a person can you find to keep secrets safe?

As the years passed, I just didn't want to learn any more secrets. But they were told to me anyway. And instead of sharing some with my mother, I shared them with my journals. If those pages could only talk....

Secrets are a means of information. In essence a means of power. The power to control...and the power to hurt. And for that reason, I have grown up surrounded by secrets and the common phrase: Don't tell Mom/Dad/brother/brother/sister-in-laws/nieces/nephews/aunts/uncles.... They don't need to know. They shouldn't find out.

In many, if not all the cases, these secrets have not been about power, but about protection. We were continually protecting one another from the pain of knowing something hurtful or challenging, upsetting or angering. Major family medical and personal crises were guarded, monitored with protective hush-hush attitudes. We did not want to hurt others, we did not want to add salt to wounds; we did not want to bear bad news and see reactions.

For a long time I thought this was only my family's practice, but I married and saw similar practices in my husband's family's or in-laws' families. I began to recognize the practice in friends' families, too.

The secret was out!

We are often not alone in the way we live our lives, in the way we treat those we love and in the way they treat us. We have mirror reflections throughout the world -- people who have secrets just like we do, people who reveal their secrets just like we do.

The personal life of every individual is based on secrecy, and perhaps it is partly for that reason that civilized man is so nervously anxious that personal privacy should be respected. -- Anton Chekhov

The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart. -- Saint Jerome

Babs Meets Yentl

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Qp4MtQ9aMY

I've decided I really love YouTube. Can you tell? No, really...can you tell?

Splitting Hairs

And now for your viewing pleasure:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=haep1oIYgAw

Musical Interlude

I love this song. I love this rendition of the song.

Find someone you love, and listen closely to the lyrics -- I hope they prove to be true for you, as well.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8Szc7i2q0w

Exercise. Shop. Eat. Repeat.

I'm a Curves gal. Not that I have any of my own that bear much attention, but I'm a paying member of Curves, seeking some nice curves to call my own.

Before I was a Curves gal, I was a Women's Fitness Club gal.

Before that, I was a Jewish Community Center gal.

Before that, I was an active kid.

So let's start at square one: active kid. What does that mean, or rather, what did it mean for me? It meant I ran, I walked, I rode my bike, I ice skated, I sort of swam. Nothing physically demanding, just basic.

And probably after coming inside the house from doing that basic running or riding of my bike, I'd have a snack. I'd drink some juice. I refueled, so to speak.

When I was a Jewish Community Center gal, aside from several years of volunteering with special needs adults in a social-recreational program, I used to go to fitness classes. And I used to jog a bit or power walk. And I used to swim a bit.

And after finishing my volunteering session or my workout session, what did I do? I went into the cafeteria and bought a snack. And bought some juice. I refueled, so to speak.

Now the Women's Fitness Club is situated in a large, suburban shopping mall. The few times I went to the club, I'd do fitness classes, or work out on the different circuit machines.

And what did I often do before or after my session at the club? I'd parade around that mall, step in and out of stores, finding bargains and making purchases. Here I was, supposedly going to lose a few pounds, instead picking up pounds of purchases along the way. Is that considered a good workout?

These days, my workout locale is a strip mall. Curves is located near a wonderful Kosher bakery and a gourmet chocolate store. Mmmm.... But I stay at my end of the mall, making sure my path doesn't cross with those two wonderful specialty food emporiums.

But also nearby my workout is a large supermarket. I often work out, then drive (not walk) over to the next strip mall where the supermarket is located, go in and load my buggy up with essentials, and often some not-so-essential essentials! It is funny when I pass a woman who'd just been in the Curves working out when I was. Her buggy is just as full as mine.

Nonchalantly, I strain to look what no-no's she's hoarding in that aluminum-and-steel cart. Who am I to talk, though? I've just done a 30 minute circuit, a five-minute warm-down, and I'm buying junk food!?

Oh, not for me, you should know. Never for me. Always for my three kids. That's right (WINK, WINK!) -- JUST for my three kids.

So over the years I've noticed a trend re. my exercise habits -- either I'm exercising opening and closing my wallet after exercising, or I'm exercising opening and closing my mouth....when I eat the junk food that I BOUGHT FOR MY THREE KIDS!

Hey, I discovered a new and improved form of physical exercise: SHOP 'TIL YOU DROP!

But I think I ought to get over my work-out-then-shop-or-eat habits and try this ideal form of exercise: RESISTANCE TRAINING!

...Next Year Again, G-d Willing

I grew up in a household where things were not taken for granted. It took hard work, mental or physical effort to achieve certain things. Some prayer and mazel thrown in for good measure.

Good health was never taken for granted because health issues abounded. Medical emergencies, some more serious than others, are part of my memories of childhood and adulthood.

It is for that reason that whenever I kissed my mother and father, and wished them a good yom tov -- whether Pesach or Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur or Sukkot -- or even a good birthday or anniversary or Mother's Day or Father's Day, both parents, primarily my father, always said to me, "We should be able to wish each other the same...next year again, G-d willing." When we finished the second Pesach seder, or broke the Yom Kippur fast, or lit the Chanukah candles on the last night of Chanukah, it was "We should be able to do this...next year again, G-d willing."

My parents were with us for the second day of Sukkot. Upon leaving my home, my parents and I wished each other a good Yom Tov and then we each said, "We should be able to wish each other the same...next year again, G-d willing. We should be able to do this...next year again, G-d willing."

The calendar year is a cycle -- twelve months pass, one after the other. Seasons pass, one after the other. We take the months and the seasons for granted.

The Jewish calendar is also a cycle -- the months pass, holidays come and go, the seasons change. We take the months, the seasons and the Jewish holidays for granted.

Life is also a cycle -- the calendar years pass, the seasons come and go, milestones and celebrations greet us, and unfortunately, sometimes so do difficult and sad times.

And although life stares at us -- and we stare back, hopefully being able to smile as well -- we should never take it for granted.

Each and every one of us should learn to say, "...next year again, G-d willing."

No Easy Feat

A man decided that life would be more fun if he had a pet. So, he went to the pet store and told the owner that he wanted to buy an unusual pet. After some discussion, he finally bought a talking centipede (100-legged bug), which came in a little white box to use for his house. He took the box home, found a good location for the box and named his new pet Sheldon.

He decided that he would like to take his new pet to the synagogue with him. So, he asked the centipede in the box, "Sheldon, would you like to go to Shul with me today? We will have a good time."

But there was no answer from his new pet. This bothered him a bit, but he waited a few minutes and then asked him again, "Sheldon, how about going to Shul with me and receive blessings?"

But again, there was no answer from his new friend and pet. So he waited a few minutes more, thinking about the situation. He decided to ask him one more time, this time putting his face right up against the box and shouting, "Hey, in there! Would you like to go to Shul with me and learn about The Lord!?"

A little voice came out of the box........................

"I heard you the first time, I'm putting on my shoes!!!!! "

Too Many Secrets

...of course you want to know what secrets I have to tell , but if I told you, they wouldn't be secrets anymore -- now, would they?

Is It Just Me?

I know my thought patterns are sometimes offbeat, and I see the world through an interesting, colored lense...but tell me -- Is it just me?....or as you unpack your sukkah decorations and put them up, do you think that these decorations are like X-mas decorations?

I mean, I've lived in this house for three years, and my previous house for nine years. My oldest child is eleven and a few months; my youngest is 6 1/2 years old. I don't have any sukkah "family heirlooms" to speak of, but when I see the pieces of artwork we've laminated, pieces that have withstood the rains and winds of fall, as they sat proudly on the sukkah walls, I equate them with X-mas decorations...that get unpacked year in, year out, and then packed up again year in , year out. Some of these tree and room decorations, along with family stories, get passed on to younger generations.

I dated my children's artwork that we use for our decorations. So it's a pleasure for me to sit and view work done by my 6 1/2-year-old who was 2 1/2 when he drew or colored in a picture.

They continue to bring home more developed, sophisticated works of art to use as sukkah decorations, but my eyes skim the familiar, sometimes faded, pieces on the walls, and my heart is warmed...

Wishing you all a chag sameach, a happy holiday. Remember your cue: "Sniff (the etrog) & Shake (the lulav)!

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!