The Celebrity Factor

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I must admit; I'm often envious of Randi of Cruisin' Mom and Danny of Jew Eat Yet? These people drop names in their posts the way I drop soup mandlen into a hot bowl of chicken soup...they float around a while, then expand.

These two folks can sit in an eatery, lean over to the next table where some A-list or B-list celebrity is seated and say, "Can I please borrow your ketchup?" or "What kind of omelette is that you're having?" or " Excuse me, but aren't you _________? I love that movie_________ you starred in during the post-war years, the one in which you played a __________. And your current stage work...."

I was born with stars in my eyes... No, I don't want to be an actress or live the high life that some celebrities do; I just want to get a chance to meet some and talk to them about some of their work, but mostly about their take on life.

Toronto is known as Hollywood North -- movies and TV series are continually filmed here; we have a fabulous annual film festival that draws lots of headliner-type names; we don't lack for big names who visit and spend extended amounts of time in Toronto.

It's almost springtime. Soon, I will see orange pylons on many suburban and city streets with little markers. These indicate there is filming going on in the vicinity -- trucks and trailers, cables and dressing rooms, sets and extras abound. If I had endless hours in the day, I'd be out on the streets, seeking out those orange pylons, looking for some celebrity who might be around. But I only have time to read about local celebrity spottings in the pages of the daily newspaper...no time to spot the celebrities myself.

But look out if I do...I generally lose my inhibitions, ie. shyness, and just speak up in a real friendly way.

That is the way that I've met:

1. Donny Osmond. He was back in Toronto a number of years ago, doing a second run of "Joseph & the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat". I was walking in a huge downtown mall, through the food court, and who's sitting there on a stool eating, but Donny dearest. I was probably in my late twenties or early thirties at the time, but let me tell you that the 14-year-old within me was envious as I passed him by, saying, "Hi...welcome back to Toronto. Hope you have a great run with the show."

2. Bruno Kirby and Matthew Broderick. They were in Toronto filming "The Freshman" and I was with my friends at a downtown juice bar, sitting at the counter on swivel seats like in an old diner. Someone was sitting beside me, got up and there, two people away from me was Matthew. I didn't want to infringe on his privacy right then and asked the counter guy if he'd ask Matthew if it would be okay to ask for his autograph. I got the green light and moved over beside him; in walks Bruno Kirby (yes, I knew of him wayyyyyyyy before When Harry Met Sally; I remember him from the 1960's Disney movies) and Matthew introduces me to him. Mr. Broderick introduced TorontoPearl to Bruno Kirby. I wasn't so gracious; I didn't turn the other way and introduce Matthew and Bruno to MY friends.

My greatest faux pas of that evening was asking Matthew, "What's it like working with the big guy?" ie. Marlon Brando. Yes, by that time, he was a BIG man, nothing of the hearththrob he'd once been. But I hadn't meant in stature, I'd meant in status, when I'd asked that.

3. Petula Clark. My girlfriend and I were in Montreal and walking on one of the nicer streets. We saw a commotion in front of a hotel, ie. news trucks with solar dishes on the roof, etc, and I said we should go in and see what's doing. There in the lobby was Petula Clark. She was being interviewed for some station and like Woody Allen in "Zelig", we popped up behind her for all the camera ops, ie. I took pics of my friend and Petula; she took pics of me. Then we chatted with her a bit. (I have similar "Zelig" pics with that same friend but in NYC, where we attended a couple of tapings of the Sally Jesse Raphael Show)

Okay, so it's not an impressive list -- there have been other celeb spottings and interfaces, but my mind is drawing a blank right now. Just know that it wouldn't be prudent to take me anywhere where you know there will be celebrities. I am likely to drop you, amble over to the celebrity and make conversation...before my shyness factor realizes what it is I'm doing and kicks into overdrive.

But Randi, and Danny, you give me your daily routine, tell me where you hang out, and next time I'm in L.A., I'll be sure to sit in YOUR seat, at YOUR favorite table, at YOUR favorite eatery or coffee shop, and I'll make conversation with YOUR favorite celebs. Don't worry...I'll have a picture of me taken with them to show you...and I'll get you their autograph as a bonus!

Labels By Any Other Name

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I'm long overdue for a post about Labels. I said I'd wanted to write one, and here it is.

Most of my life I was labeled -- sweet, generous, helpful, insighful, analytical, musical...and then there were those that weren't as nice: teacher's pet, browner, nerd, scaredy-cat...

Most kids learn to live with labels; some learn better with them, others are stifled in their personal growth because of these labels.

I've learned that most people do not like labels--labels often mark them as "different," or "odd" or "out of the norm". But sometimes labels help -- they provide some kind of identity, some kind of crutch.

When I was about 27 and having in-depth discussions about personal religious observances, etc., someone said, "Oh...so you're Conservadox." I asked for clarification and then was thrilled. My beliefs finally had a name! I wasn't teeter-tottering between levels of observance anymore; I was finally called something, and something relatively appropriate for me, for my family. It was no longer I, but WE, who were rightfully called Conservadox.

These days I dislike labels again...they're confusing, there are too many and most people hate to classify themselves. From time to time I go on JDate and Frumster.com to see if people I know who are single are advertising to meet people of the opposite sex. I am amazed by the divisions that you can fall into. Not only am I amazed, but I'm more than thankful that I'm not single, that I don't have to go this route and start classifying myself.

Frumster.com wants you to indicate your "Outlook." They have one header: Jewish. Under that is Traditional, Traditional & Growing, Conservative, Conservadox, Reform, Other. (What classifies "Other," I wonder.) There's a second header: Jewish Orthodox. Under that we've got Modern Orthodox Liberal, Modern Orthodox Machmir, Yeshivish Modern, Yeshivish Black Hat, Hassidish, Carlebachian (what, pray tell, does this mean...that you can carry a beatiful tune and lose yourself during the prayer service within the music...?) and Shomer Mitzvot.

G-d forbid a Modern Orthodox Liberal should contact a Yeshivish Black Hat... Perhaps never the twain shall meet. Is that the intent of these classifications for Frumster.com?

If being labeled is within my capacity, I'm usually labeled for something positive. I self-label myself mainly for those nasty negative traits: eg. I'm a procrastinator, I'm disorganized, etc.

Right now I'm labeling myself really tired, so I'll stop here. But let me ask this: Have you ever been knowingly labeled in your lifetime? Has it been beneficial for you in any way ora less-than-positive experience?

I thank you in advance for any comments.

A Blessing on Her Head...

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Back in December I found out that a friend's daughter is engaged... I posted about it.

G-d willing, later today, that young woman will stand under the chuppah with her chossen, in essence her "chosen". She will look to the family and friends surrounding her, who've surrounded her all these years...and then she will step away from them and together with her husband will begin a new life together.

I wish them both much mazel, many brachot (blessings) as they embark on this wonderful new journey together...this journey of marriage.

The Way You Do The Things You Do

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I know I blogged about this not all that long ago, but sometimes...ya just gotta repeat yourself!

I have a great husband...a special guy...a real find...a jewel to call my own.

I know that, but I think when others realize that as well, it means an awful lot.

This week alone I had three compliments about the special guy that Mr. TorontoPearl is. Two were from strangers who had reason to interact with him and later me. The third compliment was from someone who is not a stranger but is merely an acquaintance of mine in synagogue.

I can't begin to tell you what pleasure I get from hearing others speak so highly about my hubby, about what a kind and warm and friendly and concerned person he is. For me to know it is one thing; for others to recognize it on their own is like icing on a cake...extra-sweet.

His sweet and warm personality is not put-upon; it's genuine. His goodness is all gold. No, he is not perfect and he knows his weaknesses and flaws; thank G-d for that. He is a giver and rarely a taker. A good son, a wonderful husband and father, a more-than-decent human being.

Everything a girl could ask for...and more. That's Mr. TorontoPearl!

And the Rubber Chicken Award Goes To...

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I have no clue where rubber chickens rank in this world. I know they're the brunt of many jokes, but I have no clue why.

My oldest son had to do a book report a few years ago, and along with the written report, had to do a presentation to the class as well. He was portrayed as a farm boy with a straw hat, suspenders...and the piece de resistance: a rubber chicken in place of the real thing.

My son is a quiet boy who shirks away from the limelight, but he held center stage with that rubber chicken who, when squeezed, let out a G-d-awful mourning cry.

Last year, your friend and fellow blogger, TorontoPearl, who herself often shirks away from the limelight, decided to use that chicken for her own devices.

If you went to megillah reading at Toronto's--and I believe North America's--largest Orthodox synagogue, and it was time to make noise after hearing the name "Haman", amidst the graggers and horns and clapping hands, and boos and hisses and stomping feet, you might have heard the lone, lengthy squawk of a rubber chicken up in the women's gallery.

Okay, so it's not a typical noisemaker for Purim, but sometimes I dare to be just a little bit different. And I saw the smiles it brought to adults' & children's faces, making my slight self-consciousness all that more worthwhile.

So...this Purim, look out. Pearl and her rubber chicken might be performing at a megillah reading near you!

Some More Food for Thought

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The following is excerpted from Everyday Ethics by Joshua Halberstam.

When you judge other people, remember one overrriding axiom: "Everyone is having a hard time."

Everyone is insecure.
Everyone is hassled.
Everyone is tired -- we all need more sleep.
Everyone wishes he had more courage, more money and better social skills.
Everyone wants more glamour in his life, and we all desperately need more laughter.
Few can figure out how they ended up living the life they lead.
Don't be misled by flippant talk; it's a battle for everyone.

...Give people a break. It's not easy doing a life.

Shabbat Shalom, everyone.

Food for Thought: Carrots, Eggs & Coffee

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You will never look at a cup of coffee the same way again...

A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to take it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose.

Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. Soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed ground coffee beans. She let them sit and boil, without saying a word. In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners.

She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.

Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me what you see."

"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.

Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard cooked egg. Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma.

The daughter then asked, "What does it mean?"

Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity - boiling water. Each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.

"Which are you?" she asked her daughter. "When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?"

Think of this: Which am I?

Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?

Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? (this could be a good thing) Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?

Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor. If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you get better and change the situation around you.

When the hour is the darkest and trials are their greatest, do you elevate yourself to another level? How do you handle adversity?

Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?

May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you happy. The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything. They just make the most of everything that comes along their way. The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past; you can't go forward in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.

When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling. Live your life so at the end, you're the one who is smiling and everyone around you is crying.

A Note of Thanks

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As many of you readers might have noticed, I like to write e-mails, and even blog posts. Writing comes relatively easy to me, as I just sort of write via streamofconsciousness, which for me, is the easiest.

So some of you have received personal notes from me in the past week, others have read my comments on other blogs.

I just want to say thank you for all your good wishes and prayers and notes since my father was taken ill last Wednesday and had to be rushed by ambulance to the hospital. He suffered a series of seizures; at first it was thought that he'd had a major stroke, but thank G-d it's not the case.
There has been vast improvement since last week; yes, my father will remain in hospital for several weeks yet for rehabilitation, but thank G-d he is a moving, speaking, feeling and thinking person.

I have always referred to my father, and even published a poem about him by this name, as my "Yiddishe phoenix." He keeps rising above all the difficulties he's faced throughout his 80+ years, and keeps coming back to us when many times it is clear he shouldn't have. My father, thank G-d, was granted a survivor's persona. If that hadn't been the case, he'd have given up long ago. He always sees that there is someone else worse off than he is, and does not feel sorry for himself and his medical conditions; he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders...it's never his own.

I had been planning a trip this week to California for a wedding and to meet the West Coast blogging contingent with whom I'm in touch. When friends Robert Avrech of Seraphic Secret and Cruisin' Mom learned I had to cancel my trip and the reason why, they took it upon themselves to post about the difficulty that my family was going through and to request people pray for my father. The word got out, the comments and notes came in.

Prayers for my father, ongoing still, are being said in Toronto, Chicago, New York, New Jersey, Los Angeles, Washington, Nevada, Texas, UK, Jerusalem, Switzerland and many other points east, west, north and south. My friend, Doctor Bean of Kerckhoff Coffeehouse even posted a Mesheberach (prayer for the sick) online in a comments section with my father's Hebrew name inserted into the prayer. Talk about an online connection to G-d...

It is overwhelming how vast the blogging world is in reality, but how small it truly becomes.

I thank you all. My family thanks you, and they are also overwhelmed by all the goodness that permeates out there in blogland; we are mostly strangers to one another, but it is evident, that when most needed we become friends.

I grew up with my father always singing, "Anything you can do, I can do better..." Take it upon yourselves to keep making this world a better place by showing everyone your goodness.

You've already shown it to me.

Jewish Moms

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I received a wonderful e-mail from aish.com; it features a lighthearted movie.

Sit back and enjoy.

http://www.aish.com/a/purimmoms.asp

"Blue" -- A Poem

BLUE

If I could paint a picture
I'd make it the color of your eyes
The crystalline blue...like marbles that catch the light of the sun.
Eyes that catch the light...full of life.

A vibrant blue to match the serenity of a calm ocean,
to match the blue blanket of a pristine sky.

Right now those eyes are dull, unseeing...or perhaps seeing things only they can see.
They are pained eyes, hurting eyes that no longer spark, that no longer smile for me...
No longer smile for us.

My canvas waits patiently. And this artist waits too...

The Unfolding of a Blogging Life

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It goes something like this:

annaolswanger.com is connected to Google; Google is connected to the L.A. Jewish Journal; the L.A. Jewish Journal is connected to Seraphic Secret; Seraphic Secret is connected to A Simple Jew; Seraphic Secret is connected to Treppenwitz; Treppenwitz is connected to PsychoToddler; PsychoToddler is connected to Kerckhoff Coffeehouse; PsychoToddler is connected to Jack's Shack; PsychoToddler is connected to Laya's Place; PsychoToddler is connected to Balabusta; PsychoToddler is connected to a really lengthy blog name, that of his daughter. Jack's Shack is connected to Stacey's Shmatta.

Life of Rubin got in there...somehow. Mirty got in there...somehow. Mirty is connected to NY's Funniest Rabbi. Air Time got in there...somehow. Air Time is connected to Just Passing Through.

Seraphic Secret is connected to News, Views, and Shmooze; Seraphic Secret is connected to Moving On; Mirty is connected to Elie's Expositions.

Cruisin' Mom got in there...somehow. Cruisin Mom is connected to Sweettooth; Cruisin Mom is connected to I Still See a Spark in You.

Jack's Shack is connected to Citizen of the Month; Citizen of the Month is connected to Did Jew Eat? (formerly known as Andy Hardy Writes a Blog). Stacey's Shmatta is connected to Mia's World. Life with Estee got in there...somehow.

Kerckhoff Coffeehouse is connected to Why You Treat Me Like a Dog?

Serandez got in there...somehow.

The list goes on and on; I can't remember all the Jewish Connections or what Our Kids Speak. But I'll tell you that this blogger is having a wonderful time, making friends all over the blogosphere.

This blogger is too tired to link to all the mentioned names, so this blogger says to read her sidebar and link onto the names...yourself. She apologizes if she forgot anyone... much of the bloggers' life has become a blur for her.

Hit Publish.

To Know 'im Is To Love 'im

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That is what a work-mate said to me when I came back to work after my last maternity leave. She'd asked my latest son's name and I told her "It's a Hebrew name. NOAM." Her quick response just touched me; it was perfect. And it still is.

Tomorrow, G-d willing, is Noam's 6th birthday. And yes, I who love a play on words, still enjoy telling people what my work-mate said.

My child is just as his name means in Hebrew: "pleasant." He is a little boy who endears himself to others with his great, crinkly-eyed smile and his good nature. He is still part boy, part baby, but thank G-d, he finally gave up that "shmatta blankie" a few weeks ago. He just went cold turkey.

Okay, so thumb still sometimes goes into mouth once in a while. But we just remind him, and out it comes.

[an aside: I'm on one computer now typing this, he's on the other one nearby, playing some defense game. Out of the blue he just called out to me, "If people don't get brises, they're not Jewish." I asked, "What made you say that suddenly?" "I just knew; I wanted to tell you." Okay, thanks, little guy.]

Although he sometimes displays a "forgot to use his words...and hit instead" tendency (usually with his brother and sister), regardless he is a very gentle and sensitive and caring and generous child. I reminded him today how even when he was as young as two years old, and I'd pretend to cry, it would upset him and he'd come to me and stroke me and whine, "Don't cry."

It is my hope as a parent that he will continue to go through life with that wise/innocent air about him and that people will forever look at him and say to themselves, "To know 'im is to love 'im."

Happy 6th birthday, "Noey."

And on a Lighter Note...

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Taken from the Jewish Forward

Ethiopian-born Comic Mines History for Laughs
By LOOLWA KHAZZOOM
February 24, 2006

In the standup act he has been touring America with this month, Ethiopian Israeli comedian Yossi Vassa recounts how he came to accumulate six names: When he left Ethiopia at age 10, he was called Andarge; in Sudan — where his family waited nine months for an Israeli airlift, and where Vassa fell deathly ill — he was given the name Terefa (Amharic for "he who is worthy of life"); in Israel, he was called Yossi, and, from the start, he has had what in America would be a twice-hyphenated name reflecting both his parents' lineages: Vassa Sisiya Sahon. "During roll call," he joked, "my teacher would read from a list of my classmates' names on one sheet, and a list of my names on the other."

Armed with just five props — a suitcase, a cane, a bouquet of flowers, a prayer book and a sign with Amharic writing on it — Vassa mixes his own experience with a dash of wit to recount Ethiopian Jewry's recent history. He begins with stories of the rural existence he knew two decades ago ("Before you could date a girl, you had to make sure you were not related seven generations back on both sides — meaning you needed a doctorate of genealogy by age 14") and moves on to life among the Ethiopians living in Israel today ("We dreamed of Jerusalem for 3,000 years, then got dumped in Netanya. That's like spending three millennia pining for Manhattan, and ending up in New Jersey").

Vassa's four-week tour — which was designed to coincide with Black History Month — offered American audiences a hilarious, though sometimes painful, glimpse into the lot of Israel's Ethiopian community. At one point, Vassa set his sights on the matter of Ashkenazic rabbinic garb. "My older brother came home and announced he had become a rabbi," Vassa said. "My mother took one look at the long black coat, pants, shoes and massive fur streimel on top of my brother's head, and asked if it was snowing outside."

The Shmooze reached Vassa just as he was wrapping up his tour and asked how things had gone.

"I learned so much from the people I met," he said. "One of the things that really touched me was the [audience at San Francisco's] Museum of the African Diaspora. I felt I was with a very loving community. They seemed really connected to the story I was telling."

Overheard...

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I went to pay a shiva call last night. It was a former classmate's mother who'd passed away late last week.

I wasn't out-of-school friends with that classmate, nor had I ever met her mother, or her sister, at whose home they were sitting shiva. But I felt it only right to go, even though I hadn't seen my classmate in over 25 years. Recently I got in touch with her again for particular reasons, and we were in email contact a couple of times over the past few months.

Anyhow, I'm sitting and talking with her, and there is a couple who get up to leave. My classmate's sister's husband wanted to show them out, and they said something like he shouldn't...shouldn't say goodbye.

He said, "I can say something or show you out the door. I'm not a mourner... (with a little laugh) I guess I'm a co-mourner."

And Now Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Blog...

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...not really.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to tell you the following:

This post is just a quick filler before I hit my pillow at 3 a.m. It's something that's been on my mind the last few days. See if you don't agree with me...!

There is a joke circulating round and round and round the Internet: How To Tell You're Jewish. One of the named ways is that if someone is in the bathroom longer than perhaps three minutes, you knock on the door and yell, "Are you okay in there...is everything okay?"

When I first read that, I broke out in hysterical laughter; my name was all over it! Perhaps it comes with my natural worry syndrome, or maybe not.

But lately I've found something to parallel my standing outside the washroom door and asking a parent/spouse/child "Is everything okay in there?" when they're in there just a tad too long for my liking.

In blogland, we are used to some people posting regularly, and I mean regularly, daily...perhaps in the evening, perhaps midday or morning. But you know when you click that blog's name on your favorites button or your links and you're whisked over to it, you can expect to find something. It's almost the equivalent of reading "Today's Special" on a menu.

Now, what happens when those regular posters are suddenly missing in action? They haven't given you a heads-up that they'll be away from the computer for a few days, they haven't said they have to rein in their blogging addiction and have been told, "Step away from your computer." In essence, they're just not there, as expected?

Do you find that person's e-mail address to write them a note of concern, just like you're yelling through the bathroom door, "Are you okay?" Do you just sit and bide your time and think of various scenarios where that person might've gone and what that person might be up to in lieu of posting for his/her rabid fans? Do you write to fellow blog friends and discuss your concern about why blogger so-and-so didn't post for the past couple of days? Is there such a thing as a bloggers' ALL POINTS BULLETIN.

APB: Missing...one citizen of the month...one Mirty...one New York's Funniest Rabbi...one Seraphic Secret teller...one PsychoToddler...one Cruisin' Mom. Be on the lookout for these bloggers. They could be hiding ANYWHERE...!

Hey, above-mentioned bloggers: "Are you okay? Is everything okay in there?"

My Blog To-Do List

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I'm a little too busy to sit and blog for the next couple days so I'm composing this in the meantime:

My Blog To-Do List

1. Write a post about LABELS

2. Write a post about my black wardrobe

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

My To-Do List

1. EVERYTHING ELSE!!

Time Waits for No One

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Along with keeping a journal for so many years, I also kept date books/calendars with a brief note for each square. And as time passed I liked to look back to what I did, for example, on the 24th of each month of a particular year, or what I'd done on the same date a year or two earlier.

I didn't always know why I was recording little tidbits, but I felt the pull to do so.

Keeping a blog works in a similar fashion; I can look back a year ago, and see my entry for the equivalent day, but last year, Wednesday being the 23rd of February.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

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...

Okay, so it's now a year later...hmm. Let me see what, if anything, has changed.

Yes, I'm still a working mom. And yes, I still manage to bring in a few shekels. Okay, youngest child is now in school, so he too has become of of "them" -- those school kids who has needs: needs supplies, needs to be included in the optional lunch program, needs trip money, needs his tuition paid. And instead of a brownie, he now needs to have a cream-cheese sandwich as a snack.

Okay, and there's no chess, but there's a performance class a la Broadway musicals; there's still swimming, and hockey team, and now Karate to help round out some already well-rounded-out kids.

Oh, and the dog is a different one. He also has needs -- he needs different pet food, he needs different toys, he needs to get "altered" and he needs puppy classes. I'm beginning to think that his needs will cost me more than those of my kids.

You know what I need? Nothing. 'Cause even a year later, I can still thank G-d for my small...and large...blessings!

"I Say a Little Prayer for You..."

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How many times can a person say "I'm sorry"? Not apologizing to someone because you've done them wrong, but rather because they're in dire straits for whatever reason.

"I'm sorry....that you're not well...that you lost your job... that you can't afford a vacation...that you parent is sick...that your child is ill...that your parent/child/sibling passed away...that you've been having rotten 'mazel' (luck) lately..."

Yes, the list goes on and on, and if you're like me, you always have a need to say "I'm sorry that..." to someone or other.

Sometimes we don't say it; we just think it. But I understand from experience that even though the person you're addressing might be saddened or frustrated or upset to hear that "I'm sorry" from so many people, in truth they are thankful. You are thinking of them, you are displaying your concern, and you are opening yourself to them.

There is a case in which we don't say "I'm sorry" often enough, even though we might just think it. Infertility.

I have family and friends who continue to go through the anguish and personal pain of not being able to bear children so readily...or at all. It is not a topic I probe with these people, but if they feel like discussing the heartache and disappointments, I'm certainly there to listen and lend a sympathetic ear. I am a mother of, thank G-d, three beautiful and healthy children. Pregnancy was not really ever an issue for me, and certainly childbirth was not, either. But for others, these two aspects of a life cycle are foreign...and for that, "I'm sorry."

Please take a look at his posting from one of my blogging friends. The name of her blog, Ten Li Koach/"Give Me Strength," is self-explanatory to her blog's focus. What I have learned from reading her blog for over half a year is that life's simple pleasures cannot take away all the pain of not having a child, or of having to go through fertility treatments with all its ups and downs, highs and lows. As much as an infertile couple attempt to smile through their tears, the tears are always with them.

It's time of us as sympathetic and empathetic men and women to lend them an ear, a shoulder to lean on, and the wise words, "I'm sorry."

little lamb lost in the woods...

I feel a bit lost lately.

There are so many things that I want.

I want a baby.

I want a child that I can say, this is mine. This is my daughter or my son. My wonderful husband & I are still in the pre-parenting world. I don’t know what your world is like, the world of people who worry about tuition, doctor visits, homework, soccer tryouts (or in our case, would be little league or karate!), sleepovers, and assorted other worries/concerns.

I am scared that I will never know this.

I want to be able to give all of my love to a child, not a few hours of admiration from afar when we have guests with kids.

I have to keep my distance.

It’s so frustrating. I know that parenting is not a piece of cake. But I want my slice. I am scared of it, but still yearning for it.

Please G-d, what will be?

I’m tired of having hobbies, distractions, depressions.

I fear the answer will be no.

"California Dreamin' (on Such a Winter's Day)"

Blogroll Me!

What are the chances? I rarely, if ever, travel. Last year was a bit of an exception, with my traveling to California, coming home and leaving the same week for a road trip to Orlando, Florida, with the family.

Well, I'm taking another trip to California -- two trips to California in less than one year. What am I doing...making up for lost travel time?

If I were going for business, that would be different, but I'm going for pleasure. Okay...well, I guess you could interpret it by saying that "I'm making it my business to go to California for pleasure!"

Once again, I'm flying the coop, leaving my children in the most capable hands of my husband, and flying solo. Bad enough that I haven't traveled in years; worse that I have to do it alone. Aside from the rather expensive flight/accomodations issue, childcare is an issue for us. It's already difficult to arrange for childcare during school breaks, much less during regular class time, which is what the time frame will be. So I will be the TorontoPearl family representative at a simcha.

I know that several of you bloggers live out the L.A. way, and if it's possible to hold another bloggers' gathering, similar to the one PsychoToddler and Doctor Bean partook in, I'd love to be in the mix with you folks.

I will be haunting your lovely city around the second week in March, so tell Graumann's Chinese Theatre that I'd like to leave my [blogger's] handprints in the sidewalk. See if they can arrange something quickly for my visit with the media in attendance and a Kosher reception to follow. If it's too short notice, I'll settle for a nice cup of California decaf coffee...and a slice of chocolate babka that Cruisin' Mom will no doubt tote along to my handprint debut.

But will she save a piece for me is the question???

If she doesn't, we'll just have to meet on Rodeo Drive at the crack of dawn, each at opposite ends of the street. We'll walk twenty paces forward and will meet face-to-face for a duel. She might have the advantage 'cause she's gone to the shooting range already and aims for the neck. I, on the other hand, will point out the error of her [grammatical and spelling] ways. May the better gal win...!

"One, Singular Sensation..."

Blogroll Me!

I'm feeling pretty good right now. I was at a simcha dance class tonight and was talking to our perky, young teacher after class. She is an adorable and lovely young adult who can take a bunch of women ranging from 30 - 50+ and make dancers out of them while encouraging them with her enthusiasm and positive comments.

Anyhow, after class we were talking about university. I told her I attended university from 1980 - 1983, and then asked her the "forbidden" question: "Were you even born then?" She smiled and said no, and when I further asked, she said she was born in 1985. I said, "Oh, I feel old." "Really?" she said. "I don't see you as old."
"I'll be 45 this year." "Really? If anything, I'd have thought you're maybe 35."

I love this girl. I asked if I could keep her with me in my back pocket to pull her out whenever I needed a compliment.

Last week someone told me that I didn't appear to be anywhere close to 45.

But... This past year, when I turned 44, and people at work wished me happy birthday, I asked one of them, a newer fellow employee, if she knew how old I was. She said she didn't and I told her to guess. She didn't want to and I insisted...simply because I'm used to people thinking I'm between 5 - 8 years younger. So I thought I'd perhaps hear her say "40?" Anyhow, what came out of her mouth? "Um...45?" DAMN ME for having asked. Here, instead of making me younger than I am, she even aged me by a year!

Yes, the gray hairs are in among the brunette ones, the fine lines are slowly starting to draw themselves on my hand and along my mouth (just 'cause I smile so much...of course!), but I'm not yet needing bifocals, thank the Lord!

I think I continue to view the world (and I know I've written posts similar to this one, thus I'm repeating myself) through the eyes of my twelve-year-old self. I converse with people my age or even older, and all along, I feel like I'm a little kid, and I often wonder if others besides my parents, siblings and sometimes husband perceive me the same way. One of my best friends' favorite expressions over the years to me has been, "Pearly, you're such a child." (said with an exaggerated real downhome, Southern accent) Now, I'm not immature in any noticeable way so that's not why she's said it, or why my husband sometimes says, "You're a little girl." I think it's that wondrous, in-awe-of-the-world expression that I show, still discovering new and wonderful things and seeing life in very simple terms, content and sometimes very happy to let others take the reins and lead my horse...on the merry-go-round of life.

YOUTH? Fleeting, for sure, but for some of us, it decides to linger just a little bit longer...and for that I'm most thankful.