One Never Truly Grows Up

This nearly-300 page book is a funny, yet practical, guide showing moms and dads how to handle adult -- often sticky! -- situations with their grown kids.

You want to be a parent or you want to be a friend? Sometimes it's tough to be either one of those, and you simply play good cop, bad cop.

The book is written by bestselling comedy writer Gail Parent (The Tracey Ullman Show, The Carol Burnett Show, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, The Golden Girls) and psychotherapist Susan Ende. What do you get when you have a comedy writer and psychotherapist giving their advice? Funny/serious conflicts and funny/serious conflict resolutions!

These women advise parents in these areas: Money/ College Years/ Family Rituals, Holidays, Weddings and Divorce/Grandparenting/In-Laws. So many parenting books out in the market today deal with parenting babies, toddlers and teens; they don't go beyond that. Adult children these days have their own set of problems and parents are still parents, trying to help out their children. This book will help those parents along the way.

The book features real questions from real people, followed by Gail's and Susan's answers. Gail's answers are fun and edgy, filled with practical advice; Susan's answers are steeped in psychology and more serious. It's up to the parent reading the book to decide whose advice to follow -- if any.

"Mother Knows Best"/"Father Knows Best" are both familiar expressions. With this book in hand, and the advice given, Mother and Father really will know best.

Joan Rivers, Carol Burnett and Tracey Ullman praised the book, and so do I (if that counts for anything; after all, I am an adult child, too!)

Published by Hudson Street Press, a division of the Penguin Group, How To Raise Your (Adult) Children should be put on your bookshelf beside the family Bible and  the What To Expect... series of books!

On a Day Like Today

I was feeling somewhat nostalgic and quickly just whipped off this poem...

On a Day Like Today

On a day like today --

a cool, overcast and damp fall day

my father would have been standing

alongside my mother

at the kitchen counter,

newspaper pages open and laid out,

paring knives handy,

a pot ready to be filled,

baskets of red juicy apples, handpicked, washed and waiting to be undressed.

Classical music would have played in the background –

Chopin always welcome in our home.

With paring knife in hand, he would have proceeded.

Slipping the tip under the apple’s skin, and peeling, round and round and round,

turning the fruit as he peeled off its red coat in one long strip.

One after another, the apples were left naked.

Cut and cored, seeded too,

then tossed into the pot to await their duty.

For an hour or two, my parents stood there,

 comfortable in the silence,

not needing to make conversation, just doing this task,

that was done many a Sunday in the fall in our home.

Applesauce. They would make applesauce.

Into the pot and onto the stove element went the apples.

On a low flame, for hours at a time, they were stirred, then they simmered.

A touch of sugar added to enhance the natural flavours.

Applesauce. They would make applesauce.

And when the apples had simmered and softened and cooled

they were jarred.

Jar upon jar. Lidded and labeled.

Placed in the basement refrigerator for

each time a jar was called upon,

a jar was needed.

I miss those days.

I miss their applesauce.

At What Point Are We Considered Older?

"Everything old becomes new again."

I'd like to think that about myself, but I don't think it'll be happening anytime soon...unless I get Botox and color my hair and drop quite a number of pounds to get me looking like my teenage daughter does...which is how I once looked.

But this season, when I saw the fashions, I wondered exactly how many times/cycles I'd seen these same fads: faux fur; leopard prints; wedgie-heeled boots, etc. I didn't like those styles then -- whenever then was, whatever decades these styles appeared -- and I certainly don't like them now.

Am I old?

There was a time that I used to love getting the Toys 'r Us flyer to peruse through... once upon a time, I liked seeing what kinds of toys I'd have enjoyed having as a kid. Later on, I would look what I could buy my own three children. These days, I skip to the high tech toys in the flyer, gawk at the price, then recycle the flyer.

Am I old?

I couldn't understand when my dad retired and kept busy  in his later years by going grocery shopping with my mom. They'd examine the supermarket flyers, make lists, and then make an expedition of it, going from store to store to pick up the necessities. I'd always hear of the friends and acquaintances they met in these stores and caught up with. Was that the new social life for them? I'd wonder.

These days, I can't wait for my weekly flyers so that I can peruse the different deals at the stores, assemble my stock of coupons and head out -- usually with no cash, save some coinage, but lots of store credit cards.
I average about 2-3 hours on my multi-supermarket getaways, walking up and down the aisles, looking at the displays, discovering new sales...and basically frittering away valuable time that could be used for household chores. I often run into people I know, stand there catching up while my refrigerated and frozen goods start to thaw. (How many times have I had to go back to the frozen gefilte fish display and exchange a slowly-but-surely defrosting couple of loaves, for newly frozen ones?!)

Am I old?

I was thinking about it the other day and decided I've always been a bit of an "older soul." My nurturing and mothering instincts were evident when I was still quite young, always looking out for other people and worrying about them if they were hurting.

When I was around eight years old and again when I was twelve and thirteen, my family went to Jewish resorts, both in Southern Ontario and in the Catskills. What did I really enjoy doing? Playing shuffleboard! And in the Catskills, I'd go both to teen club and also to adult sing-a-longs that featured American standards geared to a middle-aged and aging population.

From the time I graduated university until about six years ago, I volunteered with a cataloging committee for Ontario Jewish Archives. I brought the average age down by a good thirty-five years. Always the youngest, enjoying doing this volunteer work with seniors.

I was gathered with friends today for a close and longtime girlfriend's 49th birthday. Talk quickly touched on our birthdays next year: our 50th. One friend who turned 50 this year assured us: "It's okay. It's really okay."

No, I have no problems with turning 50; I'm still young looking and think very young. It's just the energy levels and body that ain't what they used to be. But I'm ready to meet that half-century mark -- when I can look both back and ahead.

Will I still ask: Am I old? Or will I  state: "I'm not old. I'm simply....older! ....And lovin' it!"

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It's Not So Much About the Shul Service...

...as it is about the memories.

I realized this Rosh Hashana while standing in shul that our memories of  Rosh Hashanahs and Yom Kippurs and Sukkots and Simchat Torahs are truly significant and help sustain us, embrace us and sometimes add to our praying.

As I listened to the shofar blowing, I thought of my dad in Gan Eden (I have absolutely no doubt in the world that he's way up there!) and thought of past services. I realized that it isn't so much about the praying that I was remembering, but rather what went on after shul.

I remembered families seeking each other out after services were over to gather up and head home. I'd walk down the stairs from the women's gallery and seek my father and brothers out. It was about the 25-minute walk home together, my arm enveloped under my father's arm, or in his coat pocket, and trying to walk with both my parents in one line on the narrow sidewalk. My brothers would be ahead or follow behind, chatting between themselves or other shul friends and family. The stopping off at a neighbor's to wish them a good Yom Tov and a good year. The reaching home and gathering round the table, my parents, brothers and myself, and eating the familiar and traditional foods each year. My father telling the story of standing on line for  a long period of time in the fish market to buy the chopped fish that he would make gefilte fish from. Eating the applesauce and compote or the baked apples that my parents would make a few days before the chag.

(We'd go apple picking, buy a couple bushels to store in the basement's cold cellar over the winter. And as Rosh Hashanah would near, my parents would stand at the counter and peel countless apples -- I was always amazed at my father's speed and ability to pare an apple skin in one long, extended strip. When I started helping them out in peeling apples, I would have finished peeling half an apple by the time that my father peeled three apples.)

It's that family togetherness, the minhagim and the brachot my parents bestowed upon one another and us children that I remember, that warm my heart, as I stand in shul, listen to the sounds of the shofar and pray for my voice/our voices to be heard.

We're Almost at the Finish Line...

So another year is coming to an end.

Has it been a good one for you? I sure hope so.

Was it a meaningful one for you? I sure hope so.

Did you make optimum choices that benefitted you/your family? I sure hope so.

Were simchas part of your social calendar? I sure hope so.

As we approach the new year, let me take this opportunity to wish each and every one of you who mark and celebrate Rosh Hashanah a most sweet, healthy and happy upcoming year: 5771. May you and your families bask in brachot/blessings that lift and carry you through the year. May shalom/peace surround you, Israel, and Jews the world over.

Shanah Tovah to my readers and fellow bloggers.

And as my dear father always said, "May we able to wish each other the same again next year!"

Memories of High Holidays Past...

As the new Communications Chair for our synagogue, it is my duty to assemble the quarterly bulletin that goes out to shul members.

Of course, all the typical items go in: rabbi's message, mazel tovs and condolences, upcoming events, times and dates of the upcoming holidays, and any other important stuff.

I thought it might be nice for the members to contribute to this upcoming issue, and sent out a notice for members to submit memories they have of the High Holidays (Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Simchat Torah) they experienced while growing up.

Unfortunately, there haven't been too many takers, but most of the memories already submitted  are associated with wearing new clothes, family togetherness at synagogue and at the meals, long, drawn-out services.

If I had sent out the call to you, what -- if any -- memories do you have from your distant past, or even not-too-distant past of marking/celebrating the High Holidays in your childhood or teenagehood?

Maybe I'll have more takers via the Internet.... :)

(I will share my memories perhaps in a separate post.)

Fractured Travel Tales

Yes, I'll admit it's been a LONG WHILE since I last blogged. Of course I'm busy reading everyone else's words, but I couldn't seem to find any of my own for blog posts. But I'm back -- in blogland, in my city and in my country.

The past two weeks were spent in the States on the West Coast, on a fly-drive vacation with my hubby and three kids and multiple suitcases.

Travel tip #1: DON'T OVERPACK!!! TRAVEL LIGHT. TRY FOR JUST CARRYON LUGGAGE. I failed on all three counts. In fact, each of us failed on all three counts...thanks to my supposedly wise mom advice. I was wrong, I admit it. Okay, so let's try this trip again, and do it the right way.

Travel tip #2: Bring along your GPS if you're planning a driving or even a walking holiday. We brought along "Kate", our female, English-accented GPS. Now, some women aren't ALWAYS right, and Kate falls into this category, but for the most part, she got us where we had to go, even if she did sometimes prefer to take the scenic route.

Sorry, people, I'm not accustomed to paying for checking in baggage, nor am I accustomed to being denied any snacks on a flight, so these were an eye-opener for me. Or maybe it's just American Airlines pulling that shtick these days...

I was off to a good start (read in sarcastic voice) at the Toronto airport, when I was stopped after my carryon bag went through the X-ray machine. ZIP open went the bag, TOSS out went the jar of Pond's skin care cream, the bottle of hair spritz, and the bottle of face spritz. Okay, so maybe I don't travel often enough and I don't know the ground rules of flying with teeny tiny bottles of toiletries....

Speaking of which, how do I really know that those teeny tiny bottles of shampoo, conditioner or body lotion given to guests in hotel rooms are what they say they are? How do I know that the green, pleasant-smelling stuff coming out of that teeny tiny bottle isn't simply some soap blend that they don't sell in Canada? Am I lathering up my precious locks with soap or shampoo? And who gets to fill those bottles -- or refill the partially used bottles -- in those family-friendly, businessman-friendly or simply luxe hotels? We sampled at least one of each of those types of hotels. The best toiletries were in the family-friendly hotels, hands-down.


So our itinerary consisted of these main locations: Los Angeles, Monterey, San Francisco, Sequoia National Park, Las Vegas, Hoover Dam, Grand Canyon* ( a story in itself), Phoenix. My husband drove over 2200 miles in 16 days to get us where we had to go. He did a mighty fine job, along with Kate coming between me and him in the front seat.

Some observations:

--there are a TON of very overweight people in the U.S.; they don't seem to care how they look
--there are a ton of tattooed people in the U.S.; they don't seem to care how they look
--it seems that the more overweight a person is, the more tattoos they have -- but then again, I guess there's a correlation in that statement: there's more skin to work with if a person is more overweight!
--Israelis are EVERYWHERE; Hebrew is commonly heard in outlet malls, specifically in mall kiosks selling healthcare/beautycare products. I had conversations with several of these Israeli salespeople, who were pleasantly pleased when I started conversations in Hebrew with them
--I didn't have to do any real conversion calculations this trip, as the Canadian dollar is quite close to the U.S. dollar. Years ago, I'd have to stand there and round out numbers and figure out numbers and see if a purchase was worth it.
--Before planning a 4 1/2 hour drive to Grand Canyon, be advised when "monsoon season" is. Our visit was rained out -- make that "STORMED OUT" -- by the time we reached the park, so we turned around without even seeing it. Instead we simply settled for an IMAX film of the Grand Canyon a couple miles down the road

Travel tip #3: Make sure you know how to operate a videocamera for optimum use; don't just point and shoot. Focus, shift, close-up, pan. Do this before day 14 of your 16-day trip.

Travel tip #4: Be certain to bring along chargers for videocamera, all digital cameras and personal computer. Oh ya, and replacement batteries do help.

I'll throw out at you some things we saw and did:
--Warner Bros. studio tour
--Hollywood Blvd./Walk of Fame
--Disneyland
--Skirball Museum
--Venice Beach/boardwalk
--Rodeo Drive
--Cannery Wharf , Monterey
--Aquarium, Monterey
--Fisherman's Wharf, San Francisco
--Golden Gate Bridge
-- tour of Alcatraz Island
-- Chinatown, San Francisco
--lots of uphill and downhill climbs in San Francisco, on foot and in our rental
--Sequoia National Park, General Sherman tree viewing
--Las Vegas lights
--Hoover Dam
--Car Collection, Imperial Palace
--waterfall at Bellagio
--so close to, yet so far from Grand Canyon
--Phoenix Diamondbacks baseball game

Overall, wonderful memories were formed. Wonderful photos and videos (okay, wonderful videos once I learned to properly use the camera!) were taken. Great food was sampled. Fabulous hotel mattresses were slept on. Many majestically beautiful sights were viewed, and then again, some bizarre people/characters were seen!

Great family time was had. And that's what made it the most special.

Poetry in Photos

If it is said that a picture is worth a thousand words,

Where does that leave a wall covered in picture frames of every shape and size...?

Just like the people within the frames.

Young, old, smiling, serious.

Each face tells a story.

Each story touches a heart.

That heart was my father's.

It is these photos he saw both day and night --

When he first opened his eyes in the morning

And when he closed them at night.

It was his wall of naches, his wall of pride.

The generations before him.

The generations after him.

A life well lived.

I looked at that wall today.

The wall between the bed and the dresser,

also covered in frames of every shape and size.

The wall was full.

The bed was empty.

A Poem Written in August 1993

I just found this poem I wrote on Friday, August 27, 1993. (at that point, I was officially engaged for 5 days!)
When I read old poems of mine, I pretty much recall having written them and what was going on at the time. If I recall correctly, this scene took place at a subway or bus station.

She wore one pink shoe,

She wore one white shoe --

She was blind.

I knew. I could tell --

She had a white cane.

She clicked around,

looking for an opening

 to go through.

Click, click. Tap, tap.

Bang, bang --

oops!

A tall blonde approached,

leaned close,

whispered some words.

An arm was extended.

A hand held on.

And they set off.

Click, click. Tap, tap.

A pink shoe

And a white shoe --

Mismatched.

Almost a Slip of the Tongue

I was listening to my younger son practice guitar just now; he recently started lessons and is a quick study in this instrument...thanks to his wonderful memory and an ear for music.

He was trying to figure out a correct starting note and said: "Just a sec."

I was just about to open my mouth and say something and it suddenly hit me just how that something would have sounded: "I have all the secs in the world."

Sometimes it pays to keep your mouth shut!

Rotation

Today I sat at the kitchen table

in front of the black microwave

watching the glass plate within

go round and round.

Three minutes wasn't enough

for the heat to absorb.

I topped it up to six

and watched the glass plate within

go round and round

on the turntable.

I realized I ought to get a life.

To sit and stare at melting wax

in a container on a plate

is no way to discover the world.

I ought to get out and ride the carousel of life.

Pick a colorful horse

or a unicorn

upon which to seat myself

and go round and round

as the sights blur into an ever-changing

kaleidoscope.

Perhaps my horse, like Mary Poppins',

will have a mind of its own,

and will jump off the carousel

to explore the countryside,

bobbing up and down

in a delightful rhythm.

I ought to get out and ride the carousel of life.

(...but in the meantime, I'll just write a poem.)

A Film and Other Stuff

I watched a wonderful, brilliantly acted film tonight on TV -- The Soloist -- starring Jaime Foxx and Robert Downey, Jr. It was released last year at the theaters, and I watched it on a movie channel.

Interestingly enough, just before the movie began, I'd watched Mr. Foxx on American Idol do his mentoring. When the show was over, I channel surfed and came across this wonderful film.

Read about it over here, and rent it if you can. It bridges the topics of friendship, music, talent, mental illness. Wow, what a combination.

AND it's based on a true story.

I did volunteering with mentally challenged adults for several years, and see that mental disabilities come in varying degrees. That was something to keep in mind as I watched this film and saw, not only the Jaime Foxx character, but the secondary characters as well.

The truth is that one never knows what impact one can have on someone else's life...and such is an underlying message to this movie...on both male protagonists' parts.

***********

Something "funny" that I observed today in the supermarket...

A young man walked in. Clearly he was mentally challenged, and began walking through the produce aisles calling, "Stella...Stella." He was looking up and down the aisles, and as he walked away calling the name, I wondered if perhaps I should go and speak to him and ask him who Stella was and if I could help him find her.

At that point, I heard that familiar Marlon Brando-esque yell: "STELLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA..."

Apparently, this man eventually found Stella in another aisle, and they were cajoling with one another, and then later on meeting up with a larger group of young adults.

He found his Stella and I found my smile!

1068

This is my 1068th post, since I began the blog in December 2004.

It's not as if I have much to say this evening, but I liked the idea of writing a 1068th post. What the heck did I have to talk about in the previous 1067 posts, I wonder?

Every now and again -- less seldom these days -- I review my earliest posts. It's interesting to see if and how my writing has evolved; what caught my interest...say in May 2005...as opposed to May 2009; which bloggers responded to my posts in the early days (very few) and who comments now (very few).

I used to blog about not having comments; someone advised me to just keep writing, and they (readers) will come, read and post. Or I was told to comment on other peoples' blogs, and in doing so, people would see my name and perhaps be curious to visit my blog on a sporadic or regular basis... and thus my blog developed.

I write blog posts less frequently these days; I read fewer blogs these days. My interests in reading blogs remains the same: personal stories, family dynamics, medical issues, a typical day in the life of a suburban mom or dad, entertainment trivia, household hints, recipes from the kitchen, religious personal quests. I've never been keen on politics or too taken with current events and religious battles.

Humorous blogs still grab me and sustain me. One recognizes that it's not just a blog post that has humor shine through, but often enough, the volleying of comments that follow are equally...if not more...humorous than the post itself.

I'm hoping that my next blog post -- #1069  -- might offer something more meaty than just my rambling thoughts...but then again, aren't "my rambling thoughts" the basis of pearlies of wisdom after all...?

WIN!

I'm notorious for entering contests...and yes, winning. Not huge prizes, but prizes nonetheless...most often books. I'd love to win a contest based on my talent or my logic and abilities, but I'll take anything. :)

I was just going to enter a contest: SPRING WARDROBE SHOPPING SPREE. I could win one of five $2000 spring wardrobe shopping sprees.

Then I read the fine print: I can enter online until July 2nd, or I can enter by snail mail and the envelope must be postmarked by July 13th. The draw will be held July 15.

HELLO...? The contest is called "Spring Wardrobe Shopping Spree" and the draw date is July 15th. Is that spring...have the seasons been switched around on me?

Come July 15th, I'd be shopping for "back to school/fall" fashions, or snatching up summer finery, which tends to be pushed out the doors of stores and into the mall sidewalk sales, the second week of July.

Will I buy my "spring bonnet" in mid-July? I don't think so.

Hey, Robin Hood company, what were your marketing copywriters thinking of when they planned this contest? Why not just call it "New Wardrobe Shopping Spree" if these are the cut-off dates of the contest?

Nonetheless, I think that on July 15th, my name ought to be drawn and deemed a winner, considering my deep introspection about this contest.

Okay, and if you want me to plant some "spring" flowers to enhance the "spring" wardrobe I'll pick out for myself...so be it!

deMANds

Several years back a fellow blogger threw out a term in private correspondence with me: a man chair/a man bench. This is where he said he could be found when he'd go shopping with his wife...and I don't mean grocery shopping.


When said blogger took a trip down South and his wife decided to hit the shopping malls and discount stores when they reached their destination, he grew tired...and kept a look-out for the familiar "man chair/man bench".


Go to the mall and look around; you see sitting areas? Who is sitting in those areas often? Yup, uh-huh, you got that right! Go into a large department store, specifically to the shoe department. You see that middle-aged man sitting on the chair, holding shopping bags? No, he's not trying on shoes today. He's waiting for his wife and is sitting in a "man chair."


The "man chair/man bench" is not wholly designed for seniors, as one might think. It is an official rest stop for the male persuasion of every shape, color, size or age. I believe many shopping mall designers are men, and when they work out layouts of stores and the mall hallways, they actually should add to their layout map legends little stars that direct you to "man chairs" in the mall. In a store, you're left to fend for yourself, though!


Why do I bring this up now? Well, for the past couple of weeks, I've been frequenting home improvement stores -- Rona, Canadian Tire, Home Depot and Lowe's. (you Americans are probably only famliar with Lowe's, if that) When I have gone on my own in the daytime, I've had a mission. But when I've gone in the evening or on the weekend with my husband, I'm the sidecar passenger, and he's the navigator, knowing what he wants to look at, where it can be found...and usually it's more technical than pretty.


Last weekend we went together to one of these stores; there was an advertised display of bar-b-ques. Ron said to me, "Take a look at who is looking at the display...no doubt it's all men." And it was! No doubt these men were visualizing a cold beer in their hand, a couple of steaks on the grill and some loud get-togethers with buddies. Okay, where were their women during this creative visualization session? Inside the store? Where inside the store? The bathroom...or at the cash register paying for their man's whims?


Well, here's my deMANd! If men are entitled to a "man chair/man bench" in female-frequented places, I think that women are entitled to...a lot more!...in male-frequented places. We don't need a simple chair, we need a kaffee klatch/spa area. C'mon, especially in these home improvement centers! If they can sell indoor Jacuzzis and fancy tubs, let them set up a user-friendly one in a far corner of the store; if they can sell housewares and have kitchen layout designs to look at in the store, let them set up some chairs at a kitchen counter with a coffee machine, and juice maker, and have a male wait on us, bringing us refreshments. A spa service with pedicure/manicure/mini massages (mini, depending on how long your male partner is hanging around the store!) would be ideal too.


I looked around the stores I was in: these "little" items are lacking...and as a result, the female population in these stores is lacking. I believe that if my deMANds would be met, women would be happier, and if the women are happier, the men would be happier too!


Oh, and one more demand: maybe one of those men who was visualizing while standing in front of the bar-b-ques, can actually prepare a steak for me. But hold back on the beer, and make mine a white wine spritzer!

Never Tell Our Business to Strangers...A Memoir

What a catchy title, huh?

In spite of the fact that my parents used to imply I do the same thing -- and not broadcast everything going on in the Adler home -- this memoir is not about me or written by me, but rather, by Jennifer Mascia, a writer for the New York Times.  Jennifer seeks out and shares the story of her life with her parents: a life based on secrets, lies, and even forgiveness. The writing is raw and honest, the feelings depicted seem immediate and within reach.

California, New York, Miami, New York were all "home" to Jennifer...for brief periods of time. She was on the move, because her parents were on the move. Money was abundant, then money was scarce. Jobs were abundant, then jobs were scarce.

When Jennifer was a little girl, the FBI came for her father; he was away from her for quite some time, and then the questions began for her: Where was he? Why was he away from her? And as she grew up, the question became Who is he? And ultimately was followed by a question about her mother: Who is she?

Slowly the truth about her parents trickles out, and Jennifer must confront her family's dark secrets...

Back in 2007, Jennifer wrote a wonderful essay for the New York Times about her past; this past evolved into the book.

Watch this interview on YouTube, as well...

I'm not exactly holding a gun to your head, but I strongly advise you to pick up this memoir; it is published by Villard Books, a division of Random House.

A Blog Post Revisited...

...in honor of Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Memorial Day.

My life has always been entangled with the Holocaust, and as a result, so has much of my poetry.

I just recalled a poem I wrote a few years back. It is a poem in progress, and although it's never been completed, it is time to bring it back up for air today --

--the official Holocaust Memorial Day.

http://wwwpearliesofwisdom.blogspot.com/2006/07/poem-in-progress_10.html

Clever

Last week I updated my status comment on Facebook. It was about smart vs. clever.

The status read: It's nice to be called "smart" but for some reason I really like it when I'm called "clever."

Some people may not see a difference between the two adjectives, but there is...at least for me.

Smart is intelligence, IQ matter. Seemingly black and white.

Clever goes a lot further, I believe. It adapts itself to creativity, problem solving, finding solutions. It deals more with gray matter, reading between the lines, sudden spurts of brilliance that are emitted.

One of my friends commented about my Facebook status. He said, "How 'bout beautiful and sexy?"

Believe it or not, I still think that "clever" can go a lot further than "beautiful and sexy."

But if you wish, you can call me, "beautiful, sexy, AND clever"!

Published Again

The Canadian Jewish News is a weekly newspaper that caters to...you guessed it...the Canadian Jewish community. Each Passover issue features a literary supplement, and as long as I've been submitting my poetry, it's been published.

This year I submitted two personal poems (whatever is submitted has to have a Jewish bent to it -- DUH!) and both will appear in this week's print edition, and is also online.

One poem is about my husband, and what happened when he lost his mother. The other poem is about my father: simply about the man he was.

If you click on the title of this post, you can link to the online edition of the newspaper. There you should find my two poems on pages B2 and B12.