Modern Art...or Food for Thought

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This is a sculpture. This is a food sculpture. This is a food sculpture made up of peanut-butter- sandwich crusts and chocolate-spread-sandwich crusts left on their plates by TorontoPearl's children and their friends who were visiting. This is a food sculpture made by TorontoPearl's husband.

No doubt TorontoPearl's husband was at the time either: a) creative or b) very bored.

I opt for b.

Retraction:
Three days have passed since I posted this entry. I just told my husband that I posted it and when he asked what I said in the post, I told him. Apparently, I had it ALL WRONG.
It was not TorontoPearl's husband at all who designed this food sculpture -- indeed it was TorontoPearl's children and their friends who were visiting who designed it. My husband was just there as the official photographer.
I do apologize for my assumption. And you do know what they say about "assuming"...

The $20 Bill

Yes, I could've used an American $20 bill for an image, because most of my readers are American, but then, how would it look to my fellow Canadians? As it is, I already use American spelling for my blog posts and offline correspondence with many of you.

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A well-known speaker started off his seminar by holding up a $20.00 bill.

In the room of 200, he asked,"Who would like this $20 bill?"

Hands started going up.

He said, "I am going to give this $20 to one of you but first, let me do this." He proceeded to crumple up the $20 dollar bill.

He then asked, "Who still wants it?" Still the hands were up in the air.

"Well, " he replied, "what if I do this?"And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe. He picked it up, now crumpled and dirty. "Now, who still wants it?"

Still the hands went into the air.

"My friends, we have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20. Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way. We feel as though we are worthless. But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value. Dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless to those who DO LOVE you. The worth of our lives comes not in what we do or who we know, but by WHO WE ARE. You are special- Don't EVER forget it."

A Filler

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I learned this little bit some years ago and thought it ingenious. Even if you don't know Hebrew, you can read along -- everything is made clear by the end. It sort of reminds me of Abbott & Costello's "Who's On First?"

Ani means me
Me means who
Who means he
He means she

Child # 4 aka Max

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Just a minute ago, I had Max the shih-poo sitting on my lap as I was surfing the Net. I recall several years ago, when I had my second child and I'd be busy surfing the Net for Jewish genealogy (that was my interest then, pre-blogging years), and the baby would sit on my lap as I typed. Of course, she'd reach and want to press keys herself.

Max is a very inquisitive dog, and also is busy sniffing the keyboard. And I began to wonder if he should maybe not have his own dog blog.

He could call it "Max's Meet 'n Mingle".

He'd talk about his life on Earth so far -- what he's seen and heard up until a week ago, when we acquired him. And of course, he'd have to write about his new family and how they spoil him and coddle him. He'd write about the new neighborhood and the people he's seen and sniffed. He'd write about his new acquisitions: stolen towels, stolen slippers, stolen socks, stolen leashes. He'd write about his gourmet meals twice a day.

Max has it pretty good so far. It's just over a week since he's been with us; and he just turned 6 months old a couple of days ago; so much to say, that I think he's got a long blogging career ahead of him. I mean, how many dogs do you know that have their own daily blogs? He might just have a head start in the blogging marketplace. He could have doggie-oriented ads alongside his own writing, and if his blog is off and running, he could start a group blog and call it "In the Doghouse".

Let's hear it for Max: "Two paws up"!

Seek and Ye Shall Find

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I don't know how I discover the things I do, or sometimes can't even recall when I discovered them.

But I'm pleased to have discovered them. Oftentimes a small discovery makes a large difference in my life.

Had it not been for once having discovered www.annaolswanger.com, a woman who'd send out quarterly newsletters of new releases of Jewish interest in the publishing industy, I would not have learned of Robert Avrech's Seraphic Press, his book, The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden, or his blog, Seraphic Secret. I would not have learned of a California-based short story and children' s book contest, which I entered, but subsequently didn't win. I would not have learned of a Jewish literary magazine, Poetica Magazine, to which I submitted a poem, and the March 2006 issue will feature that poem.

Had I not discovered Robert's blog, I would not have discovered several of your blogs. And I certainly would not have begun one of my own.

Had I not discovered Robert and his blog, I would not have forged a warm personal friendship, and made a business contact. Primarily I would not have learned about Robert and Karen's wonderful, and very special son, Ariel -- a person to emulate and certainly a person to admire.

I have found that Google searches lead to magnificent discoveries, great and small. One of those discoveries is http://www.atlantajewish.com/, another online magazine I get. It arrives monthly in my in-box and features some good writing.

I'm sure that many of you have your own tales of online discoveries to share. Why not do just that?

The Journeys We Take

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Me: "I think I understand why that carrier is called SAMSON; it would have to be mighty strong to hold all those pieces of luggage."

Porter: "That's right, ma'am. That SAMSON does its job real well, just as I do mine. Now which suitcase did you say is yours?"

Me: "Um...that blue trunk on the right near the top, and that red suitcase at the top in the middle. Do you think it'll be a problem to get them for me?"

Porter: "Not at all, ma'am. You ever heard of the domino effect? I'll just reach for this red one on the bottom right, will pull it out, and just like Jericho's walls came a-tumblin' down, so will those suitcases. It'll then be a snap to get yours!"

I chose this image 'cause I thought it was fun; I created this scenario 'cause I thought it was fun. But when I thought of writing this post, I was a bit more serious, a bit more pensive...

How many times have you driven past houses or apartment buildings and seen the garbage cans and bags sitting curbside, sometimes along with household odds and ends, furniture, appliances, and SUITCASES?

Have you ever noticed those suitcases? Really noticed them?

Have you stopped to think about the journeys those bags have taken, the stories they could tell?

Many of them are in perfectly good shape -- not torn, not broken, just old and outdated. A beautiful heavy plastic Samsonite trio of suitcases might be tossed aside in favour of a cloth, oversized carryon with wheels. A wooden steamer trunk might have made the trek across a couple of continents and the ocean, later to go into storage, then to come out of storage and become someone's end table, then to get tossed aside, now an outdated eyesore.

I love vintage luggage. I love going into my parents' basement and seeing the beautiful pieces that my family traveled with in the 1960's and 1970's, and the big brown leather suitcases that my father traveled with in the 1940's and 1950's.

His suitcases have a history. Those pieces have journeyed -- not necessarily traveled, but journeyed. And there is a difference.

No, his suitcases don't have those old-fashioned stickers adorning them; he wasn't in Naples, or Paris, or Geneva, or Salt Lake City, or the Grand Canyon. But their interiors hold secrets, secrets whispered quietly when nobody can hear.

I went a few years ago to a content sale down my street; the homeowner who was a widow was downsizing and moving from her house into a condominium. There was nothing she was offering that I needed. But there was something that I wanted. It was a wooden trunk--it was not in good and serviceable condition, I didn't know what I would do with it, but I felt that I ought to have it because I felt that it represented her journey no doubt across the ocean from Eastern Europe to Canada. I couldn't understand why she'd want to part with it, whether it was in good condition or not.

My husband hemmed and hawed with me about the purchase and then we jointly decided against it. "Where would we put it? What would we do with it? It really does look broken and junky. And how do we know it was the homeowner's trunk and not just something she picked up once she settled here?" Why did I seem so adamant about taking on what I imagined to be part of her personal history? It was exactly that -- HER history, not mine.

There is a book that I know of, Hana's Suitcase, which was written a few years ago by a Torontonian. The book is based on the story of the suitcase of a girl who was taken to, and died in, Auschwitz. Her suitcase represents a young girl who died too young, but whose story has been told in many different languages all around the world.

Yes, Hanna and her suitcase took a journey. Her suitcase survived. Hanna didn't.

Max Speaks

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I've been asked by Max the shih-poo to keep this short and sweet, because it's way past his bedtime and he needs his beauty sleep, and doesn't really have much time to concentrate on contributing to a "blodge".

"Max, that's blog, not blodge. Neil Kramer's mother talks about blodges. But it's blog. B-L-O-G. You know, Max. Blog. Rhymes with dog. D-O-G."

Anyhow, so here's the long and short of it.

Family dog dies in June. Family very sad. Family doesn't think they'll get another dog. Family begins to think about getting another dog. Family begins to think about adopting another dog.

Hubby looks online. Hubby and wife spot Max/Snoopy online. Snoopy lives very far away, will need to travel to us via modern transportation. Family adopts dog. Arrangements are made online with dog shadchan (matchmaker).

Children do not know family has adopted dog. Children see picture of Snoopy on home computer screensaver. "Who is this dog?" "Just a dog whose picture we liked." "N, do you like this dog?" "Yes." "What do you think is a good name for a dog?" "Max." Hubby and wife like this name. Decide to change it.

Dog is supposed to arrive by van. Bad weather ensues. Trip put off for another week. Dog is supposed to arrive by van. Van trouble. Trip delayed. Agreed that dog will come via airplane; hubby and wife will not pay extra because of problems at the other end.

Wife begins to laugh to self. She pictures hubby going to the airport to the Arrivals, holding up a big sign with "Snoopy", and Snoopy coming through automated door, pulling his own online luggage with the strap in his teeth. In truth, dog comes via cargo. Very scared; shaking like a vibrator for quite some time. Warms up to hubby and wife. Children in bed; do not see dog.

In morning, children discover there is a new dog. Children come downstairs, with an expression of being awestruck -- the same expression when mother brought new babies home from the hospital. Youngest child explains to the other two, "This is Max. He's the dog from the computer. HE'S FAMOUS!!!"

Children elated; parents elated; puppy elated.

No pets were hurt for the re-telling of this story.

Max asked me to share with you his new motto in life: PEEING IS BELIEVING.

Max also told me to tell you people that my friend Randi is very funny (read her blog and you will see what I mean). When sent a photo of Max that is different (in which Max's fur is a little wilder looking) than the one in the last post, Randi said, "He's adorable. If you put a stick in him, you could use him as a mop!" Max thought this was a very funny line, and came up with this retort: "If Pearl's hubby would've have gotten a chihuahua as he suggested they get, he could've put a stick in the chihuahua and used him as a squeegee!"

The Dog Formerly Known As Snoopy

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Just as that purple-rained Prince changed his name, so did this dog. Or at least, so did his new owners.

This dog is hereby to be recognized as "MAX, formerly known as Snoopy."

Okay, I know...that's a mouthful of a name -- for a dog, or even for a person, were that to be the case. So I guess the dog's owners will let you shorten his name to simply "MAX."

I'd been talking with the new owners when they were trying to decide on a name and they came up with some lengthy list, let me tell you. Yes, Max topped the list, but Einstein wasn't too far behind. And it was some five-year-old Einstein of a kid who came up with the name Max!

I think that kid knows a Max when he sees one...

Max has an interesting tail of his own to tell you, but he asked me to tell you that right now he's getting a comb-over at the groomer, along with a nice bubble bath...followed by a not-so-nice visit to a veterinarian. He will have to get back to you with his story.

In the meantime, maybe the blogging community can give Max and his new owners a "Muzzle Tov" and together dance a "Canine-a-hora"!

My [Blogging] Neighborhood Revisited

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Okay, and now for the serious part of the show, folks.

Yes, I wrote that cutesie post before this one, but my original plan for that post had been to make it a serious one, another one of my introspections, if you may. But I guess the humorous side wanted to make an appearance before the serious side did.

So going back to that neighborhood...

I often wonder how the heck I end up corresponding with several bloggers time and again, with some of them more often. What is it that draws us together?

I'm not stupid. I realize that if I in fact did live in a real-to-life community amongst all the bloggers I named in the previous post, I probably wouldn't be friends with many of you, and vice versa. What do we truly have in common?

So many of us are ages apart; I have young children, you have young-adult children or married children , as well as grandchildren. So many of us are at different stages in our lives; some are settled in their cities and in their jobs, while others are still out there, searching for whatever it is they are searching for.

On the religious totem pole we vary; as a result of that variation, I wouldn't even be able to eat in some of your homes; you wouldn't necessarily want to visit me on a Friday night or Saturday, either.

So what is it that draws us together? We're not so anonymous anymore and we've shared inside secrets. Are we just the equivalent of speakers and listeners in this blogosphere? Does that spatial distance in the cyber world work as a shield, allowing us this free contact. Would we normally tell each other these things out there in the real world, do you think?

I continue to be fascinated by questions such as these. And I invite you to ponder them with me.

Zen Judaism

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Zen Judaism:The Jewish Approach to Zen

If there is no self, whose arthritis is this?

Be here now.
Be someplace else later.
Is that so complicated?

Drink tea and nourish life.
With the first sip... joy.
With the second... satisfaction.
With the third, peace.
With the fourth, a danish.

Wherever you go, there you are.
Your luggage is another story.

Accept misfortune as a blessing.
Do not wish for perfect health or a life without problems.
What would you talk about?

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single "oy."

There is no escaping karma.

In a previous life, you never called, you never wrote, you never visited. And whose fault was that?

Zen is not easy.
It takes effort to attain nothingness.
And then what do you have?
Bupkes.

The Tao does not speak.
The Tao does not blame.
The Tao does not take sides.
The Tao has no expectations.
The Tao demands nothing of others.
The Tao is not Jewish.

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Forget this and attaining Enlightenment will be the least of your problems.

Let your mind be as a floating cloud.
Let your stillness be as the wooded glen.
And sit up straight. You'll never meet the Buddha with such rounded shoulders.

Be patient and achieve all things.
Be impatient and achieve all things faster.

To Find the Buddha, look within.
Deep inside you are ten thousand flowers.
Each flower blossoms ten thousand times.
Each blossom has ten thousand petals.
You might want to see a specialist.

To practice Zen and the art of Jewish motorcycle maintenance, do the following: get rid of the motorcycle.
What were you thinking?

Be aware of your body.
Be aware of your perceptions.
Keep in mind that not every physical sensation is a symptom of a terminal illness.

The Torah says," Love thy neighbor as thyself."
The Buddha says there is no "self."
So, maybe you are off the hook.

The Buddha taught that one should practice lovingkindness to all sentient beings.
Still, would it kill you to find a nice sentient being who happens to be Jewish?

Though only your skin, sinews, and bones remain,
though your blood and flesh dry up and wither away,
yet shall you meditate and not stir until you have attained full Enlightenment.
But, first, a little nosh.

TMI Syndrome

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Oh. My. Gosh. I discovered recently that this ailment/syndrome that I suffer from has a name: TMI Syndrome.

I know I'm not alone in my suffering; there are countless others afflicted with this ailment, some of whom admit it, others who prefer to look the other way.

All my life I recognized the symptoms, but did not put a formal name to them. If given a symptoms checklist, I'd probably have to tick off YES for almost every question.

Does your stomach clench oftentimes for no apparent reason? YES.

Does your brain sometimes feel like it's working in overdrive, like a computer that just wants to spew out a lot? YES.

Do your cheeks flush at these times? YES.

Do you tend to be impatient at times? YES.

Do you sometimes stumble over your words as you're speaking? YES.

Do you sometimes suffer from feelings of guilt and regret? YES.

Do you seek attention? N/A

Do other people enjoy your company? N/A

Okay, the stupid checklist goes on and on and sometimes gets just a tad too personal -- asking me questions I prefer not to answer, giving me statistics I didn't ask for!

But yes, I suffer from the TMI Syndrome, the Too Much Information Syndrome.

Shall I tell you how it began...? No?

Shall I tell you why I think I suffer from it...? No?

Shall I tell you when the syndrome seems to peak? No?

Shall I tell you anything? No?

So why the heck are you here visiting me? Oh...so you saw the header and you liked that...and then you liked the cartoon that I posted...and you needed somewhere to hang out for the afternoon...and you thought I might provide some good recipes for low-fat snacks...and you were hoping that you might catch a sexual innuendo comment from some weirdo type...and you like the name of my blog...

Um, you know, my lunch break is over. I really have to go now. Yeah, okay, sure you can tell me about your family some other time.

NOT.

By the way, I've met some others also suffering from the syndrome, and we've given ourselves nicknames. I had to choose from Chatty Cathy (TM), Princess Loquaciousness, STREAMOFCONSCIOUSNESS, Detailz, Miss Talk-a-Lot. I opted for none of the above, and just went with Pearl. That's really how I'm known best.

Lost in Translation

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I was just thinking -- at 12:45 a.m. thereabouts -- that words and expressions sound so different, have a different impact, if you say them in English or if you say them in Yiddish or Hebrew.

I'm used to saying, "Thank G-d", yet I know countless others who say, "Baruch Ha-Shem."

I'm used to saying, "G-d willing" while others say, "Im yirtze Ha-Shem."

These expressions sound vastly different when spoken by me; they mean the same thing in either language, so why does my version not sound as holy?

Sometimes there is just no way to properly translate an expression; just think of all the Yiddish curses that exist. They just don't have the same impact on the ear witness when spewed in English.

Another case: when I was about 8 years old, I helped name our neighbor's cat. I suggested "Chatul," which simply enough means "cat" in Hebrew. Sure, I wouldn't have dared suggest naming the striped orange tabby "Cat"--that would have sounded too much like something out of an early days grade-school reader featuring Dick, Jane, Cat , Dog. But "Chatul"--that had a certain je ne sais quoi to it....and it worked until the cat ingested rat poison in a nearby plaza parking lot. Then the cat was dead, finis, mort, muerto, niftar in any language!

If you can think of several other common Jewish expressions that are used, throw them out. If you know some and don't share them, it would be a shame...a shande. Hmmm, shande is too impactful there. I'll settle for "a shame"!

Girls Will Be Girls...and That Sometimes Means Cruel

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I've blogged before about watching girls behave like their mothers-- catty, snooty, cliqueish. But those were little girls I was talking about. Seven-year-old girls who behave that way from kindergarten onwards, as I've witnessed.

Today I saw grade 8 girls in action. There was a girls' shabbaton being hosted at my shul for seudat shlishit. These were girls from my children's school, so I've seen some of them over the years I've been affiliated with the school, watched them grow up in the past 6 years.

True, some of these 13 and 14 year olds look like my eight-year-old daughter, ie. that petite, small in body and just little-girl-like. Others look like well-developed young women of 17 or 18 with a flare for fashion and hairstyles.

I watched how they grouped together, most of them in threes and fours, as they sat in shul for mincha and maariv. Yet there was one lone girl, intent on her davening, and pretending, I'm sure, to ignore the fact that nobody was sitting with her. I HURT FOR THIS GIRL. I HURT BADLY FOR THIS GIRL.

I know she is one of the very bright ones in the school, and yes, her brains will carry her far in life. But socialization is rather important, too, and it's hard to have one without the other.

It was so clear to me who were the nice kids in this group, who were the snooty kids in this group and who were the hot-cold kids in this group. And then it was so clear to me who was the ostracized ONE in this group.

I had flashbacks to my school years, to the bright kid, quiet kid, friendly kid, who was a loner, and not necessarily by choice. To the kid who sometimes was afraid to raise her hand in class and answer because then she might be taunted as "teacher's pet" or "browner".

But that same kid was made stronger in a way because of her "position" in the school's totem pole, somewhere at the bottom. And that same former kid is proud that her daughter is sociable and happy and well-liked. Yet that former kid makes it a point to teach said daughter that those attributes are not enough; foremost, she must be NICE...to everyone.

I hope that in 5 years, G-d willing, when my daughter is in grade 8 at a shabbaton, there will be mothers looking around the room of girls and assessing this assembly of females. They will notice my daughter in the group, will think to themselves, "She looks like a nice girl" and many of them will be able to add, "Not only does she look like a nice girl, I know she is a nice girl!"

Such is a mother's wish.

The Shabbos Queen

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A few weeks ago, Mirty posted a picture -- that has sat at the back of my mind ever since. It inspired this poem, which I just wrote in the past hour.

Wishing you all a good Shabbos.

The Shabbos Queen

She shakes out the
crisp, cream linen,
placing it on the cherrywood tabletop.

Unfurling and spreading its edges
and smoothing out
its fine wrinkles,
she steps back to admire
her handiwork.

A set of silver salt-and-pepper shakers
come next --
a wedding gift from
years ago.

Silver, yet tarnished,
it’s difficult to make out
the filigreed S and P.

Perhaps this Shabbos, like an earlier one,
a little pepper will mistakenly do a dance with a little salt –
the Lambada, the “forbidden dance” --
atop our challah slices.

The olivewood challah board
with its jagged-ridged knife
have their place in the right-hand corner
of this table --
two sesame-seed-sprinkled challah buns
warm from the oven
soon to take their place
atop the board.

The bottle of grape juice

holds center court,

surrounded by little silver soldiers all lined up.

And nearby, on a smooth melamine-wooded surface

sits an elongated tray, a modern piece of art that doubles as a wedding gift.

Atop that tray, standing tall and proud,
are Shabbos candlesticks: the parents and the children.
The parents, a wedding gift from the man of the house,
bought in New York’s Brooklyn,
where the silver is grand.

The children, a smaller set,
identical twins to the parents,
bought in Toronto,
where the silver is elegant sterling.
The smaller set, a gift from the man of the house,
upon the birth of a second child.

These four candlesticks and another lone candlestick
warm to the sights and sounds of Shabbos,
each one glowing happily.

Reflected in their flames is the holiness --
the transformation of everyday to special day.

The Shabbos Queen sits back, admires the scene and smiles.

Her blessings are bountiful.

What's My Name?

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Not that my posts always have anything worth repeating, but I'm curious: if it ever comes up that you read something I wrote and you like it very much and you think it bears repeating to family and friends, how do you bring up the blog?

Do you say, "I read something today on Pearlies of Wisdom, a blog...."?

Do you say, "TorontoPearl wrote something about..."?

Do you say, "This blogger from Canada..."?

Do you say, "Pearl said..."

I try not to talk too much about fellow bloggers, but if I do, I use a descriptive tag such as "______, the doctor blogger from Milwaukee" or "__________, the one in California with the parrot" or "_____________, this very funny blogger who's related to __________ in Toronto."

For over a year, my kids have heard me blog-name drop and already know whom I'm speaking about when I bring up the name.

I don't exclusively want to be known for my blog's name or my signing name. To have walked into a room several months ago, introduced myself and a short while later hear a person exclaim in recognition, "Oh, so YOU'RE TorontoPearl...!" meant something for me then: it meant that I was being read and identified with my blog.

But these days, I'd much rather just be known for "Pearl said..."

"Who's Pearl?"

"Someone who writes rather well..."

WEATHER or Not You Like It

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Today is January 18... Supposed to be the middle of winter, right? I live in Canada, right? One would expect snow, right? One would expect to have to shovel his/her sidewalk and driveway, and then salt or sand it for good measure, right?

One would expect to wear snow boots, and parka, and scarf and hat and mitts, right? One would expect to go outdoor skating, sledding, cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, downhill skiing, snowboarding, snowtubing, right?

Did anyone tell Mother Nature that?

Oh, yeah? And she didn't want to listen for the last few weeks?

Christmas/Chanukah was raining. New Year's was raining. The last few days were raining. People walked with open umbrellas, preventing the rain from dousing them. Today I saw a most weird sight: a child being walked to school by a parent, the child in a ski jacket and snowpants and boots, and holding open an umbrella. Nope, I did not see any snow that would require that attire, but I did see rain...and lots of it.

But then, I think Mother Nature has finally taken the hint. I hear the wind howling through the eaves of the house, whipping tree branches around, and I see snow...coming rapidly down, as if to make up for lost time. "I've been missing winter, I've been missing winter. I must hurry now, and I must compensate for not being here earlier," says Winter silently.

Mother Nature just grins her quirky grin and thinks to herself:

"Today a winter snowstorm. Tomorrow...SOME RAIN!"

The Anatomy of an Acronym

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A few months ago, if my memory serves me correct (and PLEASE correct me if I'm wrong and it wasn't him), PsychoToddler decided that his commenters should make phrases from the letters they need to copy from word verification in order to leave comments.

It was a wonderful idea...albeit a short-lived one. At the time, the commenters, myself included, left phrases that had to do with the topic of the particular post. They were spontaneous, they were funny, they were almost a bonus to the post and to its comments.

Maybe I can resurrect that practice here. "If you will it, it is no dream." (Okay, so I'm a day late in quoting that...)

So please, if you may, spell out a phrase with the verification letters you see whenever commenting, and the wackier the better. Perhaps in time an entire post will be devoted to THE PEOPLES' FAMOUS PHRASES.

I'll start, so check out the comments section.

Edited Out...or Gotta Wipe That Egg Off My Face

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Last month I posted about having been contacted by a writer for the Philadelphia Inquirer who was interested in my comments/thoughts about after-hour services, ie. salons, because of an article she was writing. She had stumbled across a post of mine from earlier in the year in which I stated that after-hours services in every realm should be available.

Okay, I prepped you, I prepped me...and I forgot about the article and when it would be in print. I got into work today, saw the note I'd left for myself with the January 15th date and went over to the newspaper's Web site, expecting to see my name, Web site name and comments somewhere within the article.

No, no and no. I did not make an appearance after all. Perhaps the journalist took a different path to write her piece, perhaps my cameos were edited out.

But it's somewhat of another lesson for me in DON'T SPEAK BEFORE IT HAPPENS. My parents tried to train me in that area when I was young -- "Don't tell anyone we're going away, 'cause we might not"; "Don't tell anyone we're getting a new car" -- and I've tried to train myself of that as I grew up. It's difficult to curb enthusiasm at times and that's why we let things slip.

When a children's picture book manuscript of mine was accepted for publication a few years ago, I was THRILLED and knew that people would be equally thrilled, so I told several. I got congratulatory e-mails and cards and....THEN NOTHING. The publisher ran into financial difficulties, and sadly (for them and I), had to drop my project. Yes, it was beyond my control; yes, the absence of my appearance in the Philly Inquirer article was beyond my control; yes, not ending up going on a particular trip when I was young was beyond my control. Many things are beyond are control, so...perhaps it's just better to announce, to explain and to talk AFTER the fact.

So I thank you for all your previous enthusiasm and mini applause when I excitedly told you about my forthcoming appearance in the Philadelphia newspaper, but next time I'll just let you hold that applause till AFTER the performance. In that way, "Brava, brava" and "Encore, encore" will mean so much more.

"Calendar Girl" by Neil Sedaka...and "One Week" by The Barenaked Ladies

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I was thinking the other day of music...like usual...and thought about how many song titles feature names of the months or days of the week in the titles. Here is a selection for you, and if you could supply any song titles for the missing months, that'd be great!


CALENDAR GIRL
January -- still up for grabs
February -- "February Stars" by the Foo Fighters
March -- still up for grabs
April -- "April Love" by Pat Boone
May -- still up for grabs
June -- "June Is Bustin' Out All Over" from "Carousel"
July -- "Cold Day in July" by the Dixie Chicks
August -- "August 7, 4:15" by Jon Bon Jovi
September -- "September" by Earth, Wind and Fire
October -- "When October Comes" by Barry Manilow
November -- "November Rain" by Guns 'n Roses
December -- "December 1963" by The Four Seasons

ONE WEEK

Monday -- "Manic Monday" by The Bangles
Tuesday -- "Tuesday Afternoon" by The Moody Blues
Wednesday -- "Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M." by Simon & Garfunkel
Thursday -- "Thursday" by Jim Croce
Friday -- "Thank G-d It's Friday" by Love & Kisses
Saturday -- "Another Saturday Night" by Sam Cooke/Cat Stevens
Sunday -- "Pleasant Valley Sunday" by The Monkees

"Hey, Look Me Over..."

Blogroll Me!

Some of the more recent and interesting searches that brought you here:

* bodek bugs Jewish law lettuce [Just a lot of roughage -- um, I mean rubbish!]

* girl wisdom tooth removal age [Huh? Do we girls differ in this area, too?]

* new grandparents and annoyed son-in-law [I don't doubt it...I think we experienced some of that too, in its time!]

* mid-life crisis inspirations [I should Google that myself and see what inspires me.]

* wisdom about lies [Does that mean that liars are smart people?]

* naches high school [What about naches preschool? I think of that every Friday when my little senior kindergarten kid brings home his work and art projects from the week.]