In Need of Serious Davening/Praying...

Someone very dear and close to our family is in need of your prayers...and everyone else who can put in a good word with Hashem/G-d.

She wasn't feeling well for a couple of weeks, was taken to emergency on Sunday, was diagnosed on Monday, and underwent serious surgery on Tuesday.

The prognosis is not very positive...

Please daven for Liora bat Leah.

Billy Preston Sings the Real Version

Link to Billy Preston doing the song, "Nothing from Nothing" -- that song title AND FOOD were the inspiration for my last post.

Billy Preston Sings "Noshin' from Noshin' Leaves Noshin' "

Good morning, blogging world. Wake up!! It's January 1, 2008!

Happy New Year, whether or not you actually go out and celebrate the changing of the calendar page. Yes, many of us follow the Jewish calendar, but we live in a secular world, and we incorporate the two worlds. Rosh Hashanah in the fall season and New Year in the winter season.

There was a time -- long, long ago -- when I'd go out and mark the date with friends/family and a party, but I'm an old married lady. I work 9-5, I'm tired, I have 3 kids, I'm an old lady...I don't always hear the striking of the clock at midnight. Last night, I was exhausted, and went to bed at 11:45.

What kind of holiday spirit is that? Not even wanting to peek around the corner to the New Year. I'd rather peek at what's behind my eyelids in the land of Nod.

But even without official celebrating, I celebrate...just like countless others do.

HOW?

By buying lots of nosh food to mark the last few hours of the year.

An aside: Huh, what's up with that? People make
resolutions to lose weight with the start of the New Year, but they're stuffing
their faces in the final hours of the old year?!

They shouldn't be eating, they should parked on
treadmills and rowing machines and body balls doing the right thing, and getting
a head start on their resolution.

But back to my story -- like Seinfeld's famous episode,
with a slight twist -- "It's a story about NOSHIN'..."

I got to the supermarket at about 4:00 p.m. (having gotten out of work early) and it was a madhouse. Of course, people need to stock up their rations for New Year's Day, when the supermarkets are closed. But first and foremost, they are stocking up for New Year's Eve!

I looked into shopping carts (you can tell a lot about people that way) and saw: dips, and crackers, and fruits, and vegetables, and frozen foods -- perfect for appetizers -- and multiple baked goods, and chips and other snack food, and pop, and bottled water, and ice cream, and....

I looked into my shopping cart and saw: a sushi tray, a large (just-stick-it-in-the-oven-and bake) pizza, a bag of cheese curls, a bag of barbecued tortilla chips, a tray of six rainbow-sprinkle doughnuts, a couple bags of nacho chips...oh, and two packages of cold cuts (a ration for New Year's Day).

No, no...these nosh items were not meant for me (okay, maybe a few nibbles here and there), but foremost for my children...who like treats and nosh food just as much as the next kid (and their mother!).

So laden down with nosh and a couple of rented DVDs, we prepared to greet the strike of midnight. Only, it was solely the kids who did that while watching "Hairspray"; their elders were snoring like chainsaws...

I guess the moral of this post is that this coming December 31st, when you look at what you're serving or eating that evening, and you realize that a lot of it is junk food, you'll....

...remember Pearl and her story about "NOSHIN' "! And then you'll say, "Okay, the diet starts tomorrow!"

With a Nod to Carol Burnett

"I'm so glad we had this time together

Just to have a laugh or sing a song

Seems we just get started and before you know it

Comes the time we have to say 'So long.' "

So long, 2007.

Here's lookin' at you, 2008.

I'll be good to you; will you be good to me?

Fellow bloggers: may your 365 days of 2008 be filled with sunshine and sparkles, blessings and good fortune, good health and good friends.

...And Now a Word From Quinn Cummings

Being in the publishing arena for so many years, I know all about copyright laws, but I was faulty in acquiring any publishing permission from Quinn Cummings to repeat her words of wisdom about blogs in general. Forgive me, Quinn, but I found some reality in your words and want to share those words with my few readers. In fact, her post moved me to tears, and apparently it did so for some of her other readers, too. So at least, I'm not the only softie...

(What I'd really like to say -- but can't -- is that this brilliant writer "took the words out of my mouth"!)

...There is something about the
nature of a journal which makes it ideal for measuring and noting the time while
you wait for something to happen, and so many of you are writing about, and
living with, such challenging situations. My blog readers are living with
cancer, infertility, sick parents and sick children. It’s not all bad. You are
also living with new babies, new grandbabies, new marriages and new kitchens,
all of which are also carefully recorded. Some days, things are good. Some days,
they’re not. On the bad days, my readers of faith pray and write about their
comfort from that. On the bad days, my readers of less-than-faith find their
friends and their snack food of choice and write about their comfort from that.
But you blog-writers keep writing.

You write in frustration on
the days your teenage bipolar son has a bad reaction to his medication. You
write on the days they put your mother into a nursing home. You write on the
days they euthanize your beloved pet. You write in bad times, I suspect, for the
same reasons I do: because it helps you think, and while you don’t want to slip
completely under the warm water of self-pity, a few sympathetic words would feel
awfully nice. And every time I see how many people are out there, sitting in
their houses, reading the blogs of complete strangers and cheering them on, I
realize again what a strangely disconnected and oddly intimate thing a blog
is.

So, here’s my wish for my
readers in this last blog of the year. Whatever good thing you are waiting for,
I hope you get. I hope whatever thing you have struggled with this year
improves. I hope you get your one-year chip, your remission, your baby, your
house. If your wish is for a book deal, I hope you get that, along with a few
copper-bottomed pots to scrub while you think.

Happy 2008 and peace to all
people on earth.

New Traditions

It is almost Christmas Eve. Almost Christmas Day.

The city is festooned with decorations and lights. The stores are filled with bustling crowds doing last-minute shopping. The liquor stores and supermarkets are overflowing with harried customers who consult their lists in hand.

The holiday music has been "adorning" the airwaves for close to one month. Normally I don't mind the music and have my own "favorites"...but this year I just seemed to be more aware of it...and actually tired of the music, and of those normally middle-of-the-road, adult contemporary stations who have now been playing Xmas music, 24/7 for several weeks. How many versions of "Ava Maria" are there? How many Jewish composers and singers have been making a mint off these holiday songs?

What is the stereotype activity for Jews to do on Xmas Eve or Xmas Day?

I think that going out for Chinese food has always seemed to top the list. Where and when did that originate, I wonder?

Then, for Jewish singles, there are always singles dances and parties held on those famous dates. Or open house parties for which the whispered address spreads like wildfire.

There are movies to be seen...but don't make the mistake of trying to see a late show, because there usually aren't any on those two dates.

There is the "Let's rent a movie and order in pizza" option.

There is the "Let's go ice skating" (lucky if a public rink is open) option.

Of course, there are the MIAMI BEACH/CARIBBEAN CRUISE/MEXICO/ISRAEL/NEW YORK CITY options for those who can afford to take the time and money to do those things.

But for people like us, there is a new option; the replacement for the Chinese food/movie/singles dance/house party/video/skating/big travel plans ( "I think not!") is.......

....travelling to Niagara Falls to go for a night or two to the hotels that offer a waterpark package for families. It's rather reasonable, certainly fun, less than a 2-hour drive from Toronto, bordering the U.S. border (just in case we want to head to Buffalo and vicinity to do some power shopping. We have a pretty good and strong dollar these days).

We took this trip a couple years ago, thought it to be great fun. Apparently, many others have discovered this quick getaway too, because we know several families (10 young families from one neighborhood congregation booked off 10 rooms at one resort hotel) who are marking Niagara Falls on the GPS and are heading there tomorrow and on Monday.

If we're driving on the highway tomorrow, I'm pretty sure that I'll look over at a couple other vehicles and will know someone in them or will see a few "kippa people" heading in the same direction.

So contrary to this YouTube link that I will leave you with, I think that there is something "for a Jew to do."

Costco Observations

It is rare for me to go to Costco or any of these humongous warehouse type city stores. I'm not partial to crowds, and honestly, I don't need corporate size stacks of cleaning supplies or canned goods. I am known to be most practical, aka the coupon queen, so my spending habits in supermarkets are rather tame. But let me loose in Costco and I might go haywire!

The other night my husband and I went -- primarily to get new tires for my car and to have them put on. In the meantime, while waiting, of course we went into the store and spent several hundred (some of them unnecessary) dollars! Some were frivolous buys, others were practical. But the truth is that for some things, Costco is not a great "metziah"; any local supermarket or department store offers better sales, even on individual items that you'll buy multiples of in lieu of one bulk item. Just ask me; I know these things.

It is most interesting to enter a Costco at the start of the holiday season and see the carts filling up fast and the holiday fever in the air. I take the time to see what people are buying and imagine scenarios in which they'll share these purchases.

Gigantic bags of frozen shrimp were in many carts. As was bottled water. As was toilet paper.

Hmmm...eating too much shrimp makes you thirsty, I guess...and then you need to go to the bathroom.

I saw people with industrial size bags of frozen french fries, ketchup cans, mayonnaise bottles, bagged lettuce, and I figured they own restaurants and buy supplies here at a supposedly cheaper cost.

Italian fruit cakes, packages of chocolates, electronic gadgets, games tables, jewellery piled up in shopping carts. Someone will be most happy this Xmas.

For our family, the Kosher meat section is ideal and we're lucky to have 2 full-size stand-up freezers and two fridge freezers in which to store the chicken and beef that we bought. But in all honesty, for many of the other great Kosher items that are offered in bulk for fridge and freezer, I wouldn't be able to store all the merchandise. So I left it in the store for someone else to buy.

So, I guess the moral of this post is: shop wisely (which is not necessarily a Costco thing), and if you are at Costco, amuse yourself by observing others and imagining how they use the merchandise they buy.

Have a good Shabbos.

Erev Shabbos

...with a walk down memory lane...

TO THE DISCO

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IptifK7eLvw

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vw6F3Sf-PGw

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_hz2am90Hk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y0ZG4lTmIu0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hZcY5vxLbpA

...and for fun...from The Animaniacs: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjOePNFRFRU

Good Shabbos, everyone!

Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About PEZ (tm)...and More

I just stumbled upon this website http://www.collectingpez.com/.

I can't believe what kind of PEZ culture is out there -- you want to be able to differentiate between an authentic PEZ dispenser and a fake one, check out the site; you want to know how to properly load your PEZ dispenser, check out the site; you want to buy a glass display or a wooden display case/shelf for your PEZ collection, check out the site...

I'm sure we've all had our fun with those dispensers in our childhood and youth. How many of you got your fingers caught in those little spring-loaded traps? How long could you make those little candies last? Not long, I bet. "I'll have just one more," was no doubt your popular refrain.

Check out the site... It'll make your day just that much sweeter as you walk down Nostalgia Lane.

The Brainy Detective

I was thinking about my last post and realized that my son must've thought of Peter Sellers -- not as Hrundi V. Bakshi in "The Party" but as the famous Pink Panther himself, Inspector Jacques Clouseau.

I guess the kid figures that if you've seen one mustache you've seen 'em all.

And now a great line from "The Party":

C. S. Divot: You
mashuga!
Hrundi V. Bakshi: I am
not your sugar.

A Case of Mistaken Identity

Bli ayin hara, my kids are pretty bright -- each has his/her own strengths -- and know a little about a lot...and sometimes a lot about a lot!

So I thought that perhaps my youngest son might know who the man was in the photo that I showed him.

"Do you know who this is?"

He nodded his head from side to side.

"No? You don't know who it is? I thought you might." (naive me thinks that everyone ought to recognize Einstein)

After a brief pause, he shrugged his shoulders and stated in a questioning way, "Peter Sellers?"

That cracked me up; he doesn't know Einstein, he knows Peter Sellers. A couple days earlier he'd watched the brilliant Peter Sellers movie, "The Party."

I guess my 7-year-old son knows that Peter Sellers is a man with countless disguises. But I'm not sure that brilliant mathematician is one of them!

416-756-6000

Is that my telephone number?

No. It's the number of North York General Hospital.



For the past 18 months or so I've had a very close relationship with that phone number. If it shows up on our phone display without my expecting it to, my stomach clenches and I prepare myself for the caller and the news on the other end.

Earlier this year I would ask people to daven for my father, who was in hospital.
Early last year I would ask people to daven for my father, who was in hospital.
I stopped telling people in the blogosphere about my hospital knowledge.
About my knowledge of ambulances and emergency rooms.

I don't even want to say about my knowledge of other city hospitals, other hospital phone numbers over the years.

My father spent nearly 3 weeks in hospital in March 2006.
He was in hospital between December 2006 and March 2007.
He was in hospital for a few days in May 2007.
He was in hospital for 10 days in July 2007, missing his grandson's bar mitzvah and family celebration in the course of events.
He was in hospital for 10 days in August 2007.
He was in and out of emergency about three times over the course of a week a couple of weeks ago.
A few days later he was back in emergency and was admitted.
He was in hospital for a week.
He came home on a Friday afternoon.
He was back in emergency on the Monday. He was admitted on Tuesday.
My father is in hospital once again.

We have to find some humor in all of this. Someone I'd met in the emergency room in March 2006 asked if my dad was a "frequent flier" at the hospital. Not too long ago I told someone that with all my father's accumulated "airmiles" at the hospital, he could've already travelled around the world and back.

Maintain your health, be thankful if it's good, enjoy your families and friends...and be extra-nice to doctors and nurses.

I hope none of you have to know hospital phone numbers off the top of your head!

My father's name is Yaakov Arieh ben Chaya Malka.

A little bit of davening on his behalf might just be the medicine he needs.

Thank you.

From Our (Dog)House To Yours...

...Chag Sameach. Happy Chanukah!

Tagged at 8

I've been tagged by Fancy Maven...

8 passions in my life

My husband

My three kids

Our dog

My parents

My siblings

Writing

Editing

Music

8 things to do before I die

Publish a children's book

Sing at a piano bar alongside the pianist

Tell some people what I REALLY think of them

Organize family photos

Improve my confidence level

Go back to Saint Maarten, where I honeymooned

Visit Paris and Switzerland with my daughter

Share hugs and kisses a little more frequently

8 things I often say

Love ya

You're such a schnauzer

Ciao babe

Hi booba

How many times do I have to say the same thing!

I can't find my cell phone -- it's SOMEWHERE in my purse

I'm going to tell your Abba

II'll be there in a few minutes...

8 Books I read recently

{How embarrassing that I haven't been reading recently, lately, in the not too distant past, either!}

8 songs that mean something to me

It Had to be You

A Whole New World

Aishet Chayil

Those Were the Days

Dust in the Wind

Time After Time

In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

Papa, Can You Hear Me?

8 qualities I look for in a friend

Non-judgemental

Sense of Humor

Family-oriented

Good sense of humor

Sense of adventure

Sensitive

Compassionate

Similar interests

8 people whom I'm passing this on to...but in case you DON'T want to do the meme, at least come up with 8 reasons why you can't or won't :)

Raggedy Mom

Oriyenta

Here in the Hills

Miriam

Neil F.

Elie

Cruisin' Mom

Marallyn

Remembrance Day -- November 11, 2007

This is a beautiful personal essay I read in today's Toronto Star. I wanted to share it in honor of Remembrance Day, and tip my imaginary hat to all those veterans of WW1, WW2, the Korean War and the war in Afghanistan who have fought, some of them fighting "the good fight" to their ends.

Lest We Forget what Remembrance Day is really about

It's about families who still cry over namesakes they never knew ...

Nov 11, 2007 AM

Harriet Cooper

I always hated my name. Harriet. Not a name you'll find among the most popular girls names.
I never felt it was mine. It belonged to my uncle, Harry, who was killed in World War II.
I got his name for two reasons.

First, in keeping with Jewish tradition, children are named after family and friends who have died to honour their memory.

Second, although my mother and aunts wanted to save his name for a boy, they kept having girls. During her second pregnancy, my mother decided her baby – boy or girl – was going to be named after Harry.

For most of my life, I've worn the name uneasily. How could I remember somebody who died before I was born? Somebody I only knew through a bunch of medals my mother keeps in a drawer and a picture of a fresh-faced soldier, a kid really, in uniform.

My mother never talked about him and I didn't ask, too afraid to stir up painful memories. While I only knew him from a photograph, he was her adored older brother – the only boy in the family.

As I've gotten older, I've become interested in exploring my roots. Harry was one of those roots.
I wanted to know more about the man who gave his life for his country and his name to a niece he would never know.

With Remembrance Day approaching, I called my mother and asked her to tell me about him.
With tears in her voice, she spoke about a quiet, good-looking young man with a sense of humour.

A case of rheumatic fever kept him from completing high school and left him with a heart murmur.

Rather than finish school the next year, he looked for part-time work. He spent his first paycheque on a rose-coloured plate for his mother.

When World War II erupted, Harry enlisted, despite his heart problems. After training, he shipped out to England and then to Italy. My grandparents sent him care packages – cookies, chocolate, cigarettes and gum – which he shared with the civilian families who had even less than he did.

The news of his death came during the High Holidays, when Jewish families celebrate the New Year. Only for Harry, there would never be a new year.

While our conversation left us both in tears, they were tears of relief. My mother finally had a chance to talk about her brother; I had a chance to see beyond some medals and a picture to a real person.

Since then, I've thought about the ways in which my uncle and I are similar – a sense of humour and a belief in giving to others. Even more, I've thought about the ways we are different.
At 20, my biggest concern was doing well at university. His was struggling to stay alive. At 20, I had my whole life ahead of me. At 20, he had six feet of earth in a cemetery in Rimini, Italy, and a Star of David carved into his tombstone, along with the words: "At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will always remember you."

Instead of disliking my name, I'm now proud to share his name. I can only hope he'd be proud of me, too.

This year on Remembrance Day, and every day thereafter, I will honour what is written on his tombstone: I will remember Private Harry Silver of the Loyal Edmonton Regiment, killed in action at age 20, Sept. 20, 1944, in the battle of Rimini, Italy.

My uncle. My namesake.

Harriet Cooper is a Toronto writer and teacher.

The Hollywood Story...about the Writers' Strike

19-Cent Cheques Leave Writers Wanting Change

Nov 04, 2007 04:30 AM

Ken Levine

Special to the Star

Why are Hollywood writers about to go on strike tomorrow? We asked Ken Levine, a Tinseltown scribe and Emmy winner with a near-peerless sitcom pedigree, having worked on Cheers, Frasier, M*A*S*H and The Simpsons. He's also the author of one of the sharper blogs in showbiz: kenlevine.blogspot.com.

I got a cheque recently from American Airlines. A royalty cheque. For the past several years as part of their "inflight entertainment"American Airlines has been showing episodes of Cheers, M*A*S*H and Becker that I wrote along with episodes of Everybody Loves Raymond, Frasier and Dharma & Greg that I directed. Considering the number of flights and years I'd estimate they've shown my shows 10,000 times. My compensation for that: $0.19. That's right – 19 cents (American, so it's even less in Canada.) I figure at that rate, in 147 years I'll be able to buy one of their snack boxes.

An episode of Frasier I wrote is out on DVD. I make nothing. The script is included in a book. I make zilch. Soon you'll be able to download and watch it on your iPod or iPhone at IHOP. The only one who won't make money is "i".

Are you sensing a pattern?

The Writers Guild of America is asking the mega-corporations that own the entertainment industry in America and the galaxy to compensate its members fairly for this highly desired product they create. Just a piece, that's all. More than nothing. And without sounding greedy, more than nineteen cents.

Via-Uni-Time-Corps-Ney would rather have a strike.

I've been through three of them already. Many of the companies I struck are no longer in business. Two-thirds of the people I struck with are no longer in the guild. And unlike actors and directors, when we go out it doesn't just shut down the industry. It slows it. Hair restoration crèmes have faster results.

But as someone who has prospered and enjoyed the gains writers before me have won, I feel it's my obligation to fight the good fight for the next generation. And hopefully in 20 years, when the issue is holograms transmitted directly to the back of viewers' eyelids, WGA members will hang tough for a piece of that pie.

This acrimony between writers and management has been a proud tradition since the 1930s when scribes first rose up and had the audacity to ... well, ask for things. Warner Brothers czar Jack Warner warned that any writer who joined the union would "find themselves out of work forever." And he claimed this wasn't blacklisting because "it would all be done over the telephone." Darryl Zanuck of 20th Century Fox once shouted, "Throw that writer off the lot until I need him again!" Critic David Thomson says Hollywood writers are like divorce lawyers or private eyes. When you want them you have to have them, but later you despise them.
Is it any wonder we "schmucks with Underwoods" have an inferiority complex and assume a defensive posture? We spend our entire careers trying to protect our work from meddling studios, directors, actors, fellow writers, research gurus, networks, and girlfriends of all of the above.

Yes, we're an angry bunch, a self-righteous bunch, but we make 19 cents from American Airlines when management flies in private jets.

I teach a seminar called The Sitcom Room (sitcomroom.com). It's a fun weekend where I simulate the experience of actually being on the writing staff of a network show. Students rewrite scripts, have real actors perform their work, and learn first hand the realities of the business – little sleep, bad Chinese food, notes. But they eagerly participate, because they love the process, they have a need to express themselves, they want to be heard. Not one has said they want to be a TV writer to make money.

And when they finally do enter the industry, who knows what that industry will be? New delivery systems are emerging so rapidly that even the "unthinkable" was obsolete five minutes ago. These young writers will embrace that future, and through their vision and zeal will make it soar. All they're asking for is their fair share. MyPiece, not MySpace. iShare, not iTunes. NetWorth, not NetFlix.

And Now a Word from the Peanut Gallery

I've mentioned this book in a previous post -- The Modern Jewish Girl's Guide to Guilt. It's a wonderful anthology of personal essays exploring various aspects of life and the Jewish woman.
It is funny, and honest, and insightful. I have picked it up, read an essay here and there, then put it down and picked it up weeks later; it's that kind of "pick-me-up" read.

Anyhow, I had the book at work to read over my lunch hour; it was sitting on my desk.

A non-Jewish co-worker passed by, spotted the book, and asked -- in a very Jewish way:

"For that you need a handbook??"

What's with the "Ugh" in Donut?

When I was working in copy editing for the trade publisher, I'd always have to change the spelling of DONUT to DOUGHNUT...adding that "UGH" whenever necessary.

So this correlation was on my mind this morning and the other day as I was driving.

On Saturday night, after 8 p.m., I was driving, came to an intersection, close to a doughnut shop, and spotted a cop car. I wondered if the cop was coming from the shop at that hour. Then I started to wonder what exactly a cop's routine is -- going from doughnut shop to doughnut shop until a call comes in over his radio? He probably leaves white powder sugar as evidence on his own police equipment!

This morning, while driving to work on a rather large and busy main street, I noticed several police cars as I neared an intersection -- three were parked on one side of the road, two were parked on another. I wondered who they'd be busting at 8:15 a.m., having a need for five police vehicles. And then I saw it: the doughnut shop!

And several officers were huddled outside its doors, standing around and talking freely.

My taxpayer's dollars hard at work...

I discovered this on a website, and thought I'd share it with you.

Why Do Cops Like Donuts?

This is a question that has plagued mankind for years. The answer is quite simple.
1. Donuts are relatively inexpensive, so they can be discarded with little guilt, in case of a hot call in the middle of a snack break.
2. In many areas, the donut shop is the only place open 24 hours.
3. Donuts have sugar and carbohydrates, which allow for quick energy. Donuts, coupled with the ever present cup of coffee, help keep the officers awake and alert.
4. Donut shops are usually located in centralized areas, which can be used as a meeting place for briefings between Officers of different agencies or shifts.
5. Donuts are TASTY! Can you think of anyone who DOESN'T like donuts?

There you have it. There is no great mystery as to why Cops and donuts go hand in hand. One word of advice. When the Police Officer asks you,"Have you been drinking? Your eyes are red." Don't reply, "Have you been eating donuts? Your eyes are glazed ."

Shlemazel Mazel Revisited...Yet Again!

The latter part of Sukkot we were hosting and were guests, but the first day lunch we were hosting, so there was much preparing for the large crowd we were having. Being a bit organized this time, I divvied up the meal-making over a few days, just leaving a couple of things to do for Erev Yom Tov, when I came home from work in the early afternoon.

One of those things was making gefilte fish.

No, I'm not such a balebusta that I buy chopped fish or the unthinkable, grind it myself, and make gefilte fish. But I do make the frozen fish loaves, doctoring them up in a flavorful way as they cook.

And I made two loaves. And when it was time to take them out of the pot, I used a couple of utensils to try to balance a loaf at each end. The first loaf didn't cooperate and fell back into the pot. S P L A S H! OUCHOUCHOUCH....! (a stronger expression actually spewed forth from my lips) The water had splashed onto the middle of my hand and on some fingers.

The pain was quite unbearable; after a minute of shock, I ran the hand under cold water and blew on the hand the way our mothers always blew on our "boo-boos" to make them feel better. Still so painful and tingling at the same time, the way skin does when you have "pins and needles" after a foot or a hand falls asleep and you get up to move.

I found some cream to put on the injury -- my domestic "war wound" -- and told my story to my husband and children as they came through the door.

The next day, the area that had been splashed was visibly red, the next day it being worse, and a couple of fingers being swollen. A doctor friend at shul declared it a first-degree burn and told me to continue to apply the Polysporin (TM) cream, which was not a burn cream, but the only one I had at home.

The hand became a conversation piece at shul and in mixed company: "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR HAND?" I tried to put on cream and then wrap it in gauze, but I looked too much like a mummy in that area. (a "mummy mummy") So I continued to keep it exposed.

About a week ago, the skin, which had turned reddish-brown, began to flake and peel and itch like mad...hopefully a sign of true healing.

It is not a pretty sight this hand of mine, but my youngest son noticed something that gave me a bit more perspective of the matter. A couple of days ago, he looked at the area in the middle of my hand that was flaking the most and exposing a new, light pink skin beneath, and he said, "It looks like a heart."

My little boy was right! That main wound is now noticeably in the shape of a heart.

There are some people who are said to wear their heart on their sleeve. Your friend Pearl wears hers on her hand...

I'd hate to think that a large scar might remain on my left hand from this kitchen mishap, but at least I know that the gefilte fish, which was the instigator, was enjoyed by those guests at my meals.

I can imagine it now: "Where did you get that bad scar?"

"Oh...that? From gefilte fish!"

Everything I Ever Needed to Know, I Learned...

...from the Internet!

I even learned something about myself...

Cultured pearls are simply real pearls managed in a semi-controlled environment.