Etched in Stone

Sometime between now and February, a headstone will be going up for my father.

He passed away on March 8th, the 12th of Adar, after declining health, primarily related to head trauma and seizures.

I find it almost incredible that in some circles, the headstone goes up within the first month. How does one find the strength in them to plan, then order, then carry out such a vital part of post-burial.

My mother is having trouble thinking about even ordering a stone, much less organizing the unveiling. "It seems so final," she says.

Unfortunately, it is final. Every day without her husband/my father/our "Zaydie" in our lives makes it a finality of sorts.

I am forever seeking out passages from the Bible that I can suggest to the family be put on his stone...something that will epitomize the man that he was. A few short lines will have to suffice, but in reality, countless psukim would fit. And as a Levi, he had his place of importance in shul, which can translate to an etching of a water pitcher on his headstone. The man was never far from his Tehillim (Book of Psalms), and that can be another etching. But the words....

And some years ago, it was decided that my father's headstone would also commemorate the lives of my father's mother and two sisters who perished in the Holocaust. The wording for that is also a consideration; although mention will probably be made on the back of the headstone, do we name names, or are we vague and just say "family"; if we name names, do we write them in Hebrew or English?

There really is no right or wrong when one has to order wording for a headstone. One just hopes that the message is clear: the person was loved by someone and his/her memory is to be honored in stone in a perpetual way.

May you all have a long life!!

Wrong Again!

I just finished telling you in my last post that it's often said (especially when it comes to writing/speaking) the straight -- not circuitous -- route from A to B is the best.

Wouldn't you know it! Apparently I'm wrong.

Just finished eating breakfast and reading the newspaper. Came to the horoscopes. Here's today's "forecast" for Libra, my sign:

The shortest route from A to B is not necessarily the quickest. Often, circuitous routes prove to be the most expedient. You're on the right path, even if it seems a bit slow.

After having read this horoscope, I realize it must be me -- not the path I'm on -- that seems a bit slow!

Less Is More

I don't live a very abbreviated life. I'm very detailed, descriptive and long-winded when I speak. I drag out doing chores and other things on my T0 Do list. I simply do not get "to the point" in conversations or even in blogs. But today I will.

Over the years, I've been told over and over "LESS IS MORE" when it comes to writing. Instead of taking a circuitous route to get your piece from point A to point B, you take a direct one and say what you have to say. Your words will likely have more impact, I'm told, and will keep your reader's attention.

So here is a personal essay about this subject:

Less Is More



The end.

Please Tell Me...

why kids are so fascinated by this, why they are so gung-ho to eat hard-boiled eggs...when this object is on the table?

Think about it: it's a knife of sorts. As Wikipedia explains: An egg slicer is a food preparation utensil used to slice peeled, hard-boiled eggs quickly and evenly. An egg slicer consists of a slotted dish for holding the egg and a hinged plate of wires or blades that can be closed to slice.

My kids -- and their friends -- get very excited when I offer them hard boiled eggs. The "oohs & ahhs" are audible when the egg slicer accompanies the bowl of cooked eggs to the table. They argue about who will be the first to use the slicer, which way they should position the egg in the slicer, if they should double-slice the eggs to make them really small pieces, ie. messy crumbs aka prelude to egg salad.

I haven't yet shared a secret about the egg slicer with my kids and their friends: it can also be used for mushrooms! Shh...don't spill the beans, um, I mean the egg, um I mean the mushrooms.

A Mother's D'var Torah

Yesterday was my daughter's bat mitzvah. She gave a d'var Torah at shul after davening, and we had a kiddush for the congregation. Then our family and some of my daughter's friends came back to our house for lunch.

I gave a d'var Torah; I didn't realize that I would get choked up and would falter, having to stop a few times to reel in my emotions and gather myself. A simcha isn't 100% a simcha when some very important people in your life are missing. Memories and feelings surface even from the deep subconscious and control one's thoughts and emotions.

My daughter is twelve. Sadly enough, her Savta and Zaidy were not there in person to share her special day.

August 29, 2009.
Parshat Ki-Tetze
Speech at Adina’s bat mitzvah lunch at home:

Good Shabbos, family and friends, and thank you for joining us today.

Sixteen years ago, in 1993, I spent Shabbos Nachamu, which fell on the last day of July, at the home of who was to become my future mother-in-law, Liora, z”l. When I called home after Shabbos, my parents asked me, “Any news?” They were hinting at whether or not I’d gotten engaged over Shabbat. The answer was “No.”

Four years later, I spent Shabbos Nachamu at home, and the last 45 minutes of that Shabbos were spent at North York General Hospital, on the Maternity floor, with 20 of those 45 minutes being given over to giving birth to my second child.

When told, “It’s a girl!” my immediate reply was “I fished my wish!” And when Shabbos was out some twenty minutes later, we were able to call my parents and my mother-in-law and answer the “Any news?” question with a resounding “Yes” and “Mazel tov!”

From the time that I was a young girl, growing up with brothers, I’d always hoped that a daughter would be in my future. I’d wanted to be able to name a daughter after my father’s, z”l, cherished youngest sister, Meriam, who perished in the Holocaust.

Our own Meriam – Adina Meriam, to be exact – is equally cherished.

Finding herself between an older and a younger brother, Adina has grown up learning to be a little tough and defend herself, while at the same time, showing her delicate, sensitive, all-caring side, a true reflection of her first name. Yes, there may be bickering and hormone-related arguments regularly ensuing in our home between Adina and her brothers, but a camaraderie definitely exists and I’m hopeful this kinship will develop strongly over the years.

My daughter has the same blue eyes & freckles I have. But for the most part, our similarities are mainly physical. Growing up, I was quiet, an introvert, insecure in my surroundings. Adina, on the other hand, has proven herself to be -- from a young age -- very social. Always happy among others, laughing, sharing secrets, making others feel secure in their surroundings, and instantly becoming friends with strangers.

Her helpful, nurturing, caring side are evident in her interaction with adults, friends, young children and animals, and clearly were there in her interaction with her late Savta and Zaidy, as they are with her Bubby.

Adina loves to draw and read. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s read the same book from cover to cover, but if she’s enjoyed it, she’ll read it yet again. The Harry Potter series is just one example.

Her creativity comes through in her artwork, in her flare for fashion, and in her very detailed conversations, stories and image-filled poetry. Ah, a girl after my own heart…

We recently returned from a family trip to Israel. After so many years of not being in that wonderful country, Ron and I got to experience Israel not only from our own points of view, but from that of our children, as well, who were experiencing Israel for the first time. It is evident from Adina’s photos and conversations in Israel that she took it all in, observing fine details with her “Adina viewfinder.”

This week’s parsha, Ki Tetzei, teaches numerous mitzvot, such as: returning lost items to their rightful owners; loaning money to one's fellow Jew free from interest; what one is permitted to or prohibited from taking from another Jew as loan security, shatnez (wool and linen together); tzitzit; and dealing fairly and truthfully with one's fellow Jews in business. The Maftir aliyah of our parsha tells us collectively to remember, for all time the actions of Amalek, who attacked B'nai Yisrael when they were weak, while blotting the remembrance of Amalek from the earth. We remember the Amalek without, as well as the Amalek within; lo nishcach v'lo nislach - we won't forgive and we won't forget.

The parsha speaks about other mitzvot, such as sending a mother bird away before taking the young or the eggs, helping one's fellow Jew load and unload a burden, fencing in a roof area, and not harnessing together different species of animals on the same yoke.

In short, our parsha emphasizes the unity that evolves from collective responsibility, kindness, caring and fairness for and with each other. Among many of the taught mitzvot, compassion and protection are common themes.

Our wish -- mine, Abba’s, Avi’s, and Noam’s -- for you, Adina, is that you will continue to be, as well as, further develop the compassionate person you are, who is also passionate about certain interests and ideals…including shmirat halashon. You often make us aware of our words to you and our words about others, and for that we’re grateful. May you continue to be protective of your own words, protective of the people around you and protective of your Jewish values and ideals.

Mazel tov, Adina, on becoming a Bat Mitzvah. We love you!!

Coincidences of the Wonderful Kind

When I first visited and spent time in Israel all those years ago, I had several coincidences happen to me, mainly with running into people in special circumstances. I thought then "Only in Israel."

We had a couple incidents happen this time 'round too. And it made me once again think "Only in Israel" and "the world is very small...and seems to be getting smaller and smaller all the time!"

Between early January and mid-March 1984, I was a volunteer on Kibbutz Lavi. Not only was I a volunteer, I was the ONLY North American volunteer at the time. When I'd gone to the Mizrachi office in Israel to try and organize a volunteer stint on a religious/Kosher kibbutz, the shaliach suggested I go to her kibbutz. As long as it was close enough to a main city, I was game.

As well, the kibbutz was deemed an Anglo kibbutz, having been founded by Americans and English olim.

So on the kibbutz, I lived with the "garin." These are religious soldiers who have placement on kibbutzim and also learn in Jerusalem. I was given a host family, and became an adoptive daughter to Moshe and Tova (Toby ) Winter, former New Yorkers.

Over the years upon my return to Toronto, I did maintain some contact with the Winter family, but that dwindled and disappeared about 12 years ago or more.

On this trip, our family took a side trip with friends to the north for a couple of days: Tiberias, Tzfat, Rosh Pina, the Golan. As we were traveling on the familiar highway that passes Kibbutz Lavi, I said that if we'd have time, it would be nice to stop in there, let my kids see what a kibbutz looks like -- especially the kibbutz their mom worked on -- and maybe look up the Winter family.

We drove around the perimeters of the kibbutz and I pointed out the well-known kibbutz hotel where I worked for a time in the dining room, and then our friend pointed out a woman and said, "She looks like she's been on the kibbutz a while; let's ask her if she knows your kibbutz family and where to find them."

My husband stopped the van and our friend addressed the woman in Hebrew asking if she knows where to find "Mishpachat Winter." She replied, "Eyzeh?" (which one?) Our friend said, "Moshe." The woman then calls out to a man who's walking nearby and in Hebrew says, "Moshe, someone is looking for you!"

The man came to the car, and there stood my "adoptive" dad! I called out from the back seat , saying who I was, and that I hadn't been there in 25 years. He immediately invited us to come visit at the house with his wife.

Can you imagine that this man was davka RIGHT THERE when we were seeking him out!?

We did have a lovely reunion with his wife and I saw a couple of his sons, who were just children at the time I was there before.

Kibbutz Lavi has a hotel and also has a factory where they build synagogue furniture. A couple of the Winter sons, who still live on the kibbutz, are involved with that. And wouldn't you know it-- back in April/May, one of those sons was in Toronto to oversee the installation of some of the furniture in an addition to a Chabad shul that is a mere 7 minute walk from my house. That son stayed at a private home a street away from us!?

The reunion and the fact that Moshe Winter was right there when we asked about him certainly put a smile on my face and on the faces of our family and friends.

Only in Israel....

Something I Copied from a Display in Yad Vashem (the photo is an image off Google, though)

"Not the bridge, not the barbed wire,
Not even the gate is the symbol of the ghetto...

The symbol of the ghetto is the pot..."

--from the notes of Yosef Zelkowicz in the Lodz Ghetto

*BLUSH*

We landed in Toronto about 6:30 a.m. on Sunday, got into our house by 8:00 a.m., and at 11 a.m. my husband and I were already back in the opposite direction suburbs (very close to the airport, as a matter of fact), to attend an unveiling of a family friend.

Following the unveiling, everyone was invited back to the house of one of the children, to drink a l'chaim and partake in some food. I asked one of the children what the house number was, and thought I remembered it.

By the time we got back to the family member's street some time later, the house number had completely left my mind. My husband and I started to drive down the not-too-long street, and look for any house that had several vehicles parked nearby, and hopefully familiar ones. We parked and began to walk.

We passed a house and a man came out. I said to my husband, "That man was at the unveiling. This must be the house." But just to be sure, as he walked down the driveway, I asked if this was the F----berg home, and he said yes.

On the balcony outside was a basin of water to wash hands after the cemetery (we'd already done so outside our car), so we assumed this was the house. We walked in....

I began to look for members of the family or friends I recognized. Not a one in sight. No family photos on the wall either to indicate thiswas indeed the F------berg home.

My husband and I decided then and there we were no doubt in the wrong house! OY, with a capital O and Y !

How does one walk in and walk out within seconds without seeming obvious? Well, my husband ended up speaking to a person who looked like a homeowner, seemingly because we had "lost puppy" and bewildered expressions on our faces, and explained the situation. She smiled, my husband expressed his condolences to her, and she gave us directions to the correct house.

When we got to the correct house, we told our story. Someone topped it by telling a story of someone who went to the wrong banquet hall for a bar mitzvah, ate appetizers there, wished the bar mitzvah kid mazel tov on camera...and then discovered that they were at a bat mitzvah, not a bar mitzvah, and at the wrong hall.

I guess the moral of the story is: May we only share simchas!!

Glimpses into the Holy Land

I just returned with my family from a two-week trip to Israel.

I haven't been to Israel in years...25 to be exact! So much has changed, so much has remained the same.

The physical landscape has changed, with new buildings and development throughout the country.

But the heart of Israel -- the Jewish nation -- remains. Every visible stripe of Jew can be found throughout. Every type of kippah and head covering adorn the heads of men and women. Tzitzit fringes flutter freely on men and boys of every size.

Jerusalem. The city of gold...and pink...and white...and blue. Magnificent, beautiful, striking and enveloping. Coddling us, as we coddle it.

People tell me that when they travel UP to Jerusalem, they are encaptured by an overwhelming rush of emotion, a pure happiness meant to sustain. I understand that myself now. A deflation of sorts happens as you drive down, out of Jerusalem, its scenery reflected in the rearview mirror.

To attend a wedding, with the backdrop of Jerusalem as the tableau, the bride and groom under the open-aired chupah, the glass being broken followed by a beautiful cantorial rendition of "Im Eshkachech Yerushalayim (If I Forget Thee, O Jerusalem)" takes one's breath away. As does the country. As do the sunsets. As do the Welcome signs.

Israel...IS Real.

RC...and I Don't Mean the Cola

Back in June 1980, just before I graduated from high school (GASP!), I, Ms. Sentimentality, passed around an autograph book to classmates and friends to sign.

One of the autographs has always stood out in my mind.

The message read:

Poil Baby:

Well it looks like the jig is up! It's been a pleasure, and I hope I bump into you some day on easy street.

Stay well,

Zei Gesundt [this was actually written in Yiddish]

Robert Cait

Now I'm not sure why I always remembered this message as opposed to most others in my autograph book -- I think it was the haimesche Yiddish sign-off that might've done it...or NOT.

In any case, the jig was never up for Robert Cait, and although I haven't run into him in the past twenty-nine years, I'd like to think that he's on easy street...or at least "easier street."

Robert Cait was a classmate of mine in my Jewish day school and eventually in the public high school I attended for my last 3 years of high school. Not only was he a classmate, but for a time, his mother was our principal! And not only was he a classmate, but he was a FUNNY classmate.

He has honed his humor over the years, honed his acting skills, developed his voice to do voice-overs (actually he's called a "voice actor") and gone on to do what he has always loved: COMEDY.

These days he often blends his humor with his Jewishness, and as a result his DVD "KOSHER, NOT KOSHER" evolved.

Here he shares some of his taste in comedy. And here. And here. And here are some more of his thoughts: "Don't cross the Jewish mafia...they'll put a sub-contract out on you." or "My mother was actually part of the Jewish mafia. But now she's in the witness overprotection program." or "Noah and the ark? Not Jewish. No Jew could travel with all of that meat and not barbeque."

And when and if you have some time, check out Luke Ford's interview with Rob. His relaying aspects of day school made me smile...

And ordering and watching Kosher, Not Kosher will no doubt make you smile too.

We're Raising a Graduate

Tomorrow night, our eldest, Avi, will be graduating from middle school -- grade 8.

In my day, we called it junior high; in my day, graduation took place at the end of grade 9. Grades 7, 8, 9 comprised junior high. These days, grades 6, 7, 8 comprise middle school.

I still remember September, 9 years ago, taking Avi to school for senior kindergarten. At the time, I was still on maternity leave, till October, with my youngest son, Noam. I would take Avi, and shlep the baby in his carrier till Avi was settled in the school yard with his friends.

It's been very interesting and wonderful to watch him grow up over the years since senior kindergarten. His general characteristics of being kind and respectful, shy, but happy-go-lucky have not changed. His love of sports -- especially baseball -- has not changed. His learning methods have not changed. His teachers' comments about him have not changed. His choice of friends has not changed.

He's a good boy, who still needs to discover the world, take it by the horns and make it his own. I'm hoping that it will come with maturity and more experiences -- perhaps high school will do the trick.

Avi, mazel tov on reaching this wonderful milestone. You are a mensch who makes us proud.
May you go m'chayil l'chayil (from strength to strength), and continue to be a happy boy, who has been known for years as "SMILEY."

We love you.

My Parents

This photo was taken one Sunday morning in late December at a cousin's bar mitzvah. My father, as a Levi, was given an aliyah, and I believe it was probably his last one.

This is my dear "Swiss Miss" mom, Lilli (she should be well), with her -- and our -- beloved Jacob (Jack).

Father's Day is coming up this Sunday. Without my father.

My parents' 53rd wedding anniversary will be coming up on June 24. Without my father.

My father's 89th birthday will be on July 4. Without my father.

"Without my father." What a sad refrain, isn't it? But it's a reality these days, and once again, I am more than thankful for the many years we had WITH MY FATHER.

Hug your parents. Tell them how much you love them. Bring honor to the family name. Make your parents proud. Realize they are simply human -- like you -- and make mistakes, as well.

And always, always keep your treasury of family memories alive.

A Life in Pictures

My brother sent me this link to this wonderfully moving photojournalism essay.

Study each picture, study the words, study the facial expressions, study the love of a son for a father as depicted visually and via the written word.

Happy Birthday...Now Pay Up!

In less than an hour, my oldest son will G-d willing turn 14 years old. Fourteen years ago on June 14, 1995, I gave birth to this beautiful 9 1/2 pound son in a very short time frame and with no drugs. Okay, lots of screaming on my part but no drugs.

You know what? Come to think of it, these days, there is still lots of screaming on my part but no drugs. I guess that's par for the course of having 3 children -- one teenager, one prepubscent daughter, and a nine-year-old.

Anyhow, I was just going through emails after Shabbos and there was one from Avi's orthodontist."A REMINDER FROM DR. SHAPIRO'S OFFICE said the subject line. I suddenly thought, "Does Avi have an appointment early next week that I didn't remember?" I opened the message and it said "Happy Birthday, Avi, from Dr. Shapiro and the team!"

I smiled and then thought to myself: this is not like a $3 or $4 Hallmark or American Greetings card, this is like a $5000+ card... After all, if it weren't for Avi's braces and dental work, Dr. Shapiro wouldn't even know our family -- or the birthday boy!

And I recalled other b'day cards we receive annually...from our financial advisor. Hmmm...those cards for myself and my hubby also come at a cost. It's more like an investment, I'd say.

Isn't it interesting to note that b'day greetings often come with (hidden) price tags...?

1000th Post aka The Men in My Life

I began this blog in late 2004...and am now at my 1000th post. Yes, the posts have slowed down over the past year or so -- not because of time restrictions, but because of not always having something to say, or to the other extreme, having TOO MUCH to say yet thinking "Who would want to read these inner-most deep feelings...maybe I should keep something to myself."

But in any case, this post is a tribute to the men in my life, for they are all good men with good hearts, generosity of spirit, and true menschlichkeit.

My father, Jacob, z"l, who passed away on March 8th, reigned supreme among these men. He led by example, he didn't practice idle gossip or slander or lies. He was a straightforward man, a decent businessman, and generous beyond his means. A loving father, a wonderful husband, he only knew how to give. Sometimes he simply reacted to circumstances, not completely thinking them through, but letting his warm self shine through.

Last night, when my husband did something really nice for me, along the same lines as my father would've done, I recalled this incident.

Some 25+ years ago, I had a summer office job, which I'd recently started. At the time there were some serious family matters going on, which often took my parents' attention. One day, around noon, I called and spoke to my mom. I then asked, "Where's Dad?" She didn't know, saying he'd just gone out with the car.

About 10 minutes later, the office door opens, and in walks my dear father...a smile on his face and a bowl in his hands. That bowl held cherries. "I washed them for you. I wanted you to have them." Now some people might think that was some kind of smothering parental tactic, but I say absolutely not. This example simply reflects who my dad was: he thought of something, wanted someone to have it, and made every effort to give that person that something. He took pleasure in others having pleasure.

I wish my father were around today to bring me another bowl of washed cherries...

Last night, I was attending my oldest son's baseball game. My husband had taken my youngest son to his game a couple hours earlier. It was very cold and I could've stood to be wearing a winter jacket and gloves while sitting on those metal benches. But not me, just a long-sleeved top, a hoodie on that and a light spring jacket.

I'd spoken to my husband and asked if he had any blanket in his car, which he could bring to me. He didn't, so I said forget it.

About 40 minutes later, I called home, wanting to know if he'd arrived home and to let him know that I was coming home for something warm. My daughter told me that Ron had already been home and left.

Not 10 minutes later, he's crossing the park field toward me with a blanket and two chair pads to sit on.

I turned to my friend alongside me and said, "That's Ron for you. And that's something my dad would've done too."

And I know that is something my two older brothers, Michael and Jerry, would have also done. They continually give of themselves, expecting nothing in return. We used to say that my brother Michael was most like my dad, but throughout my father's extended illness and hospitalizations, I realized that Jerry too was very much like my dad.

I am proud and thankful to say that my two sons, Avi and Noam, follow the Adler men in their demeanor. They are considerate, they are generous, they are sensitive to others' needs...and it all shows naturally.

May Hashem bless the men in my life to continue living life in the warm and generous way they do...just as my father did.

Happy Shavuot...or, Smile & Say "Cheese"

Someone Left His Good Manners at Home

This is just going to be a rant post.

I was at a very elegant fund-raiser dinner last night for our children's school, which celebrated its 25th anniversary. The dinner honoured the school's nine past presidents, as well as one of its benefactors who died too young, too soon.

Along with being a parent at the school, I volunteer for different programs at the school -- including being on one of the committees affiliated with this dinner. I am never a leader, but am happy to be a follower, thus I sit on committees, I don't head them.

I wouldn't be wrong to say the school population is somewhat elitist, in many ways. Just come to the parking lot and you'll see countless luxury vehicles. Check out the addresses of the students, and you'll see what I mean.

I have no interest ever in "keeping up with Cohens" but it is always clear to see how "money talks."

Last night I was standing alongside my husband as he talked to an acquaintance. A few minutes later, another school parent came hurrying over, hand outstretched to my husband's acquaintance and immediately started talking to the man.

This "young pisher" -- a good 10 years our junior -- not only interrupted my husband's conversation, he didn't even bat an eyelash to my husband, nor to me, and gave a return limp handshake to my dear husband, who stretched out is hand in a menschlich kind of way. I was shocked as I watched this other person, and I could see my husband was also taken aback by this young man's abrupt/rude behaviour.

It isn't as if we don't know him, or he doesn't know us. Our kids are in school together, often socialize together, we've sat at their Shabbos table in the past, we make it a point to be friendly whenever we see he or his wife, even if we don't move in the same circles.

I so would have liked to say something to this guy. And I can imagine him saying "I'm sorry...I didn't realize what I was doing." But I wouldn't give him the benefit of the doubt; I can imagine this scene replaying itself over and over, knowing who this person is and what his station is in life.

I recall relaying something similar in a post a few years ago; the setting primarily was the shul we attended at the time, as well as the kids' school. I think sometimes that rude stems from a feeling of entitlement.

So in the meantime, I have to air my grievances publicly on my blog, without naming this person, but truly wanting to do so.

Rudeness and bad manners simply rub me the wrong way. When a type of arrogance is enmeshed in that rudeness, I am more than peeved.

Aside from wanting to confront such people about their behaviour, more than anything, I hope they will be on the receiving end of such behaviour time and time again. Maybe they'll begin to recognize just how wrong it is....

One can only hope!

Scared Canine Gets Smart!

Our dog, Max, is rather smart...even if he cocks his head sideways sometimes as if he's clueless as to what you're saying.

Here's the perfect example from tonight:

I wanted to let him out the back door to do his thing in the yard, and he went out a couple of paws (translation: inches/yards), then headed back into the kitchen almost immediately.

At first I had no idea why he'd done that, but I heard the sound of fireworks, and that's when I saw Max run upstairs. I'd assumed he'd gone to hide out on one of the beds he enjoys sleeping on.

Nuh-uh! When I followed him upstairs, I found the dog under the computer table in the main upstairs hallway.

When had he gotten into social sciences textbooks? How had Max known that during air raids, bombs, earthquakes, and school lockdowns people are told to hide under tables and desks?

I guess to him the sound of exploding fireworks mimics that of exploding bombs, and he thinks "bomb=hiding under desk"!

Then again, maybe he figured that sooner or later I'd end up at that computer writing a blog post about how smart he is, and knew that my presence would be an added comfort.

Smart dog -- he was right!

A Shoe-In

What do Dorothy and the Pope have in common?

[Cue (annoying, yet catchy) music from Jeopardy...]

She visits the Emerald City. He lives in the Vatican City.

Nope. Not the answer I was looking for.

The shoes. Those red (Prada, I'm told) shoes of his keep him grounded. Dorothy also wore red shoes.

Remember the refrain after she clicked her heels 3 times? "There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home."

Well, I've been informed of the answer to the question "Why does the Pope wear red shoes?"

In case he needs to get back to the Vatican real quick, he clicks his heels... and says..."There's no place like Rome...there's no place like..."

Now I don't truly mean to insult his eminent Holiness, and I understand that the wearing of those red shoes have a history and a meaning, but c'mon, those shoes are so "fly" that I'd expect to see them on this website. Talk about a pair of traffic stoppers!

Skin-Deep

Thanks to good genes, I have good skin. My whole life, my face was normal to dry, so for the past 25+ years, I've used daily moisturizer, namely Pond's. A simple cream for simple needs.

The past year or so I've begun to notice a bit of sagging in the lower mouth area and a few more laugh lines round my eyes. Okay, granted, I certainly don't get enough sleep nor do I drink enough water. Lack of those two makes for these facial skin changes, I'm sure, but now I have to work with what I've got.

It's time I need a little more than what Pond's Daily Moisturizing Cream has to offer, but I don't want to spend big bucks either on beauty products. And so I've been working with some sample-size products before I make any purchases.

But I just looked over the array of samples, and I don't like what I'm seeing -- the names of these products:

Dove Pro*Age (ready to give back to your skin what it needs right now): Neck & Chest Beauty Serum

Olay Definity: Re-energizing Serum
(Night) Restorative Sleep Cream

Lise Watier L'Experience: Morning Potion
Age Spot Control Serum
Nighttime Skin Rescue Creme

L'Oreal: Advance Revitalift Deep-Set Wrinkle Repair


Ewww, the word "serum" has such medical connotations; I don't like to think I need a serum to help prevent aging.

n. serum [ˈsiərəm]
a watery fluid which is given as an injection to fight, or give immunity from, a disease

There are other options, I know, but plastic surgery isn't one of them...I'm simply not that vain enough for any mini Botox or Restylane injections.

Here is probably the best solution to my problem. But until I get to the hardware store to buy a lifetime supply of light bulbs, I'll stick to my Pond's.