Blogroll Me!
I've made an interesting personal observation with regards to blogging and visiting other blogs. I have my regular 10 - 12 sites that I like to visit, and as I've mentioned in an earlier post, I visit more them than once or twice a day. (as you'll notice in your site meters, if you care about that sort of thing.) Primarily I'm checking if there are new posts and/or comments being added to the last post.
It seems to me that those other fellow bloggers whom I like to visit have already been onto the current post I'm viewing, have already commented, and if I come back later in the day to re-visit, it's apparent they have, too, as they have left more than one comment.
It's like I belong to a benevolent society/landsmanschaft -- I might not get to all the meetings, but when I do get to one, it's already taken place! The members have come and gone, and all that's left for me to do is read the minutes of the meeting I missed!
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
The Check Is in the Mail
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Are there any literary folks out there who read this (yes, InkAsRain, I know you do)? If so, I'd like to ask a question: Do any of you who write, as I do, and want to submit your work to competitions pay for the privilege of doing so? There are competitions that say entry fee for 1st item is $15, subsequent items are $10.
Of course, the monies collected end up being the prize winnings for the winners, but I do not like to submit my writing anywhere that I have to pay. I would like the judges to pay ME for the privilege of reading my essays or my poetry.
These aren't necessarily little-known literary magazines that request money up front, either. Some major writers' organizations and well-respected publications ask for entry fees, too. But I'm sorry -- I just can't write a check for that. I might as well throw those U.S. or Canadian dollars down the toilet...not to say that I can't win a competition, just that I don't want to sign my name on the dotted line in order to do so!
Are there any literary folks out there who read this (yes, InkAsRain, I know you do)? If so, I'd like to ask a question: Do any of you who write, as I do, and want to submit your work to competitions pay for the privilege of doing so? There are competitions that say entry fee for 1st item is $15, subsequent items are $10.
Of course, the monies collected end up being the prize winnings for the winners, but I do not like to submit my writing anywhere that I have to pay. I would like the judges to pay ME for the privilege of reading my essays or my poetry.
These aren't necessarily little-known literary magazines that request money up front, either. Some major writers' organizations and well-respected publications ask for entry fees, too. But I'm sorry -- I just can't write a check for that. I might as well throw those U.S. or Canadian dollars down the toilet...not to say that I can't win a competition, just that I don't want to sign my name on the dotted line in order to do so!
Modern-Day Mating Call
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Rose Marie. 1936. Movie starring Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy. He plays a Royal Canadian Mounted Police in the Canadian Rockies. Film known for its song, "The Indian Love Call," which features those lyrics, "When I'm calling you-oo-oo..." Hard to forget those angelic voices singing that song.
Lunchtime today. Mall parking lot. Going back to my car. Heading towards the vehicle, I click the remote to unlock the car door, and hear the familiar "beep, beep" reminiscent of The Road Runner. Responding deeper-sounding "BEEEEP,BEEEEP" sounds from several rows away.
Hey, I think to myself, is this the mating call of the twenty-first century? And then I mentally hear the refrains of "When I'm calling you-oo-oo..."
Rose Marie. 1936. Movie starring Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy. He plays a Royal Canadian Mounted Police in the Canadian Rockies. Film known for its song, "The Indian Love Call," which features those lyrics, "When I'm calling you-oo-oo..." Hard to forget those angelic voices singing that song.
Lunchtime today. Mall parking lot. Going back to my car. Heading towards the vehicle, I click the remote to unlock the car door, and hear the familiar "beep, beep" reminiscent of The Road Runner. Responding deeper-sounding "BEEEEP,BEEEEP" sounds from several rows away.
Hey, I think to myself, is this the mating call of the twenty-first century? And then I mentally hear the refrains of "When I'm calling you-oo-oo..."
Reality Speaks
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Yes, blogging is a free-form expression, but oftentimes it's just so frivolous. We touch upon surfaces, never delving too deeply because either we want to maintain our secret identities or it's just too damn hard to do so -- our words that have been floating in our heads and in our hearts don't necessarily want to see the light of day. But sometimes they do...
www.seraphicpress.com
Seraphic Sleep(less)
It is 2:30 AM, and I cannot sleep because Karen is dreaming of Ariel; she moans in her sleep from wounds that will never heal. Three times before we went to bed, Karen, with tears slipping from her eyes, said to me: "Where is he? Where is Ariel?" Of course I had no answer and Karen does not expect one, but still, I feel that I should have something to say besides, "I don't know, I just don't know."
It is 2:35 AM, and I cannot sleep because Offspring Number Three has just learned that her close, close friend who lives in NY is very ill and -- for God's sake, my child has already lost her brother. Must she endure it all over again? Every so often a well-meaning idiot will tell me that "God never gives us more than we can bear." When I hear this outrageous cliche I really feel like punching the person who says it. Where did they get such a stupid idea? In fact, HaShem gives us more than we can bear on a daily basis. Yes, we manage to live through these terrible experiences, we manage to endure, to survive, but we are never the same, and we are often diminished by the suffering, irrevocably harmed. I do not believe that suffering is noble or holy; it is just awful.
It is 2:40 AM, and I cannot sleep because Karen is preparing for Pesach and every shelf cleaned, every corner mopped, every book opened and dusted for crumbs only brings home the fact that Ariel will not be sitting at the Passover seder with us. He will not be reliving the Exodus from Egypt with us. He will not be explaining to us his sharp and penetrating insights into the Haggadah. He will not be smiling at the Passover table, enjoying this wonderful holiday. Ariel's last Pesach was in the hospital, in the ICU where he was forced to celebrate the seder behind an oxygen mask, and our Passover table was that little slab of formica on wheels that's hardly big enough for two matzos. We recited the whole Hagaddah, but it was an effort for him and at the end, he fell back into an exhausted sleep.
It is 2:45 AM, and I cannot sleep because David, Karen's brother was just here in LA with his lovely daughter Jennifer. They live in Israel and they are deeply concerned about the plan to withdraw from Gaza. David knows what anyone with half a brain knows, which is that no good can come from this withdrawl. The Arabs will see it as just the first in a series of retreats designed to destroy the state of Israel. Does no one realize that when the Arabs speak of so-called occupied territories they are not talking about Judea and Samarian, they are, in fact, talking about the entire state of Israel? I read the Arab press. They don't even bother to disguisee their genicidal plans.
It is 2:50 AM, and I cannot sleep because numerous sleazy professors at Columbia University have built a Middle Eastern Studies department on a foundation of lies, anti-Semitism, anti-Zionism, and anti-Americanism. And there are still people in my shul who are paying over fifty thousand dollars a year for the priveledge of sending their children to this corrupt institution. Are Jews so starved for status that they actually see nothing wrong with paying the salaries of the children of Edward Said?
It is 2:55 AM, and I cannot sleep because I am writing two scripts under intense deadline pressure and I have not been spending as much time as I should writing the next volume of The Hebrew Kid. I'm also afraid that I will never be able to make the second book as good as the first. I wrote The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maidedn while Ariel was still alive. He helped me. He inspired me. He made me a better writer with his criticism and insights. But now he is gone and I suspect that I'm not as good a writer anymore. Without him, my imagination stalls.
It is 3:00 AM, and I cannot sleep becasue I am sitting in the dark in my bedroom with my computer on my lap typing this blog. I am afraid to go to sleep because I dream of Ariel most every night and when I wake up my face is wet with tears.
Posted by Robert J. Avrech at April 12, 2005 02:24 AM
Yes, blogging is a free-form expression, but oftentimes it's just so frivolous. We touch upon surfaces, never delving too deeply because either we want to maintain our secret identities or it's just too damn hard to do so -- our words that have been floating in our heads and in our hearts don't necessarily want to see the light of day. But sometimes they do...
www.seraphicpress.com
Seraphic Sleep(less)
It is 2:30 AM, and I cannot sleep because Karen is dreaming of Ariel; she moans in her sleep from wounds that will never heal. Three times before we went to bed, Karen, with tears slipping from her eyes, said to me: "Where is he? Where is Ariel?" Of course I had no answer and Karen does not expect one, but still, I feel that I should have something to say besides, "I don't know, I just don't know."
It is 2:35 AM, and I cannot sleep because Offspring Number Three has just learned that her close, close friend who lives in NY is very ill and -- for God's sake, my child has already lost her brother. Must she endure it all over again? Every so often a well-meaning idiot will tell me that "God never gives us more than we can bear." When I hear this outrageous cliche I really feel like punching the person who says it. Where did they get such a stupid idea? In fact, HaShem gives us more than we can bear on a daily basis. Yes, we manage to live through these terrible experiences, we manage to endure, to survive, but we are never the same, and we are often diminished by the suffering, irrevocably harmed. I do not believe that suffering is noble or holy; it is just awful.
It is 2:40 AM, and I cannot sleep because Karen is preparing for Pesach and every shelf cleaned, every corner mopped, every book opened and dusted for crumbs only brings home the fact that Ariel will not be sitting at the Passover seder with us. He will not be reliving the Exodus from Egypt with us. He will not be explaining to us his sharp and penetrating insights into the Haggadah. He will not be smiling at the Passover table, enjoying this wonderful holiday. Ariel's last Pesach was in the hospital, in the ICU where he was forced to celebrate the seder behind an oxygen mask, and our Passover table was that little slab of formica on wheels that's hardly big enough for two matzos. We recited the whole Hagaddah, but it was an effort for him and at the end, he fell back into an exhausted sleep.
It is 2:45 AM, and I cannot sleep because David, Karen's brother was just here in LA with his lovely daughter Jennifer. They live in Israel and they are deeply concerned about the plan to withdraw from Gaza. David knows what anyone with half a brain knows, which is that no good can come from this withdrawl. The Arabs will see it as just the first in a series of retreats designed to destroy the state of Israel. Does no one realize that when the Arabs speak of so-called occupied territories they are not talking about Judea and Samarian, they are, in fact, talking about the entire state of Israel? I read the Arab press. They don't even bother to disguisee their genicidal plans.
It is 2:50 AM, and I cannot sleep because numerous sleazy professors at Columbia University have built a Middle Eastern Studies department on a foundation of lies, anti-Semitism, anti-Zionism, and anti-Americanism. And there are still people in my shul who are paying over fifty thousand dollars a year for the priveledge of sending their children to this corrupt institution. Are Jews so starved for status that they actually see nothing wrong with paying the salaries of the children of Edward Said?
It is 2:55 AM, and I cannot sleep because I am writing two scripts under intense deadline pressure and I have not been spending as much time as I should writing the next volume of The Hebrew Kid. I'm also afraid that I will never be able to make the second book as good as the first. I wrote The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maidedn while Ariel was still alive. He helped me. He inspired me. He made me a better writer with his criticism and insights. But now he is gone and I suspect that I'm not as good a writer anymore. Without him, my imagination stalls.
It is 3:00 AM, and I cannot sleep becasue I am sitting in the dark in my bedroom with my computer on my lap typing this blog. I am afraid to go to sleep because I dream of Ariel most every night and when I wake up my face is wet with tears.
Posted by Robert J. Avrech at April 12, 2005 02:24 AM
An Eishet Chayil Diamond
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Unfortunately, earlier this evening, my husband and I had to go to a shiva house (a Jewish house of mourning) -- a friend of ours had lost his father last week, and we went to comfort the mourners and for my husband to daven.
I didn't know this friend's father nor his mother all that well. Sometimes we were together as guests at a Yom Tov or Shabbos table, but I'd only met the parents in total maybe half a dozen times in the 11 years that I know the son and daughter-in-law.
The man who passed away unfortunately had been suffering from the slowly disabilitating Parkinson's disease for the past five years or so. Little by little the symptoms showed themselves and the man started to need extra help for the little daily things we take so for granted. Help getting dressed, help bathing, help eating, help shaving, eventually help standing up and sitting down...because of the rigid stance that accompanies the disease.
This evening, however, I learned of the quality of life that this man had, thanks to his lovely wife, his true eishet chayil (woman of valor). They began to have some hired help, nurse's aides in the latter days, but all along the wife helped her husband keep to his familiar and daily routines. She announced to myself and another woman at the shiva: "I even helped him lain tefillin." The other woman asked, "You knew how to do that?" "No," was the reply. "My husband taught me...and so I did it for him all the time."
I was floored -- yes, such a familiar task to men from the time they turn thirteen years of age, a routine, although a bit difficult at first, that becomes second nature. Never did it occur to me that someone who wants to continue to lead the quality of Jewish life that he has led, who wants to follow this commandment of tefillin, but is somewhat handicapped to do so, should need the rudimentary help. For a wife to learn how to lain tefillin so her husband can continue the mitzvah is a most beautiful thing. I was deeply touched by this woman's fortitude and resolve to help her husband in such elemental ways.
She married someone with the last name Diamond, and in her earliest days of marriage after the second world war, she might have been a Diamond in the rough. But after so many years of a life together, and such a demonstrated dedication to her husband, she proved herself to be a most polished, refined diamond, complete with Clarity for what needed to be done for her husband and doing it. A true eishet chayil.
May Moishe Diamond's memory be for a blessing, and may his neshama have an aliyah. And may his dear wife continue to be strong, and healthy, and live to continue to see much naches from her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Unfortunately, earlier this evening, my husband and I had to go to a shiva house (a Jewish house of mourning) -- a friend of ours had lost his father last week, and we went to comfort the mourners and for my husband to daven.
I didn't know this friend's father nor his mother all that well. Sometimes we were together as guests at a Yom Tov or Shabbos table, but I'd only met the parents in total maybe half a dozen times in the 11 years that I know the son and daughter-in-law.
The man who passed away unfortunately had been suffering from the slowly disabilitating Parkinson's disease for the past five years or so. Little by little the symptoms showed themselves and the man started to need extra help for the little daily things we take so for granted. Help getting dressed, help bathing, help eating, help shaving, eventually help standing up and sitting down...because of the rigid stance that accompanies the disease.
This evening, however, I learned of the quality of life that this man had, thanks to his lovely wife, his true eishet chayil (woman of valor). They began to have some hired help, nurse's aides in the latter days, but all along the wife helped her husband keep to his familiar and daily routines. She announced to myself and another woman at the shiva: "I even helped him lain tefillin." The other woman asked, "You knew how to do that?" "No," was the reply. "My husband taught me...and so I did it for him all the time."
I was floored -- yes, such a familiar task to men from the time they turn thirteen years of age, a routine, although a bit difficult at first, that becomes second nature. Never did it occur to me that someone who wants to continue to lead the quality of Jewish life that he has led, who wants to follow this commandment of tefillin, but is somewhat handicapped to do so, should need the rudimentary help. For a wife to learn how to lain tefillin so her husband can continue the mitzvah is a most beautiful thing. I was deeply touched by this woman's fortitude and resolve to help her husband in such elemental ways.
She married someone with the last name Diamond, and in her earliest days of marriage after the second world war, she might have been a Diamond in the rough. But after so many years of a life together, and such a demonstrated dedication to her husband, she proved herself to be a most polished, refined diamond, complete with Clarity for what needed to be done for her husband and doing it. A true eishet chayil.
May Moishe Diamond's memory be for a blessing, and may his neshama have an aliyah. And may his dear wife continue to be strong, and healthy, and live to continue to see much naches from her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Google Thyself
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When the Internet became accessible to us at work a few years ago, I was thrilled. Of course I used Internet at home after hours, but I love to research and fact-check and just plain surf, and on company time, even better! ;)
One day my co-worker said to me: "I Googled your name." At that point in time I had no clue what Google was, as I'd been an Ask Jeeves fan, so I needed an explanation. She told me she was using the Google search engine and just plugged in people's names out of curiosity.
So I did the same. WOW, I actually found my name there in relation to an online thread I'd been part of with regards to my family genealogy. Over the years, I've Googled my name and have come up with a number of different sources that I'm linked to. Google has picked me up by my first name and maiden name; first name, maiden name and married name; first name and married name; and my blogging name.
I really don't care how fast I'm linked to references with my name, and whether or not there are countless references. But it's interesting for me to see how my name has been linked: genealogy threads, contest topic suggestions for writers' associations, reader suggestions for magazines, guest books I've visited and signed, articles I've written and have published.
Now the next time I Google myself, I might just find the link to this post!
When the Internet became accessible to us at work a few years ago, I was thrilled. Of course I used Internet at home after hours, but I love to research and fact-check and just plain surf, and on company time, even better! ;)
One day my co-worker said to me: "I Googled your name." At that point in time I had no clue what Google was, as I'd been an Ask Jeeves fan, so I needed an explanation. She told me she was using the Google search engine and just plugged in people's names out of curiosity.
So I did the same. WOW, I actually found my name there in relation to an online thread I'd been part of with regards to my family genealogy. Over the years, I've Googled my name and have come up with a number of different sources that I'm linked to. Google has picked me up by my first name and maiden name; first name, maiden name and married name; first name and married name; and my blogging name.
I really don't care how fast I'm linked to references with my name, and whether or not there are countless references. But it's interesting for me to see how my name has been linked: genealogy threads, contest topic suggestions for writers' associations, reader suggestions for magazines, guest books I've visited and signed, articles I've written and have published.
Now the next time I Google myself, I might just find the link to this post!
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Copacetic
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Since I was a little girl, I was always impressed with people who used "big words"--they sounded intellectual, interesting, and whether or not they used their big words correctly wouldn't have mattered to me because I usually didn't know the difference.
I was a voracious reader while growing up, but was too often lazy to reach for the dictionary for words I was reading whose meaning I didn't understand, and so I just guessed the meaning in context. But in university and in my job as copy editor, I learned I really needed to use a dictionary to get the correct meaning.
It seems to me, and I was discussing this the other day with an editor, that we (he and I) use "big" words when we write, rather than when we talk. Neither he nor I could account for the difference, but it's been the pattern we've seen develop.
These days, I'm always looking to find a new word to use in my writing or in my conversations. And I came across one that sort of turned my head...
Some time ago, I yelled over to my fellow copy editor (who happens to use a lovely vocabulary) over the "walls" of our "offices," "How are you?" and heard her answer with this: "Copacetic." "What did you say?" I asked back. "Copacetic" was her reply.
I thought to myself: "Where does Val [a non-Jew] know Hebrew from?" I was impressed, got up, went around the wall, and said "How did you know to answer me in Hebrew, and correctly?"
"What Hebrew? I said c-o-p-a-c-e-t-i-c."
"Ohhhh," I said, blushing two shades of red. "It sounded to me as if you'd said 'Kol b'seder,' which means 'everything is okay'. "
I looked up the definition in Webster's and saw this for copacetic: adj. (origin unknown), very satisfactory. Okay, Hebrew speakers, tell me that "copacetic" doesn't sound a lot like "{ha}kol b'seder". With its origins being unknown, perhaps it does stem from the Hebrew language...
In any case, I hope that everything in your life is c-o-p-a-c-e-t-i-c.
Since I was a little girl, I was always impressed with people who used "big words"--they sounded intellectual, interesting, and whether or not they used their big words correctly wouldn't have mattered to me because I usually didn't know the difference.
I was a voracious reader while growing up, but was too often lazy to reach for the dictionary for words I was reading whose meaning I didn't understand, and so I just guessed the meaning in context. But in university and in my job as copy editor, I learned I really needed to use a dictionary to get the correct meaning.
It seems to me, and I was discussing this the other day with an editor, that we (he and I) use "big" words when we write, rather than when we talk. Neither he nor I could account for the difference, but it's been the pattern we've seen develop.
These days, I'm always looking to find a new word to use in my writing or in my conversations. And I came across one that sort of turned my head...
Some time ago, I yelled over to my fellow copy editor (who happens to use a lovely vocabulary) over the "walls" of our "offices," "How are you?" and heard her answer with this: "Copacetic." "What did you say?" I asked back. "Copacetic" was her reply.
I thought to myself: "Where does Val [a non-Jew] know Hebrew from?" I was impressed, got up, went around the wall, and said "How did you know to answer me in Hebrew, and correctly?"
"What Hebrew? I said c-o-p-a-c-e-t-i-c."
"Ohhhh," I said, blushing two shades of red. "It sounded to me as if you'd said 'Kol b'seder,' which means 'everything is okay'. "
I looked up the definition in Webster's and saw this for copacetic: adj. (origin unknown), very satisfactory. Okay, Hebrew speakers, tell me that "copacetic" doesn't sound a lot like "{ha}kol b'seder". With its origins being unknown, perhaps it does stem from the Hebrew language...
In any case, I hope that everything in your life is c-o-p-a-c-e-t-i-c.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
"The Thrill Is Gone...the Thrill Has Gone Away...."
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Mr. B.B. King, noted blues guitarist, made those lyrics famous quite a number of years ago. And I couldn't help but have them come to mind today in relation to blogging.
I discovered, without getting into details, that blogging and "virtual" personalities can get pretty ugly, just like in the real world. People can become very catty, downright mean for no real reason. Who am I, but a stranger forming an opinion, and having a preconception of a particular someone based on that someone's bright or smooth posts. Up until recently, it's been a positive POV I had, but lately, I just don't know what to think. I think I've had good reason to speak my mind and express some concern in a nice way, and once again it backfires...just like that grade school incident mentioned a few posts down.
I've sort of been left with a bad taste in my mouth, and like B.B. King sings, "The thrill is gone...."
Perhaps I just don't have much to say anymore -- after all, I did admit my world is pretty small -- or maybe it's just that perhaps whatever I choose to say might get shot down or attacked in an unkind way from a fellow blogger.
Up until now, my keeping a blog has reawakened my writing channels, giving me a much-needed creative exercise, opening my thought processes, as well. But today I felt pretty disillusioned because of this personal blogging incident.
Maybe it's time to sit back for a while from writing my own posts; maybe it's time I just haunt yours...
Mr. B.B. King, noted blues guitarist, made those lyrics famous quite a number of years ago. And I couldn't help but have them come to mind today in relation to blogging.
I discovered, without getting into details, that blogging and "virtual" personalities can get pretty ugly, just like in the real world. People can become very catty, downright mean for no real reason. Who am I, but a stranger forming an opinion, and having a preconception of a particular someone based on that someone's bright or smooth posts. Up until recently, it's been a positive POV I had, but lately, I just don't know what to think. I think I've had good reason to speak my mind and express some concern in a nice way, and once again it backfires...just like that grade school incident mentioned a few posts down.
I've sort of been left with a bad taste in my mouth, and like B.B. King sings, "The thrill is gone...."
Perhaps I just don't have much to say anymore -- after all, I did admit my world is pretty small -- or maybe it's just that perhaps whatever I choose to say might get shot down or attacked in an unkind way from a fellow blogger.
Up until now, my keeping a blog has reawakened my writing channels, giving me a much-needed creative exercise, opening my thought processes, as well. But today I felt pretty disillusioned because of this personal blogging incident.
Maybe it's time to sit back for a while from writing my own posts; maybe it's time I just haunt yours...
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Blogger, Get Yourself a Timex Watch, if not a Rolex!
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Among my many pet peeves with Blogger, aside from its screwing up my posts on a regular basis and sending them into oblivion, I can't understand that it doesn't know how to tell the time!
My last post was started just after 1:00 a.m., but I completed it, ready for posting, at about 1:50 -- one look at the Blogger time/date notation, and I still saw the 1:04 time. How come it doesn't want to keep time with me, and note the new hour when I finally post my message?
Has anyone noticed this problem with Blogger? Any solutions, aside from the obvious: make certain I look at the time/date BEFORE I post, just after I finished typing the message.
Okay, for interest's sake, I started this message at 1:52, but now it's 2:03! I am gonna make the change, okay?
Blogger,we can all pitch in and buy you a nice, working timepiece for your next job. Sound good...?
Among my many pet peeves with Blogger, aside from its screwing up my posts on a regular basis and sending them into oblivion, I can't understand that it doesn't know how to tell the time!
My last post was started just after 1:00 a.m., but I completed it, ready for posting, at about 1:50 -- one look at the Blogger time/date notation, and I still saw the 1:04 time. How come it doesn't want to keep time with me, and note the new hour when I finally post my message?
Has anyone noticed this problem with Blogger? Any solutions, aside from the obvious: make certain I look at the time/date BEFORE I post, just after I finished typing the message.
Okay, for interest's sake, I started this message at 1:52, but now it's 2:03! I am gonna make the change, okay?
Blogger,we can all pitch in and buy you a nice, working timepiece for your next job. Sound good...?
"In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning..."
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Carly Simon sings a beautiful version of that classic song, and I'm thinking about it now, after 1:00 a.m. as I sit at the computer typing away. Sleep has become somewhat evasive the past two nights, perhaps because of the time change and my usual late late hour of retiring for the night being thrown off; and I know that last night a horrible storm threw me off kilter as I lay in bed and listened to the howling wind and the beating of it against the window screen, wondering how many shingles would be found the next morning in the yard, having flown off the roof.
Tonight there's no real excuse for not falling readily asleep, save for my thoughts.
Thoughts are not always welcome; they invade when you don't want them to; or they flee -- as butterflies do when you try to capture them with a net.
Tonight I'm thinking a mixed bag: of conversations -- written and oral -- I had today with various people; of conflicts in my family summer plans with other family members' summer plans, and how best to resolve the situation to make both families happy; of where my writing ought to take me, but doesn't necessarily do so, perhaps because I'm not putting forth enough effort, or because it feels forced and unnatural.
I've also been thinking of former classmates and where they are today -- this for the reason that I visited my parents today and my mother gave me my class pictures from senior kindergarten to grade 6. I reviewed the photos with my husband and children, seeing if they could spot me (my five-year-old did a bang-up job with the assignment), pointing out other people familiar to them, telling them who was doing what, to the best of my current knowledge, and unfortunately acknowledging a couple of people who passed away at too young an age from tragic circumstances.
As children in these class photos that capture us from ages 5 through 11, we are bright-eyed, carefree in our life's responsibilites, perhaps temporarily squirming under the focused look of the photographer, but knowing that in a few minutes, after the "One, two, three, say 'Cheese' " has passed, we can once again relax, be the children we're supposed to be.
Many of us in those pictures have been rewarded with good careers, and a rich family life. And I knew that when my daughter pointed out one of the earliest pictures with me in it, and commented on this aspect, "I like this picture of you; it's your best smile!" I couldn't help but smile.
And although at moments like tonight, when some of my thoughts are heavier than others, seeming to weigh me down and keep me from relaxing into a sleep, I also smile because my family, my lifestyle, and my roots have made me who I am: a thinking, feeling person...who may sometimes lack a bit of sleep, but certainly does not lack in being loved by family and friends. Yes, a rich woman, indeed!
Carly Simon sings a beautiful version of that classic song, and I'm thinking about it now, after 1:00 a.m. as I sit at the computer typing away. Sleep has become somewhat evasive the past two nights, perhaps because of the time change and my usual late late hour of retiring for the night being thrown off; and I know that last night a horrible storm threw me off kilter as I lay in bed and listened to the howling wind and the beating of it against the window screen, wondering how many shingles would be found the next morning in the yard, having flown off the roof.
Tonight there's no real excuse for not falling readily asleep, save for my thoughts.
Thoughts are not always welcome; they invade when you don't want them to; or they flee -- as butterflies do when you try to capture them with a net.
Tonight I'm thinking a mixed bag: of conversations -- written and oral -- I had today with various people; of conflicts in my family summer plans with other family members' summer plans, and how best to resolve the situation to make both families happy; of where my writing ought to take me, but doesn't necessarily do so, perhaps because I'm not putting forth enough effort, or because it feels forced and unnatural.
I've also been thinking of former classmates and where they are today -- this for the reason that I visited my parents today and my mother gave me my class pictures from senior kindergarten to grade 6. I reviewed the photos with my husband and children, seeing if they could spot me (my five-year-old did a bang-up job with the assignment), pointing out other people familiar to them, telling them who was doing what, to the best of my current knowledge, and unfortunately acknowledging a couple of people who passed away at too young an age from tragic circumstances.
As children in these class photos that capture us from ages 5 through 11, we are bright-eyed, carefree in our life's responsibilites, perhaps temporarily squirming under the focused look of the photographer, but knowing that in a few minutes, after the "One, two, three, say 'Cheese' " has passed, we can once again relax, be the children we're supposed to be.
Many of us in those pictures have been rewarded with good careers, and a rich family life. And I knew that when my daughter pointed out one of the earliest pictures with me in it, and commented on this aspect, "I like this picture of you; it's your best smile!" I couldn't help but smile.
And although at moments like tonight, when some of my thoughts are heavier than others, seeming to weigh me down and keep me from relaxing into a sleep, I also smile because my family, my lifestyle, and my roots have made me who I am: a thinking, feeling person...who may sometimes lack a bit of sleep, but certainly does not lack in being loved by family and friends. Yes, a rich woman, indeed!
Monday, April 04, 2005
Paul Simon Has Flown the Coop...along with the Eagles
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Okay, people, no more music on my blog. Someone rightfully pointed out today that having music suddenly playing when you open my blog to read my posts might be a real intrusion in your work or home life. Like I said in an earlier post -- I respect you readers. So one comment today, and thus the music videos are no longer.
The truth was that the selection the video link offered was not so great anyway, unless you can wrap your mind around rap music, which were the majority of videos available.
You'll just have to settle for me singing from my corner of the world (too far away for you to hear me!) some Gershwin classics or some mellow music. James Taylor, anyone? "Shower the people you love with love, show them the way that you feel..." or "You've got a friend..."
Okay, people, no more music on my blog. Someone rightfully pointed out today that having music suddenly playing when you open my blog to read my posts might be a real intrusion in your work or home life. Like I said in an earlier post -- I respect you readers. So one comment today, and thus the music videos are no longer.
The truth was that the selection the video link offered was not so great anyway, unless you can wrap your mind around rap music, which were the majority of videos available.
You'll just have to settle for me singing from my corner of the world (too far away for you to hear me!) some Gershwin classics or some mellow music. James Taylor, anyone? "Shower the people you love with love, show them the way that you feel..." or "You've got a friend..."
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Shalom, Laya. Shalom, Penina.
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Ah, so you're surprised to see your names up in blogger lights, huh?
It's just an official public thank-you to two ladies from my neck of the woods who take the time to read my words and comment, whether privately or publicly. I appreciate you taking moments out of your busy days to tune in to my random thoughts, and then offer some of your own.
Not to say that others don't do so, too. Of course you read my words, and several of you also comment, whether privately or publicly. And I thank you for doing so.
I enjoy the handful of off-screen friendships/acquaintanceships that I have developed by blogging. Many of you display such sensitivity, insights and humor that keep me somewhat in awe. In your notes and in your own posts many of you prove how bright and in-the-know you are; yes, we each come into this world, developing our own strengths, but sometimes I fear that my strengths cannot match yours.
Yes, the world is big, but sometimes I choose to keep mine small, personal, intimate. Regardless, it's always nice to invite new people into my small corner of the world...
Ah, so you're surprised to see your names up in blogger lights, huh?
It's just an official public thank-you to two ladies from my neck of the woods who take the time to read my words and comment, whether privately or publicly. I appreciate you taking moments out of your busy days to tune in to my random thoughts, and then offer some of your own.
Not to say that others don't do so, too. Of course you read my words, and several of you also comment, whether privately or publicly. And I thank you for doing so.
I enjoy the handful of off-screen friendships/acquaintanceships that I have developed by blogging. Many of you display such sensitivity, insights and humor that keep me somewhat in awe. In your notes and in your own posts many of you prove how bright and in-the-know you are; yes, we each come into this world, developing our own strengths, but sometimes I fear that my strengths cannot match yours.
Yes, the world is big, but sometimes I choose to keep mine small, personal, intimate. Regardless, it's always nice to invite new people into my small corner of the world...
Reach Out and Touch...
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Since I was a little girl I was considered "a helper" -- my early report cards commented and said that I was always willing to help others; in grade 4, when a new student came from Israel to join our class, the teacher asked for some volunteers to help be a peer to this girl and be involved with English as a Second Language -- guess whose hand rose in the air? I couldn't wait to turn thirteen years old so that I could be a candy striper in a seniors' home/hospital; I volunteered with special-needs adults for several years; I worked for Jewish Chaplaincy services, visiting Jewish people in public nursing homes; I like to help causes in those areas in which I display strengths (editing, writing, promoting)
For some reason (I think it's a wonderful inherited trait from a parent) I've been blessed with a concerned and helpful nature. It's not that I necessarily go out on a limb to help people, but it's a natural outlet for me; it comes easy to me.
Sometimes, however, good intentions are misconstrued. I'll never forget in grade school when a peer fell in the schoolyard, and me being my natural wanna-help self, asked before we came in from recess, "Ari, are you okay?" I got back such a sarcastic retort: "Yes, Nurse Pearl. I'm fine!" I meant well, but it backfired at that point in time...and I sort of hurt because I'd meant well but this ten year old kid didn't want to hear it from me.
I don't know why I'm attracted to certain causes more than others, why I seek to help some people more than I do others. Something touches a heart chord, a nerve, I guess.
But I'm more than happy when I am able to offer my compassion, my interest, my time to help further a cause, to help console someone, to help bring out the best in someone else. Because when I do that, I'm also bringing out the best in me!
Since I was a little girl I was considered "a helper" -- my early report cards commented and said that I was always willing to help others; in grade 4, when a new student came from Israel to join our class, the teacher asked for some volunteers to help be a peer to this girl and be involved with English as a Second Language -- guess whose hand rose in the air? I couldn't wait to turn thirteen years old so that I could be a candy striper in a seniors' home/hospital; I volunteered with special-needs adults for several years; I worked for Jewish Chaplaincy services, visiting Jewish people in public nursing homes; I like to help causes in those areas in which I display strengths (editing, writing, promoting)
For some reason (I think it's a wonderful inherited trait from a parent) I've been blessed with a concerned and helpful nature. It's not that I necessarily go out on a limb to help people, but it's a natural outlet for me; it comes easy to me.
Sometimes, however, good intentions are misconstrued. I'll never forget in grade school when a peer fell in the schoolyard, and me being my natural wanna-help self, asked before we came in from recess, "Ari, are you okay?" I got back such a sarcastic retort: "Yes, Nurse Pearl. I'm fine!" I meant well, but it backfired at that point in time...and I sort of hurt because I'd meant well but this ten year old kid didn't want to hear it from me.
I don't know why I'm attracted to certain causes more than others, why I seek to help some people more than I do others. Something touches a heart chord, a nerve, I guess.
But I'm more than happy when I am able to offer my compassion, my interest, my time to help further a cause, to help console someone, to help bring out the best in someone else. Because when I do that, I'm also bringing out the best in me!
Saturday, April 02, 2005
Everything Old Becomes New Again
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Growing up, I've been pretty much of a classic type, when it comes to fashion and ideas. I wasn't always into trends because they're often so flighty. "Classic consciousness" seems to help when it comes to fads that pass you by; you're in for the long haul, when things go in and out the window with the passing seasons. And sometimes they haunt you again somewhere down the road.
Today my daughter asked me to say the "Hey, hey, hey -- it's Fat Albert" refrain. She knows of it from the TV commercials she'd seen advertising the movie before its release. I told her it used to be a cartoon when I was a kid.
So many things were around when I was a kid, or growing up. I was in my twenties during the disco era, and so much of the music from then is being remixed today for the airwaves or nightclubs. I find it fascinating that the young people are hearing these songs for the first time, when in fact they're passe for me....
To go to a toy store and still see Easy Bake Ovens around makes me feel happy; I remember being eight years old, and visiting my uncle, aunt and many cousins in Mexico City (my first airplane trip from Canada to Mexico), and one of my cousins had one. I was fascinated by the concept that this little light bulb could help bake a cake. Do you think they can recreate that in a massive size, like a regular oven?
If you're a classic type of person, the current Coco Chanel type of woman's suit with fringed cuffs might still be found at the back of your closet. Yes, it's the rage today, but so it was many years ago, and so you held on to it.
Okay, fashions and toys aside, I wish that some of the oldie but goodie TV shows would still be around on mainstream television. For some of them, the themes or jokes would no longer apply to our lifestyles, nor would they be understood by the younger generations, but how I wish they'd come back to haunt us. Here are some family-time shows around which many of my long-term memories are made:
I Love Lucy/The Lucy Show
The Lawrence Welk Show
The Ed Sullivan Show
The Carol Burnett Show
All in the Family
The Red Skelton Show
Bonanza
Gunsmoke
Tiny Talent Time (a local talent show for kids)
Romper Room
Green Acres
CBC-Nighttime News (Canadian Broadcasting System)
CBS Evening News w/ Walter Cronkite
Truth or Consequences
Make Room for Daddy
Yes, I know that many of these shows are available on specialized cable channels, but if you don't have those channels or want to install them on your television system, you have to rely on your memories. And you have to try to recreate those memories for your children so that they can better understand where you're coming from.
So next time my daughter asks me to repeat the Fat Albert refrain, I'll tell her not just that it used to be a cartoon when I was a kid, but I'll give her details about the show and tell her why I liked it. And she'll better understand that Eema (Mom) was once a young girl like her...
Growing up, I've been pretty much of a classic type, when it comes to fashion and ideas. I wasn't always into trends because they're often so flighty. "Classic consciousness" seems to help when it comes to fads that pass you by; you're in for the long haul, when things go in and out the window with the passing seasons. And sometimes they haunt you again somewhere down the road.
Today my daughter asked me to say the "Hey, hey, hey -- it's Fat Albert" refrain. She knows of it from the TV commercials she'd seen advertising the movie before its release. I told her it used to be a cartoon when I was a kid.
So many things were around when I was a kid, or growing up. I was in my twenties during the disco era, and so much of the music from then is being remixed today for the airwaves or nightclubs. I find it fascinating that the young people are hearing these songs for the first time, when in fact they're passe for me....
To go to a toy store and still see Easy Bake Ovens around makes me feel happy; I remember being eight years old, and visiting my uncle, aunt and many cousins in Mexico City (my first airplane trip from Canada to Mexico), and one of my cousins had one. I was fascinated by the concept that this little light bulb could help bake a cake. Do you think they can recreate that in a massive size, like a regular oven?
If you're a classic type of person, the current Coco Chanel type of woman's suit with fringed cuffs might still be found at the back of your closet. Yes, it's the rage today, but so it was many years ago, and so you held on to it.
Okay, fashions and toys aside, I wish that some of the oldie but goodie TV shows would still be around on mainstream television. For some of them, the themes or jokes would no longer apply to our lifestyles, nor would they be understood by the younger generations, but how I wish they'd come back to haunt us. Here are some family-time shows around which many of my long-term memories are made:
I Love Lucy/The Lucy Show
The Lawrence Welk Show
The Ed Sullivan Show
The Carol Burnett Show
All in the Family
The Red Skelton Show
Bonanza
Gunsmoke
Tiny Talent Time (a local talent show for kids)
Romper Room
Green Acres
CBC-Nighttime News (Canadian Broadcasting System)
CBS Evening News w/ Walter Cronkite
Truth or Consequences
Make Room for Daddy
Yes, I know that many of these shows are available on specialized cable channels, but if you don't have those channels or want to install them on your television system, you have to rely on your memories. And you have to try to recreate those memories for your children so that they can better understand where you're coming from.
So next time my daughter asks me to repeat the Fat Albert refrain, I'll tell her not just that it used to be a cartoon when I was a kid, but I'll give her details about the show and tell her why I liked it. And she'll better understand that Eema (Mom) was once a young girl like her...
Friday, April 01, 2005
The Eagles Have Left the Building
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Apparently, the Eagles have left the building. (and took my list of favorite blogs with them, those dirty rats!)
Now, for your enjoyment, we have Mr. Paul Simon.
Apparently, the Eagles have left the building. (and took my list of favorite blogs with them, those dirty rats!)
Now, for your enjoyment, we have Mr. Paul Simon.
I Asked...and Got an Answer
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I've had a Pesach-related Halachic question floating around my brain forever. Back and forth, back and forth, my husband and I have tossed the matter around over the past few years. He has his minhagim, I have mine, but we'd agreed on this minhag. However it was time to find out if it was just our family traditions ruling us, or if there was any Halachic basis to our years-old practice.
I just got off the computer (thought I was going to say "phone," didn't you?) with a religious adviser from www.askmoses.com. Aside from it being a web site offering insights, I received immediate gratification with receiving an answer after my online discussion with the "agent" at the other end.
This service is run by Lubavitch, and I've used it before. It is a wonderful resource for some quick responses, if you don't want to call your own rabbi or another religious educational institution/organization.
Please go ask Moses your questions. He is online 24/6!
I've had a Pesach-related Halachic question floating around my brain forever. Back and forth, back and forth, my husband and I have tossed the matter around over the past few years. He has his minhagim, I have mine, but we'd agreed on this minhag. However it was time to find out if it was just our family traditions ruling us, or if there was any Halachic basis to our years-old practice.
I just got off the computer (thought I was going to say "phone," didn't you?) with a religious adviser from www.askmoses.com. Aside from it being a web site offering insights, I received immediate gratification with receiving an answer after my online discussion with the "agent" at the other end.
This service is run by Lubavitch, and I've used it before. It is a wonderful resource for some quick responses, if you don't want to call your own rabbi or another religious educational institution/organization.
Please go ask Moses your questions. He is online 24/6!
Thursday, March 31, 2005
She Loves You, ya YA-YA
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I am forever checking out publishers' web sites to see what's new in the book world, even if I don't end up reading these books that are being marketed online.
And in my journey among some publishers' sites this evening, I encountered an entire marketing world around the "Ya-Ya" books that have been very popular (but which I haven't YET read).
Here is a fun link to help you generate your YA-YA Sisterhood name.
http://ya-ya.com/yaya_name
I entered my information and received this message: Your Ya-Ya name is Mistress Loves To Read -- how ve...r....r....y interesting. How does this name generator know that I work in the publishing arena and that I love to read?
For fun I also threw in my husband's name and got back this message: Viscountess Loves To Cook. (no, he's not a viscountess, nor even a viscount, but yes, he loves to cook!)
And if you do check it out, let me know in the comments section what your YA-YA name is.
I am forever checking out publishers' web sites to see what's new in the book world, even if I don't end up reading these books that are being marketed online.
And in my journey among some publishers' sites this evening, I encountered an entire marketing world around the "Ya-Ya" books that have been very popular (but which I haven't YET read).
Here is a fun link to help you generate your YA-YA Sisterhood name.
http://ya-ya.com/yaya_name
I entered my information and received this message: Your Ya-Ya name is Mistress Loves To Read -- how ve...r....r....y interesting. How does this name generator know that I work in the publishing arena and that I love to read?
For fun I also threw in my husband's name and got back this message: Viscountess Loves To Cook. (no, he's not a viscountess, nor even a viscount, but yes, he loves to cook!)
And if you do check it out, let me know in the comments section what your YA-YA name is.
How Time Flies...
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I read Robert Avrech's Seraphic Secret today, specifically his latest post, "School."
http://www.seraphicpress.com/archives/2005/03/school.php
Reading the post compelled me enough to comment on his site. But I also have to admit that personally I'm suffering from some guilt as a result of reading his post.
Several times, in the heat of my frustration-of-the-moment with my two oldest children (but still quite young!), I've had the audacity to blurt out, "Why don't you just grow up already!?"
And then I look at all three of my children at a different moment and wonder sadly, "How have they grown up so quickly? Where has the time gone?"
I read Robert Avrech's Seraphic Secret today, specifically his latest post, "School."
http://www.seraphicpress.com/archives/2005/03/school.php
Reading the post compelled me enough to comment on his site. But I also have to admit that personally I'm suffering from some guilt as a result of reading his post.
Several times, in the heat of my frustration-of-the-moment with my two oldest children (but still quite young!), I've had the audacity to blurt out, "Why don't you just grow up already!?"
And then I look at all three of my children at a different moment and wonder sadly, "How have they grown up so quickly? Where has the time gone?"
Music, Anyone?
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(First let me go into a corner and growl a bit -- damn Blogger! You made me lose my post once again.)
Okay, I'm fine now....
In case any of you have tuned in to Pearlies of Wisdom and you hear some music, specifically the Eagles singing "Hotel California," do know that you're not going out of your head. If you scroll way, way down to the bottom of the page, you'll see a video playing.
Yesterday I was haunting a couple of my favorite blogs and saw that this video feature had been added. Although I'm not a copycat by nature, I like the feature and added it to my own blog.
I chose the song, keeping in mind some of my California-based readers. But the truth is that this video wasn't my first choice. I'm a fond lover of all kinds of music, but I didn't want to offend any of my readers with a video featuring a female singer or female dancers in the background.
Perhaps there are some of you who don't normally listen to secular music and are offended even by the Eagles. Please let me know -- I'd rather you tune in to Pearlies of Wisdom than have to tune in and then tune out because of the background music.
I'll be the DJ and turn off the music if necessary...
****** A 3:45 p.m. addendum********
I respect my readers, so remember, if you'd like, I'll cancel the video segment; if not, do realize that I will change it from time to time so that it won't only be the Eagles doing the serenading. Thank you, from the management!
(First let me go into a corner and growl a bit -- damn Blogger! You made me lose my post once again.)
Okay, I'm fine now....
In case any of you have tuned in to Pearlies of Wisdom and you hear some music, specifically the Eagles singing "Hotel California," do know that you're not going out of your head. If you scroll way, way down to the bottom of the page, you'll see a video playing.
Yesterday I was haunting a couple of my favorite blogs and saw that this video feature had been added. Although I'm not a copycat by nature, I like the feature and added it to my own blog.
I chose the song, keeping in mind some of my California-based readers. But the truth is that this video wasn't my first choice. I'm a fond lover of all kinds of music, but I didn't want to offend any of my readers with a video featuring a female singer or female dancers in the background.
Perhaps there are some of you who don't normally listen to secular music and are offended even by the Eagles. Please let me know -- I'd rather you tune in to Pearlies of Wisdom than have to tune in and then tune out because of the background music.
I'll be the DJ and turn off the music if necessary...
****** A 3:45 p.m. addendum********
I respect my readers, so remember, if you'd like, I'll cancel the video segment; if not, do realize that I will change it from time to time so that it won't only be the Eagles doing the serenading. Thank you, from the management!
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
"Slicha, Ha'im Atem Mevinim Ohti?"
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Hebrew for "Excuse me, do you understand me?"
Last night I was at another meeting of the committee I sit on at my children's day school: the chinuch committee, ie. the education committee. Of course we talked about this, that and the other, throwing around old as well as new ideas that relate to the betterment of our children and to our tuition dollars.
An opportunity arose for me to speak, and this is similar to what I said: "You offer an Ivrit b'ivrit program (Hebrew immersion) from preschool on and you really just don't know how much a child absorbs. I've tried over the years to speak Hebrew to my children at home and they whine and don't want to hear it. I figure I'm helping them along because I'm reinforcing what they learn in school, but oftentimes they've turned a deaf ear to my husband and I.
"Once in a while, though, I'll start talking to one of my three children and my oldest will answer or comment about everything I've said; he has no desire to do so in Hebrew, but at least I have clear evidence in his English responses that he's understanding everything I'm saying.
"Several times I've wanted to say something to my husband so that my children will not understand, and I revert to Hebrew. My husband says, 'Why are you even bothering? They understand everything we're saying!' So true -- that is how I learned German and Yiddish at home!
"We don't realize just how much like a sponge a child and his/her mind are. Until we are forced to use a language, we don't truly know just how much we've absorbed."
Zeh ha-kol; ayn ohd. (That's it; there ain't no more!)
Hebrew for "Excuse me, do you understand me?"
Last night I was at another meeting of the committee I sit on at my children's day school: the chinuch committee, ie. the education committee. Of course we talked about this, that and the other, throwing around old as well as new ideas that relate to the betterment of our children and to our tuition dollars.
An opportunity arose for me to speak, and this is similar to what I said: "You offer an Ivrit b'ivrit program (Hebrew immersion) from preschool on and you really just don't know how much a child absorbs. I've tried over the years to speak Hebrew to my children at home and they whine and don't want to hear it. I figure I'm helping them along because I'm reinforcing what they learn in school, but oftentimes they've turned a deaf ear to my husband and I.
"Once in a while, though, I'll start talking to one of my three children and my oldest will answer or comment about everything I've said; he has no desire to do so in Hebrew, but at least I have clear evidence in his English responses that he's understanding everything I'm saying.
"Several times I've wanted to say something to my husband so that my children will not understand, and I revert to Hebrew. My husband says, 'Why are you even bothering? They understand everything we're saying!' So true -- that is how I learned German and Yiddish at home!
"We don't realize just how much like a sponge a child and his/her mind are. Until we are forced to use a language, we don't truly know just how much we've absorbed."
Zeh ha-kol; ayn ohd. (That's it; there ain't no more!)
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