His Roots are in Yiddish Theater...

Sidney Lumet has a colorful past...that started in the Yiddish theater.

He's been married several times: one wife was Gloria Vanderbilt. Another wife made him Lena Horne's son-in-law.

One of his personal quotes is a brilliant one: "There's no such thing as a small part. There are just small actors."

Just a brief look at Sidney Lumet.

Shabbat Shalom...with the stress on shalom/peace.

What Will They Think of Next?

At three minutes and four seconds after 2 AM on the 6th of May this year, the time and date will be 02:03:04 05/06/07. This will never happen again!

Do Our Personalities Change...or Just Develop?

I was at my parents' house the other day and my mother handed me a pile of envelopes, some manila ones, others business-size.

"What are these?" I asked.

"Your report cards. You can store them now."

My mother, who is well-known for her organization and archival skills, had done her share of keeping my day school, junior high and high school report card all these years; she wanted to "clean up" a bit.

As I sat in the driveway of my childhood home, I opened up the envelopes and began to read...and remember...and think: Do our personalities change...or just develop? Some of the comments that appeared on those reports would be the same comments that someone would write about me today:

Kindergarten: 1966-67 -- Winter Term: "I am pleased with Pearl's progress. She has a good attitude towards learning and towards people."

Grade 1: 1967-68 -- 1st Term: "Pearl is a very pleasant child...Sometimes, Pearl does not think for herself and would rather other children think for her."

2nd Term: "...She is not as sure of her arithmetic as her reading."

Grade 2: 1968-69: 1st Term: "She is a very co-operative and courteous girl, willing to help others..."

2nd Term: "Pearl is anxious to please and is co-operative with others and myself at all times."

Hebrew report card: 1st Term: "Pearl is a well-behaved and friendly child. She ...tries her best at all times. She is anxious to please but has difficulty in retaining vocabulary."

Grade 3: 1969-70: 2nd Term: "Pearl continues to do good work in writing and spelling. She has a good understanding of sentence and paragraph construction."

Grade 4: 1970-71: 3rd Term: "Conscientious--hard worker--seems to be more relaxed and at ease with school work and her peers."

Grade 5: 1971-72: 1st Term: "Pearl's appreciation of literature helps her contribute stimulating and interesting ideas to theses lessons. Her own creative writing is well organized and mature for her age."

Grade 6: 1972-73: 2nd Term: "Pearl has generally kept up her good work habits this term although, on occasion, she has to be "checked" for talking to her neighbours."

These are just some samples from the primary day school reports; as I reviewed them, I noted that teachers repeated phrases -- my math was always a weakness, my reading and writing were always my strengths; in some of the latter grades, my map skills were weak; one year it was noted that I didn't participate and offer up my ideas in the classroom, in subsequent years I was complimented on my ability to participate; in a couple of years, I had to be reminded not to talk to my "neighbors" while in class.

Overall, my report cards were always good -- my secular studies and my Hebrew/Jewish studies generally were good, with just some individual weakness: sciences/maths/map skills and sometimes socialization. My language and literature -- reading and writing -- skills were always noted as being well-developed or advanced. (If that's the case, how come I'm simply a blog writer, a writer of poetry, but not a journalist or novelist?!)

As I've reviewed my report cards, I can't help but think that my daughter is a lot like me in a number of academic areas with her weaknesses being/were my weaknesses; her strengths being/were my strengths. The main difference is the social area: I was a shy and reasonably quiet child. She is absolutely the opposite...thank G-d!

I guess I'll just have to hang on to her report cards, as my mother did with mine, and in some thirty-plus years, she can review them and see how much/if she's changed.

On a High

No. This post is not about drugs. It's not about being extremely happy. This post is about R.I.C.E.

I'm sure many of you have heard of or use Near East products -- grains and rice dishes in a box that are flavorful and easy to prepare.

Well, after Pesach I bought their Rice Pilaf: Curry product. I pulled it out just now off the shelf, intending to prepare it for this evening's dinner, and looked on the side of the box at the directions. There are Microwave Directions, Range Top Directions, Low Fat Directions and... [the reason behind this post!] HIGH ALTITUDE PREPARATION!

So...if I'm flying in my personal Learjet and preparing dinner, or am using my timeshare apartment in the Swiss Alps for a couple of weeks, or -- even better! -- am visiting an ashram in the mountains of Nepal, it is the directions for HIGH ALTITUDE PREPARATION that I must follow!

A Quotable Mention

I'd like to share these lovely words from my blogging friend, Rabbi Neil Fleischmann, over at NY's Funniest Rabbi.

Writing is like life: we think we control it but we don't, everyone else's seems better, and there's ambivalent yet abundant hope that with enough time we'll get it right.

A Survivor's Moment

[I wrote this poem a number of years ago. It is a scene out of my life. That Holocaust survivor is my father. This poem is dedicated to my father's mother, Chaja Malka Adler, who perished in the Holocaust, alongside her fifteen-year-old daughter, Marjam.]

A Survivor’s Moment


His eyes look directly into mine.
Not playful this time –
More like pleading.

“I don’t even have a picture
of my mother,” he says,
and walks out –
leaving me bewildered,
pensive
and apologetic.

Ani Ma'amin -

Let us remember...

The Road Less Traveled

I got this in an email today:


Go to Google Maps (http://maps.google.com/maps) and click on “Get Directions.”

Type in “New York, NY” as your starting point and “Paris, France” as your destination.

Once it computes your directions, scroll down to #23.

Question of the Day

Does Israeli salad REALLY taste better if the cucumbers and tomatoes are cut smaller ?

Thinking Out Loud

...Sometimes I wonder "What the heck was I doing in my spare time before I began living the blog culture -- reading blogs, writing posts?"

Don't many of you wonder the same about yourselves?

A Special Birthday Boy

Because tonight starts the latter days of Passover, I will not be online, and therefore will not be able to post tomorrow, Monday, April 9.

Tomorrow is my husband's 47th birthday.

I'm not sure where the time has flown for him for most of these 47 years, but I know where and how it's flown since December 1992, when we had our first date...and December 1993, when we got married...and June 1995, when we had our first child...and August 1997, when we had our second child...and March 2000, when we had our third child.

I wish Mr. TorontoPearl a happy and healthy birthday and a most wonderful year.

And I will borrow these beautiful song lyrics to help celebrate my husband and his special day...

WHAT ARE YOU DOING THE REST OF YOUR LIFE?

What are you doing the rest of your life?
North and south and east and west of your
life?
I
have only one request of your life
That you spend it all with me.

All the seasons and the times of your days.
All the nickels and the
dimes of your days.
Let the
reasons and the rhymes of your
days.
All begin and end with
me.

I want to see your face,
In every kind of light,
In
fields of gold and
Forests of the night;

And when you stand before
The candles on a cake.
Oh let
me be the one to hear
The silent wish you make.

Those tomorrows
waiting deep in your eyes
In the world of love you keep in your eyes,
I'll awaken what's asleep in your eyes,
It may take a kiss or two...

Through all of my life...
Summer, winter, spring and fall of my
life,
All I ever will recall of my life
Is all of my life with
you.

**********

Chag Sameach to you all.

The Interviewer aka The Liar

I've been formally unemployed for one year now. I was handed my walking papers last year, Tuesday, April 4, 2006. It was somewhat mutual -- I wanted out, they knew I wanted out, I gave them some reason to show me the way out.

Have I been happy this past year?

Yes, and no.

I've still had trouble learning how to use this newfound freedom that is part of my day, as opposed to the regular 9-5 routine that was so much a part of my life for so many years.

But I've been more than happy to get reacquainted with my husband, my children, our dog and our home.

I've been job hunting over these past months and have come to realize that I was insulated for too many years in the same job, doing the same thing. The publishing world has grown, but I have not...at least not in my skill set. I am lacking, and should do something about acquiring the publishing computer program skills that so many companies seem to be seeking.

Nonetheless, I've managed to have a handful of job interviews. Even interviews are something new for me, as I've not had to "undergo" one for many years. There is an etiquette to learn about interviews -- the right questions to ask and the right question NOT TO ASK. I'm still learning what not to ask! (in the past, all my jobs have been the result of one interview; I forget these days, at least two interviews is the norm)

In any case, I think that the interviewer has to learn an etiquette of his/her own. At least on two occasions, I was told, "We'll be in touch."

Okay, so I'm still waiting....

It's like going out on a date and having the guy tell you at the end of the date, "I'll call you." And you wait by the phone, hoping and wondering...and waiting...and waiting...and realizing it was just a line he served you.

These interviewers don't just feed you a line. They outright LIE. I'm a mature 45-year-old. Why not call me, or email me, and say, "Thanks for coming in, but we're looking at some other candidates. Thank you for your time. Good luck with the job hunt."

I had two editors at a world-renowned educational/children's publisher interview me for one of two positions, and as one of them led me out the door, she said, "I'll be in touch." Ten days later, all I could say was "Liar, liar, pants on fire..."

And a few weeks ago, a smaller publisher's main editor interviewed me, and said, "I'll look at your tests and will be in touch within the next couple of weeks." LIKE HELL you were.

C'mon, people. Being an interviewer might be nerve-wracking; being an interviewee is worse. Being lied to is even worse than that. It's totally unprofessional. Okay, so don't call me, but follow up even several weeks later with a note from your HR department to me.

Don't leave me hanging. I'm worth more than that!

And if you hire me, I'll even prove it to you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Memories of Pesachs Past

Pesach and the sedarim are one of those Jewish holidays that we remember best from our childhood. A gathering of family -- and often, friends -- a multitude of tasty dishes, laughter and conversation abound.

I'm sure that each and every one of you recall the Pesachs of your past as you sit at your current sedarim, whether they are held in your own home or in the home of another.

And even before we reach the point of sedarim, and we're scurrying around the house, preparing it for Pesach mode, we remember...

This year, as I prepped the house I recalled helping my parents shlep up the boxes from the basement and down from the top closed cabinets in the kitchen, opening up and looking through the supplies as if we expected to find surprises. I recall my mother kashering cutlery with hot water, pots and stones. I recall buying tins of macaroons and fruity sugar candies with my father. I recall polishing the silver candlesticks and kiddush cups till they shone and laying out the white linen tablecloths (no plastic coverings for my family!) and the eclectic collection of Haggadot.

I recall the sedarim themselves-- my family on their own, never accepting an invitation to spend the seder elsewhere. My father explained it as I got older: "I was a guest for so many years at someone else's home. Now I have my own home, my own family, and I want to enjoy them." I, the singer and the youngest, had a fun time with all the songs and showing off my "Ma Nishtanah" every year. By the time we'd reach "Chad Gadya" my brothers and I would be punch-drunk, due to the lateness of the hour, and we'd be silly, as we sang with a limbo/salsa beat. And each year we'd end with "May we all be together next year again to celebrate."

When you come into a marriage, you acquire new minhagim, traditions, or you meld new ones with existing ones...finding a happy medium. My husband gave in to serving potatoes this year, along with the celery, for dipping in salt water. I reluctantly gave in when he, the born Sephardi, decided that he wanted to have rice for the first time on Pesach...

Just the thought of doing so felt WRONG for me, the Ashkenazi through and through. We've been married over thirteen years, and for the last number of years, debated the issue of rice at our Pesach table. But our marriage is a bridge of our cultures, our rich traditions, and those we pass on to our children. And so, rice was FINALLY served at our seder!

I looked at my children around the table, at the interest they take in the seder, at their facility with reading Hebrew when called upon to read from the Haggadah. Even our son, in grade one, read beautifully. I don't know if other kids in his class read Hebrew as he did, or if he surpasses them at that too (his English reading level is that of a nine or ten year old, pu, pu, pu), but it was a pleasure to listen to him sound out the difficult words and smile at the end of his reading contributions.

My daughter is a little Pearl -- I saw my young self in her. "When is it going to be my turn to read?" she continually asked. She sang the loudest, and seems to take the greatest interest in what she reads and how she presented her d'var Torah.

I hope and pray that we will continue to make Pesach memories...for ourselves, for our children...and "May we all be together again next year to celebrate."

A Little Pesach Poem -- Chametz-Free

'Twas the day of Erev Pesach
And all through the house
Everyone was scurrying
busy like a mouse.

The chicken soup was boiling
Atop the stove in a pot
The brownies just out of the oven
Were nice and piping hot.

The seder plate was anxious
to be placed nicely on the table
"Okay, okay, I'll do it
in a little while, when I'm able."

The silver was nice and shiny
lined up all in a row
As I hurried to set the table
I foolishly stubbed my toe.

These are the familiar scenes
In every house and home
I thought I'd capture their essence
And put it together in a little poem.

Although I wrote it quickly
And really just off the cuff
I think I'd better stop here
I still have to get busy enough.

To get the preparations finished
For this Yom Tov that starts tonight
To you and your cherished families
May your Pesach be wonderful and bright.

****************
A very happy, Kosher Pesach to you and all those gathered 'round your tables!

Matzah Madness

On the brink of Passover...

The Shabbos Queen...Revisited

Last year I wrote a poem and posted it on my blog.

Last month I submitted that poem for consideration to the Annual Passover Literary Supplement of the Canadian Jewish News.

The Shabbos Queen has now made her presence known, and appears this week in the literary supplement...in a center spread, noch!

I am rather pleased to be published again...just because it doesn't happen all that often!

I've already had a couple of people tell me that they saw and read the poem and that it's lovely. My mother reminded me of a cousin's wife who would look specifically for my name in the supplement each year.

Unfortunately, we buried that woman just over two weeks ago. She was sixty-two years young. Pancreatic cancer was the culprit, but our cousin fought with all her might and survived for nearly two and a half years with the raging disease.

At the funeral, aside from the rabbi speaking, the woman's two children spoke beautifully. Then her husband, my mother's first cousin, got up to do his own hesped...composed in spite of the difficulty of doing so.

He spoke of his wife's love for Shabbos, how each week was punctuated by preparing for Shabbos and hosting Shabbos. His wife died on a Friday afternoon, before she could welcome the Shabbos Queen again. He said that Shabbos would never be quite the same in their home.

I now dedicate my poem The Shabbos Queen to our cousin Rochelle Muller, a Shabbos Queen in her own right.

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

Wishing everyone a warm and wonderful Shabbat Ha-Gadol.

Easter Hunt of My Own

First I talk about Pesach; a breath later, I talk about Easter. What's up with that?

Well, I have a pretty serious grievance about this holiday that falls around the same time as Pesach. Nothing to do with bunnies, nothing to do with eggs...but lots to do with clothes!

It's somewhat of a minhag to have a new outfit for a major Yom Tov, or at least new shoes or accessories. If not for me, I like to find something new for the kids to wear...whether they truly need something or not.

How many suits and shirts does my oldest son have for shul...but always chooses to wear the same pants, shirts and vests?

And my younger son is happiest with plain slacks and white dress shirt or his navy blue Shabbos suit.

And my daughter, Ms. Fashionista, is pretty finicky because I still buy most of her clothes, bring them home and hope/beg/bribe that she'll wear them. And if not, I'm a notorious merchandise returner at stores!

Okay, so for the last while, I've been keeping my eyes open for a new dress or outfit for my daughter for Pesach. I do not shop at chi-chi children's boutiques or in shops set up in suburban basements, but rather, in department stores. And knowing that Easter is a pretty major holiday, and formal with its church services and family dinners and egg hunts, I'm pretty sure I'll find something for my child.

Some department store flyers came into the house last week. Great, maybe I'll spot something for A, I thought.

What did I spot for girls? Cap sleeve dresses, sleeveless dresses, spaghetti-strap dresses, fancy tulle-pouffed creations that would suit a child in a wedding party, not a child going to church or synagogue for a prayer service.

Do these designers think that we all live bordering the Pacific Ocean, in the warm climes of Hawaii or California, or in the desert areas of Arizona or Nevada? It is about to be APRIL, designer people. Just a hint of spring is in the air in most of North America. What good will a thin-strapped, sleeveless dress do my Modern Orthodox daughter in shul?

I'm not exaggerating...just about everything I've seen being offered for Easter is what I deem summerwear!

Think about it: the Easter Bunny still wears a fur coat... Don't designers read into that and figure, "Hey, it must still be a little chilly. Perhaps we should design a dress with a matching sweater or a matching coat...and yes, even for girls." But they must think that as long as you've got your Easter bonnet on, you're fully dressed.

I think it might be time, after all, for me to expand the shopping horizons when it comes to buying shul outfits for my daughter. You know, actually, I realize, I've already done that. Last summer, while in Buffalo, NY, I bought her a dress that she wore for the fall Yom Tovs and again for an afternoon wedding in November.

I think I might just find out where the Easter Bunny shops. SHE is very cute-looking however she's dressed. Maybe the Easter Bunny knows something I don't...especially since that particular bunny has got "mass appeal!"

(Hey, have I set my own personal record for most posts in one day? I think I made up for last week's lull... Didn't I?)

Ode to Pesach

Ode to Pesach

The pantry is empty, devoid of its stuff
Pesach is coming, enough is enough
The chametz got sold to our rabbi, you know
It was time to get rid of it, time to let go

I bought my Pesachdik groceries, paid more than I thought
I kept buying and buying; I bought and I bought
But don’t Pesach prices always get out of hand
For one week out of the year, we just don’t understand.

We feel the need to buy up the store
To prepare seders and meals and have nosh galore
And after the week is done and we’ve put on some weight
We avoid our scale, those numbers we hate!

We might lose some pounds as we meticulously “spring clean”
Making “seder” in our homes, on that we are keen
At least once a year we do this overhaul
And then we rest for a moment before the cooking calls.

Let’s plan some “healthy” dishes that use lots of eggs and oil
And matzah meal and matzah, over menus we will toil
We have to please our family and friends who join us for a meal
Several variations on matzah can have some “mass appeal.”

There’s always prune juice and compote for you who gets “stopped up”
Or pour yourself hot water with lemon juice and sip it from a cup.
As for me, I love matzah farfel and lots of macaroons
And soup mandlen and matzah balls, I have no use for prunes.

I took a moment to stop my cleaning and write this little ditty

I hope you find it whimsical, I hope you deem it witty.
“Have a good Pesach” is my wish for you out there
May you enjoy your family and friends, together celebrate and share.

The J.A.P. Show

I just discovered this show that will be playing in NYC, off-Broadway. It's my kind of show...

Couldn't it play just a little bit closer to home, dammit!?

The J.A.P. Show

Did Jew Know...?

You will notice the last entry on my blogroll, Yeshiva World. I discovered that site a few months back and go on from time to time to learn what's going on the frum world, primarily in rather Orthodox communities.

Unfortunately, the website seems to have a field day with writing about tragedies that happen worldwide to members of the Jewish community. Many commenters appear to have trouble with that; they don't know how to respond and are plain tired of reading about sad news items, they claim. Other commenters just want to have reason to throw around lots of Yeshivish lingo and expressions that could stand to be translated for the typical reader (MO) like me who isn't even familiar with all the expressions.

A recent entry and its follow-up comments ended up like a barroom brawl. The topic: Kosher for Passover Coca-Cola. Look at this entry and the follow-up responses, and watch how the theory about having three Jews and ten opinions really holds true! Yelling across cyberspace. Jews pointing fingers at Jews. How unmenschlich is that?!

There should be a sister site to The Yeshiva World called "Having Derech Eretz in Blogland." Before commenting on The Yeshiva World entries, readers have to visit the other site first and learn a few "Netiquette" details.

I am not part of the Yeshivish world, but I am curious about it and interested in it. I visit this site to learn something interesting and new. If I want to see Jews argue and make nasty comments, I could sit in on a private school tuition board meeting!

Write from the Heart

On Shabbat afternoon, my nine-year-old daughter entertained herself by pulling my high school yearbooks off the shelf and perusing through them.

This is the type of thing I used to do: go through old class pictures, autograph books, yearbooks, checking out the past or trying to recreate it in my mind.

I was in the kitchen and my daughter kept yelling out to me, "Listen to this, Eema." And she proceeded to read some poem...that I'd written. And then another poem. And another.

As I listened to the poems, I couldn't help but think, "I wrote THAT?" But then I realized that I had, and I even remembered the circumstances around writing a particular poem. Many of them had the same themes: unrequited love/invisibility/trying too hard. Such is the world of teenage angst. Such was the world of my poetry.

My daughter was clearly fascinated by the fact that my name and poems appeared several times in these yearbooks. She also wondered why I didn't appear in photos of clubs or school bands or random people-in-the-hallway photos. I guess I was too busy writing poetry, I told her. That was my "thing." I wasn't involved in much else, I explained.

I remember many times sending my poems off to Seventeen magazine or Teen magazine from a very young age. Hey, I thought, they'll publish this. Of course everyone can relate to this/that poem. I'm the spokesperson for others like me, the ones Janis Ian sang about in "At Seventeen" -- the non-popular, nice ones.

Did my name appear in these nationwide magazines? Nah... I had to wait a few years more to start publishing outside of school yearbooks -- Holocaust poetry, Jewish-themed poetry primarily. I guess I'd "graduated" from those teen identity poems. Yet I still wrote about what I knew.

Every now and again, I pull out my "poetry books" -- blank journals and business ledgers whose pages I covered in ink and words from the heart. Every now and again, I pull out tear sheets that offer my published words and my name. Every now and again, I go through my posts from this 2 1/2 year-old blog.

And so many times, while looking at so many words, I think to myself or even aloud, "I wrote THAT?!"

A Special Day (a long story made long!)

(this is an image that I found online... it is not my parents' home)

A year ago, March 2006, my father was taken to hospital (damn, but he has too many "frequent flyer points" with hospitals) and was seriously ill, having suffered several seizures and the doctors thinking the worst -- that he was going to remain in a vegetative state.

I had to cancel a trip to California to attend a friend's daughter's wedding, and to meet a number of L.A.-based bloggers. Even a blog commenter was going to travel from Las Vegas to meet me and the others. I was disappointed to have to cancel, and then learn that the bloggers were not going to meet if I was not there. (okay, so that fact also stroked my ego)

Fellow bloggers helped me keep the faith, warming me and my family with constant prayers and encouraging words. And thank G-d, my father proved yet again that miracles and prayer and mind over matter work.

It's a year ago today, Friday, March 17th, that my father walked out of the hospital and went home. Yes, weaker indeed, and albeit with the use (occasional) of a cane, but still very much his own person with his mind and body rather intact. He and my mother's much-aniticipated 50th wedding anniversary was celebrated in June, along with special birthdays and family Yom Tov meals.

Almost three months ago, my father was taken to the emergency room with chest pains. After overnight observation and tests, his heart proved to be fine, but he began to suffer from multiple seizures, seizures that truly debilitated him both mentally and physically. He was over-medicated in order to control the seizures, but both that and the seizures themselves took their toll. Improvement was not noticeable for a while, as it had been last year.

He was moved from department to department, still observed for both his heart and his head. Finally, when a bed became available, he was taken to the rehab wing, and we were told that he'd have to go to a long-term rehab care facility to help serve his needs. We were told that patients either went home, to a home or to a rehab facility. And of course, the one he was accepted to was at the end of the city, and we dreaded the day that he would be transferred there. There would be no signs of Jewish life for him, no Kosher food probably, no Jewish chaplain if needed, and traveling time to get there would take forever.

As it was, my dear mother has been spending an average of 10-12 hours a day by my father's side, being his right hand, so to speak. Everyone -- including us -- tell her to look after herself or she will get sick too. But dedication is dedication. My father would put my mother before him; my mother puts my father before her!

A couple of weeks ago, my mother told me that my father's assigned doctor began to change his tune, saying that my father didn't really need the rehab long-term care any longer; substantial improvement ( my father had to learn to walk again and do little daily things; his mind had to be cleared and made lucid too when the drugs were minimized) was evident. We were thrilled to hear this, but were fearful of bringing him home and the changes this medical setback would carry into family life -- caregivers, special equipment, further loss of independence, etc.

Plans are in action to get my father what he needs and to help him adapt to the changes. But my father is a stubborn man; he wants to go home without help there, wants to just be in his own bed and away from the hospital environment. Only after settling in, will he decide what is best for him.

My father is anxious to go home; he began to tell the staff he wants to go. A team of social workers, doctors, occupational therapists and physical therapists met with my parents, assessed the situation and gave my father the green light.

Today, Friday, March 16, 2007, after spending nearly three months in a hospital bed, my father is G-d willing going home...to his own home...to his comfort zone.

My husband wanted to arrange for a medical transfer service to bring him home instead of my mother and I. I thanked my husband but told him: "My father is anxious to be home. He's made great progress in these three months. His great pleasure will be kissing the mezuzah as he WALKS through his front door. That is his achievement. He does not want to go into his house while lying on a gurney; he's been taken out of his house several times while lying on a gurney."

And my husband completely understood.

Yes, we are all scared of the life changes due to his still-weakened medical state, his many medications and their side effects, the mental/emotional/physical toll this all takes on my mother and on my father, and the lifestyle changes. But I know my father, I know his strengths.

One of his greatest strengths is that his stubborness has always helped him achieve success, if only on a low-key level. Whether that success is emotional happiness, financial contentment or breaking down barriers and leaping over hurdles, my father is the man to get things done...his way. He made great strides in his mental and physical capabilities these past several weeks, not because of any professional therapy given to him, but because he is his own therapist; he knows what he needs to do to improve and works hard to do it.

My father has two grandsons' bar mitzvahs to look forward to -- this summer, and next, G-d willing. My oldest brother turns 50, G-d willing, at the end of this year. And every day is a reason to celebrate, my father says, if you wake up reasonably healthy.

Although I stopped writing about my father's medical situation quite a while ago, I would still get emails from people, asking after my father's status. I thank you all once again for traveling this road with me and my family since mid-December. Your continued support, even from great distances, means a lot to me. A lot to us.

I hope to be able to share with you many more special days celebrated with both my parents, my siblings and their families, my husband and my children.

A special day indeed...!

L'chaim! To life!

Manischewitzville

Click on post title to see a great link that a friend sent me. (thanks, Sharon!)

And while you're on the link, check out Billy Ray Sheets' other "hits." Some funny stuff.

Pesach Cleaning

Like I said in the last post, "Pesach, here we come!"

The Passover OY Factor!

I realized tonight after 9 p.m. that I needed bread for the kids' lunches tomorrow. Hoping that Sobeys, the nearby supermarket that houses supposedly the largest inventory of Kosher food products in North America, with in-house Kosher bakery, fish department and meat department, as well as frozen foods, fresh foods and regular groceries, would be open still, I called. Yes, till 10 p.m. I was told it would remain open.

So I hopped into the van and took the five minute drive over.

Normally when you walk into the store, you're greeted with the bakery department -- aisles of breads and cakes and buns and cookies...before you even reach the counter to get served! Tonight I walked into the store and was greeted with a wall of Kosher for Passover pop and chips and canned tomatoes and grape juice and, and, and....

I almost hyperventilated.

And I imagined that for a month before Pesach, a Hatzolah unit should be set up inside Sobeys and any other large supermarket with a Kosher section, for women like me who feel the need to faint or hyperventilate when overwhelmed by the Passover shopping mania. Medical personnel would be on hand to immediately help with any emergency situations that might arise.

Because of course, in this case, Pesach means shopping. Shopping means menus. Menus mean cooking. Cooking means guests. Guests mean cleaning. Cleaning means time and effort. Time and effort mean TIME and EFFORT.

The truth is, it -- our anxiety -- all heralds back to Purim. At Purim, that brown shelf paper comes out, and those shelves and aisles that normally hold basic Kosher products are gussied up. First it's party time -- with Purim goods. Then it's work time -- with Pesach needs.

Some of the stores just tease us a bit, giving us a sneak preview of what they really have "in store." And then, the minute that Purim is passe, these stores mean action. And it is clear to see when countless staff, and perhaps extra staff at this time (equivalent to extra salesclerks in department stores during the Xmas holiday season), are busy emptying shelves of the regular Kosher stuff and restocking shelves with the Kosher for Passover products. They are like a small army getting a battlefield ready.

Yes, it is a battlefield of sorts -- bedlam will soon prevail, they are told, and all plans must be in action.

But I manage to slip through the stores unnoticed for a couple of weeks after Purim; I plainly ignore the hints of Passover, and they try not to bother me too much. But eventually we have to make real eye contact...and I'm forced to take the first step.

In Sobeys tonight, one of the displays of Kosher for Passover dish brushes and labeling stickers had the header: ARE YOU READY? Oy, some more Jewish guilt being tossed at me. As if my own conscience doesn't send some my way.

Along with the display of paper goods for sale was yellow caution tape for sale, similar to police-issued tape. It said something like DO NOT CROSS THIS LINE: PASSOVER READY.

There were a few brave types, filling their shopping carts with Passover items. And then there was me, filling my shopping cart with loaves of bread. I mean, I have to stock up still; it will soon be rationed off in the store. As it is, they're trying to play Hide the Bread from the customers, making sure confusion reigns, when we search for it in the regular spot.

I know I soon have to get myself Passover battle-ready too. Right now, I'm still wearing that suit of armor to protect me from potential injuries and scars. But within the next ten days or so, I'll have to whip off that armor, show my true colors and get out there among the other brave souls.

I'll be filling my shopping cart with Passover foods, contending with the long checkout lines....and the long shopping lists, hoping I haven't forgotten anything.

And on that wavelength, why do we always stockpile a season's worth of food for the first two days of Yom Tov alone? Do we think the Pesachdik cows will no longer produce milk or butter or cheese? Do we think that the produce section will disappear from under us? Do we think grape juice and wine vats will dry up? Do we think that we will really see hundreds of people passing through our doors -- perhaps along with the prophet Elijah -- for a seder or for a lunch meal or for tea and dessert over those first two days?

We're still eating our way through our Purim Mishloach Manot surplus. That should keep us busy for another several days, I think. After that, it's TorontoPearl's family meets Pesach head-on....like it or not.

Pesach....here we come!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My Favorite Show

My seven-year-old asked me today, "Eema, can you guess what my favorite TV show is?"

I went through a brief roster of what I know he watches and likes, and then I suggested, "Tom & Jerry?"

I was met with a big smile. "How did you know?"

"I guessed." And then I went on to tell him that the show was popular when I was a kid, too, and that I used to watch the show as well.

But I didn't want to tell him the truth that is circulating these days.

Robert Avrech posted about this last week and I was peeved then upon reading the entry. Dare I tell my child what some (crazy) people believe?

Shlemazel Mazel Revisited*

* Revisited...because I know I've used this title before in my blogging career!

Talk about shlemazel mazel.

I was at the hospital the other day to visit my dad. I was wearing new boots that don't have much of a rubber grip on the sole. I was walking on a fancy, slippery, f tiled floor and felt my heel slip up and I go down.

Talk about shlemazel mazel. I fell in the corridor right in front of the hospital administrator's office. It was right in front of the pharmacy. Hospital volunteers who saw me go down came to help me up and make sure I was okay.

I was.

But I guess if I have to fall -- and perhaps hurt myself -- inside a hospital is the best place to do it.

*****

Okay, I might've been a shlemazel that day, but I did remember to turn my clocks ahead for today.

Did you????

Quirks & Meshugas

I'd like to find out if I'm the only person with these quirky (don't want to use anything harsher, or perhaps more apt a description) ideas:

1. When I'm driving behind or beside an extended tractor-trailer that is hauling automobiles to a dealership, I have this great fear that the automotive cargo will somehow become free and the vehicles will start rolling backwards and straight into my car.

Am I the only one with such a meshugas?

2. I'm not so aware of this anymore, but all the while that I grew up and lived in my parents' home, whenever a salad bowl was sitting in front of me and the salad tossers were right in front of me, sitting on "my side" of the bowl, I always had to shift the tossers to the other side of the bowl. Somehow with them "in my face," I always felt unnerved.

Am I the only one with such a meshugas?

3. When I used to take subways and buses to work and went a particular route, I either could opt to wait for the last bus of the route that would take me 3 short stops to right in front of my office building, or I could walk for five minutes and get there just the same.
Why, when I chose to walk, would I still look back every couple of minutes to see if a bus was coming? I could only take that bus from the first stop, so it never made sense to me that I'd even bother to look back, seeing as I would not take the bus anyhow.

4. Why do I still practice signing my name constantly? I'm not planning to autograph any books anytime soon...

5. Why do I continually repeat myself to my husband and children, even though I'm aware I've said the same thing before?

6. Why do I continually like to reveal my "weaknesses" and faults to blog readers, virtual strangers?

Shrek Karaoke Dance Party Music Video

While we're on the karaoke craze, I thought you might like this to help bring in Shabbat. It certainly puts a smile on MY face.
Have a good Shabbos, everyone.

Can't Make Tou Love Me - Bonnie Raitt

(I can't fix the Tou in the title and make it You)

I love this song.

I love to sing.

I love the idea of Karaoke.

Imagine a Pearlies of Wisdom rendition of this beautiful Bonnie Raitt song.

Bonnie Raitt..i cant make you love me

This is the real McCoy... Enjoy.

Sung more or less to THE BRADY BUNCH theme

It's the story
of a blogger named Neil
who was living with his ex in Redondo Beach
He kept us all informed
of his comings and goings
'cause we're not all within his physical reach.

It's the story
of Neilochka Kramer
who was celebrating something special
on this March date
but if you tune in
to the tributes sometime next week
you'll be a few days much too late!

So we wish you, Neil,
a very happy birthday
you're one hell of a special kind of guy
you have the gift to make us laugh or scream hysterically
some of us have been even known to cry

That's Neil Kra-mer, that's Neil Kra-mer
Our favorite "Citizen of the Month"...
*************************

Happy Birthday, Neil. Sending you warm wishes from Toronto..........................

Crossing Delancey

I love this film. I love Amy Irving. I love Peter Riegert. I love "Bubby." I DON'T LOVE THE MATCHMAKER.

But Sylvia Miles, who plays matchmaker Hannah Mandelbaum, has this wonderful line in the film: "Ya look, ya meet, ya try, ya see."

It applies to just about everything in life and is worthy of being remembered.

Citizen of the Month's Special Birthday Surprise

I've been reading Neil Kramer's blog, Citizen of the Month, for about eighteen months or more. I think I found him via Jack's Shack's comments section, and after finding Neil, I also found Danny Miller's wonderful blog.

Let me put it to you this way: these blogs have put smiles on my face, and continue to do so. I'm so happy that they made their way into my life, and I make room for them in my life.

Anyhow, so Neil's thirtysomething birthday is March 7. His wife, Sophia, contacted Neil's list of blogger friends about two and a half weeks ago and said she wanted to surprise him for his birthday and that we could send notes, cards, gifts, anything if we so chose, to Neil c/o Danny Miller's address. They were going to be traveling around his b'day so everything should try to arrive by March 1st.

I got on the case. I wanted to celebrate Neil on his birthday, and so I wrote limericks all about him. I also ordered a ball cap with KRAMER UNIVERSITY written on it -- I like personalized gifts, if possible, and these certainly were personalized.

Neil got his birthday surprises yesterday when he went for a pre-birthday celebration to Danny Miller's place. Of course he's overwhelmed. Sophia and Danny managed to keep the secret, as did so many bloggers worldwide.

Neil truly was clueless, and thus the surprise factor was a wonderful one.

I'm happy I could partake to help make Neil's birthday a memorable one.

Happy Birthday, Citizen of the Month! "Bis 120"!

Purim, Shabbos, and all that Stuff

Tonight is Shabbos. Tomorrow night is Purim and megillah reading. Sunday is megillah reading and later, the Purim seudah (at my house for 15-17 people...pot luck). Sunday also means driving around and delivering Mishloach Manot packages. Monday is Shushan Purim...and my youngest's 7th birthday.

Life is busy. Life is good. Life MARCHes on.

Good Shabbos. Have a freiliche Purim.

An Affair To Remember

This story just takes...the (wedding) cake:


Approximately 50,000 people attended the Chasunah [wedding] of the oldest grandson of the Gerrer Rebbe on Tuesday evening. The Chupa was set up on a high roof near Rechov Bar-Ilan, which was completely closed to traffic.

The Rebbe used this opportunity to convey a message, (albeit without words) to his Chassidim: Cut costs for the weddings of your children and grandchildren.

This has been a major issue in the Frum communities for a while, with Gur instructing families to limit invitees to a total of 400. Although the Rebbe couldn’t be expected to adhere to such limits, the Rebbe did set a strict budget.

Unlike the weddings for his own children, the Rebbe decided to invite the public only to the Chupa. Only a few hundred guests were invited to the Seudah, while the rest made do with light refreshments.

( This story is credited to http://www.theyeshivaworld.com/. I like to go on this site several times a week...and pick up new -- to me, anyhow -- Yeshivish idiomatic expressions, as well as interesting news from around the world.)

Tu Mir a Toiveh*

*Tu Mir a Toiveh: Do Me a Favor (Yiddish)

Toiveh comes from the Hebrew, Tovah, meaning good...so loosely translates as "something good."

No doubt I've made mention of it countless times in my blog, but I'll do so again. Take the time to do someone some good. Don't do it for brownie points, for another "Been there, done that" to check off on your mitzvah list. In the words of Nike, JUST DO IT!...simply because.

I do things for others...because I can. Because I want to.

In busy traffic or not, I let people merge into my lane -- wouldn't I want someone to do that for me?

I often give people coupons in the supermarket, coupons that I happen to have and know that I will not use before the expiry, but I see these people have the item in their shopping cart or on the conveyor belt at the checkout aisle.

I give compliments. Doesn't it perk up your day if someone, even a stranger, throws a nice word or two your way? It might not just perk up your day, it might make your day, and make all the difference.

I share my knowledge and resourcefulness with others. If I can help someone get ahead in the editorial world, if I can help them better their writing, it helps better my writing too.

I advertise others' blogs -- not because they ask me to, but because I often suggest it and ask permission to do so, or simply because I want to share what I think is interesting/brilliant/creative or maybe even helpful to another reader. (I kvell when I go to a referral blog and see that visitors have come there via my suggestion. If I'm on to a good thing, I'm happy that others can join in that discovery.)

So "tu mir a toiveh" and do yourself a favor: DO A FAVOR FOR SOMEONE ELSE, thus creating a link of goodness.

The Perfect Name

Her name is Ruchama. Ruchama King Feuerman.

Ruchama is the Hebrew word for mercy/compassion. She was named well.

Ruchama is a published book author and regular contributor to the World Jewish Digest. She has written about stories and children, death and the chevra kadisha (Jewish burial society), childbirth and parenting. Her book Seven Blessings, put out by St. Martin's Press, was well received.

A couple years ago, someone asked me if I'd like to contribute a short story to an anthology. To say that I was flattered is an understatement. To learn that a story of mine -- if accepted, of course! -- would be published alongside one of Ruchama's, floored me! I started writing, but had great difficulty writing in that genre...and perhaps lucky for me, the literary project folded before it had ever truly begun. But still, I walked away smiling, just thinking about authors such as Ruchama, in whose company my story would have appeared in this book.

Well, I'm not writing short stories these days, but I'm sure Ruchama still is... And long stories... And everything in between!

Ruchama is a ghostwriter, and a writing coach. And she just recently started a blog. You can reach it, and her, at http://www.writetogether.typepad.com/.

I like the Jewish proverb that Ruchama cites on the blog: "There are three things a person should do in one’s lifetime: Have a child, plant a tree, and write a book.”

Hmm...at this point in my life, I guess I have to say, "Two out of three ain't bad"!

Do check out Ruchama's writing, and if you're a writer with a story to tell, why not contact her for some friendly pointers in the WRITE direction!? You might just end up writing a book...

(Not) Full of Gas!

I feel these days as if there's a world war going on, with a shortage of this, a shortage of that, raised prices on this, raised prices on that.

A frost in California or Florida? The price of oranges and grapes go up. Salmonella outbreak? No greens to be found. A refinery fire? No gas...

Read on. This article is from last Wednesday. The problem is continuing, and getting worse.

Gas shortage a symptom of big Ontario problem, group says


An Ontario refinery fire has left gas stations with dry tanks and higher prices because the province depends too heavily on imported fuel, an independent retail group says.

Jane Savage, president of the Canadian Independent Petroleum Marketers Association, said the Feb. 15 fire at Imperial Oil's Nanticoke plant has triggered "a very severe shortage."

"I'd characterize it as probably the worst supply situation the industry here in Ontario has seen in decades," she told CBC News Online on Wednesday.

Speaking from her east-end Toronto office, Savage said the shortage has been accompanied by a rise in the wholesale prices charged by Imperial and other refiners.

But she joined other industry officials in urging drivers not to panic and not to hoard fuel, which she said is unnecessary and would worsen shortages and drive prices higher.

Ontario's basic problem is a lack of refining capacity, partly a result of the closing of an obsolete Petro-Canada refinery west of Toronto in 2005, she said.

There have been other recent glitches, however.

"We had a problem at Imperial's other refinery over the holidays," she said. "There's the rail strike, which has chewed up the transportation network pretty badly. So getting product is hard in a landlocked province which is net short of refining capacity."


Drivers encountering locked-up pumps this week at scores of southern Ontario gas stations - some under Imperial's Esso banner, others supplied by the company - can testify to that.

Although a small fraction of the province's thousands of gas stations ran out of fuel, pump prices moved well above 90 cents a litre in many places, up from the 70s in January's mild spell.

The crippled refinery normally converts 118,000 barrels of crude oil a day into about 12 million litres of gasoline and varying amounts of jet fuel, heating oil, diesel fuel and other products, Imperial spokesman Gordon Wong said.

The fire has temporarily halved its gasoline output and also reduced production of diesel and heating oil, he told CBC News Online.

Imperial hopes to avoid having furnaces go cold at this time of year, he said.
"We're giving priority to heating oil customers."

Savage said Ontario is too dependent on refined fuel landed at Montreal and pumped west by pipeline.

"These are cargos that are on the water and are being traded and diverted into Montreal, so it's European refineries, generally, and eastern U.S refineries."

"The supply line into Ontario is a long one," she continued, "and when you get a refinery that has another problem on top of that, you're into some pretty significant issues, as we're seeing right now."

A former Imperial Oil engineer, Savage now represents large independents such as Canadian Tire, Pioneer and OLCO. Those companies buy their fuel from Imperial and other majors.
"Independents, as I think folks know, are just overgrown consumers. We buy directly from the refiners, just in bigger quantities," she said.


Not only have the prices they pay jumped, but the spread between local and international prices has widened, she said.

On Monday, the Toronto wholesale gasoline price (known as the rack price) was 7.7 cents a litre above a benchmark New York cargo price, she said.

That represents an increase of 3.2 cents since Feb. 14, she said, and the highway diesel fuel spread widened even more.

At the same time, the international price rose about a penny, she said.

She declined to speculate on whether the Ontario shortage has emboldened operators to raise pump prices beyond their cost increases.

Despite the shortage, she stressed the folly of fuel hoarding.

"Panic would be the worst possible thing here in terms of the public, and only because it would cause more shortages and more price increases.

"There's no need to panic from the public's point of view, but I do want to be very up front with people about the fact that I think our governments need to take some action on improving our supply networks here."

With files from the Canadian Press

An Avocation for an Advocate

I recently completed copy editing a novel written by a lawyer. It was not his first novel. His first novel was published last year and well-received. No doubt this second novel will be quickly picked up and published, perhaps by an even bigger publisher than the previous book. I understand he's already working on his third novel.

Two months ago, I completed copy editing a novel written by another lawyer. It was his first novel...but not his first attempt at writing. He was a journalist with the New York Times for several years in the mid seventies to early eighties. I understand he's already working on his next novel.

Both these lawyers are superb writers. Is that mere coincidence? Do lawyers go to the Writing School of Scott Turow or the John Grisham Academy of Writing? Do they have so much "downtime" to work out plots and characters, all the while interspersing some good courtroom scenes and downright nasty lawyer behaviors in their books?

I know another lawyer -- a former lawyer -- who no doubt was very good at his job. But he also heard the calling to be a writer. Not only is he a writer for himself, he is a writer for others: a ghostwriter... And let me tell you, he is another superb writer.

I'm fascinated by these lawyer-writers I've been dealing with. And apparently legal fiction writing is a big deal, even offering writing symposiums.

And then, some lawyers become not just writers, but bloggers:

After (Billable) Hours, Lawyers Moonlight as Bloggers

By Cameron Stracher

From The Wall Street Journal Online

The recent disclosure (by the New York Observer) that the anonymous legal blogger Opinionista is 27-year-old former law-firm associate Melissa Lafsky -- following the recent disclosures (by the New Yorker and the New York Times) that former prosecutor David Lat was the voice behind the blog Underneath their Robes and that former Harvard law student Jeremy Blachman penned the blog Anonymous Lawyer -- raises a question. Are all lawyers secret bloggers, frustrated writers or both? More important, should they keep their day jobs?

Lawyers and blogging go together like witches and stoning. According to a survey conducted by blogads.com, lawyers ranked fourth among both readers and posters to blogs. Many of the best- known blogs, such as instapundit.com, are run by lawyers. It's easy to understand why blogging attracts the J.D. set: Few professions combine as much creative talent with so much mind-numbing work.

Each year thousands of otherwise perfectly normal college graduates with perfectly worthless degrees in the humanities venture into law school in the hope of landing a paying job that requires no science and little math. Many have been encouraged by college counselors who have told them that law school will "keep their options open" -- code for delaying the inevitable for another three years -- and it pays better than academia.

Law schools feed this myth because they need paying customers, even as the members of their own faculty are refugees from the very firms to which they are sending their students. Upon graduation, however, many students find that the entry-level jobs they get are little more than glorified secretarial positions. Sure, they pay well, but how many paper clips can you remove from a stack of documents before you start questioning your entire existence?

In the dark hours, writing seems like a natural escape. It's what most lawyers do (when they're not reviewing documents), and though blogging is very different from drafting a prospectus, it's close enough to fool many lawyers into trading one form of verbiage for another. Writing a blog can also be done in secret, on your own time (or during office hours if you're careful), and it is potentially lucrative (if you can get some ads or make a name for yourself). For many lawyers, writing is also their true love, a dream they had before financial concerns and parental pressure drove them into drudgery. Some turn to nonfiction, hoping to transform their legal meanderings into punditry. Others (myself included) seek to channel their inner McInerney by penning the next great American novel, or at least a best seller.

The first generation of lawyer/writers, like Scott Turow and John Grisham, were able to blend law and writing (even now, Mr. Turow practices part-time). The second generation seems to want only to avoid practicing law at all costs. Mr. Lat, for example, essentially forced his employer to dismiss him by posting comments about some of the judges before whom he appeared (though he denies that he was fired). He now writes for the blog Wonkette.com, a Washington gossip site made notorious by Ana Marie Cox. Mr. Blachman wrote screeds in the voice of a fictional law firm partner that effectively made him unemployable by any major firm, then unveiled himself to the Times. His novel will be published this summer by Henry Holt. Ms. Lafsky told the New York Observer that she outed herself to "forc[e] myself to really make a career in writing work." In January she signed with a literary agent at ICM and quit her day job. She is writing a novel.

We should applaud their efforts to escape a profession that has one of the lowest levels of job satisfaction. If money is the goal, though, these lawyers might be more successful if they played the lottery. Legal-thriller writer Lisa Scottoline once told me that she wrote her first book as a way to earn some money following a divorce. She succeeded in spite of her naïveté.

Most writers will not see a cent from their efforts. Those who do will quickly realize that they cannot survive on books alone. Instead, law will pay their bills while they toil in obscurity, learning a cold, cruel lesson about the realities of the publishing industry: It takes more than a cup of coffee and a laptop to write a good book.

It also takes more than a blog. While the breathless form of the Web diary might work to titillate readers as they surf during their lunch hour -- particularly when the author is anonymous and dangerous (to himself, if not to anyone else) -- holding a reader's attention over the course of 300 pages requires a different skill entirely. The same unattributed gripes and gossip feel random and weightless strung together page after page (one reason perhaps that Ms. Cox's novel has not been particularly successful). Quotidian blog entries succumb to what the late author Frank Conroy called "abject naturalism," the agglomeration of details devoid of larger structure. Without a clear narrative thread, a blog is simply sound and fury, signifying nothing but misplaced ambition.

Good writing, contrary to the advice of your creative writing teacher, is about more than what you know. The world these writers are trying so desperately to flee is not a world any of us would want to visit for more than five pages: the overbearing boss, the dehumanizing office, the mindless drudgery. It might have worked for Kafka, but only after he turned himself into a cockroach.

The lawyer/writers who have succeeded -- Mr. Turow, Mr. Grisham, Ms. Scottoline and a handful of others -- have done so because their worlds are so unlegal, or illegal. After all, it's not every new associate who finds that his law firm is controlled by the mob (as was Mr. Grisham's in "The Firm") or every Supreme Court clerk who is tricked and then blackmailed into disclosing pending decisions (as was Brad Meltzer's in the "The Tenth Justice") or every defense attorney who has to represent her professed twin sister (as in Ms. Scottoline's "Mistaken Identity"). Law is just an excuse for a venue in these books, not its raison d'être.

Unlike unhappy families, unhappy lawyers are all unhappy in the same way. A happy lawyer, now there's a story worth telling. Start a blog!

-- Mr. Stracher is publisher of the New York Law School Law Review and author of "Double Billing: A Young Lawyer's Tale of Greed, Sex, Lies and the Pursuit of a Swivel Chair

Hmm...now I just need to know if being a blogger and a writer...will automatically make me a good lawyer???

"Bonjour Monsieur Shlomi"

I just finished watching this film with my husband. As I've said before, I'm sure, he and I have trouble agreeing on films. I'd taken this one from the library a couple weeks back and waited for a time that we could watch it together.

My husband agreed to watch it tonight, but preempted me with a warning that he didn't think he'd sit and watch the entire thing...thinking he probably wouldn't enjoy it.

HA! He had to eat his words -- he enjoyed it, as did I. This Israeli film, which was distributed just three short years ago, is very enjoyable -- somewhat sad, somewhat funny.

It had been released to mixed reviews throughout the U.S. and Canada, as I discovered on the Internet, but my review is that I give it 4 stars out of 5. By the way, the Hebrew name for the movie is "HaKochavim shel Shlomi," which translates to "Shlomi's Stars."

Yes, stars figure in the story line. And something else I noticed from the onset of the movie is that the color BLUE figures throughout, as well. The stars, and the color blue, are later mentioned by a central character in the film, so these were meant as metaphors.

If you don't mind subtitled films, I (and my husband) highly recommend this one.

A Place to Hang One's Hat

Shavuah Tov, everyone. Sometimes brilliant ideas come to mind over Shabbat; you can't write them down...you just have to hope you remember them -- for your blog! -- for when Shabbat is out. Lucky I just remembered that something today triggered an idea for a post...

I was looking at an item in my armoire today and noticed the label. Made in China for some corporation located in...CITY OF INDUSTRY, CALIFORNIA.

What the heck kind of name is that? It sounds so Orwellian, so "1984" as in "Big Brother is watching." It doesn't sound real, so I just decided to look it up. It's a real place with real history, real people, and, of course, real industry.

And then I thought of other "odd" names of places I've heard or seen.

The one that stands out for me the most is INTERCOURSE, PENNSYLVANIA. It lies in the heart of Amish country, and is a tourist attraction...probably simply 'cause of the name. I was there many, many years ago with very frum Yeshivish cousins of mine and we toured a homestead. When I got to the gift shop, I decided I had to add to my slogan button collection. Up to that point, for all the years I'd collected buttons, I'd never purchased one, aside from perhaps giving a donation to a cause to get one. But I just HAD to buy this one: "ASK ME ABOUT INTERCOURSE." (Of course that button just got shoved into a box in my cupboard along with the rest of the collection; I was never brave enough to wear it on a shirt...just to get a reaction from people).

I also read this about the town:

This is the name of a small town in the heart of the Pennsylvania Dutch country in Lancaster County. It is mostly a tourist attraction in the summer. There are lots of small shops and there is also an old hardware store that the Amish people frequent.

It is not hard to find but you cannot find any road signs directing you there. They are stolen as fast as they can be put up so the road dept. doesn't buy them anymore.

While there, I also picked up a free newspaper "The Intercourse News" -- I'd always wanted to copy that banner and design my own newspaper with its own sections and headings, writing up my own fun, and salacious articles. It would've been so appropriate in later years when I worked for the world's largest and most popular romance publisher, don't you think?

There's somewhere in the country we go to via a smaller rural highway. I pass signs for MOON RIVER, and of course Dean Martin starts serenading me in my mind...or is it Andy Williams? I used to watch both their shows...and I'm guessing they both sang that song.

I've also passed a sign for GO HOME LAKE. C'mon, now what kind of message are you giving tourists in Ontario when you have a sign like that? Upon seeing the sign, no doubt people can often be heard murmuring, "WHAT?! We just got here! Harumph, seems as if we're not wanted 'round these parts..."

I just looked up the name of that lake...and apparently the name doesn't just stop with a lake.

Fur traders would meet on Go Home Lake at the end of the season to "go home", hence the name. Go Home Lake is approximately 5 miles long and ranges from a 1/2 to 3/4 miles wide. Its length runs in a north-south orientation. The lake is fed at its most northern point by the Moon River. Go Home Lake empties into the Gibson River at the south end of the lake as well as into the Go Home River at the north end of the lake.

You're really not wanted if Go Home Lake becomes Go Home River. There's probably a sign somewhere at the foot of the river that says simply: GO HOME.

(And it was merely coincidence that Moon River played into this description too. I didn't quite remember where I'd seen these signs, and that they were anywhere close to one another, but apparently these place names made such an impression on me, didn't they?)

I've not been to this place; it chills me to think it even exists with this name.

This is fun to look at; so is this. And if you've got nothing better to do, why not visit, BORING, OREGON? Or even better, COME BY CHANCE, NEWFOUNDLAND? And if it's too cold where you are, pop in to HELL, TEXAS. Don't get lost in LOONEYVILLE, WEST VIRGINIA! And WHY, ARIZONA might be what you ask after your trip!

If any of you have a personal experience with or knowledge of an odd place name, why not share it with us? (the experience couldn't possibly be any weirder than the name!)

Today's Post Is Brought to You by the Letter S...for Shabbat

Women in Tights -- Part 2

Back in the fall -- October 26 , to be exact -- I wrote a post about my love affair with tights.

Even though today is springlike with milder temperatures, the sun warm and lovely, and the snow melting all around, I'm wearing a pair of tights. And not just any pair. Not just solid black or cocoa brown as are my other pairs. I'm wearing a pair that makes me look as if my legs have intricate hennaed designs on them; a pair that makes me look as if I belong to some little-known African tribe who tattoo their arms and legs.

I feel good in these tights, even if they do make me stand out in a crowd.

This a.m. I went to visit my father in the hospital (it's his 9th week being there), and as he was sitting in a chair, I sat on the bed. The bed had just been freshly made and thus was elevated, so I sat there with my feet dangling, my feet not touching the floor...something I probably haven't been able to do since I was very young. I've always been tall, with long legs.

My father said, "Why don't you go sit in the other chair."

As I sat there and swung my legs back and forth, I said, "No, that's okay. I feel like a little kid up here."

He took a look at my tights then and said, "YOU JUST WANT TO SHOW OFF YOUR LEGS!"

See...my father still knows his to make his little girl smile. :)

The Art of Multi-Tasking

It's after 11 p.m. and I'm still right here at the computer. But I'm proud of myself 'cause I'm multi-tasking.

1. I'm drinking coffee.

2. I'm checking in to my three email addresses every now and again.

3. I'm listening to Internet radio, a "lite jazz" station from Tampa. For all the hours I spend at the computer, you'd think I'd remember there's such a thing called Internet radio. Nuh-uh...but somehow tonight I remembered and searched for some light background music to listen to as I do my work.

4. I'm inputting editorial corrections to a manuscript that I'm copy editing. This has to be in California tomorrow as promised.

5. I'm reading blogs every now and again.

6. I'm letting the dog in and out of the room, as necessary.

7. And I'm posting on my own blog.

Okay, you might think I'm not multi-tasking, just being distracted by many things. Okay, then you're right. But I'm always distracted, so this time 'round I thought I'd give it a fancier title: multi-tasking. (Wait, I have to close the office door; the dog just walked in, circled the room and left again to get attention elsewhere.)

Guess it's back to just the music and the manuscript now -- investment tips and money management for retirees. I have a few years yet till I officially retire, but I can squirrel away the ideas until then. If I would squirrel away ideas from all the books I've ever edited and copy edited, I'd really be distracted, wouldn't I? Hmmm... another potential idea for MULTI-TASKING!

Haiku for Windows

[Rabbi Neil, perhaps you'll like these...]

Haiku poem version of Windows In Japan. Sony Vaio machines have replaced the impersonal and unhelpful Microsoft error messages with their own Japanese haiku poetry:

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

Windows NT crashed.
I am the Blue Screen of Death.
No one hears your screams.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A file that big?
It might be very useful.
But now it is gone.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Web site you seek
Can not be located
but Countless more exist
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chaos reigns within.
Reflect, repent, and reboot.
Order shall return.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
ABORTED effort:
Close all that you have worked on.
You ask way too much.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Yesterday it worked
Today it is not working
Windows is like that.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
First snow, then silence.
This thousand dollar screen
dies so beautifully.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
With searching comes loss and the presence of absence:
"My Novel" not found.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Tao that is seen
Is not the true Tao,
until You bring fresh toner.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Stay the patient course
Of little worth is your ire
The network is down
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A crash reduces your expensive computer to a simple stone.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Three things are certain:
Death, taxes, and lost data.
Guess which has occurred.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
You step in the stream,
but the water has moved on.
This page is not here.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Out of memory.
We wish to hold the whole sky,
But we never will.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Having been erased,
The document you're seeking
Must now be retyped.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Serious error.
All shortcuts have disappeared.
Screen. Mind. Both are blank.

Tefillat Ha-Derech for Web Surfers

Apparently, these days there's a prayer for just about anything!

Westminster Dog Show...A Look in Pictures

Bill Cosby's winning Dandie Dinmont, named Harry.

All dressed up and no place to go...

A Bedlington Terrier. (the first time I ever saw this breed of dog, sitting in a car and waiting for its owner, I was 9 months pregnant. I burst out laughing so hard, I thought I was going to go into premature labor!)

Old English Sheepdog...with a Bouffant!

A Hungarian Puli. (aka Rasta Dog)

Happy President's Day

How the heck do I know it's President's Day in the U.S., when I usually don't even know what today's date is?!

When I worked full-time as a copy editor, and had daily work to complete, date-stamping everything kept me in check of the day/date. Now that I'm home, and simply doing the odd freelancing, days of the week blur from one to the other.

If it weren't for having to keep track of my children's many extra-curricular activities, and their lunch programs at school...and having the school calendar at arm's length, I'd be COMPLETELY in the dark.

Guess I can also say if it weren't for blogging and hitting the Publish button, and seeing the time and date that gets printed along with a post, I'd also be out in left field.

In any case, I hope you Americans have a wonderful extra day off from work. Come to think of it, I guess some of you have disappeared from reading blogs (read: MY BLOG) this past weekend because you've taken advantage of your three-day weekend and gone off to explore your world or do things with your family. Hope that's been fun.

What do I associate President's Day with? you ask.

I associate it with sales, with mid-season markdowns. Hmmm, maybe I should've traveled to Buffalo this weekend, simply to hit the stores for those mid-season markdowns. Yeah, right, me and thousands of other people -- Canadians and Americans both! (BTW, did I tell you I hate crowds...especially when shopping!)

I do remember being in NYC many years ago, staying with a friend. We'd gone into the city together from Brooklyn, where she lived, and had gone to a couple department stores. She had to leave me to head off to work, and I was left to my own devices to shop and find my way back to the city's outskirts.

What did I end up buying? Well, seeing as it was post-Valentine's Day, and President's Day, many items were being cleared and marked down. In the cosmetics department of one of the larger department stores, I found a gift hat box filled with... Epilady products.

The gift package looked so inviting--plied high with...you guessed it, an Epilady shaver, a facial sauna, moisturizing creams and the like. I believe I paid $60 U.S. for it, thinking it was a bargain. The Epilady, at that time, was still just a few years old and quite the novelty, and it had an Israeli patent, so I was supposedly doing myself -- and my unwanted body hair -- a favor, and doing Israel a favor by buying it.

Then I happily shlepped my oversized purchase back to Brooklyn. And if I remember correctly, no doubt it also became my hand-luggage on my flight back to Toronto.

Well, what the heck was I thinking buying an Epilady shaver for my legs?! I might as well have bought a Weed Wacker (tm)...or even paid for a few sessions of "Rip My Hair Out By The Roots" with a master esthetician -- same difference.

I think the shaver was used twice, the facial sauna was used twice...and they got pushed away into an under-the-sink bathroom cabinet. (okay, they moved with me from my parents' home, to my first "married" apartment, to our first married home and now to our second married home....but still lay low in the master bathroom cabinet.) Every now and again, I take the items out, stare at them and think, "What the heck was I thinking, spending $60 U.S. on this stuff?!"

Does anyone think I might be able to sell "one gently used Epilady shaver" and "one barely steamed-up facial sauna" on Ebay? These are the original designs, you understand. I MUST be able to get something for that!

In any case, I associate my Epilady products with President's Day... Hey, maybe after I hit Publish, I should head to my master bathroom, open that bathroom cabinet door, and take out the Epilady products -- in honor of the holiday.

Happy President's Day, (Epilady) friends...and fellow bloggers!