A Fancy Name...

...FOR THE SAME DIRTY JOB!

I saw this ad on a local hospital career website.

Hmmm...an Environmental Services Partner.

I wondered what that could be...



Environmental Services Partner
We have a number of temporary (five months) part time opportunities for Environmental Services Partners who will dry and wet mop floors and stairs, collect garbage, clean washrooms and replenish supplies, vacuum and spot clean carpets. You will also carry out terminal cleaning procedures as prescribed by established procedures in preparation for new admissions, can clean isolation rooms according to specific Infection Prevention Control protocols.

The successful candidates will have a Grade 11 education (or recognized equivalent), the ability to read, write and speak English competently, preferably previous Environmental Services experience and 1 year of related experience in a health care facility. (Related experience and potential will be considered) You must have attended WHMIS training, have the ability to work with minimal supervision, and must be willing and prepared to operate all housekeeping related equipment including swing buffer, high speed burnisher and automatic scrubber. You must also be prepared and able to use all personal protective equipment including CBRN gear, full faced-mask, and tyvek suit. Must possess an Infection Control Core Competency Certificate, be able to lift 20-30 pounds, and prepared to respond to and attend to Chemical Biological Radiological and Nuclear (CBRN) incidents.

Interested candidates are invited to submit a resume

June 24

This coming Sunday is a busy one for us.

My daughter is going to a b'day party in the morning in the center of the city. We have to pick her up early from there and drive way north-west to my three kids' final swim lesson for this session.

After swimming, we are stopping in at my friend's father's 95th birthday party (he should be well).

After that we go home to prepare for my son's 12th b'day party, which is actually a sleepover for about a dozen or more boys. You can check in with me on Monday around noon and see if ALL my hair did not turn gray overnight!

And somewhere in that full day, we will go visit my parents...for it will be, G-d willing, their 51st wedding anniversary.

Last year, their 50th anniversary, was special -- with a celebratory dinner at an upscale fleishig/meat restaurant for family and close friends. People came in from the U.S. to help mark this wonderful occasion.

This year, their 51st anniversary will be special -- but low-key. There are no celebration plans that I know of. But my dear parents will be celebrating being together...for as I recently said, it has been a most difficult year or more with regards to my father's ill health. It has been terribly difficult on my mother, too, as she has to deal with the daily physical and mental and even emotional changes that my father goes through.

My parents take marriage very seriously and they are devoted to one another, having found their beshert in each other all those years ago...and marrying six weeks after meeting each other.

Compromise, picking one's arguments, and patience have been the key. There have been many physical and emotional hurdles to leap over throughout the past 51 years, but my parents keep doing so...hand in hand....together.

May they be blessed with many more happy, and G-d willing, healthy, years together, and may our family be able to mark each June 24th with a L'CHAIM!!

From Kol Nidre to George Gershwin

Yesterday evening, I had the pleasure of going out with my husband -- a rarity -- to Roy Thompson Hall to see the Toronto Symphony performing with master clarinetist and Klezmer interpreter Giora Feidman.

This concert was being held in honor of the 150th anniversary of Holy Blossom Temple, Toronto's largest reform temple. (more familiarly addressed as "The Church on the Hill" because of its Gothic architecture and location) I wasn't there on behalf of the temple, but because theater balcony tickets on gone on sale this past week at a very reasonable rate, and I asked my husband if he'd like to go to this concert and help celebrate Father's Day that way. He gave the thumbs-up sign.

Now, you have to understand: I was raised on classical music, attending symphony concerts and sometimes opera/operetta and musical theater. My husband wasn't. So he really has to want to do these things with me, and that's not often the case. But I told him who Giora Feidman was and my husband welcomed hearing Klezmer music.

Giora truly has a way with that instrument. He makes it talk; he makes it sing; he makes it cry; he makes it shout! He gives the clarinet a life of its own, while doing the same for the music he is performing. From "Kol Nidre" by Max Bruch to music from "Porgy & Bess" by Gershwin, Feidman gave every piece of music his personal stamp, infusing each movement with a trace of Klezmer. Even the piece "Two Tangos" held some Klezmer themes.

He introduced the Porgy & Bess bit by saying it has Jewish undertones, and proceeded to use "It Ain't Necessarily So" to demonstrate it. And I just found this bit in Wikipedia to help back up the fact:

"In addition to being influenced by New York jazz and southern black music, many biographers and contemporaries have noted that for many numbers Gershwin borrowed melodies from Jewish liturgical music. Gershwin biographer Edward Jablonsky has claimed that the melody to "It Ain't Necessarily So" was taken from the Haftarah blessing,[16] and others have attributed it to the Torah blessing.[17] Allusions to Jewish music have been detected by other observers as well. One musicologist detected 'an uncanny resemblance' between the folk tune Havenu Shalom Aleichem and the spiritual It Take a Long Pull to Get There.[18]"

The concert was lovely; the company was good (when I wasn't nudging him when he was "OVERrelaxing") and it was a nice way to end Father's Day.

As for Father's Day, I told my husband earlier that each day is Father's Day... Mother's Day...Valentine's Day...a birthday...an anniversary...a gift in itself. And the reason I say that is that earlier in the day, I went to my parents' home and was able to with my father a happy Father's Day in person. He's had a very difficult past year and a half. Things could have been so different already. I told my mother yesterday that I'm thankful I can visit my father in his own home. And not in the cemetery. (Perhaps this sounds morbid, but it's reality)

And as the sweet, rich sounds emanated from Giora Feidman's clarinet, I couldn't help but think of those fathers no longer around to enjoy this music of life.

"P" Marks the Spot

This morning, as I do most mornings, I took Max to a park where, I discovered a couple of months ago, other dog owners congregate in the morning to let their dogs play.

Max must already sense this morning routine of ours -- take youngest to school, head to park -- because he's raring to go when I ask my son if he's ready to go. And Max begins to whimper loudly and effectively almost immediately after I drop my son off at school, and take the five minute car trip to the park.

Sometimes I arrive at the park for "shift 2" -- which is the after 9:00 a.m. group -- and other times I'm still there with some remaining from "shift 1". Today was a combo of groups.

One of the few dogs that stayed with Max and I was a black "Pugston" -- a cross between a pug and a Boston terrier. A beautiful, swift creature, who ran like the wind and could keep up with my Max as they played in the field. Spencer, the Pugston, had chased Max onto the field, while his owner was still on the other side of the fence talking to a departing "dog parent."

I crouched down to pat Max and then Spencer was beside us. Suddenly that darn dog lifted his leg and proceeded to pee -- on me!!?? I was quick enough to react and leap up and exclaim out loud to his owner, "Your dog just peed on me."

Apparently it's not the first time he's peed on someone. And in all honesty, it's not the first time a dog has peed on me. Many many years ago, I was in Israel and visiting a cousin in Be'er Sheva. I was in the backyard with my cousin's wife and dog and suddenly that pooch lifted his leg and marked the spot...with me standing on the spot!

Who knows dogs? Why do they mark the spot even if a human is standing right there?

I mean, I like wearing fragrances and body spray...but "eau de chien" is not one of them!

Pale Male

The other night, I watched this PBS special for the second time. I was equally moved by it the second time around, as I'd been the first time, when I saw the documentary a year or two ago.

Have any of you seen the special, or know about this?

Nature shows might come across as boring to some people, but for others -- such as myself -- they are vehicles that leave us in awe of G-d's creations.

Gullible Me...& Perhaps You?

Just after posting the last bit, I decided to GOOGLE the story, and this is what I came up with.

Guess that's why "shmirat halashon" (guarding of one's tongue) is so important; we don't always know if what we're telling/repeating is, in fact, truth.

(I just realized this post will be read before the other one, as the latest posts go on top. Oh, well...)

A Brain Twister (came through email)

For those who have served on jury...this one is something to think about .

Just when you think you have heard everything!!

Do you like to read a good murder mystery? Not even Law and Order would attempt to capture this mess. This is an unbelievable twist of fate!!!!

At the 1994 annual awards dinner given for Forensic Science, (AAFS)President Dr. Don Harper Mills astounded his audience with the legal complications of a bizarre death. Here is the story:

On March 23, 1994....... the medical examiner viewed the body of Ronald Opus, and concluded that he died from a shotgun wound to the head. Mr. Opus had jumped from the top of a ten-story building intending to commit suicide..

He left a note to the effect indicating his despondency. As he fell past the ninth floor, his life was interrupted by a shotgun blast passing through a window, which killed him instantly. Neither the shooter nor the deceased was aware that a safety net had been installed just below the eighth floor level to protect some building workers and that Ronald Opus would not have been able to complete his suicide the way he had planned.

The room on the ninth floor, where the shotgun blast emanated, was occupied by an elderly man and his wife. They were arguing vigorously and he was threatening her with a shotgun! The man was so upset that when he pulled the trigger, he completely missed his wife, and the pellets went through the window, striking Mr. Opus.

When confronted with the murder charge, the old man and his wife were both adamant, and both said that they thought the shotgun was not loaded. The old man said it was a long-standing habit to threaten his wife with the unloaded shotgun. He had no intention to murder her. Therefore the killing of Mr. Opus appeared to be an accident; that is, assuming the gun had been accidentally loaded.

The continuing investigation turned up a witness who saw the old couple's son loading the shotgun about six weeks prior to the fatal accident..

It transpired that the old lady had cut off her son's financial support and the son, knowing the propensity of his father to use the shotgun threateningly, loaded the gun with the expectation that his father would shoot his mother.

Since the loader of the gun was aware of this, he was guilty of the murder even though he didn't actually pull the trigger. The case now becomes one of murder on the part of the son for the death of Ronald Opus.

Now comes the exquisite twist... Further investigation revealed that the son was, in fact, Ronald Opus. He had become increasingly despondent over the failure of his attempt to engineer his mother's murder.

This led him to jump off the ten-story building on March 23rd, only to be killed by a shotgun blast passing through the ninth story window.

The son, Ronald Opus, had actually murdered himself. So the medical examiner closed the case as a suicide.

A true story from Associated Press (Reported by Kurt Westervelt)

...and Here's the Reason Why

Here are the responses:

1. Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
2. Birds of a feather flock together.
3. Look before you leap.
4. Beauty is only skin deep.
5. No use crying over spilled milk.
6. Cleanliness is next to Godliness.
7. The pen is mightier than the sword.
8. You cannot teach an old dog new tricks.
9. Spare the rod and spoil the child.
10. A watched pot never boils.
11. All that glitters is not gold.
12. Where there's smoke, there's fire.
13. Beggars can't be choosers.
14. Too many cooks spoil the broth.
15. Charity begins at home.
16. Those who live in glass houses should not throw stones.
17. Beginner's luck.
18. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
19. A rolling stone gathers no moss.
20. Close your mouth while chewing.

Elie Is One Smart Cookie...

In my quiz post yesterday, I wrote that Elie and Miriam would no doubt enjoy this brain quiz -- assuming, of course, that Elieand Miriam would read the post...assuming, of course, that Elie and Miriam read my blog pretty regularly...

Well, a resounding yes....at least about Elie. (I haven't heard from Miriam re. the quiz.) He reads my blog. He read that post. He enjoyed the quiz.

However, since his system does not allow him to comment on posts anymore, he sent me his responses. I think they're worthy of their own post. I am certainly impressed. After all, as this post title says, "Elie Is One Smart Cookie." My next post will have the answers; you can see for yourself just how Mensa-like Elie is.

Here are Elie's answers:

1. Scintillate, scintillate, asteroid minikin.

Twinkle, twinkle little star

2. Members of an avian species of identical plumage congregate.

Birds of a feather flock together

3. Surveillance should precede saltation.

Look before you leap

4. Pulchritude possesses solely cutaneous profundity.

Beauty is only skin deep

5. It is fruitless to become lachrymose over precipitately departed lacteal fluid.

Don't cry over spilled milk

6. Freedom from encrustations of grime is contiguous to rectitude.

Cleanliness is next to godliness

7. The stylus is more potent than the claymore.

The pen is mightier than the sword

8. It is fruitless to attempt to indoctrinate a superannuated canine with innovative manoeuvers.

You can't teach an old dog new tricks

9. Eschew the implementation of correction and vitiate the scion.

Spare the rod, spoil the child

10. The temperature of the aqueous content of an unremittingly observed saucepan does not reach 212 degrees Fahrenheit.

A watched pot never boils

11. All articles that coruscate with resplendence are not truly auriferous.

All that glitters is not gold

12. Where there are visible vapours having their prevalence in ignited carbonaceous materials, there is conflagration.

Where there's smoke, there's fire

13. Sorting on the part of mendicants must be interdicted.

Beggers can't be choosers

14. A plethora of individuals with expertise in culinary techniques vitiates the potable concoction produced by steeping certain comestibles.

Too many cooks spoil the broth

15. Eleemosynary deeds have their incipience intramurally.

Charity begins at home

16. Individuals who make their abodes in vitreous edifices would be advised to refrain from catapulting petrous projectiles.

People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones

17. Neophyte's serendipity.

Beginner's luck

18. Exclusive dedication to laborious enterprise without interlude of enjoyable diversion renders John a tedious fellow.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy

19. A revolving lithic conglomerate accumulates no congeries of a small green bryophytic plant.

A rolling stone gathers no moss

20. It behooves the garrulous to render impenetrable the buccal orifice during mastication.

Chew with your mouth closed

DogGONE It!

Spotted this amusing bit today on Reuters:

Bangkok:

Two Thai street mutts who became ace sniffer dogs at an airport near the notorious “Golden Triangle” opium-producing region have been fired for urinating on luggage and ‘sexually harassing’ female passengers. The pair, Mok and Lai, had been plucked from obscurity under a programme initiated by King Bhumibol Adulyadej to turn strays into police dogs, the Bangkok Post said on Sunday.

Mok, eight, and Lai, six, were welcomed by Chiang Rai police when the pair, local breeds, were sent to help them at the northern international airport. Authorities needed well-trained sniffer dogs to prevent any attempts by passengers to smuggle illegal drugs into the country. Mok and Lai became instant favourites. They obeyed the rules and did not make any serious mistakes. They won praise from police for their work in sniffing out drugs at northern Thailand’s Chiang Rai airport, near the border with Laos and Myanmar, but many passengers kept complaining about their behaviour.

They made some small errors — and that was enough to get them barred. Mok’s former handler Police Lieutenant Colonel Jakapop Kamhom said, “Mok liked to pee on luggage while searching for drugs inside. He also liked to hold on to women’s legs,” he added.“Both were just as good as foreign dogs trained for use in drug missions,” he added. “But they were stray dogs, so their manners were not as good as those of foreign breeds.”

Mok and Lai now work on a farm, herding chickens and pigs, the paper said.

Say What????

This came in an email.

See if you can translate these well-known clichés and proverbs. Answers will be provided tomorrow perhaps.

(Elie, Miriam: I think you both will enjoy this brain quiz.)

1. Scintillate, scintillate, asteroid minikin.

2. Members of an avian species of identical plumage congregate.

3. Surveillance should precede saltation.

4. Pulchritude possesses solely cutaneous profundity.

5. It is fruitless to become lachrymose over precipitately departed lacteal fluid.

6. Freedom from encrustations of grime is contiguous to rectitude.

7. The stylus is more potent than the claymore.

8. It is fruitless to attempt to indoctrinate a superannuated canine with innovative manoeuvers.

9. Eschew the implementation of correction and vitiate the scion.

10. The temperature of the aqueous content of an unremittingly observed saucepan does not reach 212 degrees Fahrenheit.

11. All articles that coruscate with resplendence are not truly auriferous.

12. Where there are visible vapours having their prevalence in ignited carbonaceous materials, there is conflagration.

13. Sorting on the part of mendicants must be interdicted.

14. A plethora of individuals with expertise in culinary techniques vitiates the potable concoction produced by steeping certain comestibles.

15. Eleemosynary deeds have their incipience intramurally.

16. Individuals who make their abodes in vitreous edifices would be advised to refrain from catapulting petrous projectiles.

17. Neophyte's serendipity.

18. Exclusive dedication to laborious enterprise without interlude of enjoyable diversion renders John a tedious fellow.

19. A revolving lithic conglomerate accumulates no congeries of a small green bryophytic plant.

20. It behooves the garrulous to render impenetrable the buccal orifice during mastication.

Who Is Rich?

Who is rich?

* He* who goes to a community fund-raiser for a school whose students have physical and mental challenges, and thanks G-d that his children do not need the school's services.

* He who walks through the lobby of a children's hospital and thanks G-d that his children are not patients there.

* He who realizes that it's not always dollars that make "sense"!

* He who understands that praise is a gift, and shares that gift.

* He who puts family before self.

* He who makes a house a home.

* He who instills a "value" system in each of his children.

* He who makes strangers feel like longtime friends.

* He who gives more than he takes.

* He who believes that the pursuit of learning and studying is a lifelong adventure.

* He who thanks G-d for all that he is and all that he already has.


_______________________________________

He* can also mean she.

Auto Observations

This is a SMART car. However, to me, this car looks so dumb!

As I passed one today in a driveway, I thought: "How can anyone take this car seriously?"

Whenever I pass one, I announce to my kids in the back seat, or say to myself, "There goes a putt-putt." That's what I call them. Or I call them glorified golfing carts.

I laugh silently -- or aloud -- when I see one. I, for one, cannot take them seriously. They are cute, they are chichi, they are an attraction...but they look like too much of a novelty.

What's interesting for me -- especially after posting this -- is that the logo for the model is: "open your mind" (TM)

So open your mind, get a SMART car, and zip around the city in it...instead of on the golf course!

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

I was driving in my neighborhood this morning and passed a car with something hanging from the central mirror.

It made me laugh to myself.

No. It wasn't a pair of fuzzy dice.

No. It wasn't a pair of baby shoes.

No. It wasn't a Beanie Baby. (tm)

No. It wasn't a Tefillat Haderech. (Traveler's prayer)

(DRUMROLL PLEASE.)

It was a huge chai.

The kind of chai you'd imagine spoofed on an episode of Saturday Night Live. With some depiction of an old Jewish guy or a young, supposedly cool Jewish guy, wearing a more-than-oversized chai like this, hanging down to his pupik!

The car was a sedan. Thank G-d it wasn't a SMART car. Then I would have had two reasons to laugh!!

Guard Your Tongue!!

Shmiras Halashon [guarding of one's tongue] is a pretty popular concept. So popular, in fact, that societies advocating it have risen up in many communities. Books talk about it, lectures discuss the concept, and people...? Shhh...not supposed to talk about it -- might be deemed gossip!

A few years back when a formal group was created in Toronto, a group whose aim was to teach about avoiding gossip, slander, idle talk, a girlfriend and I were talking about this group. Nothing bad, you understand, just talking.

She said that someone had gotten up in her shul to talk about the group and said that everyone should dedicate at least one hour a day to being aware of what one says and avoiding lashon harah. My girlfriend decided that 3 a.m. worked good for her!

In any case, I don't need a society to realize that gossip and slander are negative; I was raised to be aware not to talk idly or evil about people and things. But sometimes there is a thin line: am I talking lashon harah, or is it just positive criticism?

This evening I was laughing to myself when I came across this ad in a little magazine meant primarily for Toronto's Orthodox community:

Need place cards for your simcha? We have place cards that include 2-4 line poems to encourage Shmiras Halashon at a simcha...

At a simcha of all places! When you want to critique or discuss the groom's side of the family, or the bride's gown, the music, the decor...and most importantly...the FOOD!! No discussing, no hinting at, no passing references?

I'm guessing that some guests and members of the wedding party, or the bar mitzvah boy's family and friends are doomed.

Perhaps blogging is truly a form of lashon harah. I don't want to be a part of lashon harah. So I guess I just have to stop blogging....NOT!!! Thought I was serious, huh?

The message of this post is think before you write, think before you speak...and if need be, remember that more often than not, "Silence is golden."

A Beautiful Rendition of One of My Favorite Songs

Oy Veh!

And while we're on the Mickey Katz theme...

Jennifer Grey singing and dancing

Something you don't see every day!

Simple and Funny...Simply Funny

Rabbi Neil Fleischmann of NY's Funniest Rabbi wrote a one-liner that made me break out into a wide smile when I read it, and made a friend break out laughing when I told it to her over the phone, even though I didn't repeat it correctly. (I'm not too good at repeating jokes; I'm much funnier when I'm spontaneous...and cynical and sarcastic.)

I hoped as I read the joke that it was original, because I wanted to be able to attribute it to him.

Phew, it is original. And I have the good rabbi's permission to share the joke with you. Thank you.

Neil is pretty eclectic: he teaches full-time, he is rabbi in residence for senior camps held over Passover and other chagim, he is an actor -- doing comedy, drama and improv, he is a writer & poet. He is all-around nice and well-liked guy who manages to capture a lot of the world around him in the words of his drashot (sermons), his blog posts and his occasional photos.

Check out his blog. I've been doing so for well over two years...and happily so.

I knew I'd
gained weight when I asked the shadchan for a name and she said Jenny Craig.

Graphic...Novel

I just finished reading this book today; it's a graphic novel...a comic book for adults, if you so please!

I love Klezmer music and this presented a wonderful view of that genre...in a slightly warped way.

Apparently, the book was originally published in French and translated to English. It's a wonderful visual trip with the artwork that comes alive and characters who come alive through their lines!

Klezmer is Book 1 in a proposed series, and I look forward to following the adventures in subsequent books.

I love reading yet I also lost the capability to read as I used to...I find it hard to sit and allow myself to read, and usually read small items, along the lines of short stories or magazine articles. (this comes mainly from the fact that I worked in publishing for years and years, reading manuscripts, and the fact that I majored in English. I have no "setzfleisch" for reading) Thus this genre -- of graphic novel -- is perfect for me.

Next up, I have a copy of Neil Kleid's Brownsville to read, which I first read about on Seraphic Secret.

When you think about it, graphic novels have been around, but we just might have not "noticed" them: TinTin, for example. But now, one certainly does notice them; I go into the mega-size bookstores and find entire sections cordoned off as Graphic Novels, both in the youth/teen section and adult sections.

It's an easy, quick format of reading, being entertained and getting informed...all at the same time.

Hmmm...graphic novels.... I know I can write, but if I could only draw....

A Simple Explanation Will Do

Could someone please tell me why...

...the no-name soap pad I've just started smells like a barnyard?

Does that mean that brand-name scouring pads smell like a garden of lilies and irises?

Hey, come to think of it, I think steel wool also smells gross. What's up with that?

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."