Picture This!

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Once upon a time I was one of the most organized, attentive-to-details people around. After all, it was in my genes, part of the nurture/nature syndrome.

What happened? I got married, I had children, I kept a full-time job. One would think those would all be incentives to remain organized and well-managed. Nuh-uh. Not for this chickie.

It's tough, and as hard as we try to arrange and organize, my husband and I are actually redesigning and moving all the time. We're redesigning this pile of stuff and moving it to that pile of stuff. I have a nice-sized home, but 11 1/2 years after getting married, I still have many things at my parents' home because I don't know where to put it in my home. (and their home is MUCH SMALLER than ours, with lots less room) When my father motions for me to take something home from my personal hoarded stock, I say, "Dad, I will...eventually. I just don't know where to put it!"

Among my "accumulations" are photographs. I stopped putting photographs in albums about 8 1/2 years ago -- I kept the film-developing envelopes in grocery market bags. It is a real sore point with my hubby. He says, "If someone visits and asks to see photos of A. when he was in grade one, which supermarket bag will I pull out? Loblaws or Sobeys or No Frills?!"

Yes, to see these bags, wherever they are dispersed in the house, is a painful reminder for me as to the archiving job that lays ahead, and the job I neglected to do for so many years. But I can't JUST put them randomly in an album, either. I may not be so organized anymore, but I AM still very detail-oriented, and I'd have to look at each shot and decide when/where it was taken and write the details on the back of the snapshot. (even though the backside wouldn't be visible when said snapshot is placed in an album) Meshugas, I know...

I think I need about two weeks of fifteen-hour days to correctly assemble and archive and house these photos in some semblance of order. Anybody have any free time to help organize this photographic genizah? Contact me, and we'll see WHAT DEVELOPS...

The Four Ghosts of Inauguration

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I'm so not a political-minded person, and I mean no offense to my American readers, but I just LOVED this joke that reached me via e-mail, from an American point of origin.


The Four Ghosts of Inauguration


One night, George W. Bush is tossing restlessly in his White House
bed. He awakens to see George Washington's ghost standing by
him. Bush asks him, "George, what's the best thing I can do to help
the country?"

"Set an honest and honorable example, just as I did," Washington
advises, and then fades away.

The next night, Bush is astir again, and sees the ghost of Thomas
Jefferson moving through the darkened bedroom. Bush calls
out, "Tom, please! What is the best thing I can do to help the country?"

"Respect the Constitution, as I did," Jefferson advises, and dims from
sight.

The third night, sleep is still not in the cards for Bush. He awakens
to see the ghost of FDR hovering over his bed. Bush whispers,
"Franklin, what is the best thing I can do to help the country?"

"Help the less fortunate, just as I did," FDR replies and fades into
the mist.

Bush isn't sleeping well the fourth night when he sees another figure
moving in the shadows. It is the ghost of Abraham Lincoln. Bush pleads,
"Abe, what is the best thing I can do right now to help the country?"

Lincoln replies, "Go see a play."

More on Giving and Taking

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This is a footnote to my previous blog. Interpret how you will...

"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers..." (Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire)

"...In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart." (Anne Frank, The Diary of Anne Frank)

It is nice to meet people, even if only online, who are good at heart and most kind.

Hope some of them cross your paths, as well.

Supertramp Said It Right

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(Blogger, you'd better get your act together. I had to recreate this post, when the original went AWOL. Thanks a lot, Blogger!)

"Give a little bit..."

These are all the lyrics you need to know from the Supertramp song. They say it best. Life is give and take. Blogging is give and take. You give some insights, comments, and you take away insights and comments.

I'd say that I'm a generous person. I like to share with others what I am, what I know and what I have. And then I like to learn the impact of my words/actions. If I've hurt someone in error, I hurt. If I've helped someone, I'm pleased. Even if I don't get the chance to see or learn of the impact (hopefully a postive one) I've made, as long as the recipient knows the impact, then that's the most important thing.

In the blogging arena, I've discovered that many people take Supertramp's words a step further and they "GIVE A LOT." You know who you are, and I thank you.

In the World's Heart Burns a Torch of Fire

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In the world's heart burns a torch of fire,
In its footsteps, eternal wanderers we have gone.
Embodied light of all that transpires
It is the fire-core for everyone....
--S. Shalom

The above is an excerpt from a poem that I discovered when trying to research my d'var Torah. Aside from consulting with our limited selection of Rabbinic discourse and interpretations, I checked out some of my university books from when I was doing my B.A. with a Jewish Studies minor. I have some wonderful books from University of Toronto days, but none that provided me with fodder for my talk.

Then I discovered my book: Modern Hebrew Poetry: A Bilingual Anthology-- I was given the book twenty years ago, for my twenty-third b'day, by my brother's then-not-quite-yet in-laws. They knew I'd come home from Israel several months earlier and that I loved poetry. (And to be able to read a beautiful poem in English with the Hebrew translation by its side is a bonus!)

So I was flipping through the poetry book yesterday, and came across this lovely poem. I felt it needed to "see the light" and be shared with a bunch of blog readers. It's too bad that I can't provide the Hebrew translation for the same excerpt because in that language, the words are even more lyrical and lovely.

But I do think that this excerpt can be easily incorporated into my d'var Torah about the Ner Tamid, and the significance of light in Jewish life.

U2 Hits the Right Note

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About seventeen or eighteen years ago, I attended an Aish HaTorah lecture that I found pretty inspiring...at the time. Not quite sure anymore what the topic of the evening was, but I know it had to do something with relationships and finding the right one for you and making it work, etc.

After the talk, I spoke to the rebbetzin who'd given the speech; she was a baalat teshuva, very well-spoken, hip and modern and someone anyone would be like to have as a friend--Lori Palatnik, if you're out there, kudos to you. I really wasn't dating a heck of a lot, and if I was going out, the people I was meeting weren't really right for me -- like a shoe that doesn't fit, although you might try to adjust it because you want to make it fit -- or I was not right for them.

Lori Palatnik told me that she was into setting people up and I should come over to her home so that she could ask me questions, get to know me a bit and decide if maybe she had someone in mind appropriate for me. We set up a date and time for me to visit her, even though I'd be leaving early the next morning for a trip to Paris, France, for a cousin's wedding. This visit with the rebbetzin/shadchan might make all the difference to my future, so I felt it important to go regardless that I still had some packing to complete.

She lived in the area of Thornhill, pretty new, and very foreign to me then, although we moved into the area about 18 months ago, and I know it now almost like the back of my hand. Yes, I was given directions, but still, to find an address in the dark, being a little anxious about the reason I was going to this address, and thinking about my trip overseas the next morning, had me a bit on shpilkes (pins and needles). As I turned onto her street, a song by U2 was playing on the radio, and I heard: "...and I still haven't found what I'm looking for..." How the heck did Bono know to sing that right then, right at the moment that I was gonna park the car and visit a shadchan because I still hadn't found what I was looking for? I thought perhaps it was a sign from above. Perhaps just a confirmation of what I already knew about myself, or maybe my visit would open new doors....

Okay, so I had to wait several more years to find what I was looking for; but the shoe finally fit -- very comfortably -- and I didn't plan to look at any other sizes or styles!

And for coincidence's sake:
Some close friends of ours told us three years ago that they'd be moving. They told us the name of the street and house number. Funny, but that street name sounded vaguely familiar to me, and then I had a hunch. I pulled out a journal from several years back, skimmed through to a particular time frame, and found what I was looking for. Rebbetzin Lori Palatnik had lived on that street, at that house number. There had been one or two other homeowners between the Palatniks and my friends who bought the house, but I found it interesting that the first time I'd walked into that house, I'd been VERY VERY VERY SINGLE, but the next time I walked in, it was with a husband and three children in tow.

Glee!

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glee n. exultant high-spirited joy.

That is what my youngest, a five-year-old, greets me with when I walk into the house at the end of the day. "Eema...!!!!"

The pleasure on his face at seeing his mother returned to him, the wide, beaming smile, the bright hazel eyes make for my own glee.

Ah, Balderdash!

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Growing up, I played board games only from time to time. I remember we had Monopoly, Tiddly Winks,The Game of Life, Scrabble...and in the early 1970's we acquired "pop-o-matic" games like Trouble, Headache, Don't Cross Over the Bridge. For the most part, however, I didn't play too many board games, much preferring my own company so I could read books or write stories.

Yes,these days we have games for the children and I enjoy playing some of them: Coconut Drop, Don't Break the Ice, Hi Ho Cherrio, Junior Monopoly, etc.

But last summer I discovered a game that is not only entertaining, it is therapeutic, as well. The game of BALDERDASH. This particular one, ABSOLUTE BALDERDASH, has different categories.www.drumondpark.com/absolutebalderdash/ Here are the basic rules.

Playing the Game


For the very first turn of the game the Dasher takes the first question card from the card box and chooses one of the five categories on the dark green question side. He states which category he has chosen and reads the relevant question to the other players who then write it on their Bluffing Sheet. (Make sure no-one can read the answer on the back of the card.)


Each player, except the Dasher, then makes up an answer to the question that he thinks will bluff the other players and writes it on his Bluffing Sheet. The answer can be as wacky or as serious as you want.


Depending on which category the Dasher has chosen the kinds of answers required are as follows:

WORDS - what is the definition of this word?
PEOPLE - what is this person known for?
INITIALS - what do they stand for?
MOVIES - what is the basic story line?
LAWS - complete the law!

While the other players are writing their answers, the Dasher writes the real answer (found on the light green answer side) in his own words on his Bluffing Sheet, so as to disguise it when he reads it out with the made up answers. He then returns the card to the rear of the card box.


The players hand their completed Bluffing Sheets to the Dasher. The Dasher makes sure that the answers can be read clearly, arranges them with the real one in random order, then reads each one aloud. He can reread the answers as required. The other players CAN collapse in fits of laughter but MUST NOT give away which is THEIR answer in any way - no shouting "that's mine", no nudging, winking or grunting!


Moving left from the Dasher, each player in turn decides which answer is the real one. As each player chooses an answer the Dasher writes this player's initials in the score segment on the corresponding Bluffing Sheet. After each player has guessed, the Dasher reveals the right answer and awards points as follows:

You'll notice that I didn't bother with points-- there really is no point to doing so. Yes, there is a game board with markers to move, but who cares! It's the actual playing that works.

Because I work in a creative field, I work with creative people. During lunch hour, once or twice a week, a regular group moves to a corner of the lunch room, with the board and announce: "Let the games begin...!" The more creative or obscure an answer, the funnier the round can be. Once this summer the category was Laws, and the question went something like this: "In Brooklyn, NY, it is illegal for a donkey to..." Because I was "the caller" for that particular round, reading the answers, one of my co-workers supplied a real winner: "...wear a yarmulke." The real answer was: "...sleep in a bathtub." But can you imagine how hard I had to try to refrain from laughing when I read all the answers, the correct one among them as well as the yarmulke one? I couldn't refrain myself, and I laughed until I cried. During an hour's lunch, I can have at least three of these hysterical fits of laughter-turning-to-tears...and it's usually when I'm the caller. I apologize to the others for my reaction, and then think "To hell with them, this is great for me."

The brilliant responses from the group that plays shows how we might have a misconception of someone; we think they're serious and quiet, and then they give such a twisted, offbeat idea, it makes you wonder when you hear it...is it the right answer after all?

If you're willing to play Absolute Balderdash with me, I'm more than game...

Classical or Jazz?

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I was raised in a household in which classical music prevailed -- we had countless records (among them, A Treasury of Greatest Classical Music Recordings, volumes 1-12, at least) devoted to the music genre, which were later replaced by cassette tapes and CDs. The radio stations in the family room and kitchen were set to classical music stations; I studied classical piano for years; we attended classical music concerts from the time we were young.

Yes, my music tastes began to range the older I got, but I was always drawn back to classical in some form or another. And so, I decided that I would pass on to my children that music appreciation gift my parents bestowed on my brothers and me.

From the time my children were infants, I had an all-classical radio station playing in the nursery. Of course, when I'm roused at 2 a.m. by a wailing baby, I want him/her to relax with milk and I should relax with music. So I'd sit in the rocking chair, baby and bottle in arms, listening dreamily to the lulling sounds of middle-of-the-night classical music (which is indeed lulling; no raucous booming cannon sounds or timpani at that wee hour of the morning, thanks to brilliant radio programmers). And even when my children slept through the night, or for daytime naps, I'd keep the music playing softly in the background.

As they got older, I introduced them to jazz music, listening to the music while we were driving in the car or were hanging out in the kitchen or family room. And then I started to test them to see if they could differentiate between what was jazz music and what was classical music.For the most part, these children enjoyed this quiz and managed to get the answer right. Sometimes when I'd say: "A, that's right! How did you know?" I got a shrug of the shoulders in return. Just a good guess, or perhaps the inability to put into words the differences they were hearing...?

My daughter's bedtime routine now consists of arranging her stuffed toys alongside her, putting on a couple of night lights, putting on her sound machine with the sound of a heartbeat that will play for an hour, and putting on her radio to play for an hour -- she often can't decide between a jazz station and a classical station, but nine times out of ten, it's the classical station that wins out.

I guess those early days of classical music in the nursery have paid off...

Let There Be Light!

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For any of you who might have read my previous blog and are wondering what I'll do my d'var Torah about... Last night, a LIGHT BULB went on in my head, it hit me like a bolt of LIGHTNING, and I thought: I'll do a d'var Torah on the NER TAMID -- eternal light. Yes, the ner tamid is in each and every shul, but in essence it is in the Shabbat and Yom Tov candles we light, the Yahrzeit candles we light, the light of Torah (gee, I started writing Toronto instead of Torah!?) that helps guide our path.

I'm certainly looking forward to gathering the information and sharing with the congregants all I've learned. I'm usually the one who's IN THE DARK about religious origins, but I imagine it will be an ENLIGHTENING talk for everyone.

My Pearlies of Wisdom Are To Be Shared

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So...my husband gave his dvar Torah at seudat shlishit at the shul (http://wwwpearliesofwisdom.blogspot.com/2005/03/anyone-need-editor.html) this evening and my children and I were there to bear ear witness to the fact. When you don't do dvar Torahs on a regular basis, it can be somewhat scary, I believe. When you don't have a yeshivish background and can't cite rabbeim left, right and center, it can be even scarier. But Kol Hakavod, he did more than fine, and my children behaved, so that counted for something!

Yes, it is an Orthodox minyan, but yes, too, the women wield a bit of power, too, thanks to the rebbetzin there. I am not a feminist so power doesn't make me trip out or anything, but I'm pleased for the women in the shul that sometimes they get their way.

One of the ways is that women are also invited to give d'var Torahs at seudat shlishit. And once my husband had accepted giving his, the rabbi turned to me and asked, "So, Pearl, do you want to give one the week after?"

I sort of gaped; what kind of dvar Torah could I give? I asked if it would have to be on the week's parsha and he said, "It could be on anything." But we never confirmed that I would give one, and my husband thought perhaps the rabbi wasn't serious about the offer. So this evening I asked him, and he said, "Yes, I was serious. Please do one."

Now, I'm committed to doing a dvar Torah. It will be actually in two weeks, which is just by Purim. But talk about Purim will have tired people out already, and I don't want to bore the congregants in any way. I could throw in a joke, though, and talk about Madonna trying to be like Queen Esther, by taking that name (Kabbala Center approved) for herself...but I think not. As we were leaving the shul, someone asked if I would maybe talk about the book THE HEBREW KID AND THE APACHE MAIDEN, which I reviewed and included in a profile about its publisher/owner, Robert Avrech and Seraphic Press. http://www.seraphicpress.com/ I sure could talk about that, but I'd prefer for Robert to come to our fine city and give the talk himself.

I could talk about blogging...and Judaism in the blogosphere, and do some name dropping there, but I think not. I could talk about lashon hara, guarding of the tongue, which is a mainstay in my family, but I think not. I could recite some of my poetry, but I think not.

So now I'm looking for any good, easily researchable topic, that doesn't necessarily have to do with parshat ha-shavuah. I welcome any suggestions from my readers.

Yes, it is a challenge for me, but one I'm gladly willing to accept. Any challenge like this is an opportunity for and even a demonstration of my personal growth. Once upon a time, this Pearl would not dare even get up in front of the class to give a talk, unless she had to. These days, this Pearl welcomes having the opportunity to speak in front of large groups. Proof to me how far I've come in life.

The Youngest "Bubby" I Know

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Mentioning grandmothers in my last post reminded me of something I learned about last weekend when I went to see the Kosher Komic, Ayelet, perform.

The event was held in a social hall at our shul, also referred to in an earlier post as "a little city." It was a sea of women from all parts of the city, from many walks of life. I got to see relatives I don't normally see, women I haven't seen in years. Among these women was someone I'd known many moons ago through a mutual friend. We'd gone to the same day school, but she was a year ahead of me, and in my brother's year. Yes, I'd run into her several years ago with a brief "Hi, how are you...? Where do you live? Who did you marry?" You know the routine questions asked when you reunite with a face from the past.

So this time when we spoke I got a little more information, an update from her. "I had a grandchild two weeks ago!" I threw a mazel tov her way, made some more small talk and went back to my table, thinking about her grandmotherhood status. After the show, we exchanged goodbyes and I wished her lots of naches on her grandchild. I got another tidbit of info. "Oh, it's not my first grandchild. I have another, a two-year-old."

I hope I was not standing there, my mouth agape like a fish out of water! She is not yet 45 years old and has a second grandchild; her first grandchild was born when she was my age!? I couldn't get around that fact.

Yes, I know the trends among the Orthodox: marry young, have children young, and the pattern repeats itself with your children. But it wasn't the case for me: I didn't have children young, I HAVE YOUNG CHILDREN!

I think it's a beautiful thing that this woman has not one, but two grandchildren. I certainly missed the early boat on the grandmotherly status she has, but I'm glad I caught the boat -- to marriage and parenthood -- before it set sail.

The Grays Are Coming... The Grays Are Coming!

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Hey, A Simple Jew, this gray's for you!

Each time I look in the mirror, I'm starting to see less brown, less auburn and more gray. A sign of aging? A sign of wisdom? Or just a sign that I'd better start to seriously consider coloring my hair? Aren't I a good mom that I didn't even suggest that maybe it's my kids giving me that new shade? No, wouldn't even consider that option...or would I?

As it is, I'm probably ten years older than my children's classmates' parents, and if I'm not older, then they also have children in their early and mid-teens, not just kids younger than ten. I don't want to show up at a school function one day in the not-too-distant future and be asked, "Who is your grandchild?"

So, gray friends atop my head, stay alert, be on the lookout. 'Cause one of these days, you might just not recognize yourselves in the mirror!

Jetsgo is a No-Go

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Wow, I woke up a few minutes ago to the radio news that Jetsgo, a discounted airline, based in Quebec but flying out of Toronto to points beyond, has gone belly-up. Today for some is also the unofficial start of Spring Break. So can you imagine the havoc that is at the Toronto airport today for people who booked flights with this airline. I don't even want to imagine the chaos that awaits them when they get to the terminal for their anticipated flights.

Apparently the signs for the airline are already gone, there are no representatives manning the ticket counters, and I just couldn't even link to their website when I tried. Either they've dropped it off the Internet or traffic to get to it has clogged the system.

There are several ironies to this entire thing.

One of them is their branding line: "Pay a little, fly a lot." Well, I guess that even paying a little wasn't enough!

Another irony is that they have continual deals to try and grab you. Currently it was a 1 cent sale -- you could fly westbound and pay only a penny for leaving the city...plus a chunk in airport and airline taxes, which no longer made it a penny. A couple weeks ago, it was a 1 dollar sale -- same premise, only a dollar to leave the city for points westbound.

Another irony is that yesterday, specifically when I heard a Jetsgo radio spot ad, I was kicking myself in the tuches for not planning a future trip with the airline; today I was thanking G-d that I hadn't.

For several weeks, I've been online seeking out the best flight deals to travel to California in the early summer -- it is an expensive flight any way you plan it, any airline you go with. A few weeks ago, I happened on this Jetsgo site, and saw they were offering a $1 promotion that was expiring at 11:59 p.m. that night -- I was on the computer after 11:00 that night. I found a "great" deal that would've run me just under $300 + cancellation insurance, but I couldn't commit to it because the trip for me was too far off. I thought maybe I'd pay and then find a better deal elsewhere. But since that time, I've checked elsewhere, and everything is more expensive. Even Jetsgo flights were over $100 more after that specific date. So daily I would see flight prices and then reprimand myself as to why I hadn't booked with that super special.

So you can understand why today I was thanking G-d that I hadn't!

"...I'm leavin' on a jet plane..." Hey, Peter, Paul and Mary, Jetsgo is no longer the way to go.

Artist-in-Training

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Here, people, is the recreated post from yesterday afternoon, the one that vanished into the blogosphere, headed for parts unknown. Perhaps it is not as eloquent as the original was -- I warned in an earlier post that it was a cheap knockoff!

I have three lovely children, thank G-d, but I do not like to talk about them too much. No, it doesn't have to do with "ayin harah" but it has everything to do with not liking to brag...about anything! Once in a while, I offer up some story of an antic or some witticism spoken by one of the three -- people, as evidenced, always appreciate a good story about a child -- but generally I don't. Yes, I'll praise them to their faces, or even to their teachers and grandparents, but I'm not interested to sit and compare notes with friends/strangers/sisters-in-law about the trio's accomplishments.

But I will dedicate this post to my seven-year-old daughter. For the most part she is a lovely child, a delicate and fine child. But sometimes we've considered changing her name to REVA because of her desire to be argumentative and feisty. I didn't know that PMS can kick in at his young age! Poopoopoo, she is a pretty little girl with crystalline-blue eyes that draw people in (when she was an infant and just a few weeks old, a male friend warned us to sign her up for a life in a convent: that's how attractive her eyes are), and with her smattering of faint freckles across the bridge of her nose, there's a wholesome, natural look to her. Perhaps there's a Ralph Lauren print ad in her future...? Any agents out there?

This child has more fine art talent in her little finger than I have in my whole hand. What a pleasure it's been to watch her artistic renderings develop over time. I used to watch her progress in kindergarten from the beginning of one week until the end of the week. At the week's onset, she'd be drawing stick figures. By week's end, those stick figures were lucky to have detailed additions to their "wardrobes" and "facial features"!


It's the details that are astounding...and upon first examining her "portfolio"--read: countless of scrap papers lying all over the house -- one does not see the details. But look a little longer, and you're amazed at what's she's depicted.

A couple of examples:

Two weeks ago, she was at the kitchen table drawing a ballerina, and I was at the sink washing dishes. She began to talk to me about ballet slippers and I listened with half an ear as she continued to talk and draw. The next morning, when I looked down at the picture that had been abandoned on the table, I indeed could see a beautiful ballerina there, and my daughter had also drawn ballet slippers...but not just any kind of plain, flat ballet slippers. She drew Giselle-like ballet slippers with ribbons running up and around the legs.

A few weeks before that, I told her to make a picture for someone at work, a designer from the art department. All I told her was that he has two teenage daughters. She chose to do a pen-and-ink "tchikchuk" (Hebrew for "extremely quickly"), and I thanked her for it and told her I'd give it to the designer the next day. I had it on the seat next to me in the car and when I finally parked and moved to get out of the car, I looked closely at the drawing. She'd drawn a baseball cap on the designer, a bikini on his wife, one-piece bathing suits on his daughters and in between each of them was a surfboard, stuck in sand, with the ocean waves behind them. All this in pen-and-ink.

Granted, her drawing and love for drawing works for and against her. While she should be doing homework, she's doing portraits of the family and displays them in her gallery: on the refrigerator door. When I tell her to stop drawing and start doing schoolwork, she pacifies me, "Mummy, it's a picture of you!"

And when she hands me these pictures, I'm most flattered. I've got on very funky clothing (I don't even own any funky clothes). I have great hairstyles, and pouty lips, which are always smiling. I have long and beautiful Maybelline-like eyelashes. But best of all, I'm skinny!!!

I do hope that this daughter of mine will continue to grow in and develop her artistic abilities for many years to come. After all, I could stand to have countless more of those "I'm skinny" portraits hanging in my gallery!

Anyone Need an Editor?

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A short while ago, I helped play sounding board for my hubby who will be giving a d'var Torah at seudat shlishit at one of the shuls we attend. It's a smallish shul with lovely members who are more of a family than a congregation. The rabbi and rebbetzin are outstanding people who welcome many different people into their minyan, while still guiding the congregation in an Orthodox fashion. This shul is a far cry from the other shul -- the small city -- that we attend. Given my choice, I prefer the small shul, the intimacy of it all, the "no-airs-about-them" members.

Anyhow, so hubby will be doing a dvar Torah and tonight I got a sneak preview earful of it. It's goo..o...o..o..d. But then, together we worked on making it "gooder." And my editing tools came out, my resourceful use of Internet, my pointing out the obvious and eliminating the unnecessary.

I felt I was back in university, taking my Jewish Studies courses, writing an essay for my Rambam or Modern Jewish Civilization course. And it had been a long, long while since I was in Jewish day school/Jewish high school and wrote any kind of Torah-related paper, so helping my husband with this was a great pleasure for me -- enlightening and fulfilling.

I told my husband that I can expand my freelance editorial clientele: I can continue to edit romance novels and business-related materials, and at the same time edit rabbis' sermons and laymen's dvar Torahs. What a zechut (merit) that would be, huh?

Editing and Rewriting Out of Necessity

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Blogger.com, I just want to say how upset I was with you today-- actually yesterday (it's already after midnight). I took about 25 minutes out of my lunch hour at work to write a beautiful blog about my daughter, and when I went to post it, the system behaved uncooperatively, and I lost my labor of love. I tried to retrace my steps, but to no avail. You were acting wacky, Blogger.com, and you didn't even give me warning signals. You sure weren't yourself yesterday, or even last evening, when I tried to comment on other peoples' posts. Suddenly you were telling me there were no such blogs?

Sure, I will recreate the piece in my next post, but oh, how uptight and annoyed I was. Don't you realize that my memory fails me? That it falters when it tries to recall the literary spool of thread I'd unraveled on your site? What I'd offered you was an original; now you'll have to settle for a cheap knock-off.

Do look after yourself, Blogger.com -- there are a lot of people out there who rely on you, who need you in their lives. Don't fail us -- or me -- again...!

Rise, Fall -- and Rise Again

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Thank you, Rabbi Twerski, for today's words of wisdom:

A just person may fall seven times and rise (Proverbs 24:16).


Although we may have realized that we learn our most valuable lessons the hard way, and that therefore we may tolerate our mistakes because of their educational value, we are apt to be intolerant of a mistake that we repeat. "I should have known better from last time," one says.

We should stop berating ourselves. Some lessons are not learned so easily, even from experience. The reason? We may understand something with our intellect, yet it may not have filtered down into our hearts and bones and muscles. In other words, if we lack an emotional grasp of a concept, the intellectual awareness alone may not suffice to deter us from repeating a mistake.

We are human. Rather than blame ourselves for a repetitive mistake, we should realize that the anguish we feel when we have failed to learn from a previous experience might just give us the emotional insight that can prevent that same mistake in the future.

In fact, new mistakes can shed light on old mistakes. When we do something wrong once, we may make only a superficial repair. Soon afterwards, in a different situation, we again fall flat. We may continue to fall until we realize that all our failures point to a flaw in ourselves that we had never noticed. Once we have uncovered the real reason for our mistakes, we can correct it and greatly, genuinely improve ourselves.

Poetry in Mo...o...o...o...tion

Blogroll Me!

On one of the blogs that I like to read, Jack's Shack, Jack posts snippets of fiction-in-progress. So I decided this morning to take his example and post a poem that I started to write last night -- ahem, I mean this morning at about 12:10. But I had to stop because I was literally falling asleep at the wheel -- keyboard -- as I was typing. So here, for your reading pleasure, is the start of "The Face in the Window."


The Face in the Window


It is midnight, and I am doing a final walkabout in the house.
Picking up forgotten books, straightening sofa pillows, securing the dog for the night.
I look in on my dear children, fast asleep in their beds,
a sliver of moon peering down upon them through a crack between window and window shade,
a crease of light
haloing the heads
of these little treasures as they sigh in their sleep.

I lock the front door, then glance out the beveled side window at the snow beyond.
The yellowish light in front of the house casts a warm glow, beckoning me out of doors.
But I cannot wander out, although it might be nice to pirouette on the front lawn amidst the white down feather blanket of snow.

The Dinner Party Revisited...at Dinnertime

Blogroll Me!

Well, this evening I figured that if I threw this post's scenario/question out to a bunch of strangers, why not pose it to my family!?

My 7 1/2 year old daughter wants to entertain celebrity teens-of-the-hour Lindsay Lohan, Hilary Duff, Raven, and...get this, ALBERT EINSTEIN. She specified that she'd serve Albert "brain food", ie. sushi.

My 5 year old son wants to entertain Spiderman and several other characters from Game Cube games.

My 9 1/2 year old son wants to...just entertain us, it appears, with his dry wit and his sharp observations.

My 40-something-year-old husband wants to host Shammai and Hillel. I told him that guests like these would have to sit at opposite ends of the dinner table because they'd be in disagreement all the time. I guess hubby would have to be the buffer, the deciding factor in the "discussion/debates."

And if any of you would like to come to a bloggers' dinner party at our home, we could arrange that too...!