Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Mamale Cass




I was born in 1961, and from an early age, I was into music. It would be primarily the songs and singer of the late sixties that left early impressions. (okay, aside from "Hello, Dolly", which I loved and sang when I was about five years old)


Because my oldest son is into the classic rock of the sixties and seventies, and the music is heard throughout the house and car - "Put on Q107" is the oft-repeated request -- I often have flashbacks when I hear certain songs or hear the deejay make reference to songs and singers of that era.


Denny Doherty, from The Mamas and Papas, died in mid-January in a suburb just west of Toronto. I'd had no clue he lived in our vicinity, and had no clue he was Canadian-born (Halifax, Nova Scotia.) Of course, radio stations began to play the music of Denny's famous band, The Mamas and the Papas.


Around the time of Doherty's death, my son and I had to go to the library for a research book for an assignment of his. We were in the music section, and I found a "Jews in Music" book for him to sign out and peruse. But I found myself perusing the book, too.


The most common refrain from my mouth was "I didn't know ________ was/is Jewish!"


The most common refrain from my son's mouth was "__________ from ____________ is Jewish" and he proceeded to share some Jewish related tidbit of info given about the named performer.


On this musical journey through the book, I made a discovery that sort of blew my mind. Maybe you're all in the know already, and I'm just slow on the uptake, but I found out that Ellen Naomi Cohen was better known as Mama Cass Elliot. Is this news, or what?!


She stood out for me in my musical memories; this overly large woman who helped make mumus popular in the mid to late sixties, and helped make The Mamas and Papas popular, had always been a source of wonderment for me. And when she died, supposedly eating a ham sandwich while in London, I recalled that too.


Apparently, she didn't choke on a ham sandwich...and apparently Cass Elliot gave birth to a daughter in 1967, never revealing publically the name of the child's father.


There is a site that talks about Jews in music. It features a wonderful piece on Mama Cass Elliot, and Cass's daughter, Owen, maintains a website about her late mother. www.casselliot.com


Somewhere, no doubt, Mama Cass Elliot is belting out "Dream a Little Dream of Me."

Thursday, February 01, 2007

I Could've Written This...

Several weeks ago my mother passed along an article that she'd cut out from a local, monthly Orthodox Jewish paper. She knew I would appreciate it. She knew that I could sort of relate to it. She knew that she sort of could too.

I'm typing it now for you, simply because... it is beautiful, even if sad.


DADDY, REMEMBER US? by Jodi Jakob

My dear father, incredibly bright, wise and understanding, is now struggling to recover from an operation just one week ago that removed a large, cancerous tumor from deep inside his brain. If only I had known that I would not be able to communicate with my father after the surgery, I certainly would have made sure to lengthen and deepen our prior phone conversations. Though I made every effort after Rosh Hashanah -- during my short visit to Los Angeles -- to savor the precious moments we shared together, these days it doesn't at all seem like I valued my father's companionship enough.

When we were finally allowed to enter the recovery room after the surgery -- which took almost a day to complete after many more days of preparation, with multiple doctors' appointments, testing of the brain and bodily functions -- my father ever so sweetly apologized to my siblings and me for not being able to remember our names. Though at that time he was still able to recognize us, his voice and behavior stung of change and more change to come. Little did I realize, though, that the loving caresses he gave me on my cheek after I kissed his hand that day would be the last interaction we would share that week. I have replayed that poignant moment countless times in my mind.

The brain, with its storage of memories, identifies our unique selves, our history and our world. When the tumor first made its ugly way into our lives, it gradually took over my father's short-term memory. But we were comforted, knowing that his long-term memory had not been damaged. But now it is different. We are just a bunch of strangers to my father. Even my mother, after 50 years of marriage is painfully unrecognized by her husband.

I cry to Hashem -- I want my father back! The doctors and nurses reassure us that some patients go through this stage after brain surgery, and that some do snap out of it. At least a few days ago we were able to say that my father's behavior was probably due to the medication or the swelling of the brain following surgery. But now that he is off those medications, we can only face the hard facts. We must turn to Hashem, and wait with humility for the outcome.

Let us look at the special people in our lives and appreciate the gift of their presence. It's a gift that comes with no guarantees, a gift which is both given and returned by the swift movement of a secret key, held only by the One Above.

I hope readers could kindly make time to help us shake the heavens, so that Hashem might return to my wonderful father his memory and his health. The name to daven for is Gavriel ben Vilca.

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

My Classic-Rock Kid...Revisited

I walked into my sons' bedroom to say good night just now. My oldest, who listens to his classic rock station while falling asleep, drew my attention to the song on the radio: "Girl, You Really Got Me Now."

He asked, ''Is that the newer version [by Van Halen] or the original one by...um...the KINKIES?"

Um, honey, that is just slightly off....but you certainly made me smile with it.

Happy (Early) Tu Bishvat

http://www.eyarok.org.il/tubishvat.html

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Adolescent Angst (A Confession)




I'm guessing that most, if not all, of you, were pretty well-adjusted adolescents and teenagers. Sure, self-esteem could falter at times, but I figure that for the most part, you were happy in your skin, content with your many friends and social activities.

And then there was me... I was somewhat shy, not too cool, a bright student, and definitely not too popular, except for many of the wrong reasons: a target for others. It was as if "Nice gals finished last." I didn't have many friends until I was about 17, and then slowly, slowly, I began to evolve and come out of my (oyster) shell.

The lack of ego, the insecurities that carried over from primary school, chased me to junior high and some high school even. I was always fearful of others -- what they MIGHT say, what they MIGHT do -- just because I'd experienced a lot of that stuff already. Not pleasant for a young person.

But I always say that those experiences made me a much stronger person, and a well-adjusted person. I have learned to forgive, even if I don't completely forget episodes, which is a step ahead of many people. I could well have turned into a bitter, reclusive, scared-of-the-world person, and surprisingly, I'm not. I'm happy, I love people, I am confident (90% of the time, anyway), and I'm aware of the many nuances that bullying can take and try to steer my children from them.

Sometimes in my "I must be the only person treated like this" mode, I used to wonder what it would be like in school if I suddenly disappeared. In grade 7, I recall being at my locker and wondering if I was just a "spirit" hovering in the hallways, what I might hear said about me, if I was gone. No, I was definitely not suicidal, not even truly depressed...but I always had a good imagination and just wondered: Would it make a difference to my peers if I was gone? Would they notice? Would they care? Would they then be sorry for the way they'd treated me?

I think that is what I truly wanted: for people to realize and recognize that I'd been emotionally hurt and that they should feel sorry for the way I'd been treated.

Perhaps that's why I'm so aware of others -- others' feelings, others' thoughts. Sensitivity about myself was always strong, yet it introduced a great sensitivity to others...which is a good thing.

I wonder if I'd been a different kind of kid, and my school experiences would have been different, if I'd become a different kind of adult. But as I'm definitely happy with who I am these days ( and all without therapy of any kind, only use of keeping my journals throughout the years), it all worked out for the best, didn't it????

Saturday, January 27, 2007

A Pearlie of Wisdom...from a Madam











"It's not the college degree that makes a writer. The great thing is to have a story to tell. "

-- Polly Adler


Polly Adler was born in a small town in Russia in 1900, and made her way to America at the age of 14, just before the outbreak of World War I. The war stopped her family from joining her.

Polly worked in clothing factories, sporadically attended school, and eventually began to keep company with theater people. At the age of twenty, Polly Adler opened her first bordello and became a madam. It is so difficult for me to fathom this former "shtetl maidel" becoming a madam...and a successful and rather well-known one.

She officially "retired" from prostitution in 1944.

At the age of fifty, she went to college, and shortly after, with the help of a ghost writer, wrote her memoirs, "A House Is Not A Home."

My mother owns a paperback version of this book and throughout my years of growing up, it always caught my eye because of its name. The title became a catch phrase in my family, and was an important value that was taught to us.
***************
Images:
#1: Polly Adler's business card
#2 Her famous autobiography, the book I remember from home
#3 Polly Adler -- has that seductive, sultry look with those dark glasses
#4 Polly Adler -- does this woman look like she ran a brothel? Not. At. All. She reminds me of Shirley Booth, who played Hazel.
****************
Some Trivia:
Polly Adler's real name was PEARL ADLER.
****************
Death notice in Time magazine June 22, 1962:
Died. Polly (real name: Pearl) Adler, 62, longtime (1920-45) Manhattan madam whose garish parlors were a house away from home for those who found the scarlet parrot on her business card an invitation to expensive pleasure; of cancer; in a Hollywood hospital. At Polly's midtown bordello, amid Louis XVI, Egyptian and Chinese furnishings, and a Gobelin tapestry of Vulcan and Venus "having a tender moment," Racketeer Dutch Schultz took his ease, barking orders to henchmen from under a silken canopy, while in nearby rooms Social Registered patrons reveled, and off-duty cops romped. In retirement, tiny (4 ft., 11 in.), dark-haired Polly wrote a bestselling memoir (A House Is Not a Home) that helped enrich the idiom ("There's no shaking off the press"), completed two years of college, where one of her professors coined a rich one of his own: "The problem is, Miss Adler knows nothing about syntax."

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Lend This Guy An Ear

I received an email with a cute song, "Thank G-d I'm a Jewish Boy." So I went to search out the singer/songwriter. You should too. Listen to the clips...and you'll smile -- I promise. And if you're familiar with the stylings of the late, great, Allan Sherman, you might see some similarities.

I didn't listen to every selection, but did listen to and enjoyed BIG NOSES and MY FAVORITE THINGS.

http://cdbaby.com/cd/alieberman2

A Presence Is Indeed Often a Present

I've taken the time to now comment on the comments of my last few posts. In case you don't go back and read them, I'm copying one that addresses someone's presence alongside someone who is ill. I thought you ought to read it.

Thank you all for your comments.

Yes, someone's presence can in fact be a gift.

I have a cousin whose grandmother (my great-aunt) had been in a nursing home for a few years. Even though my great-aunt was often sleeping or simply "out of it", I would visit, just sit with her, hold her hand and say a few words...whether she heard them or not.

I asked that cousin one day: "Do you visit your grandmother? Do you take the kids to see their great-grandmother?"

I got a very flippant answer: "No...it wouldn't make a difference anyhow. She's so out of it, she wouldn't know who I am or who the kids are, and wouldn't know I'm there."

I never forgot -- nor, in a way, forgave -- that cousin for that shi**yattitude. If that attitude prevailed throughout this world, people who were sick would simply die earlier.

The truth is that one never knows when their presence can make a difference. And I can tell you another story about how one's presence had an impact...

IN 1981 after my dad was operated on for a brain tumor -- benign -- he was barely conscious for the first few days after. But I happened to be there one day and a nurse was asking my dad simple questions to test his cognition. She said, 'Mr. A, there is someone in the room with you. Do you know who it is?"

In barely a whisper, and with his eyes closed, he said, "My daughter...Pearl."

I was astounded; I might've said something to him when I walked in but thought due to the heavy painkillers, he couldn't hear me or sense I was there.

How wrong I was! And that memory has stuck with me, among several others from that time, for these past 25+ years.

So nobody should ever say "It doesn't matter if I'm there or not."IT DOES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(phew, now that I got that out of my system, I can move on to something else)

Rethinking that Last Post of Mine




After I'd posted that news item and my own comment, I imagined a much different scenario...on El Al, or any other "Jewish" airline...

1. Parents board, a three year old and an infant in tow. As they try to store their hand luggage in the overhead carrier, the infant begins to wail. Mother hushes the baby, who doesn't cease wailing. Flight attendant approaches, a big smile on her face.

"Oy, what a bubelah. Looks just like my Meira at home in Tel Aviv. Let me hold her, while you finish packing away your stuff." Flight attendant rocks the baby, tickles her under her chin and receives a big, toothless grin for her effort, along with some drool on her collar. "Don't worry about that spot. I'll just use Tide, instant spot remover, when I'm back in the galley. Enjoy the flight, and if you need me to look after the baby, come and see me back there. I'm Dahlia."

2. A four-year-old is jumping up and down on his window seat when he excitedly sees another plane off on the horizon. This child, mind you, is quite the obese little boy, and his movement makes for some turbulence. Over the loudspeaker: "Please fasten your seatbelts. We have a first-time flier in seat 14D who is just a bit excited. As soon as he calms down, we'll fly just a bit smoother. Let the boy have his fun, okay?"

3. In the line to board Flight 224 to Miami Beach: a gaggle of children become unruly, pushing and anxious to be on the plane already. The airline clerk says over the loudspeaker, " Would those children wearing the Bais Avraham school shirts please sit down NOW!" Stunned into submission, the dozen children do as she instructs...and do so quietly. After a pause, the clerk can be heard again, chuckling over the loudspeaker: "I didn't say 'SIMON SAYS' !"

---
Halevai , if we could travel on airlines that imbue such warmth, such haimeshekeit, travelers might just very well be happier people.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Does This Apply...

...When Flying to Israel?


Child's tantrum gets family tossed off plane

ORLANDO - (AP) -- Flight attendants often deal with obnoxious passengers who won't listen to instructions by kicking them off the plane. But a Massachusetts couple think AirTran Airways went overboard by treating their crying 3-year-old daughter in much the same way.

Julie and Gerry Kulesza and daughter Elly were removed from the flight when the girl refused to take her seat before takeoff, airline officials said today. But her parents said they just needed a little more time to calm her down.

The Kuleszas planned to fly home to Boston on Jan. 14 from Fort Myers after a four-day visit with the girl's paternal grandparents. She was removed because ''she was climbing under the seat and hitting the parents and wouldn't get in her seat'' during boarding, AirTran spokeswoman Judy Graham-Weaver said.

AirTran officials say they were only following Federal Aviation Administration rules that children age 2 and above must have their own seat and be wearing a seatbelt upon takeoff.

''The flight was already delayed 15 minutes and in fairness to the other 112 passengers on the plane, the crew made an operational decision to remove the family,'' Graham-Weaver said.

But Julie Kulesza said: ``We weren't given an opportunity to hold her, console her or anything.''

''Elly was sitting in front of our seat crying,'' she said in a phone interview. ``The attendant motioned to a seat and asked if we purchased it for her.''

They had paid for the seat. Gerry Kulesza said another attendant then approached the family and told him: ``You need to get her in control and in her seat.''

The couple told the attendants they were trying. Julie Kulesza said she asked the attendants if Elly could sit on her lap, but they said no.

The family flew home the next day.

The Orlando-based carrier reimbursed the family $595.80, the cost of the three tickets, and offered them three roundtrip tickets anywhere the airline flies, Graham-Weaver said.

But that's too little, too late for the Kuleszas. The father said they would never fly AirTran again.

****
The one time I traveled to Israel, I flew via KLM, and I don't remember crying/yelling children on board. But the stories I've heard re. El Al and other U.S. airlines flying to Israel...probably ought to get more than one family kicked off a plane -- and not necessarily reimbursed for their troubles, either!

Monday, January 22, 2007

"What Happened to Me?"

The title of this post is something that I heard my father say a few times this afternoon while I was visiting him in hospital.

Oftentimes, he lies in the bed, shaking his head from side to side, in a pose of disbelief...to what he's going through.

Today he was pseudo-sleeping when I came, so I sat and chatted with my mother. A short time later, someone walks in and introduces herself as an occupational therapist and she wanted to ask my father a few questions to assess him and his cognitive abilities.

She woke him, and even if it was just a light sleep, it was a sleep. To suddenly have to respond to questions would not be too good, I figured...and I was right.

There were basic questions that you and I would probably not have much difficulty with: What is your name? What city are we in? What province? What kind of building are we in? What season is it? What's the date? What floor are you on?

Even as she asked these questions, I knew that I had to hold back my retorts: my father has been lying in a hospital bed for over 4 weeks! How should he know the correct date? He'd been moved to several different floors over his stay! How could he know the floor?

I did ask her why she'd come now, especially after rousing him from sleep; he is rather clear-headed in the morning. She had gotten a requisition and was told to check up on him now, is what I was told.

My father, the former businessman, struggled with counting backwards from 100 by 7. He got to 93 and was stuck.

When asked to spell " world" and then spell it backwards, he couldn't spell it backwards.

He had to write a sentence for the therapist on a clipboard she provided. Even though he was lying in bed, and somewhat elevated, it wasn't a conducive situation for writing. I'm not quite certain what, if anything, he actually wrote on that paper. But when asked to read back what he'd written, he said, "You're a lovely lady."

He was asked to draw a clock face and provide the numbers. He couldn't do that.

------

When someone, G-d forbid, has dementia or Alzheimer's or even Parkinson's or suffers from a stroke, they might be so far advanced in the mental decline, and not realize that the answers they're giving are not correct, when administered tests such as this one today. The difference is that my father DOES recognize his inability to give the answers that, perhaps several hours earlier, might've been easy for him.

He recognizes these limitations. He told the OT that he used to do math so fast in his head. I grew up with math and spelling drills that my father gave me. This is how he taught us; this is how he taught himself. And suddenly the brain doesn't want to catch on anymore.

After the OT left, he was still hung up on that "subtract 7" question and pushed himself over and over to try and work through the sequence. I guess he was trying to prove to himself that perhaps he could do it, at least for himself, if not for the OT.

I saw the tears in my father's eyes when the OT left; I felt the heaviness of his emotional pain, and that of my mother who watched this too.

"What happened to me?... What will become of me?"

We tried to speak convincingly that after mental and physical rehab we hope to have him home again. As we do...and as he does.

As I've said, when the clarity comes, it is like a curtain is drawn open and the sun shines through. My father can talk about everything and anything. He can describe in detail episodes from 50 and 60 years ago. But when the daylight grows dimmer, the mind grows dimmer too.

The medication, the past seizures, the brain fluid, the lack of constant movement and being in a bed for so many weeks have taken their toll.

...But at what price?

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Every Minute...

In the comments section of my last post, Marallyn ben Moshe wrote:

"EVERY MINUTE WE HAVE A PARENT IS A GIFT."

Kol ha-kavod to Marallyn for knowing that and "stating" it aloud. It is like poetry to my eyes and ears. For I have been gifted my entire life with these caring, loving, respectful parents of mine. I have always recognized that and feel sorry for those who aren't gifted with similar parents.

There are parents who cannot be considered a gift -- they are plain and simply HORRIBLE people, terrible role models, who treat their offspring like garbage. Oftentimes they do not deserve to have had the title "parent" bestowed upon them, and oftentimes the child is better off without such a parent in their life.

Thank G-d I do not personally know people in this predicament, but I know they exist. Family dynamics are often the result of the dynamics that came a generation before; people learn from example: whether how to improve, or whether to follow in negative footsteps and have family history repeat itself.

I hope that most, if not all of you, can appreciate your parents -- what they give/gave you to help you be the best person you can be...and the right tools for parenting.


Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Saying Thanks

Several of you have commented on my posts, saying although you're tuning in a bit late, you're still thinking of me...of my family...of my father, and davening for him.

Although I'm not commenting on the comments, you deserve a post specifically to say THANK YOU for your warm messages and your good thoughts.

It will be four weeks tomorrow evening that my father went into the Emergency department. He's been shuffled over those four weeks from different floors where beds were available. Apparently the hospital had its own outbreak of Norwalk Virus (upper respiratory disease that can kill...especially among the elderly) and beds were in great demand throughout the hospital. Wherever there's a bed, that's where they've sent my dad: Emergency,Cardiology, Rehab, General Medicine. It's been difficult to get used to a nursing staff, through several changing shifts, and then be transferred elsewhere and start all over again...repeating medical histories to nurses and hospital night sitters and roommates, etc.

In many ways, my father seemed better weeks ago, in the early part of his hospital stay. It has now been said that it may not be a short-term rehab after all, but rather a slow and lengthy rehab -- difficult to digest for all of us involved. But G-d willing, with rehab, my father might be able to go home again and resume his life in some semblance of normalcy.

As I've said before, the brain is a wondrous thing: the capacity for what it knows and what it can't discern. My father can have a 20 minute conversation in Russian with the relative of a roommate (Russian was spoken by him between 1940-45 when he spent the war years in Siberia. He has been told he speaks like a native, and with no accent.), giving all detailed information of when he was in Russia, where he was in Russia during the war, what he did, etc. But when asked when he came to Toronto, he couldn't remember that!

Night becomes day; day becomes night. Concern with "what time is it?" is at the forefront. With daytime, and especially morning, comes much more clarity of mind, and a sharp memory, but the later in the day it gets, weakness, inertia and confusion sink in.

I prefer to visit my dad in the late morning, and then if possible, again in the evening between 8 p.m. and 11 p.m. -- when nighttime sets in and settles down...yet leaves my father somewhat unsettled.

Some people don't understand family bonds and concerns. Apparently a friend of mine checked in a couple of weeks ago with another friend of mine to hear how my dad is doing. The friend said that I'm visiting as much as I can -- even if just to be company for my mother -- and my dad is sleeping a lot. The friend who was checking up on me couldn't understand why someone would sit and bother to watch someone sleep.

And this comes from a person whose own father has had serious back surgery and a slow and difficult recovery!

I was aghast that someone could think like this. What if it wasn't pure drug-induced sleep, but a coma that my father was in? Isn't that a form of sleep? Am I expected to choose to not sit around "just because he's sleeping?"

People mean well, but sometimes just don't think, do they?

I know that several of you have had to know of unfortunate medical circumstances in your families, and we continue to hope and pray that good health will prevail.

Again, I thank you for your concern, and as my father continues to say: "Let's hope for the best..."

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Alles Auf Zucker! (Go for Zucker!)

My husband and I don't always agree on films. We mostly go to family films with our kids, but I'm a lover of "chick flicks" and artsy films, and he likes action-gore films. So I go with the girls to some films and he goes with the guys to other films. The only movies we can more or less agree on seeing and enjoying are quirky films.

He chose this film from the video store, described the premise to me and I thought it sounded fun.

If you want offbeat & quirky... you've come to the right movie.

If you want dysfunctional family... you've come to the right movie.

If you want deceit... you've come to the right movie.

It helps that I understand a lot of German...but the subtitles helped.

There's a German line in the movie: "It's never too late to become Jewish." That should get you thinking...

Here are a couple of good movie links. The first is in German, but find the sidebar bit called KINO TRAILER, click on it, and you'll get a peek at the film.

Here's another, more detailed movie link.

If anyone has already seen this film, please let me know your thoughts. It wasn't full-blown funny as in guffaws, but it was filled with lots of chuckles and smiles.

The director, Dani Levy, is from Basel, Switzerland, my mom's hometown. All I can say is that he has an interesting way of viewing the world...

Grab some popcorn, get comfy and hit the PLAY button on the remote.

A First




I was walking back to shul on Shabbos afternoon with my children for mincha/maariv. (women are invited to listen to the speaker at seudat shlishit) We passed a little dog, whom we'd first seen a week ago, also while walking to shul in the afternoon.

I've met countless dogs in the area, and often remember the names of most of them. I remembered this one was TIFFANY, a Maltese-Yorkie blend. I also noticed that Tiffany had gotten groomed since we met her; she was sporting a pink hairclip in her doggie locks, which wasn't too bad. But then my daughter and her friend pointed out that the dog was wearing pink nail polish! Sure enough, Tiffany was. A first for me to see. Can you believe it? Dog nail PAWlish (not original -- too bad.).

I asked the owner if Tiffany owns a coat -- nope, not a coat, but she does have boots...and a DRESS and other accoutrements. WOW...........

I should've asked if she also owns a Tiffany watch or a Tiffany-diamond-encrusted dog collar that she wears only on special occasions.

She's definitely not Max's type. He likes the females very natural-looking, those who don't put on any doggie airs. He's still in love with Phoebe, the dog a few houses away. Remember her? She's the one who never fails to wiggle her tush in his face every time she sees him. Guess that's the next best thing to a doggie lap dance, huh?

Sayings These Days

These days, my father is saying :

"Ich bin nisht mer kein mensch." I am no longer a man.

"Ich hab nisht mer kein koach." I no longer have any strength. (This has changed from the previous : "Ich hab nisht kein koach." I have no strength.)

This dear man, in spite of those horrible, and often panic-stricken moments of confusion (due to the anti-seizure medication, the great number of seizures he'd experienced, and thus the trauma on his body and brain, and the lying in bed for over three weeks) as to where he is and what he's doing there, and where has my mother/siblings/niece and nephews gone still has his moments of clarity.

And in that clarity he recognizes his great limitations....his need to depend on others for help -- to shave him, to help him complete basic everyday tasks, such as eating and going to the bathroom and moving in the bed and learning to walk all over again.

Human strength is a wondrous thing. Human frailty is not.

(Please continue to daven for Yaakov Arieh ben Chaya Malka...to regain that wondrous mental and physical strength of his and let him go home again.)

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

My Classic Rock Kids aka The Kids Are Alright

One of the local shuls is hosting a concert next month, featuring "Uncle Moishy" , who grew up in Toronto, and lived down the street from where I grew up. I know who he is, but my kids certainly do not. As we passed the big banner in front of the shul, I heard at least two out of three voices pipe up from the back seat of the van: "WHO'S UNCLE MOISHY?"

What could I say but, "He's a Jewish musician, but we never listened to his kind of music."

I did not grow up with that kind of music -- yes, we had some Pirchei Choir records, just because my first cousin was in one of the NY-based choirs and thus, on the records -- and my kids have not grown up with that music. Although "yeshivish" music is rather nice, I'm mostly familiar with it from simcha dance classes and background music in some of the Kosher restaurants I've been to.

My kids, up until the past year or so, mostly grew up with the classical and jazz that I'd play for them, as well as easy-listening radio stations. But a year ago, something happened: they began to make their own choices in music. My oldest became an Elvis Presley fan, as well as Paul McCartney...from which evolved a fondness for Beatles music. My daughter, along with her girly-girlfriends, discovered the popular young singers, and began to choose her own radio stations to listen to, thus learning lyrics very quickly to "at the moment, popular songs." My youngest was able to distinguish between Neil Young's and Paul McCartney's voice.

These days, they are very much into music, downloading onto their little MP3 players...and knowing how exactly to do that.

My oldest is a fan of "classic rock" songs and singers from the sixties, seventies and eighties. Upon hearing two opening notes to a song, he can recognize the song and singer or band. He did ask the other day if Jim Morrison and Van Morrison were brothers, which struck me as an interesting question. Not too long ago, I explained what "Woodstock" had been, simply because he is an avid listener to music of that generation. This 11-year-old kid blows my mind with his musical savvy.

My youngest son isn't too far behind his older brother in his music appreciation. I was in the office reading blogs, and they were in their beds in the bedroom they share next door to the office. I heard them talking...and my six year old son says, " A., I know a good song you can download."

A. "Yeah? Which one?"

N. "Iron Butterfly."

A. "That's not the name of a song. That's the name of the band! And I don't like 'In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida' "

Everything old becomes new again. Isn't that how the saying goes? Those same songs I was hearing for the first time when I was prepubescent are those songs that I'm hearing again, but that my kids are hearing for the first time and getting into.

Sorry, Uncle Moishy. For my kids, you just can't compete with Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, the Stones, Paul McCartney and Wings...

Monday, January 08, 2007

Plus Ca Change, Plus C'est La Meme Chose*

La traduction: The more things change, the more they stay the same

Time passes, people age, lifestyles change, families grow, storms are weathered...again...and again...and again.

That is how I view life in my family. We've encountered and dealt with major health shake-ups that may have affected one person, but in turn have always affected the family.

We've been handed another shake-up... My father is still in hospital, free of seizures, but so heavily medicated, he sleeps most of the time, and is only a shell of his former self. Because the meds are in his bloodstream, we don't know yet his full mental and physical capabilities and/or if they will be retrieved. Doctors ask about what kind of home my parents live in, if he could return home to the life they knew, if we would get medical care, if my mother could handle things.

So many questions... No real answers.

Medical care itself is a shell of its former self. Over the years that my father has been hospitalized for various ailments, we've seen the decline of the Canadian health service. It's sad -- new hospitals are being built, and yet, there are not enough doctors, nurses and staff to meet the needs of hospitals already in practice.

I gave birth to two of my children in the hospital where my father is right now. Even with the three year gap between those two kids, I could see the cutbacks that the hospital was experiencing during my stay.

It's sad. We worry about our loved ones. We worry that their needs are being met by hospital staff. And yet I feel sad for the staff themselves, who are so overworked in these demanding jobs.

My father is a model patient. He doesn't complain. He is so polite and friendly, when he's awake and less groggy. He addresses the doctors and nurses by name, through each shift. He makes small talk with the staff...in several languages. He is not needy.... YET WE NEED HIM. So I'm hoping that these doctors and nurses will set him on the road to a wonderful recovery...yet again. He's been on such a road many a time.

As Bob Dylan penned, "How many roads must a man walk down/before you call him a man?" My father had to become a man while he was still a little boy. I'm hoping he's still got a few good years left in him to be the wonderful man that he's known to be.

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

This post is rather disjointed, isn't it? It's like my poetry -- I intend to carry my words one way, and they take a path all their own. Yes, this post was going to be about my father, but I was more inclined to write how I want people to ask about how he's feeling and progressing medically, yet I also almost resent having to repeat the same stories and explanations to people. It's sort of a push me-pull me tactic. It isn't that I'm lazy to tell the stories, but primarily it always come down to the same base idea: the truth hurts; hearing or seeing the truth hurts; vocalizing the truth hurts even more. I already felt this when he had a brain tumor 25 years ago and people would ask, and ask, and ask, and I'd have to answer, answer, answer. Yes, I appreciated the concern but sometimes just felt I wanted to shut my ears and eyes to it all.
I don't know if other people have encountered these feelings when in similar circumstances, whether family, health or job related issues come up and questions are continually asked. Maybe it's just my personal quirks...?

Thanks for "listening."

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

"How Is Your Dad?"

I thank you all for your concern, your well wishes and brachot for my father to have a swift and complete recovery. We're certainly not there yet, but thank G-d he's seemingly better than he was last week.

I wanted to give you kind people who have continued to ask, "How is your dad?" some feedback. The following is pulled from an email I wrote to Cruisin' Mom shortly after 3:00 a.m. today when I was awakened by some noise and couldn't go back to sleep for a couple of hours. What did I do? I turned to the computer, to blogging and emails, supposedly from which my "addiction" has waned. (sorry, Ezzie, I was awake just a bit earlier than you today; I headed back to sleep at 5 a.m.!)

"My father is stable but still in that hospital bed. He's in cardiac, and they took the halter monitor away from him a couple days ago. I believe he also hasn't had a seizure --grand mal or petit mal -- in two to three days, which is a good thing. Perhaps they've found the right dosage of anti-seizure meds to help control them. But it's very strong regardless, gives great memory loss and some confusion still. My dad looks better than he did early last week, but is SO WEAK. He keeps saying in Yiddish, "Ich hab nisht kein koach." I have no strength. We're hoping he'll be moved to neurology and get some rehab -- he only began sitting in a chair yesterday a couple of times, has to learn to walk again and do other things. --Physical therapy and rehabilitational therapy are both needed. My mom thinks he would need round-the-clock care should he come home. We're not yet at that stage, and I hope the hospital recognizes that fact and doesn't throw him out yet.

"Although he's more lucid, we've heard so many things come out of his mouth over these 12 days of hospitaliztion: life lessons, stories from the past, "instructions" to my mother should things not go right for him, "I love you" countless times to each of us...and among all that have been the confused moments with inappropriate questions or statements that come from nowhere, not inappropriate meaning anything lewd or crude, just lines that don't belong in a conversation at that time.

"Hard to see, as I'm sure you can understand. And his age has nothing to do with that. A well, able-minded and able-bodied man going in... suddenly changes overnight!"

And this is from a second email I wrote about an hour later to Cruisin' Mom.

"So imagine, I went to a friend's father's funeral on Wednesday, I went to another friend's father's funeral the following Tuesday...and between those two funerals, and beyond, my dad is in a hospital bed, also seriously ill.

"So honestly, it hasn't been a couple of good weeks...Guess you could figure that one out yourself."

I hope to be able to tell you about steady improvement, and that indeed my loving father, and yes, a very special person to all, will come home....soon enough.

"Stolen" from Stacey

Saw this over at Stacey's Shmata; I was reluctant to respond to it, but found it fun, and without boundaries, so I thought I'd repost it here. You may choose to respond, you may choose not to. I won't be offended if there are no comments.

What Do You Know About Me?

This is how it works: YOU leave a comment, copying the questions and filling in the blanks about ME even if you don't have any idea what the answers are. Be honest...or make something up....it's up to you and it's all fun :-)

My name:

Where did we meet:

Take a stab at my middle name:

How long have you known me:

When is the last time that we saw each other:

Do I smoke:

Do I drink:

When is my birthday:

What was your first impression of upon meeting me:

Do I have any siblings:

What’s one of my favorite things to do:

Am I funny:

What’s my favorite type of music:

What is the best feature about me:

Am I shy or outgoing:

Am I a rebel or do I follow the rules:

Do I have any special talents:

Would you consider me a friend/good friend:

Would you call me preppy, average, sporty, punk, hippie, glam, nerdy, snobby, or something else (what):

What is a memory we have once had:

Have you ever hugged me:

Do you miss me…do you think i miss you:

How well do u know me?

What is my favorite food:

Have you ever had a crush on me:

If there was one good nickname for me, what would it be:

What’s your favorite memory of me:

Who do I like right now:

What is my worst habit:

If you and I were stranded on a desert island, what one thing would I bring?

Who are my favorite sports teams?

What was the last thing I said to you?

Will you repost this so I can do it for you?

Monday, January 01, 2007

Keep on Writin'

I've noticed -- yet again -- that several of my favorite bloggers are calling it quits, if they haven't already. They feel their blogs have served them well for a course of time, and now they will just deal with their lives, and not share every aspect of their life with the general blogosphere.

Although my own blog posts don't always offer up the same caliber of writing as I'd hope they would, although I may not post as frequently as I might've been doing a year ago, I NEED my blog. I NEED this means of communication. I NEED this outlet for my creative writing.

As a result of my blog writing and blog reading, I've been inspired more often than not over the past two years to write poetry, poetry that has managed to get published.

I'm basically writing into thin air when I post something on Pearlies of Wisdom. Whatever I write is out there, perhaps being read, perhaps not. Nonetheless, I've come to accept that I need to write to this unseen public.

Of course my need to write isn't as strong as it once was; for too long a time, that need overtook me...to the point of a seeming addiction to write posts and to read others'. I'm so thankful that "addiction" has waned greatly -- yes, it did do damage in my life, I admit, and I'm not pleased about that.

Blogging has defnitely become one of my favorite pastimes. It has yielded friendships, a personal and general education about many topics and communities, learning tools for "netiquette" and an overall personal satisfaction.

I'm guessing that at some point in the future, I may not NEED to blog any longer...just like when I finished my longtime journaling on the night I became engaged, and said goodbye to that "hobby," feeling I no longer "needed" it.

For now though, rest assured, that I'm still gonna be here. Of course, I don't share everything -- aside from the anonymity factor, sometimes the truth hurts much too badly to capture on paper, or onscreen -- but if I do feel the need to get way below the surface in my writing, I know someone will be out there...just waiting to read my Pearlies of Wisdom.

Sunday, December 31, 2006

A Look Back at (My) 2006...


January -- Acquired a new dog, Max.

February -- ?

March -- Youngest son turned 6.
My father was in serious condition in the hospital; as a result, I had to cancel a trip to California that I'd so looked forward to.
Published poetry in an American Jewish literary journal.

April -- I was "dismissed" from my job after being with the company for nearly 19 years.
My husband turned 46.

May --?

June -- My oldest son turned 11.
My parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary.

July -- My father celebrated his 86th birthday.

August -- My daughter turned 9.

September -- I turned 45.

October -- ?

November -- Started a diet under a doctor's care.

December -- Published an article in the Canadian Jewish News.
My father is in hospital with serious medical problems.

As you can see, my year has centered around family -- both my parents, my husband and my children...and our dog. It has centered around my livelihood (or seemingly lack thereof) of copy editing and editing. It has centered around celebrations. It has centered around my creative writing. It has centered among health.

My life in 2006 has been busy; it has been rich; it has met with disappointments and with simple and great pleasures; my life has had to deal with harsh realities of home life and work life; and as been taught to me over the course of many years, my life has understood that good health is first and foremost to everyday living. Not even with all the money in the world, are you the richest person...but with good health, you are indeed!

Let us all hope and pray for good health for each one of us, for each day to be better than the day that preceeded it, and for 2007 to be a bright and happy year.

Cheers, everyone. L'chaim!

Thursday, December 28, 2006

LIMBO

I like to do the limbo.

I don't like to be in limbo.

We are in limbo with/about my dear father.

Here is my father's head-related medical history. You will then understand what kind of head traumas he's had, and the long-lasting effects, and thus the seizures.

November 1981 -- brain tumor; benign. We discovered it as a result of a grand-mal seizure he had at night in bed. He went to bed with a severe headache that night. He had surgery to remove the tumor, was on anti-seizure medication for over a year, couldn't drive, but thank G-d made wonderful progress and a complete recovery.

January 2000 -- mild stroke; slight confusion and garbled speech.

April 2003 -- fell on my icy front steps; hit his head; suffered grand mal seizures; in intensive care during SARS crisis in Toronto; horrible time. Back on anti-seizure medication.

March 2006 -- suffered several grand mal seizures; rushed via ambulance to hospital emergency dept.; medical personnel thought he'd had a massive stroke; in hospital for 2 1/2 weeks; lots of confusion, some memory loss, weakness, but came back to us...walking out of the hospital, albeit now with a cane to help his balance.

December 2006 -- chest pains and general weakness; taken to emergency; chest fine; begins to have several seizures -- grand-mal and continual petit-mal seizures. HORRIBLE confusion, great weakness, sleeping constantly; severe memory loss. And in among all that, there is still the dear, sweet and gentle man who's concerned and worried about all those around him. With his many lucid comments shine his true personality, his base qualities!

Why is he still having seizures if medication is supposedly controlling them? Till they find the right dose, I suppose. Funnily enough, this is the same medication he first used 25 years ago after his brain tumor and the surgery to remove it.

But it is also anti-seizure medication, and at high doses, that lends itself to severe memory loss.

My father always says that he was reborn 25 years ago. He remembers the date of his surgery and thanks G-d every day and especially every anniversary of that date...as do we.

Last night I was with him until just before midnight; in between his sleeping and the few petit mal seizures I witnessed, he spoke both with lucidity and also with confusion. In one of his lucid conversations, he told me how important it is to be a good person, but how it sometimes backfires on you. He told a story, reverting back to his mother tongue, Yiddish, of how in the war, when he was in Russia, he was trying to come to the protection of someone and the person who'd been attacking that someone attacked my father, beating him over the head with a stick...that led to severe injury, probably a concussion and the need for stitches.

I said, "Dad, that beating might've been the start of all your head troubles."

Twenty five years ago the doctors indeed said that a head injury received earlier in his life might've led to the growth of the tumor.

In any case, over all these years, there has been a buildup of fluid around the brain. It is this fluid that presses against certain nerves, and thus causes seizures. But with his cocktail of numerous medications he must take for his several ailments, one never knows how other drugs impact everything, too.

He went in to Emergency a week ago today, not feeling good, but knowing everything, being able to do just about everything, and being very much his own person. A week later, he is a synthesis of fragmented memories, little physical mobility and great confusion.

Will keep you posted....

If you can, please daven for Yaakov Arieh ben Chaya Malka.

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

B'sha'ah Tovah




Please visit my friend at http://tenlikoach.blogspot.com/. She has some wonderful news to share with all of you; I already knew for several weeks and am more than thrilled for her and her husband.

I wish them well, and G-d willing may they give birth to a healthy and happy child b'shaah tovah/at the right time.

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Freak Me Out!

Long story short.

My father isn't well. He was taken into the hospital on Thursday afternoon with chest pains and weakness. He remained in the emergency wing all day and night and on Friday, after he was finally seen by a doctor, it was decided that they wanted to keep him in for observation...although it was determined his heart was fine.

When I spoke to my parents just before I lit Chanukah and Shabbos candles, they were still waiting for a room to be made available for my father and were still in some cubicle in Emergency.

It was going to be very difficult for me to get through Shabbos and not know one way or the other what was happening, but I was thankful on Friday night, after coming home from being invited for dinner, that there was no red light flashing on my phone indicating a call.

But last night, I had a bad dream and woke up with a start. After lying quietly, reassessing where I was, I looked closely at the time on my watch: it was approximately 2:12. I'd had a dream in which my father had two consecutive grand-mal seizures. I lay there, feeling disturbed, and wondering why I was having such a dream, when he'd gone in to the hospital this time because of his heart.

Yes, it was tough to get through Shabbos not knowing anything, and when I didn't reach anyone at my parents' home after Shabbos, I called my brother's house. My sister-in-law told me that my father had had a bad night, and had had FOUR seizures in the middle of the night! My brother was at the hospital with my mother.

Long story short: when I went to the hospital tonight to see my father, I went to the nursing station to ask if they had a record of when my father had seized at night. One seizure was recorded at being at TWO A.M.!!

I was rather freaked out. Yes, I've had some "in-tune" episodes with my mother primarily or my husband or some friends, but I think this topped them off.

I hope to G-d that I have a dreamless night. I hope to G-d that my father has a calm night..and a refuah shlema.

If you'd like to make a misheberach, his name is: Yaakov Arieh ben Chaya Malka.

Thank you.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

A BIG OOPS

Thanks, Ezzie, for steering me straight. For being so numbers-aware.

People, I was married on Sunday, December 19, 1993, not 2003 as I wrote in the last post.

Lucky 13

Sunday, December 19, 2003.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, MR. TORONTOPEARL!

Monday, December 18, 2006

One for the Blonde Jokes

It's okay to laugh at oneself. Better to laugh at oneself first, have people join in that laughter, than someone start by pointing out something about you, then starting the round of laughter. Self-directed laughter is somehow easier on the ego.

Okay, so I know I can laugh at myself sometimes...as in now.

And do realize that I am a natural brunette, have never been a blonde, nor do I aspire to be. But for a couple of minutes last week I became one of "them."

Now, I haven't talked about it on the blog, aside from a quick reference on the "what is sexy?" post, but I am working toward getting skinny, or at least skinnier than I am. After three weeks of a very stringent diet, under a doctor's care, I've lost between 18-20 pounds. You don't really see the change on my body yet, as you do on my face...but it's there. And as long as I can discipline myself (it's DAMN hard) to stick to the diet and not cheat, I'll be on it a few weeks longer, to get to my ideal weight.

That's the backstory. Here's where my temporary blondness came into play.

Last week, I was filling in a passport application because my Canadian passport had expired. I was busy printing away my address and then my vitals, and came to a sudden S T O P when I reached: WEIGHT. I did not know what to write. Do I write my current weight? Do I write what my goal weight is? If I write my current weight, the next time I travel, will they give me a hard time at customs because I am much skinnier than what I wrote? Will the customs agents be confused, looking at the picture of me taken around now, then looking at my face as I stand there before them?

I stopped filling in the application, ready to confer with my husband that evening, as to what to write for weight. Based on his reaction, I knew that my blond roots were showing!

Okay, everyone, on the count of three -- ONE...TWO...THREE -- now laugh with me. WITH ME, I said. Not AT ME!

Six and a Half Years Wise

"Don't forget to brush your hair," I called out to my 6 1/2-year-old this morning, as he was in the other room getting ready for school.

"I don't need to," he declared with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "It isn't picture day*!"




* Two weeks ago, I prepared him for picture day at school, putting mousse in his hair and combing and brushing his hair in place.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Just Because Bubbie & Zadie Asked So Nicely...




dear bubbie/zadie,

i wrote all about you in my article, but neglected to tell you of my own fond family memories of chanukah in my family's home.

being that i'm the only piano player amidst the family, every year, during the singing of "Maoz Tsur," i was called upon to sit at the piano and accompany the singing voices.

although we had several menorahs, my favorite one is my parents' that was in my mother's home while growing up. she also has a card with the words to "Maoz Tsur" printed on it, and it, too, comes from her home. it traveled across the ocean, along with the menorah, to a new country, a new language, a new life...but with old and familiar traditions in tow.

after lighting the menorah, singing the blessings and songs, we'd always go and eat latkes that my father would prepare on the electric fryer, when i was a kid. my brothers and i would eat, then play a bit of dreidel and eat the chocolate coins we got. we'd usually get a silver dollar too, on the first night of Chanukah. gifts and large gatherings were not our style; family and a warm, intimate setting superceded all that.

every year, we go to my parents at least on one of the nights to light together and enjoy each other's company. we take pictures of my parents with my children...and we hope to be able to do that for many years to come! and yes, i'm still asked to sit down and play "Maoz Tsur" on the piano.

pearl

Toronto, Canada

The Birthday Boy


My brother is turning 49 today. Happy birthday, big brother. Wishing you a healthy and happy birthday and year.

Hope everything is coming up roses for you and your gal...!

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Bubbie & Zadie Want YOU!!!

“A good heart is like a pretty candle burning in the menorah. It can light up the world.”

Daniel Halevi Bloom believes that, and so does Zadie in Bloom’s recently published children’s book, Bubbie and Zadie Come to My House: A Story for Hanukkah.

The story tells of Bubbie and Zadie – Yiddish for Grandmother and Grandfather – a diminutive couple who, bundled up against the December cold, magically and mysteriously fly through the sky on the first night of Hanukkah. They visit children everywhere, bringing with them the spirit of the holiday through songs and stories. With laughter and warmth, they enjoy the children they visit, sharing the explanation of Hanukkah and partaking in the ages-old tradition of playing dreidel.

Like the weekly visit from the Sabbath Queen, and the annual Passover visit from the prophet Elijah, Bubbie and Zadie are happily welcomed into each Jewish home.

And it is only children who can see them. “You can see them if you use the eye inside your mind -- your imagination,” the little boy narrator tells us.

Before Bubbie and Zadie take their leave, the children in the story are invited to write letters and stay in touch with them.

Bubbie and Zadie Come to My House is the first children’s book to be published by Square One Publishers in New York. It is a newly revised and illustrated edition of the story, first published in 1985 by Donald I. Fine, Inc. Although the book’s been out of print for over ten years, and the accompanying audiotape hard to find, its publicity has continued to keep the story’s message very popular, and author Dan Bloom very busy. From his home in Taiwan, where he works as a journalist, Dan has been personally responding to the thousands of letters he’s received from all over the world – letters addressed to “Bubbie and Zadie.”

He started the letter-writing campaign in 1981; the book followed. Dan has received letters and e-mails from both children and adults, letters that talk about the excitement of the holiday, memories of family traditions, stories of the letter writer’s own grandparents. Adults have told Dan how meaningful the book is for them, how they’ve pulled it out each year to read aloud with family members. And Dan has answered each and every one of these letters.

It is the joy he gets from reading the letters, as well as “memories of my own wonderful Hanukkahs as a kid, and my sweet and dear grandparents” that has fed his enthusiasm all these years. And his determination to get the book republished came from the realization that he was getting older and that “if I didn’t do something soon, I would die one day and the book would disappear.”

Enter Rudy Shur, publisher and president of Square One Publishers. Last December, he recalls from his New York office, he read a New York Times article about this very special children’s book that had been long out of print, yet continued to generate hundreds and hundreds of letters from around the world written to “Bubbie and Zadie.”

The article, as well as the gentle persistence of Dan Bloom, drew Rudy’s attention to the book and the possibility of its reissue. Rudy explains, “For me, it was also the fact that I had never known my own grandparents, who had been killed in a concentration camp in Poland during World War II…. Around the time that I first spoke with Dan Bloom…I found myself a zadie for the third time… I felt it was time for me to open myself up to this story – as a publisher and as a person.”

Dan Bloom and Rudy Shur had found each other from across the miles. Then Rudy Shur found the very talented Israel-based artist Alex Meilichson, whose painting style he felt was perfect for the story. “There was no question that I had found the right artist for our version of the book. The question was: Could Alex produce twenty-eight paintings in eight weeks? The answer was: Absolutely.”

Meilichson, whose artistic style is influenced by, and reminiscent of, Marc Chagall and Manne Katz, uses brilliant, bright colours throughout this book. Bubbie and Zadie not only fly through the sky, they fly off the pages.

Bloom, who never met nor corresponded with the artist throughout the publishing process, is delighted with the artistry, layout and design of the new book.

In spite of the geographical distance between the author in Taiwan, the artist in Israel and the publisher in New York, “everything seemed to come together fairly well,” recalls Shur. “Communication began with e-mails from the author in Taiwan and continued that way throughout the process.” The result: an international labour of love. He explains, “I produced this book together with Dan and Alex out of love, above anything else…for grandparents to read to their grandchildren or for parents to read to their children, who may never have had their own special opportunity to know their own grandparents.”

Designed as a gift to be given by grandparents to grandchildren the first night of Hanukkah, this edition of the book invites both children and adult readers to write letters to the “Bubbie and Zadie” characters from the story. Each letter will be answered by return mail, free of charge, by the author, and also by some real-life bubbies and zadies from Bubbie and Zadies L’Chaim House, a senior citizen’s home nestled in the hills of San Rafael, California. Manny Kopstein, director of the home, is encouraged by the idea of authentic bubbies and zadies signing the letters as “Bubbie and Zadie.”

In many ways, the letter-writing aspect is what excited Bloom the most about having the book made available again. “The magic and loving feelings of the Hanukkah holidays, as passed down to me and those of my generation by our own bubbies and zadies when we were children, is one of the greatest gifts that can ever be given. And it’s wonderful that these elderly people now want to share the tradition of the holidays with the children by helping to write letters to them.”

Bloom hopes to be able to respond to “Bubbie and Zadie” letters for many years to come. He’d also like to see the book translated into Hebrew for the Israeli market. After that, the sky’s the limit. “And a movie for Hollywood... A live-action movie or a cartoon. It might take ten years, but that’s my dream.”

This writer has no doubt that with his exuberance, and with the magical help of “Bubbie and Zadie,” Daniel Halevi Bloom might just make that dream come true!



Children and adults can send their letters to:

Bubbie and Zadie’s Mailbox
c/o Square One Publishers
115 Herricks Road
Garden City Park, NY, 11040
U.S.A.

Bubbie and Zadie also welcome e-mail letters at bubbie.zadie@gmail.com.


*******************
Just to let you know, this is the piece that I submitted to the paper. The editor left it almost intact, and thankfully did not take away those personal details that I felt important to the story and to my style of writing.

Daniel Bloom was very pleased with the piece and the way it captured what he has been trying to do for all these years...on behalf of Bubbie & Zadie.

So why don't you sit down, perhaps as a family, as a single, or just as somone's child, and write to them, letting them know how you spend your Chanukah these days and how you recall spending them when you were young. Both children and adults are invited to write to Bubbie & Zadie, and will receive a response.

The Story Behind the Story

A couple of posts ago, I wrote about fear and how it can paralyze you, but that fear is often self-induced, as well. I'd delayed writing an article for a newspaper, and when I finally started to write, it just flowed and I was so pleased with the end result.

I started writing that article last Wednesday, late morning. I submitted it on Thursday, early afternoon. I was pretty sure I'd missed the Chanukah deadline that my article was most suited for, but the editor said he could only try to get it into the paper for it.

The weekly paper is already released on Tuesday; we receive our copy in the mail on Wednesday or Thursday. I'd looked at the paper's online site today and didn't find the article -- granted, at the time I forgot that the Internet edition only posts a random sampling of articles, not all of them. So I assumed my piece hadn't gotten in.

Our copy of the paper came today and about an hour ago I was just flipping through the pages, neared the end of the editorial pages, just prior to the advertising pages, and I silently said, "Awww, well I guess it couldn't get in this week. Hopefully next week it'll get in, while it's still Chanukah."

A minute later, that "Awww" became a "WOW!" There, on the page just before the advertising, was my name and my article...a full-page beautiful spread. I was thrilled! My eyes quickly scanned the piece to see just how much or how little had been edited out...as is often the case for a writer (or, in my case, "someone who writes!"). There were only a couple words changed here or there and maybe a line or two removed. That editor had been very good to me and my piece.

Now, before I share the piece with you, I'll tell you a bit about how it came to be.

Two years ago, December 10, 2004, Robert Avrech of Seraphic Secret, had written a post about a Jewish journalist in Taiwan, Daniel Halevi Bloom. I was fascinated, and dropped Danny an email. And since then, from time to time, we send emails of greeting or articles and links that we think the other will enjoy. In an article about Jewish bloggers, Danny interviewed and wrote about me, just when I was in my early days of blogging. (December 15 will mark two years that I've been blogging!) He told me about a book he'd written and published, which was out of print, but which he'd hoped to find a new home for, and knowing that I worked in publishing, he'd asked for advice.

Well, Daniel Halevi Bloom, managed to find a new home for his book on his own. I told Danny that once the book would be released, maybe I could find a Toronto-based source to write for, so that I could give the book some Canadian exposure. The book was released, and my offer still stood. It was cleared with the publisher, it was cleared with the editor; it just took a bit longer to be cleared with my confidence!

So sit back now and welcome Bubbie & Zadie into your lives....

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Out of the Blue

As I've written in earlier posts, I've not been working full-time since early April of this year. I was let go from my copy editing job, where I'd spent close to nineteen years of my life.

Yes, I'm looking for full or part-time work, and once in a while I have a freelance project to work on, but otherwise I'm considered a stay-at-home mom, something new to me...aside from three six-month maternity leaves I'd taken for my three children.

So last night, my daughter -- of the "artiste" fame -- asks me out of the blue: "Eeema, do you like being a 'house woman'?"

Was that just a random error, or is she a bit of a politically correct feminist...not addressing me as a "housewife"?

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!

Monday, December 11, 2006

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!)

Sunday, December 10, 2006

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....

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

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."

Thursday, November 30, 2006

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...

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

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.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

...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?"