If You Play Your Cards Right...

Late last night I watched this film. The Hebrew title is "Afula Express" but in English, it was renamed to "Pick a Card." Both titles work extremely well for the storyline, but for the English-speaking audiences the latter name is more appropriate.

As I sat and watched, I was bothered because I just KNEW that the lead actress was familiar to me, but I couldn't recall where I'd seen her before -- I don't watch Israeli films all that often and I didn't think she was anything but an Israeli. And then it hit me; I'd seen her in this film that I'd talked about in a previous post.

People tell me I'm pretty fluent in Hebrew, but nonetheless I read the English subtitles. And subtitling is a funny genre in itself. Often what the characters said in Hebrew was translated much harsher in English, throwing in "Hell" and other curse words...for effect, I guess.

The film won several awards and no doubt, rightfully so.

Everyone Has a Story To Tell

I just finished watching this film that I'd taken out from the library. "Almost Peaceful" is in French, with English subtitles. It is not by any means a great film, but it is a sensitive one that deals with Parisians, primarily Jews, after World War II, and how they come to terms with how the war has changed them, changed their personal reality.

It is nice to know that someone came up with a concept like this and with a screenplay such as this one. "The survivor" deserves another look, and gets one in this film.

Life's Funny that Way

My last post was a shout-out to blogland -- to the people whose blogs I read and to the people who read my blog. It was a virtual thank-you for doing what you do, being who you are...and ultimately letting me be who I am.

I was just reviewing my roster of posts to see what kind of posts I was writing around this time in May 2006 and May 2005. And I found this post written nearly to the date that I wrote my post this past Friday, May 18th. And then I found this post written nearly to the date that I wrote my post this past Friday, May 18th.

It certainly has not been a conscious decision to write every mid-May about my fellow bloggers, to thank them and acknowledge their presence (and in some cases -- presents!) in my life.

I wonder what it is about this time of year that has me doing this... (cue "Twilight Zone" theme song). Some people, who have more than one child, give birth to their children around the same time in different years. Is it that sort of phenomenon?

In any case, if I'm still blogging next May, keep an eye open for another shout-out.

*****
And by the way, my shout-out from last year has reference to blogger Ten Li Koach. I just wanted you all to kvell and know that she has other reasons now to request Ten Li Koach (give me strength): she was blessed, giving birth to a beautiful and healthy baby daughter a few weeks ago. Pu, Pu, Pu. Wish her a hearty mazel tov.
Blogging has exposed me to life, death, simchas and sadness. I've ridden an emotional rollercoaster along with many bloggers whose heartfelt emotions come through their words.
To write that way is a gift. To read the words is also a gift.

A Shout-Out to Blogland

I first found myself in the blogosphere in October 2004, when I discovered Seraphic Secret...and boy, am I glad I did. Learning about Robert's family's ordeal and great loss opened my eyes to someone's personal story made public.

I'd scan Robert's list of favorite blogs too and began to read some of them, too. That's how I discovered Treppenwitz, and A Simple Jew. And from those blogs I discovered Jack's Shack, PsychoToddler, Kerckhoff Coffeehouse, NY's Funniest Rabbi, Mirty, Elie's Expositions, Life of Rubin and several others.

And in December 2004, I took the plunge and became a blogger too. And eventually, I had three blogging gigs. Okay, I've let up on the other two quite a bit, but I still have access to them.

I began to write posts, and continued to read others', finding new blogs on other peoples' blogrolls. I came upon some fabulous blogs later in my blogging career -- Jew Eat Yet?, Citizen of the Month, Ezzie, Oriyenta, OldOldLadyoftheHills, Shalom from Jerusalem, to name but a few -- just by reading others' blogrolls.

I don't update my blogroll too often because even if I don't read someone regularly anymore, I take a peek every now and again to see how and what they're doing in their life and in their blogging corner.

So this post is just meant to be a shout-out to bloggers whose paths have crossed mine -- both in real time and virtually. You don't realize how big or small an impact you've made on my life, but you truly have. With your words on your blog, and sometimes in my comments, you've made me laugh, cry, think, understand or question. Sometimes we've even taken our comments offline and into our email InBox.

And you've made me write, and write, and write....

Thank you. Todah rabah. Merci. Gracias. Danke.

Smile of the Day

Perhaps you've heard the one about the new couple in town - the wife wants to go to the sisterhood dinner, but it costs $200 a ticket and they don't have the cash. So she gets herself nicely done up and goes out for the evening.

The next morning, bleary-eyed, she happily tells her husband that she raised the money herself for the ticket.

"How?" he asks.

She replies, "Well, I'm still a beautiful woman, and..."

"So how much did you earn?" he asks.

"Two hundred and two dollars," she replies.

"What cheapskate gave you the two dollars?" he asks.

"They all did!"

The Phone Call

The following post might bother some people, because they might suddenly have a different impression of me.

What can I say?

I'm me. And I do what I have to do. I did what I felt I had to do. Wanted to do.

And this blog is my confessional box, and this post is serving as my confession.

Last Friday night, we made early Shabbos -- our shul davens early, and my husband came home early. We sang "Shalom Aleichem" and my husband had just finished singing "Aishet Chayil." I told him that although we always made kiddush and bentched while growing up, we didn't do Aishet Chayil and not even Shalom Aleichem. We had a step in Orthodoxy but most of the time I guess we were in Conservative Judaism.

Just after I made this statement, the telephone rang. Nobody of real importance to us calls us on Shabbos because people who know us know we're observant and wouldn't answer, but my husband looked over at the call display and saw my parents' name and phone number and announced it with a questioning tone to his voice.

We'd both spoken to my parents before Shabbos and they would not use the phone, (times have changed in their household) and especially not to call us...unless it was an emergency.

When Pesach rolled around, my husband had decided to forward our home phone calls to his cell phone, so as not be bothered by ringing house lines on Yom Tov or Shabbos. But we'd told my mother if there was ever an issue, to call my cell phone number (I rarely get calls on it anyhow)and I'd leave it on over Shabbos and Yom Tov. I'd hoped that phone would never ring at those times...

But my husband hadn't forwarded the house calls to his cell this Shabbos, and now on the landline was my parents' phone number facing us. And why on the landline and not on my cell phone?

I asked, "What do I do?"

I was told to answer it, and I heard a distressed and panicked voice when I picked up the receiver: "WE'RE GOING TO NY GENERAL. HE'S HAD A STROKE AND A SEIZURE!"

Oh. My. G-d.

You cannot imagine what went through my head at that moment. I didn't know what to do. What to say.

I tried to shut my mind down. And I held myself in check as my husband made kiddush, blessed my youngest son (my other two were staying with friends over Shabbos), washed and made ha-motzei. I allowed myself to eat some fish and soup...and then I said: "I HAVE TO GO THERE!"

I knew it was not right to break Shabbos -- by answering the phone and by going to the hospital -- but this time I thought it was the end. A year ago, March, I was called and told my father had been rushed to emergency, and when I got there, he was in a catatonic-looking state. They'd thought he'd suffered a massive stroke, and there were no reactions, just a waxy look to his face, staring at nothingness. At that time he spent 3 1/2 weeks in hospital. Just two months ago, he came home from spending 3 months in hospital.

I silently asked Hashem to forgive me, and my husband gave me a Tehillim. I panicked and said: "I don't even know what I'd read in it." (sad, but true. My father reads Tehillim daily, and has for years, and his daughter doesn't even know where to find her way in it, ie. what to read when.) But I thought I needed something/anything to hang on to.

I rushed off....

When I got to the hospital emergency area, my father was lying on the gurney he'd been brought in on, oxygen mask on, but he was cognizant. He was talking through the mask, telling my brother -- whose Shabbos had also been "disturbed" -- to go home. And my mother said a few times, "I shouldn't have called you."

Yes, you should have, Mom. Nobody deserves to face these trials on their own. This is my father, you are my mother, and we are a family.

To make a long story short-- my father probably did not suffer a stroke, although even the paramedics had first thought he did, as did the attending emergency room doctor. But he did have a very lengthy seizure, as he sat in his chair at the dining room table, prepared to bentsch. The after-effects of a seizure often mimic strokes: tiredness, general weakness, slurred speech, confusion, etc.

My father was in the hospital, admitted in the early hours of Shabbos morning, and poked, prodded, tested, X-rayed, questioned over the course of the next few days. Thank G-d he didn't suffer any more seizures, nor did that "grand mal" one have truly lingering effects. His medications have been reassessed, and he was given his walking papers. I'd love to be able to add: "and a clean bill of health" but we know that's not the case.

He was released today, Yom Yerushalayim, a celebration for Jews the world over, and a celebratory day for us.

My Shabbos could have turned out so very differently. I have a very vivid imagination, and I can also be very realistic. I thank G-d that my father is still among the living.

It pains me to know that perhaps I was selfish last Shabbos. I needed to answer the phone. I needed to go to the hospital. I needed to know exactly what had landed my father in an ambulance and emergency room, and see him for myself. I made the judgment call that it was okay to break Shabbos at a time like this; I deemed it an offshoot of Pikuach Nefesh. G-d forbid anything should happen to my father in the next several hours, my mother would need me.

As I traveled to and from the hospital, I felt guilty. There are people so much more religious and pious than I am, and I figured that they would not take it upon themselves to do what I had done and was doing. I wondered about a friend whose child was incredibly sick for lengthy periods of time and eventually succumbed to an early, untimely death. Had he ever broken Shabbos because he felt it to be a dire, critical situation at the time?

And you shouldn't know, but just a week earlier, someone I know lost her mother Shabbos morning. Her mother passed away in her house. The daughter was there with her brothers...and apparently did not do anything until after Shabbos was out, ie. calling the authorities and chevra kaddisha. Halachically, was this correct? She is very frum, and I know she was in limbo, not yet formally deemed in avelut, and it was Shabbos. But should she have and could she have broken Shabbos to make the necessary phone calls? (any knowledgeable people out there with the answer?)

But as I traveled, I thought of these people who honored Shabbos above all else. Perhaps in my case, it was the continued honor of Kibbud Av v'Em (Honor Thy Father and Mother) that was foremost. That has sustained me throughout my life and has been at the helm of the house I grew up in...along with Shmirat ha-Lashon. (guarding of the tongue against lashon hara/bad talk/gossip.)

Last Friday night, close to midnight, my father and mother urged me to go home. My father's words to me were: "Have a good Shabbos."

And on Motzei Shabbos, I was able to speak to him on the phone, and my father's words to me were: "Have a happy Mother's Day."

Dad, each week that you're "here," I can have a good Shabbos, and each day that you're "here" is a wonderful Mother's Day for me.

We should wish each other a Good Shabbos each week, and may you be around to wish me many more happy Mother's Days!

Music to My Ears

This is an interior of a music box, the Swiss movement, so to speak.

This is more or less what my music box looks like on the outside.

I often get flashbacks... and sometimes not even by association. Sometimes I get random flashbacks. Just. Like. That.

And I had one before.

I suddenly recalled when I was about 12 years old and being in Switzerland with my mother, traveling for two to three weeks to large cities, to small cities and to mountain towns. And on that visit, I was told that I could buy a music box.

And so began my hunt for the perfect music box. The perfect song. The perfect price range.

I lifted the lids of oh so many boxes that cost a certain number of acceptable Swiss francs. I heard Brahms Lullaby, Love Story, Fur Elise, Edelweiss -- over and over again.

Yes, they were lovely songs to hear a music box emit, but what did I settle on?

"Oh, What a Beautiful Morning" -- the tune from OKLAHOMA.

I guess even my twelve-year-old self recognized even then that Broadway showtunes rang supreme.

Mama Madness

Every day is truly Mother's Day. But tomorrow it is officially Mother's Day...as deemed by Hallmark, American Greetings, Mountain Press and the like. So in honor of Mother's Day, here are some notable Mama wisdoms:

1. see photo above.

2. "Mom stands for Mother, not Made of Money!"

3. "I smile because I am your mother. I laugh because you can't do anything about it."

4. Here is a Jewish mother joke:

Q: What did the waiter ask the group of Jewish mothers?
A: "Is anything OK?"

5. "It's not easy being a mother. If it were easy, fathers would do it." ~From the television show The Golden Girls

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

To all the mothers out there, Happy Mother's Day.

To my very special mom, who's endured so very very much, and continues to do so, Happy Mother's Day.

To a very special NEW mom, who's been blessed with a very beautiful daughter, happy FIRST MOTHER'S DAY. (you know who you are.)

To all of you whose mother may have already left this world, may your mother's memory be for a blessing.

A Visual Ode to Jerusalem

A video worth viewing.

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

"Brother, Can You Spare a...Freelance Editing Gig?"

Being unemployed is hard work. No, really, it is. After working for so many years, and nearly twenty of them with one company, I have had to learn what to do with myself, how to fill my days. There is so much to do, I just don't know where to start.

I thought that this was what I wanted. I used to tell people, "I'd perhaps like to work part-time or just freelance from home."

And for a while, I did freelance -- mainly alongside my full-time job, and starting to do my editorial freelance work usually after 10 p.m., when the kids were in bed and the kitchen was cleaned up for the next day. But it kept my mind occupied and my skill set sharp.

It's over a year that I lost my job...sort of paving my own way out. I did get a severence package that was not great, even though I'd worked for so many years for the same company -- but I'd had a lowly job, nothing managerial.

And for a while after the job ending, I did have freelance gigs from time to time -- they kept my mind alert, and gave me a reason to find excuses not to do the morning dishes, not to do the laundry, etc.

But for some reason, those gigs have dried up. And I truly miss them, along with the cash they brought in.

When I first began to freelance circa 2000, I'd been very resourceful, and found myself a couple of publishers to do work for. Because I had a full-time job, I had to take on editorial jobs with far-off deadlines, which would allow for the work and courier travel time for the manuscript to get to and from the publishers. But my work was good, and the books were rather similar to those of my regular 9-5 job.

My name was also given out by someone with high recommendations, for which I'm thankful. But those high recommendations as well as the most flattering compliments after doing my first job for the person to whom I was referred made my ego swell somewhat. After all, being told that the person had never seen such a professional, excellent job of copy editing, and that "you're the only copy editor for me...we're going to be doing a lot of stuff together" would lead one to bank on it, don't you think?

Apparently, I'm not the "only copy editor" for this person because I've seldom seen a manuscript from them, when it was implied that it would be a regular gig.

I've been looking not only for freelance but for full-time editorial and / or social services work (my volunteer experience over the years has been in that field), and I'm starting to feel pressure. I really don't want to settle for just any kind of job that is meant to bring in a pay check, but that might be the route I have to take.

I have beautiful trees on my property, but a money tree is not one of them!

If anyone has any need for an editor/copy editor/proofreader/speech writer/copywriter/researcher, or knows someone who does, please contact me. I'd like to think that I'm good at what I do -- because I've been told that; not because I think so -- and would like to share my skills and knowledge with others.

Some Members of Congregation Shluf

This is only a small contingent of Congregation Shluf, aka the Chaverim Minyan.

You may have a better understanding of the members when you read this post that I wrote almost two years ago.

Smile...

Two Roads Diverged...

(I did not take these photos of the goslings or Canada goose. I had my camera phone and no memory in it to take photos at the time of the viewing.)

Sometimes I'm left to wonder why I do what I do, make the decisions I make. Hashgacha Pratis or Divine Intervention is, I guess, what makes it so.

Today was the simplest of those examples.

When I took my youngest to school, I also took Max along so that I could play ball with him and let him run around for a while in the park behind the school. About twenty minutes later I got in the car to drive home, and at an intersection, I decided to drive to another park not that far away and let him run there for a few more minutes and maybe get myself a coffee at a nearby coffee place.

When I reached that park, I saw several dogs running around and their owners milling about. I didn't know that dogs meet there regularly, as they do in some neighborhood nearby parks. A couple of the dogs, although in the distance, looked familiar and as we got closer, I saw that these were indeed two dogs that I met a couple of times last week and earlier this week...in the park behind my kids' school. This time they were with "the father" and I've met the dogs with "the mother."

I thought, "Gee...why did I decide to go to this second park (I never go there without my kids and/or husband in tow, and certainly not in the early morning) today of all days?" I just took it to be a coincidence, but I knew Max was happy with the two pals he'd befriended last week in his more familiar park.

On the drive home, I pass a pond, which is surrounded by a millionaire's row of traditional and ultra-modern homes. Oftentimes, I turn off the main street and take "driving tours" with my kids through these three or four streets to look at the architecture and decide which house we each like best. As I neared the pond, I suddenly decided that instead of going on the main street, I'll turn off and just go down and around the pond to look at the houses on my own. As I was turning onto the side street, I wondered why I'd suddenly had this notion -- was it a good thing I was taking a little detour, even wondering if perhaps I was going to avoid an accident or something by doing so. A few seconds later, I knew WHY exactly I'd turned off the main street. There, just ahead of my car, two Canada geese were ambling across the road -- one leading, the other in the rear of a family of five small, fuzzy goslings, two of which had to take a break for a short time, settling on the dirt road. I stopped the car, exclaimed "Awwww...." and felt like crying, just for the beauty of it all. I wondered if this was the first time they'd left the pond together as a family to explore the world, and I was witness to it, having been there just at the right moment.

I figured Hashem gave me a beautiful bonus this morning in this scene spread out ahead of me. I love nature and it's not every day that I get to see such a natural family scene "in the neighborhood."

I silently thanked Hashem for taking me off the beaten path for a few moments.

I hope you get to witness beauty -- natural beauty -- in your lives, and that you have the chance to appreciate it to its utmost.

Shabbat Shalom

Scenes from a Childhood

If you click on this image, you can see it close up.

My brother made this pencil sketch and gave it to my husband and I as a wedding gift. He got the shading and details just perfect and took several months to produce this fine piece of artwork. My husband and I, knowing my brother's talent, were so naive and just thought it took a few days to create!

I was about four years old in the picture with my brothers, and the photos was taken at a schoolyard down the street from the house where I grew up and where my parents still live.

The schoolyard featured some large and lovely trees -- willows and birch trees. I used to take the branches that had fallen onto the ground and "whittle" -- remove the bark from the branches. I'm holding a branch in that, and both my brothers are holding smaller branches. My brother the artist also drew a pencil into the picture -- held in his hand -- reminding me forever that he was the artist.

Personal gifts are the best kind. Of course, this wedding gift depicts my brothers and I, and has nothing to do with my husband. But then again, seeing the artwork every day on our living room wall must remind my husband that I was once a cute little kid who grew into a warm and loving wife and mother...or so I'd hope!

Upon Hanging Up the Phone

My father: "...Bye-bye. Thanks for calling. It's nice to hear your voice."

Me: "Bye, Dad. I love you."

After hanging up the phone, I say aloud: "It's nicer to hear yours!!"

A Page out of History

I received the following e-mail today:


At the turn of the twentieth century, two of the wealthiest and most famous men in America were a pair of Jewish brothers named Nathan and Isidor Straus. Owners of R.H. Macy's Department Store and founders of the A&S (Abraham & Straus) chain, the brothers were multimillionaires, renowned for their philanthropy and social activism.

In 1912, the brothers and their wives were touring Europe, when Nathan, the more ardent Zionist of the two, impulsively said one day, "Hey, why don't we hop over to Palestine?" Israel wasn't the tourist hotspot then that it is today. Its population was ravaged by disease, famine, and poverty; but the two had a strong sense of solidarity with their less fortunate brethren, and they also wanted to see the health and welfare centers they had endowed with their millions. However, after a week spent touring, Isidor Straus had had enough.

"How many camels, hovels, and yeshivas can you see? It's time to go," Isidor decreed with edgy impatience in his voice. But Nathan refused to heed his brother's imperious command. It wasn't that he was oblivious to the hardships around him; it was precisely because of them that he wanted to stay.

As he absorbed firsthand the vastness of the challenges his fellow Jews were coping with, he felt the burden of responsibility. "We can't leave now," he protested. "Look how much work has to be done here. We have to help. We have the means to help. We can't turn our backs on our people."

"So we'll send more money," his brother snapped back. "I just want to get out of here."

But Nathan felt that money simply wasn't enough. He felt that the Jews who lived under such dire circumstances in Palestine needed the brothers' very presence among them: their initiative,their leadership, and their ideas. Isidor disagreed.

The two argued back and forth, and finally Isidor said, "If you insist, stay here. Ida and I are going back to America where we belong."

The two separated. Isidor and his wife returned to Europe, while Nathan and his spouse stayed in Palestine, traveling the country and contributing huge sums of money to the establishment of education, health, and social welfare programs to benefit the needy. Nathan also financed the creation of a brand-new city on the shores of the Mediterranean. And since his name in Hebrew was Natan, and he was the city's chief donor, the founders named it after him and called it...Natanya.

Meanwhile, back in Europe, Isidor Straus was preparing to sail home to America aboard an ocean liner for which he had also made reservations for his brother, Nathan, and his wife. "You must leave Palestine NOW!" he cabled his brother in an urgent telegram. "I have made reservations for you and if you don't get here soon, you'll miss the boat."

But Nathan delayed. There was so much work to be done that he waited until the last possible moment to make the connection. By the time he reached London, it was April 12 and the liner had already left port in Southampton with Isidor and Ida Straus aboard. Nathan felt disconsolate that he had, as his brother had warned, "missed the boat." For this was no ordinary expedition, no common, everyday cruise that he had forfeited, but the much ballyhooed maiden voyage of the most famous ship of the century. This was the Titanic.

Nathan Straus, grief-stricken and deeply mourning his brother and sister-in-law could not shake off his sense that he had had a rendezvous with history. The knowledge that he had avoided death permeated his consciousness for the rest of his life, and until his death in l931, he pursued his philanthropic activities with an intensity that was unrivaled in his time.

Today, Natanya is a scenic resort city of 200,000 and headquarters to Israel's thriving diamond trade - one of the most important industries in the country. And in almost every part of the city, there is some small reminder of Nathan Straus's largesse, his humanity, and love for his people. His legacy lives on.

I find Jewish tidbits of information like this very interesting. Here is another link to Straus trivia.

Mind over Matter

Sometimes you have those "Kodak Moments" and you have to grasp them in your memory just because you don't have a camera in hand. Today I witnessed one of those moments.

I haven't talked about my father very much since he came home from hospital. In a way, there's too much to say about him, and in other ways there's not enough to say. Progress has been very slow and there have been some setbacks, too. Let me put it to you this way: it is not easy on him, it is not easy at all on my mother. And it is not easy for his children to see the diminishment in capabilities and cognition. It seems as if the decline is faster than it was before, and no doubt it is, brought on by such stark medical traumas to his body and his mind.

The memory falters rather frequently, even in the midst of normal conversations. Weakness permeates his bones and his person. "What is happening to me?" has been a popular refrain, my mother tells me. And I've been witness to "Ich hab nisht kein koyach mer." (I no longer have any strength.) It doesn't help that my father, and mother, are battling very bad upper respiratory viruses/flus right now, either.

But every day is a new day. And every day that my father wakes up, is able to daven and say "Thank G-d," is a true gift -- for him and for us.

Today I saw a bit of my "old father." Not the old, old man he's suddenly become, regardless of his advanced years, but my father "of old."

We were talking about his hometown, Tarnogrod, and I was telling him that I'd been contacted by someone from JewishGen, who informed me that marriage/death/birth records from certain pre-World War 2 years were now available...for a fee. I also told him that I'd been on the official gov't site for the town and saw a photo of a large synagogue that was now a library. (see top right photo in official town link)

He began to tell me the history of the town, who founded it and when, and suddenly he started saying something in Polish. Although I don't speak or understand the language at all, I could tell that he was reciting something like a poem. He had regained a twinkle in his eye -- which I really have not seen in WEEKS!!!!!!!!! And he had a smile, or rather more of a slanted grin...almost like a "cat who ate the canary" look on his face as he recited. He was showing off! My father was showing off something he remembered from the past, from a long-ago past. And when he finished his recitation, he said to my mother and I, "I learned that in grade three." Imagine, sometimes he doesn't know what day of the week it is, and doesn't know the month we're in, but he happily and proudly recited something he'd learned all those years ago -- and we're talking close to eighty years ago!

For that sparkle in his eyes, I wish I'd had a camera.

For that lopsided grin and that look he threw my mother and I, as in "See...my memory works just fine," I wish I'd had a camera.

For a glimpse at the schoolboy in him reciting an ancient Polish historical poem, I wish I'd had a camera.

No, I didn't have a camera, but those moments will no doubt linger in my heart.

778...and Counting

This post refers to the fact that I've just passed blog post 777. Who'd have guessed that I had so much to say since December 2004!?

Anyhow, this post has to do with a Y & R character, or perhaps he's an ex-character. I'm not a fan of soaps and rarely did I take the time to watch them over the years. Once in a while I'd sit, flip channels if I was home early from school and stop at the YOUNG & THE RESTLESS. I liked a couple of characters, but not enough to follow them through the ups and downs of their lives and loves over the years.

But I was reading an article in the Canadian Jewish News, which drew my interest. It's about Jerry Douglas who plays/played? John Abbott on the show. But what was more interesting to me is that Jerry was born Gerald Rubinstein....

Read on -- if you're a Y & R fan.

Five Questions

The other day I was reading some of my favorite blogs -- you know who you are! -- and came across Five Questions asked of "the old old lady of the hills". She said that if we wanted to be "tagged," we should drop her a line and she'd send us some interview questions that we should answer. Here are her random questions to me, and my answers.

1. If you could go back and change one thing about the path you have taken in your life, what would that one thing be?

Although I struggled in school with "the sciences," I probably should not have dropped them after grade 10. I should have pursued sciences and gone on to study clinical psychology or psychiatry.
Other than that, I wish I could have been bolder while growing up. I had to wait to become an adult to "find my voice."

2. Swimming Or Skiing?

I've never been on skis, and I'm a lousy swimmer.

3. You have been given the opportunity of having dinner with any 5 "living" celebrities of your choice. Who would they be and why?

Robin Williams -- to keep me laughing as I'm trying to digest my food.

Barbra Streisand -- I wouldn't mind singing a couple of duets with her... We'd "sing for our supper.

Elie Wiesel -- he'd bring a dose of reality to everything we talked about at the table.

Shirley Temple -- I'd like to learn more about her childhood in Hollywood, and her adulthood in politics.

Oprah Winfrey -- she's risen far in her personal and business life, and I'd like to interview her over coffee and dessert!

4. Imagine that you were not born into the religion that you were, and you can choose any other religion than that one---What religion would you choose, and why?

I'm really not well-versed about other religions, but I guess I'd choose Catholicism -- stringent beliefs, strong family values and Catholic school would help define me as a person.

5. The Zoo has said that you may take home any one animal. What would you choose and why?

A penguin. They're adorable in how they waddle around, and besides, a penguin would already be formally dressed for that celebrity dinner (see above)!

If you're interested to answer some questions:

1. Leave me a comment saying "Interview me."

2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.

3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4., You will include the explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment, asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

I went to visit my parents today.

I was wearing a long-sleeve, blue-and-white striped top, and a jean skirt.

My mother was wearing the exact same long-sleeve, blue-and-white striped top (she'd bought one for her and one for me way back when), and a jean skirt.

Great minds think alike...

"Ehfoh Avi?"

My son came to me this evening and said, "I know a story you can write about for your blog... Write about what happened today in the Beaches."

"What happened today in the Beaches?" I tried to recall.

"You know, the man who spoke Hebrew..."

"That won't interest anyone; that sort of stuff happens all the time..."

And yet I still find myself writing this at my son's earlier request...

The Beaches is at the southernmost point of Toronto, bordering Lake Ontario. It is a beautiful community with the most wonderful architecture -- which happens to be rather expensive real estate -- and is in high demand. There is a boardwalk alongside the beach, and nearby is the main street with funky shops, cafes, salons, restaurants, pet shops and bookstores.

People patrol up and down the main street, Queen Street east, many of them with dogs in tow, or carriages and toddlers. There are nearby parks and pools and gardens for visitors and natives to enjoy.

Today was a glorious Toronto day, a summer day, not an April 22nd type of day. Towards the end of the afternoon, we packed up the kids and dog, and headed to the Beaches, first doing our stroll on the avenue before heading to the boardwalk and beach area itself.

I was with my two sons in front of a pet store, where I was trying to get Max to take a drink from a water bowl outside the store. He was more interested in sniffing out the other pooches at the watering hole than the water itself.

Suddenly I heard Hebrew being spoken. I turned around to look and saw two fifty-something couples conversing. I'm the type of person to pipe up when I hear Hebrew in a very public place and I often throw in a word or two to startle the speaker. This time I held back.

My oldest son heard the Hebrew and pointed it out to me. I nodded, implying that I know.

I then called him by name and told him to come.

The next thing I heard was one of the Hebrew-speaking men say, "Ehfoh Avi?" (where's Avi?)

I turned, and with a big smile said, "Hu shum"! (he's there)

I think my son was surprised by this brief exchange. If he'd only know what kind of in-depth conversations I've had with strangers when I hear them speak Hebrew in least-expected places in Toronto and elsewhere.

I smiled at my son as we walked away and told him that in our case, English AND Hebrew are universal languages.

Shalom.

His Roots are in Yiddish Theater...

Sidney Lumet has a colorful past...that started in the Yiddish theater.

He's been married several times: one wife was Gloria Vanderbilt. Another wife made him Lena Horne's son-in-law.

One of his personal quotes is a brilliant one: "There's no such thing as a small part. There are just small actors."

Just a brief look at Sidney Lumet.

Shabbat Shalom...with the stress on shalom/peace.

What Will They Think of Next?

At three minutes and four seconds after 2 AM on the 6th of May this year, the time and date will be 02:03:04 05/06/07. This will never happen again!

Do Our Personalities Change...or Just Develop?

I was at my parents' house the other day and my mother handed me a pile of envelopes, some manila ones, others business-size.

"What are these?" I asked.

"Your report cards. You can store them now."

My mother, who is well-known for her organization and archival skills, had done her share of keeping my day school, junior high and high school report card all these years; she wanted to "clean up" a bit.

As I sat in the driveway of my childhood home, I opened up the envelopes and began to read...and remember...and think: Do our personalities change...or just develop? Some of the comments that appeared on those reports would be the same comments that someone would write about me today:

Kindergarten: 1966-67 -- Winter Term: "I am pleased with Pearl's progress. She has a good attitude towards learning and towards people."

Grade 1: 1967-68 -- 1st Term: "Pearl is a very pleasant child...Sometimes, Pearl does not think for herself and would rather other children think for her."

2nd Term: "...She is not as sure of her arithmetic as her reading."

Grade 2: 1968-69: 1st Term: "She is a very co-operative and courteous girl, willing to help others..."

2nd Term: "Pearl is anxious to please and is co-operative with others and myself at all times."

Hebrew report card: 1st Term: "Pearl is a well-behaved and friendly child. She ...tries her best at all times. She is anxious to please but has difficulty in retaining vocabulary."

Grade 3: 1969-70: 2nd Term: "Pearl continues to do good work in writing and spelling. She has a good understanding of sentence and paragraph construction."

Grade 4: 1970-71: 3rd Term: "Conscientious--hard worker--seems to be more relaxed and at ease with school work and her peers."

Grade 5: 1971-72: 1st Term: "Pearl's appreciation of literature helps her contribute stimulating and interesting ideas to theses lessons. Her own creative writing is well organized and mature for her age."

Grade 6: 1972-73: 2nd Term: "Pearl has generally kept up her good work habits this term although, on occasion, she has to be "checked" for talking to her neighbours."

These are just some samples from the primary day school reports; as I reviewed them, I noted that teachers repeated phrases -- my math was always a weakness, my reading and writing were always my strengths; in some of the latter grades, my map skills were weak; one year it was noted that I didn't participate and offer up my ideas in the classroom, in subsequent years I was complimented on my ability to participate; in a couple of years, I had to be reminded not to talk to my "neighbors" while in class.

Overall, my report cards were always good -- my secular studies and my Hebrew/Jewish studies generally were good, with just some individual weakness: sciences/maths/map skills and sometimes socialization. My language and literature -- reading and writing -- skills were always noted as being well-developed or advanced. (If that's the case, how come I'm simply a blog writer, a writer of poetry, but not a journalist or novelist?!)

As I've reviewed my report cards, I can't help but think that my daughter is a lot like me in a number of academic areas with her weaknesses being/were my weaknesses; her strengths being/were my strengths. The main difference is the social area: I was a shy and reasonably quiet child. She is absolutely the opposite...thank G-d!

I guess I'll just have to hang on to her report cards, as my mother did with mine, and in some thirty-plus years, she can review them and see how much/if she's changed.

On a High

No. This post is not about drugs. It's not about being extremely happy. This post is about R.I.C.E.

I'm sure many of you have heard of or use Near East products -- grains and rice dishes in a box that are flavorful and easy to prepare.

Well, after Pesach I bought their Rice Pilaf: Curry product. I pulled it out just now off the shelf, intending to prepare it for this evening's dinner, and looked on the side of the box at the directions. There are Microwave Directions, Range Top Directions, Low Fat Directions and... [the reason behind this post!] HIGH ALTITUDE PREPARATION!

So...if I'm flying in my personal Learjet and preparing dinner, or am using my timeshare apartment in the Swiss Alps for a couple of weeks, or -- even better! -- am visiting an ashram in the mountains of Nepal, it is the directions for HIGH ALTITUDE PREPARATION that I must follow!

A Quotable Mention

I'd like to share these lovely words from my blogging friend, Rabbi Neil Fleischmann, over at NY's Funniest Rabbi.

Writing is like life: we think we control it but we don't, everyone else's seems better, and there's ambivalent yet abundant hope that with enough time we'll get it right.

A Survivor's Moment

[I wrote this poem a number of years ago. It is a scene out of my life. That Holocaust survivor is my father. This poem is dedicated to my father's mother, Chaja Malka Adler, who perished in the Holocaust, alongside her fifteen-year-old daughter, Marjam.]

A Survivor’s Moment


His eyes look directly into mine.
Not playful this time –
More like pleading.

“I don’t even have a picture
of my mother,” he says,
and walks out –
leaving me bewildered,
pensive
and apologetic.

Ani Ma'amin -

Let us remember...

The Road Less Traveled

I got this in an email today:


Go to Google Maps (http://maps.google.com/maps) and click on “Get Directions.”

Type in “New York, NY” as your starting point and “Paris, France” as your destination.

Once it computes your directions, scroll down to #23.

Question of the Day

Does Israeli salad REALLY taste better if the cucumbers and tomatoes are cut smaller ?

Thinking Out Loud

...Sometimes I wonder "What the heck was I doing in my spare time before I began living the blog culture -- reading blogs, writing posts?"

Don't many of you wonder the same about yourselves?

A Special Birthday Boy

Because tonight starts the latter days of Passover, I will not be online, and therefore will not be able to post tomorrow, Monday, April 9.

Tomorrow is my husband's 47th birthday.

I'm not sure where the time has flown for him for most of these 47 years, but I know where and how it's flown since December 1992, when we had our first date...and December 1993, when we got married...and June 1995, when we had our first child...and August 1997, when we had our second child...and March 2000, when we had our third child.

I wish Mr. TorontoPearl a happy and healthy birthday and a most wonderful year.

And I will borrow these beautiful song lyrics to help celebrate my husband and his special day...

WHAT ARE YOU DOING THE REST OF YOUR LIFE?

What are you doing the rest of your life?
North and south and east and west of your
life?
I
have only one request of your life
That you spend it all with me.

All the seasons and the times of your days.
All the nickels and the
dimes of your days.
Let the
reasons and the rhymes of your
days.
All begin and end with
me.

I want to see your face,
In every kind of light,
In
fields of gold and
Forests of the night;

And when you stand before
The candles on a cake.
Oh let
me be the one to hear
The silent wish you make.

Those tomorrows
waiting deep in your eyes
In the world of love you keep in your eyes,
I'll awaken what's asleep in your eyes,
It may take a kiss or two...

Through all of my life...
Summer, winter, spring and fall of my
life,
All I ever will recall of my life
Is all of my life with
you.

**********

Chag Sameach to you all.

The Interviewer aka The Liar

I've been formally unemployed for one year now. I was handed my walking papers last year, Tuesday, April 4, 2006. It was somewhat mutual -- I wanted out, they knew I wanted out, I gave them some reason to show me the way out.

Have I been happy this past year?

Yes, and no.

I've still had trouble learning how to use this newfound freedom that is part of my day, as opposed to the regular 9-5 routine that was so much a part of my life for so many years.

But I've been more than happy to get reacquainted with my husband, my children, our dog and our home.

I've been job hunting over these past months and have come to realize that I was insulated for too many years in the same job, doing the same thing. The publishing world has grown, but I have not...at least not in my skill set. I am lacking, and should do something about acquiring the publishing computer program skills that so many companies seem to be seeking.

Nonetheless, I've managed to have a handful of job interviews. Even interviews are something new for me, as I've not had to "undergo" one for many years. There is an etiquette to learn about interviews -- the right questions to ask and the right question NOT TO ASK. I'm still learning what not to ask! (in the past, all my jobs have been the result of one interview; I forget these days, at least two interviews is the norm)

In any case, I think that the interviewer has to learn an etiquette of his/her own. At least on two occasions, I was told, "We'll be in touch."

Okay, so I'm still waiting....

It's like going out on a date and having the guy tell you at the end of the date, "I'll call you." And you wait by the phone, hoping and wondering...and waiting...and waiting...and realizing it was just a line he served you.

These interviewers don't just feed you a line. They outright LIE. I'm a mature 45-year-old. Why not call me, or email me, and say, "Thanks for coming in, but we're looking at some other candidates. Thank you for your time. Good luck with the job hunt."

I had two editors at a world-renowned educational/children's publisher interview me for one of two positions, and as one of them led me out the door, she said, "I'll be in touch." Ten days later, all I could say was "Liar, liar, pants on fire..."

And a few weeks ago, a smaller publisher's main editor interviewed me, and said, "I'll look at your tests and will be in touch within the next couple of weeks." LIKE HELL you were.

C'mon, people. Being an interviewer might be nerve-wracking; being an interviewee is worse. Being lied to is even worse than that. It's totally unprofessional. Okay, so don't call me, but follow up even several weeks later with a note from your HR department to me.

Don't leave me hanging. I'm worth more than that!

And if you hire me, I'll even prove it to you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Memories of Pesachs Past

Pesach and the sedarim are one of those Jewish holidays that we remember best from our childhood. A gathering of family -- and often, friends -- a multitude of tasty dishes, laughter and conversation abound.

I'm sure that each and every one of you recall the Pesachs of your past as you sit at your current sedarim, whether they are held in your own home or in the home of another.

And even before we reach the point of sedarim, and we're scurrying around the house, preparing it for Pesach mode, we remember...

This year, as I prepped the house I recalled helping my parents shlep up the boxes from the basement and down from the top closed cabinets in the kitchen, opening up and looking through the supplies as if we expected to find surprises. I recall my mother kashering cutlery with hot water, pots and stones. I recall buying tins of macaroons and fruity sugar candies with my father. I recall polishing the silver candlesticks and kiddush cups till they shone and laying out the white linen tablecloths (no plastic coverings for my family!) and the eclectic collection of Haggadot.

I recall the sedarim themselves-- my family on their own, never accepting an invitation to spend the seder elsewhere. My father explained it as I got older: "I was a guest for so many years at someone else's home. Now I have my own home, my own family, and I want to enjoy them." I, the singer and the youngest, had a fun time with all the songs and showing off my "Ma Nishtanah" every year. By the time we'd reach "Chad Gadya" my brothers and I would be punch-drunk, due to the lateness of the hour, and we'd be silly, as we sang with a limbo/salsa beat. And each year we'd end with "May we all be together next year again to celebrate."

When you come into a marriage, you acquire new minhagim, traditions, or you meld new ones with existing ones...finding a happy medium. My husband gave in to serving potatoes this year, along with the celery, for dipping in salt water. I reluctantly gave in when he, the born Sephardi, decided that he wanted to have rice for the first time on Pesach...

Just the thought of doing so felt WRONG for me, the Ashkenazi through and through. We've been married over thirteen years, and for the last number of years, debated the issue of rice at our Pesach table. But our marriage is a bridge of our cultures, our rich traditions, and those we pass on to our children. And so, rice was FINALLY served at our seder!

I looked at my children around the table, at the interest they take in the seder, at their facility with reading Hebrew when called upon to read from the Haggadah. Even our son, in grade one, read beautifully. I don't know if other kids in his class read Hebrew as he did, or if he surpasses them at that too (his English reading level is that of a nine or ten year old, pu, pu, pu), but it was a pleasure to listen to him sound out the difficult words and smile at the end of his reading contributions.

My daughter is a little Pearl -- I saw my young self in her. "When is it going to be my turn to read?" she continually asked. She sang the loudest, and seems to take the greatest interest in what she reads and how she presented her d'var Torah.

I hope and pray that we will continue to make Pesach memories...for ourselves, for our children...and "May we all be together again next year to celebrate."

A Little Pesach Poem -- Chametz-Free

'Twas the day of Erev Pesach
And all through the house
Everyone was scurrying
busy like a mouse.

The chicken soup was boiling
Atop the stove in a pot
The brownies just out of the oven
Were nice and piping hot.

The seder plate was anxious
to be placed nicely on the table
"Okay, okay, I'll do it
in a little while, when I'm able."

The silver was nice and shiny
lined up all in a row
As I hurried to set the table
I foolishly stubbed my toe.

These are the familiar scenes
In every house and home
I thought I'd capture their essence
And put it together in a little poem.

Although I wrote it quickly
And really just off the cuff
I think I'd better stop here
I still have to get busy enough.

To get the preparations finished
For this Yom Tov that starts tonight
To you and your cherished families
May your Pesach be wonderful and bright.

****************
A very happy, Kosher Pesach to you and all those gathered 'round your tables!

Matzah Madness

On the brink of Passover...

The Shabbos Queen...Revisited

Last year I wrote a poem and posted it on my blog.

Last month I submitted that poem for consideration to the Annual Passover Literary Supplement of the Canadian Jewish News.

The Shabbos Queen has now made her presence known, and appears this week in the literary supplement...in a center spread, noch!

I am rather pleased to be published again...just because it doesn't happen all that often!

I've already had a couple of people tell me that they saw and read the poem and that it's lovely. My mother reminded me of a cousin's wife who would look specifically for my name in the supplement each year.

Unfortunately, we buried that woman just over two weeks ago. She was sixty-two years young. Pancreatic cancer was the culprit, but our cousin fought with all her might and survived for nearly two and a half years with the raging disease.

At the funeral, aside from the rabbi speaking, the woman's two children spoke beautifully. Then her husband, my mother's first cousin, got up to do his own hesped...composed in spite of the difficulty of doing so.

He spoke of his wife's love for Shabbos, how each week was punctuated by preparing for Shabbos and hosting Shabbos. His wife died on a Friday afternoon, before she could welcome the Shabbos Queen again. He said that Shabbos would never be quite the same in their home.

I now dedicate my poem The Shabbos Queen to our cousin Rochelle Muller, a Shabbos Queen in her own right.

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

Wishing everyone a warm and wonderful Shabbat Ha-Gadol.

Easter Hunt of My Own

First I talk about Pesach; a breath later, I talk about Easter. What's up with that?

Well, I have a pretty serious grievance about this holiday that falls around the same time as Pesach. Nothing to do with bunnies, nothing to do with eggs...but lots to do with clothes!

It's somewhat of a minhag to have a new outfit for a major Yom Tov, or at least new shoes or accessories. If not for me, I like to find something new for the kids to wear...whether they truly need something or not.

How many suits and shirts does my oldest son have for shul...but always chooses to wear the same pants, shirts and vests?

And my younger son is happiest with plain slacks and white dress shirt or his navy blue Shabbos suit.

And my daughter, Ms. Fashionista, is pretty finicky because I still buy most of her clothes, bring them home and hope/beg/bribe that she'll wear them. And if not, I'm a notorious merchandise returner at stores!

Okay, so for the last while, I've been keeping my eyes open for a new dress or outfit for my daughter for Pesach. I do not shop at chi-chi children's boutiques or in shops set up in suburban basements, but rather, in department stores. And knowing that Easter is a pretty major holiday, and formal with its church services and family dinners and egg hunts, I'm pretty sure I'll find something for my child.

Some department store flyers came into the house last week. Great, maybe I'll spot something for A, I thought.

What did I spot for girls? Cap sleeve dresses, sleeveless dresses, spaghetti-strap dresses, fancy tulle-pouffed creations that would suit a child in a wedding party, not a child going to church or synagogue for a prayer service.

Do these designers think that we all live bordering the Pacific Ocean, in the warm climes of Hawaii or California, or in the desert areas of Arizona or Nevada? It is about to be APRIL, designer people. Just a hint of spring is in the air in most of North America. What good will a thin-strapped, sleeveless dress do my Modern Orthodox daughter in shul?

I'm not exaggerating...just about everything I've seen being offered for Easter is what I deem summerwear!

Think about it: the Easter Bunny still wears a fur coat... Don't designers read into that and figure, "Hey, it must still be a little chilly. Perhaps we should design a dress with a matching sweater or a matching coat...and yes, even for girls." But they must think that as long as you've got your Easter bonnet on, you're fully dressed.

I think it might be time, after all, for me to expand the shopping horizons when it comes to buying shul outfits for my daughter. You know, actually, I realize, I've already done that. Last summer, while in Buffalo, NY, I bought her a dress that she wore for the fall Yom Tovs and again for an afternoon wedding in November.

I think I might just find out where the Easter Bunny shops. SHE is very cute-looking however she's dressed. Maybe the Easter Bunny knows something I don't...especially since that particular bunny has got "mass appeal!"

(Hey, have I set my own personal record for most posts in one day? I think I made up for last week's lull... Didn't I?)

Ode to Pesach

Ode to Pesach

The pantry is empty, devoid of its stuff
Pesach is coming, enough is enough
The chametz got sold to our rabbi, you know
It was time to get rid of it, time to let go

I bought my Pesachdik groceries, paid more than I thought
I kept buying and buying; I bought and I bought
But don’t Pesach prices always get out of hand
For one week out of the year, we just don’t understand.

We feel the need to buy up the store
To prepare seders and meals and have nosh galore
And after the week is done and we’ve put on some weight
We avoid our scale, those numbers we hate!

We might lose some pounds as we meticulously “spring clean”
Making “seder” in our homes, on that we are keen
At least once a year we do this overhaul
And then we rest for a moment before the cooking calls.

Let’s plan some “healthy” dishes that use lots of eggs and oil
And matzah meal and matzah, over menus we will toil
We have to please our family and friends who join us for a meal
Several variations on matzah can have some “mass appeal.”

There’s always prune juice and compote for you who gets “stopped up”
Or pour yourself hot water with lemon juice and sip it from a cup.
As for me, I love matzah farfel and lots of macaroons
And soup mandlen and matzah balls, I have no use for prunes.

I took a moment to stop my cleaning and write this little ditty

I hope you find it whimsical, I hope you deem it witty.
“Have a good Pesach” is my wish for you out there
May you enjoy your family and friends, together celebrate and share.

The J.A.P. Show

I just discovered this show that will be playing in NYC, off-Broadway. It's my kind of show...

Couldn't it play just a little bit closer to home, dammit!?

The J.A.P. Show

Did Jew Know...?

You will notice the last entry on my blogroll, Yeshiva World. I discovered that site a few months back and go on from time to time to learn what's going on the frum world, primarily in rather Orthodox communities.

Unfortunately, the website seems to have a field day with writing about tragedies that happen worldwide to members of the Jewish community. Many commenters appear to have trouble with that; they don't know how to respond and are plain tired of reading about sad news items, they claim. Other commenters just want to have reason to throw around lots of Yeshivish lingo and expressions that could stand to be translated for the typical reader (MO) like me who isn't even familiar with all the expressions.

A recent entry and its follow-up comments ended up like a barroom brawl. The topic: Kosher for Passover Coca-Cola. Look at this entry and the follow-up responses, and watch how the theory about having three Jews and ten opinions really holds true! Yelling across cyberspace. Jews pointing fingers at Jews. How unmenschlich is that?!

There should be a sister site to The Yeshiva World called "Having Derech Eretz in Blogland." Before commenting on The Yeshiva World entries, readers have to visit the other site first and learn a few "Netiquette" details.

I am not part of the Yeshivish world, but I am curious about it and interested in it. I visit this site to learn something interesting and new. If I want to see Jews argue and make nasty comments, I could sit in on a private school tuition board meeting!

Write from the Heart

On Shabbat afternoon, my nine-year-old daughter entertained herself by pulling my high school yearbooks off the shelf and perusing through them.

This is the type of thing I used to do: go through old class pictures, autograph books, yearbooks, checking out the past or trying to recreate it in my mind.

I was in the kitchen and my daughter kept yelling out to me, "Listen to this, Eema." And she proceeded to read some poem...that I'd written. And then another poem. And another.

As I listened to the poems, I couldn't help but think, "I wrote THAT?" But then I realized that I had, and I even remembered the circumstances around writing a particular poem. Many of them had the same themes: unrequited love/invisibility/trying too hard. Such is the world of teenage angst. Such was the world of my poetry.

My daughter was clearly fascinated by the fact that my name and poems appeared several times in these yearbooks. She also wondered why I didn't appear in photos of clubs or school bands or random people-in-the-hallway photos. I guess I was too busy writing poetry, I told her. That was my "thing." I wasn't involved in much else, I explained.

I remember many times sending my poems off to Seventeen magazine or Teen magazine from a very young age. Hey, I thought, they'll publish this. Of course everyone can relate to this/that poem. I'm the spokesperson for others like me, the ones Janis Ian sang about in "At Seventeen" -- the non-popular, nice ones.

Did my name appear in these nationwide magazines? Nah... I had to wait a few years more to start publishing outside of school yearbooks -- Holocaust poetry, Jewish-themed poetry primarily. I guess I'd "graduated" from those teen identity poems. Yet I still wrote about what I knew.

Every now and again, I pull out my "poetry books" -- blank journals and business ledgers whose pages I covered in ink and words from the heart. Every now and again, I pull out tear sheets that offer my published words and my name. Every now and again, I go through my posts from this 2 1/2 year-old blog.

And so many times, while looking at so many words, I think to myself or even aloud, "I wrote THAT?!"

A Special Day (a long story made long!)

(this is an image that I found online... it is not my parents' home)

A year ago, March 2006, my father was taken to hospital (damn, but he has too many "frequent flyer points" with hospitals) and was seriously ill, having suffered several seizures and the doctors thinking the worst -- that he was going to remain in a vegetative state.

I had to cancel a trip to California to attend a friend's daughter's wedding, and to meet a number of L.A.-based bloggers. Even a blog commenter was going to travel from Las Vegas to meet me and the others. I was disappointed to have to cancel, and then learn that the bloggers were not going to meet if I was not there. (okay, so that fact also stroked my ego)

Fellow bloggers helped me keep the faith, warming me and my family with constant prayers and encouraging words. And thank G-d, my father proved yet again that miracles and prayer and mind over matter work.

It's a year ago today, Friday, March 17th, that my father walked out of the hospital and went home. Yes, weaker indeed, and albeit with the use (occasional) of a cane, but still very much his own person with his mind and body rather intact. He and my mother's much-aniticipated 50th wedding anniversary was celebrated in June, along with special birthdays and family Yom Tov meals.

Almost three months ago, my father was taken to the emergency room with chest pains. After overnight observation and tests, his heart proved to be fine, but he began to suffer from multiple seizures, seizures that truly debilitated him both mentally and physically. He was over-medicated in order to control the seizures, but both that and the seizures themselves took their toll. Improvement was not noticeable for a while, as it had been last year.

He was moved from department to department, still observed for both his heart and his head. Finally, when a bed became available, he was taken to the rehab wing, and we were told that he'd have to go to a long-term rehab care facility to help serve his needs. We were told that patients either went home, to a home or to a rehab facility. And of course, the one he was accepted to was at the end of the city, and we dreaded the day that he would be transferred there. There would be no signs of Jewish life for him, no Kosher food probably, no Jewish chaplain if needed, and traveling time to get there would take forever.

As it was, my dear mother has been spending an average of 10-12 hours a day by my father's side, being his right hand, so to speak. Everyone -- including us -- tell her to look after herself or she will get sick too. But dedication is dedication. My father would put my mother before him; my mother puts my father before her!

A couple of weeks ago, my mother told me that my father's assigned doctor began to change his tune, saying that my father didn't really need the rehab long-term care any longer; substantial improvement ( my father had to learn to walk again and do little daily things; his mind had to be cleared and made lucid too when the drugs were minimized) was evident. We were thrilled to hear this, but were fearful of bringing him home and the changes this medical setback would carry into family life -- caregivers, special equipment, further loss of independence, etc.

Plans are in action to get my father what he needs and to help him adapt to the changes. But my father is a stubborn man; he wants to go home without help there, wants to just be in his own bed and away from the hospital environment. Only after settling in, will he decide what is best for him.

My father is anxious to go home; he began to tell the staff he wants to go. A team of social workers, doctors, occupational therapists and physical therapists met with my parents, assessed the situation and gave my father the green light.

Today, Friday, March 16, 2007, after spending nearly three months in a hospital bed, my father is G-d willing going home...to his own home...to his comfort zone.

My husband wanted to arrange for a medical transfer service to bring him home instead of my mother and I. I thanked my husband but told him: "My father is anxious to be home. He's made great progress in these three months. His great pleasure will be kissing the mezuzah as he WALKS through his front door. That is his achievement. He does not want to go into his house while lying on a gurney; he's been taken out of his house several times while lying on a gurney."

And my husband completely understood.

Yes, we are all scared of the life changes due to his still-weakened medical state, his many medications and their side effects, the mental/emotional/physical toll this all takes on my mother and on my father, and the lifestyle changes. But I know my father, I know his strengths.

One of his greatest strengths is that his stubborness has always helped him achieve success, if only on a low-key level. Whether that success is emotional happiness, financial contentment or breaking down barriers and leaping over hurdles, my father is the man to get things done...his way. He made great strides in his mental and physical capabilities these past several weeks, not because of any professional therapy given to him, but because he is his own therapist; he knows what he needs to do to improve and works hard to do it.

My father has two grandsons' bar mitzvahs to look forward to -- this summer, and next, G-d willing. My oldest brother turns 50, G-d willing, at the end of this year. And every day is a reason to celebrate, my father says, if you wake up reasonably healthy.

Although I stopped writing about my father's medical situation quite a while ago, I would still get emails from people, asking after my father's status. I thank you all once again for traveling this road with me and my family since mid-December. Your continued support, even from great distances, means a lot to me. A lot to us.

I hope to be able to share with you many more special days celebrated with both my parents, my siblings and their families, my husband and my children.

A special day indeed...!

L'chaim! To life!

Manischewitzville

Click on post title to see a great link that a friend sent me. (thanks, Sharon!)

And while you're on the link, check out Billy Ray Sheets' other "hits." Some funny stuff.

Pesach Cleaning

Like I said in the last post, "Pesach, here we come!"

The Passover OY Factor!

I realized tonight after 9 p.m. that I needed bread for the kids' lunches tomorrow. Hoping that Sobeys, the nearby supermarket that houses supposedly the largest inventory of Kosher food products in North America, with in-house Kosher bakery, fish department and meat department, as well as frozen foods, fresh foods and regular groceries, would be open still, I called. Yes, till 10 p.m. I was told it would remain open.

So I hopped into the van and took the five minute drive over.

Normally when you walk into the store, you're greeted with the bakery department -- aisles of breads and cakes and buns and cookies...before you even reach the counter to get served! Tonight I walked into the store and was greeted with a wall of Kosher for Passover pop and chips and canned tomatoes and grape juice and, and, and....

I almost hyperventilated.

And I imagined that for a month before Pesach, a Hatzolah unit should be set up inside Sobeys and any other large supermarket with a Kosher section, for women like me who feel the need to faint or hyperventilate when overwhelmed by the Passover shopping mania. Medical personnel would be on hand to immediately help with any emergency situations that might arise.

Because of course, in this case, Pesach means shopping. Shopping means menus. Menus mean cooking. Cooking means guests. Guests mean cleaning. Cleaning means time and effort. Time and effort mean TIME and EFFORT.

The truth is, it -- our anxiety -- all heralds back to Purim. At Purim, that brown shelf paper comes out, and those shelves and aisles that normally hold basic Kosher products are gussied up. First it's party time -- with Purim goods. Then it's work time -- with Pesach needs.

Some of the stores just tease us a bit, giving us a sneak preview of what they really have "in store." And then, the minute that Purim is passe, these stores mean action. And it is clear to see when countless staff, and perhaps extra staff at this time (equivalent to extra salesclerks in department stores during the Xmas holiday season), are busy emptying shelves of the regular Kosher stuff and restocking shelves with the Kosher for Passover products. They are like a small army getting a battlefield ready.

Yes, it is a battlefield of sorts -- bedlam will soon prevail, they are told, and all plans must be in action.

But I manage to slip through the stores unnoticed for a couple of weeks after Purim; I plainly ignore the hints of Passover, and they try not to bother me too much. But eventually we have to make real eye contact...and I'm forced to take the first step.

In Sobeys tonight, one of the displays of Kosher for Passover dish brushes and labeling stickers had the header: ARE YOU READY? Oy, some more Jewish guilt being tossed at me. As if my own conscience doesn't send some my way.

Along with the display of paper goods for sale was yellow caution tape for sale, similar to police-issued tape. It said something like DO NOT CROSS THIS LINE: PASSOVER READY.

There were a few brave types, filling their shopping carts with Passover items. And then there was me, filling my shopping cart with loaves of bread. I mean, I have to stock up still; it will soon be rationed off in the store. As it is, they're trying to play Hide the Bread from the customers, making sure confusion reigns, when we search for it in the regular spot.

I know I soon have to get myself Passover battle-ready too. Right now, I'm still wearing that suit of armor to protect me from potential injuries and scars. But within the next ten days or so, I'll have to whip off that armor, show my true colors and get out there among the other brave souls.

I'll be filling my shopping cart with Passover foods, contending with the long checkout lines....and the long shopping lists, hoping I haven't forgotten anything.

And on that wavelength, why do we always stockpile a season's worth of food for the first two days of Yom Tov alone? Do we think the Pesachdik cows will no longer produce milk or butter or cheese? Do we think that the produce section will disappear from under us? Do we think grape juice and wine vats will dry up? Do we think that we will really see hundreds of people passing through our doors -- perhaps along with the prophet Elijah -- for a seder or for a lunch meal or for tea and dessert over those first two days?

We're still eating our way through our Purim Mishloach Manot surplus. That should keep us busy for another several days, I think. After that, it's TorontoPearl's family meets Pesach head-on....like it or not.

Pesach....here we come!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My Favorite Show

My seven-year-old asked me today, "Eema, can you guess what my favorite TV show is?"

I went through a brief roster of what I know he watches and likes, and then I suggested, "Tom & Jerry?"

I was met with a big smile. "How did you know?"

"I guessed." And then I went on to tell him that the show was popular when I was a kid, too, and that I used to watch the show as well.

But I didn't want to tell him the truth that is circulating these days.

Robert Avrech posted about this last week and I was peeved then upon reading the entry. Dare I tell my child what some (crazy) people believe?

Shlemazel Mazel Revisited*

* Revisited...because I know I've used this title before in my blogging career!

Talk about shlemazel mazel.

I was at the hospital the other day to visit my dad. I was wearing new boots that don't have much of a rubber grip on the sole. I was walking on a fancy, slippery, f tiled floor and felt my heel slip up and I go down.

Talk about shlemazel mazel. I fell in the corridor right in front of the hospital administrator's office. It was right in front of the pharmacy. Hospital volunteers who saw me go down came to help me up and make sure I was okay.

I was.

But I guess if I have to fall -- and perhaps hurt myself -- inside a hospital is the best place to do it.

*****

Okay, I might've been a shlemazel that day, but I did remember to turn my clocks ahead for today.

Did you????

Quirks & Meshugas

I'd like to find out if I'm the only person with these quirky (don't want to use anything harsher, or perhaps more apt a description) ideas:

1. When I'm driving behind or beside an extended tractor-trailer that is hauling automobiles to a dealership, I have this great fear that the automotive cargo will somehow become free and the vehicles will start rolling backwards and straight into my car.

Am I the only one with such a meshugas?

2. I'm not so aware of this anymore, but all the while that I grew up and lived in my parents' home, whenever a salad bowl was sitting in front of me and the salad tossers were right in front of me, sitting on "my side" of the bowl, I always had to shift the tossers to the other side of the bowl. Somehow with them "in my face," I always felt unnerved.

Am I the only one with such a meshugas?

3. When I used to take subways and buses to work and went a particular route, I either could opt to wait for the last bus of the route that would take me 3 short stops to right in front of my office building, or I could walk for five minutes and get there just the same.
Why, when I chose to walk, would I still look back every couple of minutes to see if a bus was coming? I could only take that bus from the first stop, so it never made sense to me that I'd even bother to look back, seeing as I would not take the bus anyhow.

4. Why do I still practice signing my name constantly? I'm not planning to autograph any books anytime soon...

5. Why do I continually repeat myself to my husband and children, even though I'm aware I've said the same thing before?

6. Why do I continually like to reveal my "weaknesses" and faults to blog readers, virtual strangers?

Shrek Karaoke Dance Party Music Video

While we're on the karaoke craze, I thought you might like this to help bring in Shabbat. It certainly puts a smile on MY face.
Have a good Shabbos, everyone.