All Booked Up

I'm sitting at the computer in our home office and pondering the eclectic collection of books on the shelf beside me.

For instance, here's one pile, and from bottom to top, there is:

1. Usted y yo -- that was my grade 10 Spanish book, used many lunas ago, in school.
2. Home Buying Strategies for Resale Homes [did we use any of the strategies when we bought our two homes? I think not.]
3. Why We Love the Dogs We Do
4. The Jewish Pleasure Principle
5. The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People [do they list my bad habits, I wonder]
6. The Business Writer's Handbook
7. How To Clean Practically Anything [man, that book is gathering dust!]
8. How To Succeed in Your Home Business
9. After Long Silence [ a powerful memoir about the secrets that held one family together in a bond of silence for more than four decades. Hint: author was raised Roman Catholic, and only as an adult, did she discover her parents were Jewish, Holocaust survivors living invented lives.]
10. A Dictionary of Textile Terms [referred to in the prelim pages as "the new language of fabrics." Now why we even have this book at all is beyond me.]
11. Waters of Babylon [short stories written by my girlfriend's father, describing his life in Bagdad, Iraq, before his family moved to Israel. This is an autographed copy, and as well, I have a credit in the book, as I helped with the editing of this vanity press book.]
12. Webster's Thesaurus
13. Parenting Wit and Wisdom [no, I did not write that book]

Yes, this is certainly a random gathering on one shelf. Another bookshelf on the opposite wall houses an assortment of cookbooks on one shelf and a collection of benschers gathered from many simchas over the years on another shelf.

Our home is certainly a house of books --- children's books, business books, reference books, cookbooks, coffee table books (but we have no coffee tables, so they're just "shelved books"), parenting books, educational books and Jewish and religious books.

But with our last move, I had to lose some of the amassed novels and outdated reference books because of space allowance. Saying goodbye to a book is sometimes like saying goodbye to a friend. First you offer a quick hello (when you don't recall that you even had read the book, so you skim the pages) and then a quick goodbye -- and move on.

I even have a few autographed books with personal messages -- Canadian poet Irving Layton's poetry collection For My Brother Jesus, Herman Wouk's The Hope, Mordecai Richler's Joshua Then and Now, to name a few. These books will remain treasured friends, and I will continue to make room for them in my life -- and on my bookshelf!

Here Comes the Sun...

March 3. Toronto. Middle of winter. Sun is shining. Sun is shining very brightly. Sun is blinding. Sun is blinding me as I drive in to work. Blinding sun makes me think...

People tend to complain every which way.

It's winter, there's too much snow, I wish it would let up. So what does it do? IT RAINS. Bring back the snow, people cry out.

It's gray outside, murky and miserable-looking. I wish it would be sunny for once. Okay, so it's sunny. It's too sunny. It's blinding drivers and pedestrians on the road. They are just accidents waiting to happen. I want gloomy again, people say.

It's been a dry season. I wish it would rain. The heavens hear, open up, and pound the earth with torrential rains, the skies with jagged lightning and cracks of thunder. Are we on our way to build an ark? Too much rain, they complain.

I wish it were warmer. I'm tired of wearing a jacket or sweater outside. The heat comes, the heat stays, it's too hot...it's unbearable. Damn, I'm tired of the heat, and I'm catching a cold from sitting in front of the air conditioner and fan all day.

Now I think one thing we wouldn't complain about is happiness. 'Cause too much happiness is a very good thing, and one would be inclined to share it with others.

[Now, for all you folks who wonder why I didn't put "money" into any equation, the reason is simple. People complain without money, people still complain with money, and I've seen and heard that too much money is not necessarily a good thing. Just think like this: all the money in the world might get you some good medical care, but it won't save you when you've been given a "deadline" on life.]

Popcorn...Peanuts...Comments... Get Your Comments...

Okay, let me be a carnival barker for this.

I have an inventory of posts...and because of that inventory, I need you to get your comments...to me! Aside from my faithful few -- whom I know about -- does anyone actually read this blog?

You probably don't appreciate it when you get phone calls appealing for donations/pledges to causes that you might or might not want to support. How do you get rid of these callers? You either make a donation, and they thank you and don't call you again until the next quarter, or you tell them you're too busy, you're not interested, you already gave.

I haven't been getting enough donations -- read comments -- to satisfy me, so I'm at it again. Please show me that I'm on the right path with my words. The echo of my voice/words is very loud as it resonates back to me, instead of your words resonating back.

You can peruse my entire inventory; even if you see something you like from back in December, comment on that. I'll read it...and appreciate it. I'll read and appreciate ALL comments.

Wow, I faintly hear the Eagles singing in the background: "Desperado...." (remember Elaine in Seinfeld and how she loved that song...?)

Even More Food for Thought

[check these out; I relate well to #15 and #17!]


THINGS TO PONDER...(or not)!

1. Can you cry underwater?

2. When I was young we used to go "skinny dipping," now I just
"chunkydunk."

3. How important does a person have to be before they are
considered assassinated instead of just murdered?

4. If money doesn't grow on trees then why do banks have
branches?

5. Why do you have to "put your two cents in"... but it's only a
penny for your thoughts"? Where's that extra penny going?

6. Once you're in heaven, do you get stuck wearing the clothes
you were buried in, for eternity?

7. Why does a round pizza come in a square box?

8. How is it that we put man on the moon before we figured out it
would be a good idea to put wheels on luggage?

9. Why is it that people say they "slept like a baby" when babies
wake up like every two hours?

10. If a deaf person has to go to court, is it still called a
hearing?

11. Why are you IN a movie, but you are ON TV?

12. Why do people pay to go up tall buildings and then put money
in binoculars to look at things on the ground?

13. How come we choose from just two people for President and
fifty for Miss America?

14. If a 911 operator has a heart attack, whom does s/he call?

15. I signed up for an exercise class and was told to wear
loose-fitting clothing. If I HAD any loose-fitting clothing, I
wouldn't have signed up in the first place!

16. Wouldn't it be nice if whenever we messed up our life we
could simply press 'Ctrl Alt Delete' and start all over?

17. Stress is when you wake up screaming and then you realize you
haven't fallen asleep yet.

18. Just remember...if the world didn't suck, we'd all fall off.

19. Why is it that our children can't read a Bible in school, but
they can in prison?

20. Brain cells come and brain cells go, but fat cells live
forever.

Food for Thought...But Not Peanut-Free

Moroccan Peanut and Tomato Soup (Parve*)

Prep time 20 minutes
Cook time 20 minutes

1 onion, finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 Tbsp parve margarine
1 can (28 oz/796 ml) tomatoes, crushed or diced
1 cup peanut butter
¼ cup ketchup
¼ cup vinegar
2 Tbsp chili powder
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp black pepper
1 tsp hot pepper sauce
1 tsp mustard powder
1 tsp parsley flakes (optional)
2 cups water

¨In a large, heavy pot, cook onion and garlic in margarine until tender.
¨Add remaining ingredients, except water.
¨Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Gradually add water.
¨Simmer for 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Makes 8 servings.
Serve with croutons or garlic bread.
*Can also make the soup dairy by sprinkling shredded Parmesan cheese on top of each serving or using dairy margarine.

(Whenever I serve this dish, the tasters are amazed to discover that the magic ingredient is peanut butter. A friend, who is also a restaurateur, was so impressed with the dish, he wanted to add it to his restaurant’s menu. But please, before serving such a dish, check that your guests have no allergies to peanuts!)

Off-Course Discourse

...and when I sat down to write my last post, I thought it was going to be about my youngest turning 5 years old on Shabbos! Guess that topic became Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" this evening.

Oh ya, the dog turns 8 tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Tyson! Funny, you don't look a day over 56 (that's supposed to be canine humor, if you didn't catch on)!

Truly Blessed

I am blessed with wonderful parents, who have given me all the love in the world...and MORE; who have shown me by example how to be a menschlich person; who have provided me with rules to teach me right from wrong; who have offered and given me more than they themselves ever had. Their love knows no boundaries.

My mother, named for a flower, is a gentle, passive and unassuming woman -- refined in her speech and in her actions. She is "a mother of Pearl." Yes, there is a pun intended, but she also represents beauty, just as abalone does.

Of course there are many many things that stand out in my mind about this wonderful woman, but here is a supreme example of her character. As addicted as I am to receiving e-mails, I've always been addicted to receiving any kind of mail with my name on it, whether it be junk mail, bills or personal letters. When I was in university, I used to call in the afternoons sometimes to say hi to my mom and then I'd ask if I got any mail. One day she responded, "You got a postcard in the mail." I asked, "Who from?" She said she didn't know, that I could see the card when I got home.

Now, a postcard is open territory--no envelope, which makes for no privacy. You can tell the place of its origin from the postage, and sometimes from the postcard itself if there's a photo. And you can also see who signs the card. But my mother did not look closely at the card, did not care that she had every opportunity in the world to read it before I did. She respected my privacy, and this example is something I will never ever forget.

My father, a Holocaust survivor, led a very difficult life from the time he was a young boy and lost his father. Poverty, war, heartbreak and illnesses crossed his path over the years, but somehow I believe he was made stronger and fought harder through difficult personal and health-related situations.

Together with my mother, he has worked long and hard to provide for his family -- a family most welcome after losing his own parents and siblings (except for one, may she live long and be well) -- and to set down strong family, strong moral and strong Torah-friendly roots in Toronto.

To meet my father is to meet a pretty unique individual -- he's charming, not a charmer; he's a Jewish mother and Jewish father rolled into one person; he is one of the most generous, if not the most generous person I know; he is the most selfless person I know -- he will not just figuratively give you the shirt off his back, he will give you the shirt off his back...and according to my mother, apparently once did so for a poor man in downtown Toronto. He is a loving father, a wonderful husband and a sincere and compassionate friend. Whoever meets my father is all the more lucky for it.

Not too long ago a close friend of my parents told me: "I never heard your father say a bad word about anyone." I could vouch for that compliment, and know that "shmirat ha-lashon," or guarding of the tongue, was and still is prevalent in my parents' home.

If anyone needs to carry away one major life tool from his/her parents' home, I think it's that, "shmirat ha-lashon." You carry that lesson to your own home, to your own family, to your dealings with friends, dealings in business and dealings within the community.

Maybe you ought to "borrow" my parents to help teach you right from wrong, to help teach you how to be a better person...to help teach you what it means to truly feel loved. And if you do so, I'm sure you too will feel truly blessed -- as I do.

Time...Well Spent

I'll be the first to admit: I think I have to open a Toronto branch of Bloggers Anonymous. (ha, what a concept right there!) I have become somewhat addicted to my newfound entertainment medium -- reading blogs, writing comments on some, composing my own posts. I've shirked some of my household and familial responsibilities -- I do get to them, but often later than sooner. So, if anyone wants to start a branch of Bloggers Anonymous, count me in, but don't send me an e-mail about it, or a link, because who knows how long I'll stay online after that??!!

In any case, writing is very therapeutic for me. I was told yesterday that I'm a "terrific letter writer." I'll agree with that compliment, and I'd now like someone to extend it to saying that I'm a "terrific blogger."

Writing letters comes very easily to me, and I can capture lots of images with my words, and often find myself even using vocabulary that I wouldn't normally use in regular conversations. I sense that I am more eloquent on paper.

To that end, I try to do the same with my semi-regular posts. Now, even if it looks like my post is short, and I probably whipped it off in two minutes, the truth is that a typical post (such as this one) can take me up to 30 minutes to formulate, edit, post, and often re-edit. Yes, the words flow, but I try to capture something and therefore think about what I'm trying to say.

Because I work as a copy editor in my non-blogging life, I feel the need to be as correct in my diction and grammar as I can. How would it look to you readers (reader?) if I wnt aheade and spelt evrything incorectly and put punctuation out of it's correct positioning --? When I see those kinds of errors on others' blogs, my hackles go up; I don't want the same reaction when you read my posts.

So yes, I could be doing something more valuable than blogging, but who can put a value on what I consider to be my time...well spent?

Oh, Daughter of Mine

About an hour or more ago, I put my daughter to bed. After her Jacuzzi bath and follow-up shower, I'd spent about 45 minutes this evening braiding her hair Bo Derek-style. The mornings are rushed, and besides, I'm usually gone by the time she wakes up, so there's no time for hair niceties done by my hand.

But tonight I offered to make her lots of little braids, and let me tell you, we both needed patience for the task to be completed. She grew restless, I grew restless; she needed to stretch her back, I needed to stretch mine. But the end result was a headful of lovely little braids with colorful elastic bands holding them together.

For once my daughter was not so pouty, and more pleased by my stylistic coifs done on her behalf.

But I knew that by the morning the beautiful braids might become disheveled, with straggling hair hanging here and there. The braids would look unkempt and it would be too time-consuming and difficult for this seven-year-old to be up to the task of "putting her best hair forward!" So we sought a solution to try to keep the braids looking equally good in the morning as they did when she went to bed. She requested that I put a head scarf on her, which I've done before. This was something I did when I was young, coming home from the hairdresser, and wearing a head scarf to bed to try to keep the hairstyle intact.

This evening, however, when I tied the scarf around her braids, in a babushka style, I suddenly thought that my daughter had taken on an Old World look--a look of a Polish peasant, perhaps. Perhaps, I thought, she looked like my aunt must have, when she died at age 15 at the hands of the Nazis. My daughter is named for this aunt, my father's adored youngest sister. Of course, there are no photos that were salvaged from before the war years, so I have no clue what this aunt might have looked like. But I know that her name was Marjem, after her father Meir, who died two months before she was born. She was a source of light to her family.

My daughter's middle name is Meriam, and she too, is sweet and adored, and a source of light for our family, as her great-aunt was to my father's family.

May Marjem rest in peace, and l'havdil, may Meriam live a long, healthy and happy life. Amen.

"...We're Lost in a Masquerade"

"Are we really happy here
With this lonely game we play
Looking for words to say
Searching but not finding understanding anyway
We're lost in a masquerade..."

Thank you, George Benson, singer/guitarist extraordinaire, for those[hopefully correct]lyrics.

I couldn't help but think of them today after a "conversation" I had with a fellow blogger re. blogging vs. silence.

Many of us have taken names for ourselves via which to blog -- we are keeping our true identities secret from those who know us. But are we in fact remaining secret? So many of us drop enough clues or personal stories that give us away. I never told anyone other than my husband and my children that I blog. But last week, a friend linked to me through a roundabout source in my published article and she had this to say: "Oh my G-d, you're TorontoPearl, you're Pearlies of Wisdom. Why didn't you tell me? (sniff!)" But this friend knows me, knows what's going in my life, knows how I think -- there was really no need for her to read my words and know about my online identity.

But as we bloggers mill about in blogland, I can't help but think of a costume party in which the guests wear elaborate masks to hide their identities from fellow partygoers. Are we not like these guests, wearing our blogging names like masks so that we won't be found out? Yes, it's a bit daring, thrilling even to wear the blogging name and remain incognito, isn't it?

What if we bloggers were to remove those masks, those names, use our real names and say, "I don't have a blog. I have a Web site. Perhaps you'd like to check it out...."

Yes, "...we're lost in a masquerade."

Ain't It Nice To Imagine....?

As I mentioned once in a post of mine, I live in a beautiful neighborhood that is still being developed with million-dollar homes. Rest assured, mine is not worth anything close to that amount -- we just lucked out with a smaller, older home in a nice subdivision.

About a five minute drive from us is a gated community being developed with million-dollar and two-million-dollar homes. Sometimes when the weather is nicer, we take walks with the dog to view some of the ones still being built. I don't really aspire to live in anything of their grandeur and size, nor could I maintain the upkeep of such palatial homes, nor the expected lifestyle that one would think is associated with such a piece of real estate. But it's nice to look at them all the same.

Today I took my children to see one of these homes: it is the grand prize in a cancer hospital lottery (tickets are $100 each or three for $250) and is worth over two million dollars, furnishings included. To look at this home on the outside is nice; to look at it on the inside is nicer. My children and I went through the rooms and announced who would get which room...if we won(yes, we are ticket purchasers for such a great fund-raising cause).

My heart melted at a second-floor library that surrounded an opening in the floor through which you could look down to the main level. I imagined parts of the shelving holding dear and familiar children's books, other parts holding family photo albums, while others held sforim. And just opposite the library was a small office with rolltop desks; I figured this is a room where I could hone my writing skills even more, write a publishable manuscript and the resulting book would one day end up on those library shelves.

Perhaps it's easier to imagine pretend lives in such a home when there is such a slim chance of winning it. But our walkabout today gave my children great pleasure and opened their minds, their imagination, to great things. They understand that it's okay to partake in this game of make-believe for a short while.

I'm proud that for them the reality kicks in when they announce, "If we win this house, it's going to be a much longer walk to shul!"

Life's a Gamble

While sitting this a.m., waiting for my children to finish their swimming lessons, I listened to the conversations around me and partook as well.

One woman said: "Could I ask you a question...?" It sounded ominous but she wanted to find out what "Kosher" means and why Cheerios may or may not be Kosher. At least she, as a non-Jewish woman, had some basic understanding about Kashrut and understood that we don't mix meat with dairy, and knew that for Pesach we change all our dishes, etc. So I only had to give a crash course in Kashrut.

On the other side of me, were two young Modern Orthodox peer fathers, who were discussing gambling, and going to Vegas or smaller casinos in Ontario, and what games give them a "rush" -- and how much money they would drop at a time, how much they'd come home with as a gain, or as a loss.

I couldn't help but silently give thanks to Hashem that my husband partakes in none of this, nor does he desire to do so. Once upon a time, I thought that the "gadgets" he likes to buy are often thrown-out money, but I'd so much rather he have gadgets and money in the bank, than an empty wallet after a rush at the blackjack table and a losing streak.

I Stole Something from A Simple Jew.... Umm, I Mean I Borrowed It.

"...record your inner life in a journal. This will not be something you do to earn immortal fame as an author, but rather engrave your soul-portrait on paper. Write down all your inner struggles, your setbacks and successes, and grant them eternal life. This way your very essence, the personality of your soul, your spiritual attainments, your life's inner treasures, will live on forever in the lives of your spiritual heirs as generations to come and go."

(Piaceszna Rebbe)

Asking forgiveness of fellow blogger A Simple Jew, http://asimplejew.blogspot.com I admit that I stole this posting of his from October 10, 2004. I'm like a comedian who's run out of quality material and has to recycle jokes of yesteryear.

But A Simple Jew knows the right things to say at the right time, the right quotations to cite to bring an awareness to his readers. Even if one of his posts doesn't offer anything more than a word of wisdom from a late, great rebbe, that post is a treasure and food for thought.

This quote from the Piaceszna Rebbe hits home for me as a blogger and as someone who kept a journal for years. My words are markers for my life, recreating or renewing events -- both trivial and major -- for me and any readers with the [good] fortune to read my words.

As the quote says, "...engrave your soul-portrait on paper." Or in this modern-day world, engrave it on a screen, don't forget to hit SAVE and then FILE. And remember, "a picture is worth a thousand words..."

B-A-T-H-Y-S-C-A-P-H-E***

Interesting how the human mind works, and more interesting is memory.

I am 43. When I was 12 and in grade 7 (okay, to you Americans, 7th grade), we would have spelling bees from time to time if we finished our work and had about 10 minutes till the bell would ring for dismissal. We lined up along the blackboard and the teacher gave us words -- some easy, some difficult -- randomly. Either the bell would ring first, or we'd declare a champion speller, based on who was left standing.

I was a good speller, but I don't recall being champion. However, I do recall that the word bathyscaphe was given by the teacher -- to me? Perhaps. I can't recall that, either. But since that day in 1973, when I heard the spelling of the word, I've retained it. I quickly spell it aloud from time to time and recall this story to family and friends. Or I do it in a singsong manner, or make a clapping game with the word for my young daughter.

I may have remembered the spelling of the word all these years, but I've never had reason to use it in a sentence. Go figure....

Yes, memory is a strange and often wonderful thing. A perfect example that leaves me wondering about memory continually is my father's memory for his father's yahrzeit. Now you might think, "Of course her father would know and commemorate a parent's yahrzeit." But my father was six years old when his father passed away (my father's littlest sister was born two months after her father passed away!). That was over 75 years ago! There were harsh living conditions, a world war, dealing with huge and horrific losses, an uprooting of a life, and a replanting of a life and resulting fruit in subsequent years. So many trials and tribulations...illnesses that affected the brain: brain tumor, stroke...and yet the yahrzeit date stayed with this man all these years.

I think it's a blessing in disguise -- a kavod for the grandfather I never knew, the father that my father barely knew. We should all be blessed with such a memory...to do the right things in life.


***Bathyscaphe (also bathyscaph) -- n. : a navigable submersible for deep-sea exploration having a spherical watertight cabin attached to its underside.

A Working Mother's Woes

Woe is me...I'm a working mom. Okay, so I bring home a few shekels, and I help pay for the mortgage, the second car, the insurance, the household bills, the day care, the schooling, the day camp, the extra-curricular lessons, shul membership, the dog food, the--

Oh wait, I said I bring home a few shekels, and I help pay for... the dog food. Yup, that's about it. So why am I out there, rushing to and from work, leaving my husband to deal with chauffeuring and meal preps and homework till I get home. I'm not the main breadwinner in this family by any means, but I do help out a bit.

Recently hubby and I looked at my checkbook to see if there was a pattern to my spending habits -- oh, ya, the pattern is THE KIDS. I pay for swimming, for hockey, for chess, for other mind-expanding, brain-enlightening courses they pursue, for school expenses (of course, those are on top of tuition, on top of school uniforms, on top of supply lists) such as trips and food programs and Scholastic book orders.

Yes, we spend on THE KIDS, but the rewards are plentiful. My kids will swim/skate up to me, and in a loud and clear voice one of them will ask me to join him in a game of chess. I'll refuse, reminding him that it is in fact I who needs to take chess lessons, and tell him to play with his father, while I suggest his sister read the Scholastic book I ordered. In the meantime, I'll do the laundry and wash my daughter's school jumper and her brother's zippered school logo jacket.

And littlest child, not yet in school, will look at me, and with pleading eyes ask, "Can I have a brownie?" "Sure," I say. After all, it's only a brownie, and not a cataloged list of Scholastic books he wants me to buy for him, or an after-school program he wants to take, or a knapsack he insists on having because it's the latest schoolyard look.

Thank G-d for small blessings...

Online with Hashem

I've discovered blogs in which people are actually writing letters to Hashem. Blogosphere mail to the Almighty! Is this what we call progress?

Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret is a well-known Judy Blume novel; I'm pretty sure that nearly every pubescent/adolescent girl has checked this book out of her library, or bought it via a Scholastic Books order. And I can't help but think of that book title when I read peoples' online pleas to Hashem or praise for Hashem.

For me, anyway, any words I have for Hashem are private and are generally meant to stay that way. Yes, I'll daven in a kehilla, but I move my lips quietly when I say the prayers; I'll make the brachot over the Shabbos candles and might say the words aloud, but my added prayers for family members and friends are said quietly or silently, using my mind to transport my words high above.

Some of my early journals have written pleas to Hashem or thanks to him embedded within their entries, but again, these are private, for my eyes only.

That's why I can't help but think that some of these people who are outrightly praying online are in some way desecrating the purer ways of communicating to Hashem. I'm sure they are engrossed in regular davening and learning, but perhaps they think that any means possible will get their prayers answered faster?

But the question they really need to be asking is: How often does Hashem check his e-mail?

(I hope by writing this entry that I'm not doing any major desecrating....)

With a Hop, Skip and a Jump

If some of you tune in once in a while or regularly -- even better! -- to this blog, you'll note once again the change in design. Every now and again, I look at my site and see that something screwed up in the display -- the fave sites are missing or got misplaced down to the netherworld of the screen's page, posts or comments are getting cut off, etc. I don't know how it happens, but I guess it's probably an indication that I'm spending too much time on this site, and losing out on valuable items as a result.

Even if my Pearlies of Wisdom page doesn't display my list of faves, I have an organized column on my computer both at home and at work that I refer to so that I can check in to see how some other bloggers are doing.

Because I am still relatively new to the world of blogs and blogging -- I started blogging in December 2004 -- I have to think back to how I even accumulated a list of faves.

My stepping stone was back in October 2004 when I received a mailing about newly published Jewish books and a blurb about their authors. The book that caught my eye on the list was screenwriter Robert Avrech's The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden (mentioned several times on this blog). I googled Robert's name and discovered his blog, then became hooked on reading it. I began to check out some of his faves, among them A Simple Jew and Five Years Later. And also got hooked. Then I looked at the faves on A Simple Jew and linked on to those...and got hooked to several. And when I linked on to those, I cross-linked to others.

Now each time I go online to read others' blogs, I move through the blogosphere with a hop, skip and a jump. Sometimes I can't even remember how I arrived at a particular blog, what circuitous route I took to get there. But I'm glad I'm there...

And I'm equally glad you're here, that you found your way to Pearlies of Wisdom.

HAPPINESS

In his book Happiness: Formulas, Stories & Insights, Rabbi Zelig Pliskin offers an exercise in which the ideas are conducive for accessing happiness-producing states.

Try to fill in some of these:

*I am grateful for....
*I talk and act joyously when...
*One of the greatest people I ever met was...
*The nicest thing anyone ever said to me is...
*I will increase...
*The people who add to my happiness are...
*I felt a sense of accomplishment when...
*What makes me smile is...
*What I most appreciate about my father is...
*What I most appreciate about my mother is...
*What I most appreciate about my brother/sister is...
*I feel fortunate that...
*I appreciate...

Even if you think you are not so happy at the moment, upon doing this exercise and reviewing your ever-changing answers, you will realize that you have much to be thankful for and you appreciate the small things in life that you might otherwise take for granted.

Wishing you much happiness...

Screenwriter Makes His Seraphic Vision a Reality [something to kvell about]

Please refer to www.seraphicpress.com for more insights...

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

The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden, by Robert J. Avrech, Seraphic Press.

Robert J. Avrech’s primary experience has been as a screenwriter. With Brian DePalma, he wrote the screenplay for the 1984 thriller Body Double, and he was the screenwriter for the 1992 film, A Stranger Among Us, an official selection of the Cannes Film Festival. His moving 1999 adaptation of author Jane Yolen’s The Devil’s Arithmetic garnered him an Emmy Award.

Avrech recently undertook a new venture – to write a novel for young adults that would reflect the values of an observant Jew.

His guiding light was his son, Ariel Chaim, a yeshiva student, gentle, deeply religious, devoted to his parents, his younger sisters and his studies. Ariel also loved both classic and modern literature, but was concerned about the values found in contemporary young adult literature, which he felt reflected the point of view of cynical authors and editors determined to impose their negative viewpoint on others.

He suggested that his father “start a publishing company, publish fiction that is of the highest quality, yet also suitable for kids who hold Torah values.”

At age 14, Ariel was diagnosed with a brain tumour. His family rallied around him as he underwent intensive chemotherapy and radiation treatments, transfusions and surgery.

For the eight years that he was in and out of hospital, family, faith and friendships sustained him in his fight to survive. He continued to study and was valedictorian of his graduating class at Los Angeles’ Yeshiva Gedolah. Four years later, however, in fall 2002, Ariel had difficulty breathing. The prognosis was that the chemotherapy for his tumour had left his lungs scarred. He was suffering from pulmonary fibrosis and needed a lung transplant.

By this time, Avrech had begun writing a Jewish historical novel, The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden. His goal was to share his “love of Judaism, Jewish ritual and Jewish history with as many people as possible.” He wanted to be a positive influence, telling a great story that also embraced Orthodox Jewish ideals.

The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden is the coming-of-age story of the unlikely friendship between Ariel, “The Hebrew Kid,” and Lozen, an Apache warrior girl and younger sister of Victorio, who was perhaps the greatest Apache chief in the Old West. Ariel, an intelligent, serious and spunky boy of almost bar mitzvah age, is determined to celebrate this important ceremony.

He becomes friends with Lozen, as he and his observant Jewish family make their way across the Arizona Territory after the Civil War, seeking a life free of oppression, a place where they can practise their religion and livelihood.

Through their adventures and intriguing friendship, Ariel and Lozen learn about the similarities and the differences in their cultures.

The story’s colourful characters include Papa, Mama, sister Rebecca, Victorio, U.S. cavalry, scalp hunters, settlers and the renowned Doc Holliday, all travelling westward to find a new beginning. With its page-turning suspense, adventure, humour, historical and religious references, and its glossary of Yiddish and Hebrew terms, The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden is a welcome and wonderful book for anyone age nine to 120. It is a literary treasure for families to read and reread.

Avrech spent two years researching Apache life, the westward expansion and letters and journals of Jews who made the migration to the west. He travelled to Arizona, where the story takes place, to get a feel for the land and to talk to Apache tribe members.

While Ariel remained hospitalized or homebound, Avrech read him the manuscript, discussing story lines, characterization, halachic accuracies. He says his son was “a fine literary critic, and after he read a chapter, it was not unusual for Ariel to offer gentle but cogent criticism that would send me back to my pages for numerous rewrites.

“My years as a screenwriter have taught me some basic lessons in telling a good story, getting to the heart of the scene quickly and resolving characters and situations.”

Avrech completed seven drafts of the book, “each one better than the next,” with further input from family, friends, rabbis, writers and editors.

Unfortunately, Ariel did not receive the lung transplant he and his family were desperately hoping for, and in July 2003, he died at age 22. Avrech and his wife, Karen, decided to establish Seraphic Press in Ariel’s memory. Seraphim, God’s first order of angels, are often mentioned in the Torah. Ariel’s pious nature was recognized early by his family, friends and community, making Seraphic Press a befitting name.

The outstanding Seraphic Press design team includes Obadinah Heavner, illustrator; Robert Lanphear, book designer; and Iskra, calligrapher. Jonathan David Publishers, Inc. has been signed on as exclusive distributor for The Hebrew Kid and upcoming Seraphic Press books whose release dates will coincide with National Jewish Book Month.

The publishing list includes more titles in The Hebrew Kid series – Avrech is currently working on The Hebrew Kid and Buffalo Bill, a story about bringing a Torah to Tombstone, Ariz. The Shidduch Diaries, designated as “chick lit for the observant,” is author Michael Levin’s wildly entertaining look at the insular Jewish dating scene. Maccabee and Me, another Avrech title, features a time-travel story about a high school student who learns to appreciate his Judaism when he is cast back into the world of Judah the Maccabee.

The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden, recently released, received wonderful reviews. In November 2004, Avrech was invited to read and sign copies of his book at the largest Jewish children’s book fair in Los Angeles. But he said then: “HaShem has a wicked curveball. The bookfest takes place 100 yards from Ariel’s kever [grave]. Understand, this is The Hebrew Kid’s very first public appearance.”

In May 2004, Avrech started a blog, an online journal – Seraphic Secret, www.seraphicpress.com – his space to remember his only son, Ariel.

Robert J. Avrech translated his son’s vision into the Avrech family’s vision, Seraphic Press, whose motto is “belief in books.”

The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden is available at www.amazon.com and at www.barnesandnoble.com, in Toronto at Negev Books and at Israel’s Books and Gifts, and in Montreal at Rodal’s and Kotel Books.

Letter by Letter

Gotta say that I love picking titles -- hopefully catchy ones, at that! -- for this blog of mine. You might read a title, anticipating that the entry is about something in particular, and then it's about something totally different. And so, it's a power we bloggers have, that we can easily pull the wool over your eyes.

That was just my entrance speech for this blog. What I really want to say is that I have always had the ability to write well -- not exclusively stories or poetry, but letters. While someone can sit and ponder for hours how to phrase something, how to get their point across, whether for business' sake or personal sake, I can formulate ideas and easily transfer them onto paper. The words always just seem to flow from me when it comes to writing -- letter by letter.

According to a general poll of my friends over the years, they all agree that they cherish my letters-- the letters were always wordy, descriptive, insightful. I took the time to write, to describe, to convey, and my friends looked forward to receiving mail from me if they traveled, or if I traveled, or if I just chose to write birthday or anniversary greetings. Many would request that I send a note for no particular reason, but just so that they could receive something from me. I know that some friends have every letter I ever sent them -- and they reassure me that it's not the quantity that counts, but the quality.

Some family friends have even told me over the past nearly-dozen years that they still have the thank-you notes I sent following my engagement party, my wedding, my children's births. Each recipient was deemed special and so, each note was treated individually. I guess my words left their mark.

These days it's much easier and quicker to e-mail folks than it is to sit and write letters, but still I try to throw in humor, description and anything else I can think of to reach my reader. The question: Could I possibly make a living or pull in some freelance work as a "professional letter writer"-- does such a thing exist?

Oh ya, maybe it does. Maybe I should be a celebrity's assistant who writes answers to all the fan club members -- I'll make them happy, especially when I make each one personalized that they'll think said celebrity answered them exclusively.

So, if you want to give me your address, maybe I'll sit down and write you a letter...