Ga-Ga-Ga-Goo..gle Me

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Here's a round-up of some recent searches that led you to me. Yeah, you're not alone in your "huh?" look.

1) Twilight Zone theme song

2) "merriam-webster" + dictionary + haredi

3) traveler's prayer

4) andy rooney's telemarketer

5) musical version of tefilat haderech

6) sneak into universal studios from citywalk, bathroom

7) "jewish men" "sex drive"

8) Hilary Duff caught skinny dipping

Hints of Fall = Memories of Summer

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It's almost mid-August; my children's day camp finishes next Wednesday; school supplies have to be bought; uniform blouses, shirts and pants have to be clean; dentist and doctor appointments have to be made.

Yes, there are still shul soccer games to be played by both my sons; yes, there are still our shuls bringing Shabbos in early on Friday nights; there is still yardwork to be done; bike riding to be had; and basketball nets to reach for.

But hints of fall are already under way -- school supply lists and admit-to-class cards in the mail; back-to-school flyers in the newspapers; free-standing signs advertising High Holiday seating tickets; the sun sets earlier; the evening cools down; the car windows have to be wiped down in the morning because of the dew. Fall is just around the corner, and so I think about this past summer.

* My parents celebrated their 49th wedding anniversary; my father celebrated his 85th birthday; my son celebrated his 10th birthday; my daughter will, G-d willing, celebrate her 8th birthday

Celebrating is good. Celebrating is a bracha.

* I had the opportunity to meet some wonderful people who, until this summer, had mainly been a name or a pseudonym to me. I recognized that these people, aka bloggers, are as welcoming, warm and wise as their words on-screen and off-screen.

The pleasure was all mine.

* Our pug, Tyson Pugsley, died in June, on a Shabbos, the day before Father's Day. Nobody was home at the time. He left this world just as he lived in it: quietly.

We miss Tyson -- his comical face and body; his wiggling tushy; his hovering, waiting underfoot for someone to drop a crumb; his ability to make people stop and pet him because he was so "cutely ugly"; his snoring.

* Our first family holiday. A packed van full of kids, DVDs, clothing and kosher food and snacks -- and maps!

I took a solo holiday before the family holiday. I could have stood to use another solo holiday AFTER the family holiday.

* An observation I made on this family holiday: the U.S. is plentiful with travelers who own RV's -- not just simple Winnebago-type homes on wheels, but extended, magnificent-looking family chariots. These are personalized vehicles that stand out on the highway because of their size and their elegant designs. They are all rather rich-looking.

Many of these RV's tow vehicles behind them; just like the RV's, most of the vehicles are designer cars and SUVs. Often the exterior of these cars match the exterior of the RV towing it!

* I have watched as my children's sport skills improve -- basketball, soccer, baseball. Boys against the girl; girl and friend against the boys.

My sons' knowledge of baseball has also improved -- thanks to TV sports channels, Game Cube games, the radio and the newspaper. Oh, no, hockey season is just around the corner...

* My blog writing/reading/commenting has intensified over the summer. I thought that with the extended time away from the computer because of the out-of-town trips, my interest would diminish; unfortunately, it's accentuated -- and more hours are spent at my computer.

I do have a life outside of the blogging world, and a very lovely life it is, but this writing has brought me much pleasure, has helped keep the writing muse active and carrying over into other personal writing, has let me captivate an audience, and has been good for the soul.

"Summertime....and the living is easy...."

A Secret Admirer

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I received an e-mail today; the subject line said "A Secret Admirer" so I was hemming and hawing whether or not I should open the mail. I was afraid it might be a virus. But curious me did open it and was most happy that I did.

It was a lovely message from a New York woman who told me that she's been reading and enjoying my blog since day 1 -- over seven months ago. I have never seen a comment on my posts from this person, so she is indeed a secret admirer.

She introduced herself by name and asked if it was familiar to me. In my early months of reading blogs, I used to read her comments on another well-read and very popular blog. She and her husband even received a honorable post on that blog, and it stands out very clearly in my mind. I could even put a face to the name because there had been accompanying photos with the post.

She went on to compliment my writing and praise me as a person, and I was clearly moved. Not to discount any of your warm sentiments in online or offline comments... Yes, I appreciate and truly enjoy any and every comment/compliment I might get about my posts, but receiving a warm letter like this has true merit for me. It was as if I was a pretty new author with only a couple published books to my name, and she was a reader-fan who came out of the woodwork and took the time to write and say what kind of reader she was and what kind of writer I was.

It is clear that I did not forget who she was since I first learned about her. It is clearer that having read my words over these past few months, she has gotten a sense of who -- and what -- I am.

And to this woman, I once again write, "Thank you...for I am deeply moved by your words...and your experiences."

Signed: "Your Secret Admirer."

Too Much Information

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I'm always told I give too much information. Too many details. Too much too soon.
So I won't...THIS TIME. (or maybe I just did!?)

Jewku

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When I began reading Rabbi Neil Fleischmann's blog, I became more aware of the "haiku" poetry form. I would sometimes comment on his posts in copycat haiku form, which did not come too easily for me; perhaps that form comes easily to him.

But haiku opened my mind and got my creative juices flowing.

Just today, on my desk at work, under a pile of papers I found some haiku I'd written in May/June of this year. This is not ordinary haiku; rather, it's haiku with a twist...a Jewish twist. Thus it's called Jewku.

--written May 18:

In May of this year
I discovered Jewish verse
"Jewku" I call it.

Familiar haiku
with some Jewish content (sales)
for you a bargain.

Wholesale poetry
All new, not used, metziahs.

--written May 19:

Sunday morning brunch.
a schmear of cream cheese and lox
on toasted bagel.

--written June 1:

Tribal laws decree
you are Jewish if Mom is.
Your dad does not count.

******

Good cooks run rampant
amidst my family's men--
tastefully good men.

The Three Most Important Words

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A couple of weeks ago, I received an e-mail from www.aish.com -- it was a short film about the three most important words in a relationship. Those words are not I LOVE YOU -- what you might most expect them to be.

Follow this link and see for yourself what those words are.

I sent the link to my husband that day after glancing quickly at the movie, just 'cause I thought the movie was cute.

Here is what he wrote back:

for all my past mistakes I would like to say to you -- I WAS WRONG


for all my future mistakes I would like to say to you -- I WILL BE WRONG



I LOVE YOU!

"If I Had a Million Dollars...I'd Be Rich" [or not]

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I came home this evening to a telephone message from a friend saying that a mutual friend's father passed away this afternoon. The mutual friend is from Toronto but has lived in the U.S. for a number of years with her husband and children. Her mother passed away many years ago, and only her ailing father and two siblings who have no connection to her or her father remained.

My friend was in Toronto for the past week because she'd been told that her dad wasn't doing too well. Thank G-d there'd been quite an improvement in his health and he was to be transfered next week from a hospital to a nursing home for convalescing. My friend was planning to return to the States with her family because of family and work obligations.

Now her father is niftar, but I think they will sit shiva in the States because of the family situation.

Yes, she is a good daughter who kept traveling here to check on her father, who was in and out of hospitals for the past few years. Yes, it took somewhat of a mental, emotional and physical toll on her each time she came and left. And yes, there will be a noticeable absence in her life hereonafter.

I do know that this friend has now inherited millions of dollars, and that all along her father has been providing her with funds for day school, funds for buying a large home, funds for traveling, etc.

But who really cares how many millions this friend is now worth. Why? Because 1) she has lost a parent, and 2) this friend has M.S., and has had it for over 6 years.

Perhaps the money will fund medications for her, will have her be able to be on the receiving end of every new M.S. drug trial out there. But this M.S. has slowly been robbing her of her fine quality of life--her strength, her concentration, her physical mobility, her comfort levels, her family life.

At the end, what is she left with? A few million... But when you're an "avel" or a sick person, the money certainly doesn't make you rich. You're truly a millionaire when you have your family by your side and good health in your back pocket. All the rest can wait...

"What a Pain in the...Head!"

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I know many egocentric people. I encounter them every day -- at work, in my private life, in my blogging world. Those are the people who like the spotlight turned "just so" to shine on them and whatever it is they are doing to think they deserve recognition.

Perhaps blogging itself is an egocentrism of sorts...maybe not so much when you write about political stances and current events and information that is already out there, but more when you write about yourself, your thoughts, your past, your present and your future. But in my mind that is called a personal blog. It reflects who and what you are. Like a raconteur, or a comedian, it's all "in the delivery."

I try not to be egocentric in any areas of my life; I've always dislike braggarts and extremely self-assured people, perhaps because I never was one. But there is one area where I am...and probably will always be... egocentric. And that is when I don't feel well, as happened today.

Although they developed later in life, I suffer quite frequently from sinus headaches/cluster headaches. This morning, I woke up with one of those headaches. It went from an awareness of a sinus headache, to a full-blown HEADACHE that bordered on migraine and nausea and sensitivity to smell and sound...and it lasted for HOURS.

Usually I go to shul with my youngest child midmorning. I did not go to shul, I barely got up out of bed, I ate no breakfast and leerily ate lunch. My day for the most part passed by while I was in bed, the shades pulled low to create darkness.

I got up around 10 a.m., deciding that maybe sitting outside on the kitchen deck, the warm breeze on my face, might do the trick. I'd already taken nasal spray and 2 extra-strength Tylenol. Sometimes the Tylenol kick in quickly, but not today. Yes, the setting out-of-doors was pleasant, but somehow I felt sicker, and went back to bed....and slept.

My daughter came in a couple of times to stroke my arm and say she hoped I felt better and to lie beside me and keep me company. She announced at 1:00 p.m. that it really was lunchtime, so I got up to prepare the table. Of course, after lunch, I went back to bed, to sleep, still wondering at my severe headache, but knowing I could not yet take another pill.

The day was sunny outside and beckoning me, but I could not get up out of that bed. I felt sorry for my children and husband that today they only had each other's company, and not Eema's. As I was sleeping, dreaming, waking, sleeping, dreaming, waking, they were being children without me.

Again, throughout the afternoon, my daughter came to check on my and lie with me and try to regale me with stories in order to comfort me. I told her I was sorry that I did not feel well, and as I kept apologizing to her, I thought: "G-d forbid, if I was a mother that truly had some long-term disabilitating, serious disease, how my children would suffer because I'd always have to excuse my inability to interact with them."

Thankfully by the time my husband left for shul in the evening, I felt that the meds had finally taken effect and that I was able to be there, with my children, downstairs, to give them shalosh seudos and be company for them till Shabbos would be over and my husband would return home.

I was rather sad that such a glorious day passed me by without me partaking of it. Yes, Shabbos is a day of rest, but today is certainly not what I had in mind for myself when I knew Shabbos was coming this week. And I'm sorry that my egocentrism reared its ugly head...but thankfully, my family understood and respected it. I hope that tomorrow when the sun shines, I'll be right there with my family, "shining" back at it.

You Ought To Cry, You Ought To Laugh, You Ought To Sign My Autograph...Book

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In 1972, when I was 11 years old, I got my first autograph book. Even at that young age, I was somewhat of a sentimental fool, wanting to "capture" moments in time by having people sign my book with personal messages.

Of course my peers weren't sentimental fools like me, and for the most part wrote silly rhymes and messages. My teachers, on the other hand, and other school administrators whom I approached for their words of wisdom wrote more meaningful lines.

Mrs. Rose, for example, my grade 5 General Studies teacher, wrote: "Dear Pearl/ Always question, always keep an open mind./Never accept something merely because someone has said it./ Be convinced of the validity of the thoughts before you accept them."

Or my grade 6 General Studies teacher, Judy Smithen, wrote: "Dear Pearl/ Good, better, best./Never let it rest/Until the good is better/And the better is best."

A few years later, my grade 8 English teacher, wrote: "To thine own self be true, and it must follow as the night the day; thou canst not then be false to any man."

As you can see, the teachers were always teaching, even in their messages to me.

I get a real kick out of those teachers, specifically those who taught me literature/creative writing, who, through their messages in my autograph book, declared that I had writing talent and they hoped I'd pursue it. I don't think writing a blog is what they really had in mind for me when they said I should pursue my writing!

It is interesting to look back though some of the messages and wonder about the people who wrote them; several are no longer with us, having died untimely deaths; some have married and divorced or remained single since they scrawled their names in my autograph book; some have gone on to powerful positions in the workplace or raised families. And others...well, my path has never crossed with theirs again since we parted ways in day school or high school.

Yes, I have three small autograph books that carried me from grade 5 through grade 13. As well, I have a beautiful scrapbook that doubled as sort of an autograph book when I was in high school. I shared it with those friends who were talented in the arts: they drew pictures for me amidst the pages, or wrote poetry, or song lyrics. Just as some of these people whom I no longer see or speak to must wonder if Pearl continued with her interest in writing, so I, too, wonder if they pursued the arts, in which they showed immense talent.

I think when I got my first autograph book, I was trying to emulate my mother. My mother had been given a beautiful embroidered blank-paged journal as a bat-mitzvah gift in 1943...and its pages, used as an autograph book/memory book, carried her through teenhood and young adulthood. This book is a work of art, a real collectible; it is rare to see an autograph book like that today.

The fountain pen curlicued script, the b & w or sepia-toned photos, the beautifully drawn cartoons and sketches, the embossed and stylish stickers, and the messages from the pens and pencils of friends and family capture a time period, a lifestyle and a youthfulness which helped define my mother and those around her.

I do know of another book her book reminds me of: Anne Frank's autograph book, which I saw in a special exhibition this past spring in Toronto. Of course, Anne and her sister Margot, were born just a few years earlier than my mother and her sister. But the parallels ran great: the books look the same, the family photographs look the same, some of the experiences are the same. The main differences are that my mother came from an Orthodox Jewish family living in Switzerland; Anne came from an assimilated family who'd moved from Germany to Holland. My mother and her family lived in a neutral country and survived the war. Anne Frank and her sister and mother did not survive.

The pages of my mother's autograph book depict a young girl's life as she comes of age and matures into a young adult amidst war and liberation, amidst the birth of the Jewish homeland, amidst higher education and a move into the work force.

Even if I can't understand everything I'm reading in the book, I could sit and look at it for hours at a time. Why? Because the language of love and friendship comes through in the look of the book, set on every one of its pages -- a universal language, it does not need any kind of translation.

I will share with you this poem that I'd copied onto the inside cover of one my autograph books. It captured for me what that autograph book was all about.

"Growing up means...
more than going from childhood to adulthood.

It is understanding life...
and knowing...YOURSELF
and trying to understand
...OTHERS..."

And I will leave you with this applicable quote that I'd copied into the cover of another of one of my autograph books:

"Like a kite
Cut from the string
Lightly the soul of my youth
Has taken flight."
--Takuboku

Jewish Superheroes for Our Time

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I came across this wondrous site this morning. Wow... some mighty fine superheroes we have representing us.

And to think that all these years (since the "age of disco"), every Pesach I've been singing my own superhero song: "Matzah Man" to the tune of "Macho Man" by the Village People. Little did I know that other Jewish superheroes prevailed.

The Oyster Police

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Please give a nice welcome to the Oyster Police, who have decided to work this blog with me.

http://www.cartoonstock.com/lowres/mly0273l.jpg

A Patchwork of Blogger Snippets

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I've just written this free-form poem, a composite of lines and phrases that I've extracted from my e-mail messages to fellow bloggers, and their e-mail messages to me. Each phrase is a different color, and I've just thrown them together to make some kind of (weird in its own way) sense.

Online with Bloggers

My chair was biting into my back and the pain was radiating into my skull.
A very surreal experience -- sequined shirt and all!
"PREMATURE POSTING."
Sweet dreams.


Keep up your writing, don't give up! Good things almost always come from good people.
It's almost like a secret society - we are understated in some ways and have a secret story life inside us, wanting to share it, but only when it's 'right'. Sometimes in spite of words of wisdom from others.
How many people is it worth writing for?
Is the content so strong (which I suspect that it is) that the form is intrinsically compelling?
Anyway, I haven't quite figured out what I think about the form...


I have a tendency to repeat phrases that work.
I have a tendency to repeat phrases that work.
I have a tendency to repeat phrases that work.

Kind regards.

Poetry in Motion

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The following are poems that I had published last year in Parchment, an annual Canadian-Jewish literary journal. It is an honor to be included in this journal, as well as being given the opportunity to read my work at the book's launch, held in conjunction with Toronto's Jewish Book Fair.

This journal attracts well-known Canadian Jewish authors, poets, playwrights and essayists, and to find my name and work among theirs is a "kavod" for me.

To top that, I have been in the company of a special poet in this book, both last year and two years earlier, when both our poetry was included and we were both asked to read at the launch. This special poet is my now-nineteen-year-old niece, my brother's daughter. When her work was included in the book in 2002, she was the youngest ever to submit and be included in the book. Last year, she was away for the reading, and her maternal grandmother read my niece's poem. Both the delivery and the piece were very beautiful.

Yesterday I submitted to Parchment a couple of poems I wrote earlier this year. I hope that a few months from now, I can share them with you as being "published" poems.

In the meantime, read these; they are glances into the Israel I remember from my stay between October 1983-March 1984.



Remembered Vignettes

i.

a stroke of ice-blue eye shadow here,
another stroke there.
sweep that pale peach blush up,
then draw it down.
light pink across the lower lover’s lips –
pucker.
dab a cotton puff.
and another.

herzliya sunset over a windswept beach.


ii.

atop a girls’ religious seminary
high in the land of Sefad
a sign proclaims:
WE WANT MOSHIACH NOW.
DO A MITZVAH…AND ANOTHER.

inside the cold stone building
girls are huddled in a central hall,
grouped around an ancient-looking black telephone,
giggling, talking excitedly among themselves.
one girl holds the receiver to her ear,
waiting and listening.

“she’s on hold for a blessing from the rebbe,”
is explained to me when i cast a curious look.

suddenly a motion of hands waving. a hush.
“amen. thank you. goodbye.”
a collective smile.

“i got a blessing! i got a blessing!
the rebbe gave his blessings for a good shidduch!”
an impromptu hora is danced.
these future brides without their grooms.




iii.

such bare walls.
an old, chipped wooden wardrobe.
two single cots.
negelwasser basins wait patiently below each.

a naked bulb hangs low overhead.
accentuating, illuminating –
damn!
forgot to turn off the light before sundown.

no shabbos goys here.

i sleep a restless sleep.



iv.


climbing the darkened stairway
up to the fifth floor
on a friday night
i ponder the situation.
i, an outsider, have been invited
to be a guest at this stranger’s apartment.
perhaps not a stranger…?
perhaps, rather, a peer from days gone by,
i’ve been told.

i enter the apartment and blink with the
sudden brightness.
the room comes into focus.
a shabbos table
bedecked with white linen cloth, silverware
and fine china.
at one end sit two large round challahs
and a wine bottle
accompanied by a platter of gefilte fish and
dish of pink horseradish.

am i the shabbos queen, after all?

“chaya!”

i look from where this booming voice has come
and see a robust man
seated at the other end of the table.
black beard blending with black jacket
and black hat askew on his head.

that face i don’t recognize,
but that voice i know.

and i am once again in a crowded,
fifth-grade schoolyard during recess…

“can i have some of your fritos?” you ask.

Play It Again, Pearl

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I've been blogging since early December, and once in a while, I think a replay of an earlier post is in order. Because I posted about my youngest child just before this post, I'll keep with that theme and present you (latecomers perhaps to Pearlies of Wisdom) with this post from last December.

Sit back, relax, put up your feet and start reading.

And if there's any way for you to track down and hear the referenced song (perhaps by going to Amy Sky's Web page), do so. The lyrics, as well as Amy's beautiful, mournful singing, stir the soul.

http://wwwpearliesofwisdom.blogspot.com/2004/12/its-little-things-that-count.html

Games, Grins & Giggles

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My little guy is an avid game player, whether it be sports, a board game, GameCube or Foozball.

He is not only a game player; he is a game winner! This kidlet, who's been around since 2000, has mastered the art of winning...and laughing deviously and demonically as he is declared "the winner!"

Yesterday we were playing a Pop-o-Matic game, circa 1970-- you know, Trouble, Headache, Frustration...and the less renowned Cross Over the Bridge. These board games are housed at my parents' from when I was a child living there. Mr. TorontoPearl, Jr., was my partner in Cross Over the Bridge. I did let him get away with stuff, which I probably wouldn't let a peer in my age group get away with, and he was a winner -- not once, not twice, but three times. The glee that broke out on his face made it all worthwhile.

He is a master controller when he plays GameCube with his older brother, and he learns from the games, too. Not just "bad things", but he can name countless baseball players and baseball teams from playing an online baseball game. He is thrilled to announce to me in the kitchen, "I'm winning...sixteen to nothing."

This evening we played Foozball. Perhaps it's that hand-eye masterful coordination he's acquired from his playing GameCube, but whatever the reason, he rightfully won each time we played...and we played several times. He shrieked with joy and giggled in abundance knowing that he "beat Eema."

As I'm wearing egg on my face from having been beaten (ooh...I saw that inintentional pun AFTER I typed this) by a five-year-old, that five-year-old is wearing a big grin from having beaten his mother.

And seeing that grin on that winner's face makes me realize something. Some years ago I rolled the dice, moved a few spaces ahead in life, rolled the dice again, acquired some prime real estate, rolled the dice again, and got some pieces to call my own.

I think I'm the biggest winner ... in THE GAME OF LIFE.

I'm on a (Blog) Roll...

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A Blogger's Prayer

Now I sit me
down to blog
on this great venue --
my weblog.

I pray the computer
my blog to keep
when I lay me
down to sleep.

I hope to rise to
read your critique
it's the necessary feedback
that I seek.

I thank you each
for all your time
for reading my words,
and reading my rhyme.

I must end here
my day is done
goodbye, fellow bloggers,
au revoir, everyone.

Do You Speak Blog?

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Hey, people, I just came up with a new term.

You know the term "doggone it" -- that pretty euphemism for "damn it"?

I just thought up "bloggone it".

It's a two-purpose word. I'm going to experience something today and then I'm going to "bloggone it!" Or, if I mess up my post and lose it without being able to recover it, I'll be likely to say, "Oh, bloggone it!"

Oh, and when I was typing this, I came up with another term: a bloglet.

If I allow you to guest post on my blog, you become a "bloglet"!

And if you're blogging too much, as I do, I might announce/declare a "blogs-out": a signal for turning off blogs and getting some much-needed sleep.

And then there's a "blogime" -- that pattern of action that sees you blogging before breakfast, at lunch and after dinner.

And sometimes, like me, you might be "blogged-out" -- you will have lost your brilliant ideas for the time being, will need to advertise for a bloglet and will heed the blogs-out signal.

Oh, bloggone it, my lunchtime is over.

The Birds Flew Away

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In the past I've written about how conscious of "lashon harah" we were in our home, growing up. My parents' favorite analogy was: "Words are like birds. Once they're out, they fly away and you can't always retrieve them."

I had a close girlfriend call me today, ask if I had a few minutes to speak, and something in her tone made me suspicious. And rightfully so. She was not calling just for an idle chitchat -- we'd had all last Shabbos afternoon to do that. She was calling to make me aware that I had hurt her feelings this past Shabbos with something I said, and that I have a bad habit of bringing something in her life to the forefront.

I wasn't shocked at what she told me; I was aware on Saturday that I made a comment in a joking manner that, once it was out of my mouth, I had a sense of what it must've sounded like, and couldn't really backpedal. I wasn't shocked, I was hurt...not at her announcement, but at the fact that I had hurt someone close to me and unintentionally.

I told my friend that I was thankful she'd told me my shortcoming; that was the only way that I was to learn how to improve myself and be aware of her sensitivity about the issue. I know people who bear their grievances silently for years; at some point in time there is a major outburst and all the grievances of years gone by come tumbling forth. That is certainly not the way to handle matters, but matters have to be dealt with at hand, or with just a small passage of time, perhaps to think through the approach "the victim" wants to take in order to make their grievances known.

My friend thanked me for being so accepting of what she had to tell me, but I said to her, "Why should I have been anything but? There is nothing for me to be defensive about. I thank you that you told me."

I told her my self-improvement in this area will not happen overnight, even if I try hard enough. I let her know that she can slap my wrist, so to speak, if I say something again that bothers her.

Being honest is sometimes a chance people take, and being on the receiving end of honesty isn't always what one wants to hear...but sometimes it's the only way they CAN HEAR.

How You Might Have Found Me

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I get such a kick out of seeing some of the entries that lead you to me, I have to note them every few days. Some leave me grinning, others leave my face frozen in the shape of a big question mark with "Huh?" scrawled across my forehead.

Aside from the repeated "Boy Vey!" or "Tefillat HaDerech" searches, some of these have been the key to helping you find me and my pearlies.

* wisdom for hard-headed kids ("I need to hear some of that wisdom!")

* "where the wild things are" + "temporary tattoo"

* kippah bruce willis ("Forget about my blog, what do those 2 items have in common, I wonder?")

* Hebrew Greek words mean pearl

* beis hamikdash and stock market ("What I would sacrifice for a hot stock market tip!")

* pearl of wisdom images

* bellagio macaroons recipe

* balabusta

* woman's queen size athletic clothing Toronto

Hey, I hope you found what you were looking for!

Sadness Speaks to Me

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Shavuah Tov, everyone. I hope those of you who observe Shabbos had a wonderful one, and those of you who don't, had a wonderful Saturday.

Many a time in my past posts, I've mentioned or hinted at my sensitivity. I have always had a very strong sense of compassion for the people around me, feeling what they were feeling: angst, melancholy, anger, sadness. But most of all, it is sadness that has always spoken to me.

I don't thrive on sad tidings, or emotional turmoil of others, but I do feel for people -- both friends or strangers -- when they are feeling low, whether they feel it for superficial reasons or for major crises. I try to let them know that I am there for them, if not in body, then in spirit. I share my thoughts and my words to help ease their personal pains; whether these words do anything at all, I don't know, but I want these people to know that I will listen, I will help if I'm able, I will offer suggestions if the person is seeking that; namely, I will be a friend or confidante if that is what they are needing.

Yes, I do take some things in my life for granted, but am trying to stray from that posture. After all, how can I do that, yet count my blessings at the same time? And believe me, I do count my blessings all the time.

In recognizing what problems, issues, family dynamics, etc. lay beyond mine, it is clear that I count my blessings even more -- thankful for family, thankful for health, thankful for a roof over our heads, thankful for a job, thankful for money in the bank, thankful for good friends and thankful for recognizing that we indeed have blessings.

It is most sad that sometimes it is only at the expense of someone else's sadness and despair that you recognize just how truly gifted and blessed you are. That someone else does not have to be a friend or someone close to you, but that someone does have a story to tell...and in reading that story, you realize that your own story doesn't amount to a hill of beans.

I've read some of those stories. I've felt my heart melt. I've cried those soulful tears. I've written those notes of compassion. I've let the people know that I, as a stranger, have been touched by their sadness, and I wish them some eventual peace of mind, peace of heart. I continue to read those stories. You should too. Then you might truly stop complaining about the small details in your life, look beyond and see that all you cherish sometimes is worth more than life itself.

Please read these stories, let your own heart melt and recognize that life and all it offers is never to be taken for granted.

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