Dawn Ponders

Time for Toronto

2012-01-19T13:47:00.002-05:00

As I prepare to return to the land of my birth later today, I have been spending some time ruminating over my most recent sojourn to The Southern Home. Contained below are some basic thoughts.

Things I WILL NOT miss about South Florida

The increasingly aggravating chihuahua across the hall. Deathtraps have begun to invade my dreams and I am concerned that I might act upon these primal emotions.
The slamming of doors in the halls of the condo.
The ridiculousness of people who dress their dogs in tutus, feed them from restaurant tables, and push them around in infant strollers. Oh my God!! They're dogs!
Publix on Hallandale Beach Boulevard! A gang fight just waiting to happen-walkers vs wheelchairs!
The Hollywood Circle. A piece of roadway designed by a sadistic bastard who obviously bases projects with visions of hell on earth dancing in his head!
The tragic-comedy that is the Republican primary process and the myriad of ads and robocalls accompanying it. We all know that Romney will be the last out of the clown car, so just get on with it and leave us all with some degree of peace.
My defective and rather noisy washing machine that seems to be planning an escape route all its own.
The f*#% you attitude that is so pervasive amongst so many down here-whether they be on the roads, in a store, in a restaurant, or at the beach. I understand the principles of individual liberty upon which this country was founded, but when your liberties trample upon mine I think that there is a problem. No, it isn't ok to make a left-hand turn from the right-hand lane directly in front of me. No, it isn't ok to cut in line to avoid the twelve people behind you and then swear like a sailor when called out on your behaviour. No, it isn't ok to honk your horn at the old woman with a walker who couldn't navigate the crossing in the time provided. No, it isn't ok to skunk somebody else's parking spot. No, it isn't ok to walk directly in front of me at the store and stand there figuring out what you want without any regard to my continued presence. Some civility training and basic manners reminders would go a long way.

But, all of that aside.....I have come to understand that this stuff is a small price to pay for.....

Things that I WILL miss about South Florida

The world existing in true colour, rather than the many shades of grey so apparent at home during the winter months.
The warm temperatures and soft breezes, rather than the mercury dipping lower than a high school boy's pants and winds that chill from the inside out.
Spending time with my parents.
The simplicity I have attached to life down here.
Reading. I read voraciously down here.
On Demand television. I have to say as a Bell TV customer, we miss that at home.
Internet shopping. Canada is still playing a huge catch-up game with the US on internet commerce. It is easy, inexpensive, and really fast down here.
The dolphins and manatees that have been visiting with increasing regularity. They constantly remind me of my love for animals, my love for the oceans, (even though given my seasick history, I probably shouldn't be travelling on them) and that when I watch these glorious creatures I feel heaven and earth touch.
My lack of socks and shoes.
My lack of a coat.

I look forward to seeing my Canadian friends soon and I look forward to my timely return to my Southern Home.

Dayenu!

2012-01-17T21:14:00.005-05:00

OY!! What a day I've had. You be the judge. Dayenu! (On Passover we say Dayenu!-It would have been enough. Trust me. Today? It would have been enough!)

Had I only had a decent night's sleep? Dayenu!

Had I only woken refreshed and not cranky? Dayenu!

Had I only been able to sit in the sun today reading and not fallen asleep in my chair? Dayenu!

Had falling asleep in my chair not caused a sunburned face? Dayenu!

Had my sunburned face not caused a more than painful experience in the shower? Dayenu!

Had my less than satisfying shower and cranky behaviour not caused me to drop body lotion all over my bathmat? Dayenu!

Had the unclean bathmat been easily cleaned? Dayenu!

Had I not needed to throw said bathmat into my faulty washing machine? Dayenu!

Had I not absent-mindedly closed the laundry room door after starting the machine? Dayenu!

Had my bathmat been properly centred in the machine and the machine not decided to go for a walk? Dayenu!

Had the walking washing machine not blocked the closed laundry room from the inside? Dayenu!

Had the other door on the outside of the laundry room opened and not been painted shut? Dayenu!

Had the hinges on the laundry room door been on the outside as opposed to the inside? Dayenu!

Had the washing machine been empty rather than filled with water making the machine twice as heavy to attempt to move? Dayenu!

Had this event/catastrophe happened before 5:00 pm so that the engineering people in the building were still here working? Dayenu!

Had any of the people I brought in to attempt said move had an arm reach longer than a strand of linguine? Dayenu!

Had I been born with an easy going nature rather than type A so that the idea of a blocked laundry room door with a wet bathmat held within didn't drive me to distraction as we headed out to dinner? Dayenu!

Had our dinner companions reached us to inform of their illness before we drove all the way up to Lauderdale? Dayenu!

Had I been able to ignore the situation upon my return? Dayenu!

Had I thought enough to call my 6'5" neighbour with the point guard reach 3 hours earlier so that he could reach around the door, turn off the machine, empty the water, and finally move the f*@#ing tin box away from the door so that I could finally access the room and retrieve the smelly wet bathmat? Dayenu!

Lessons learned from this experience? I need a new washer and dryer. I need a locksmith to open the other door from the laundry room. Never close the laundry room door while the old appliances are still here and when in doubt--SIZE DOES MATTER!!!

Coming to An End

2012-01-07T09:31:00.000-05:00

It must be said that cruises are much more fun when the ship isn't pitching around from side to side like a treadmill on steroids. All of us felt much more comfortable yesterday and were finally able to enjoy our meals and evening nightlife without the threat of another sleepless night on the good ship nausea.

The day in Grand Turk was spectacular. I love this island! All I did was lie on the stunning beach, swim in the ocean and marvel at the coral reef. As I said on Facebook, Grand Turk is the definition of wasting away in Margaritaville! I was still experiencing the not so gentle sway of the ship, so partaking in any activity more taxing was definitely out of the question, but several of our group took to the blue waters off the coast to snorkel and play with the stingrays. Highlights? I loved listening to the youngest of our group describe in vivid detail holding, touching, and swimming with the rays. You haven't lived until you have experienced new things through the wondrous eyes of a nine year old. I loved the fact that Oldest Son went snorkeling with his grandparents. My seventy-something parents swimming and seeking out the coral reef with their 24 year old grandson. Seriously, how cool is that? The Ying to my Lil Bro's Yang collected on Sister/Cousin's win at the spa yesterday and had a full pedicure treatment. It was her idea of absolute luxury.

Following dinner the family met in one of the bars for another round of trivia, but with a twist. The category of Motown turned the entire area into a dance hall. Watching a bunch of Jews bop to the sounds of the Motor City was a hoot. Brother/Cousin's Beshert is a demon at these music categories and she and Brother/Cousin tore up the floor. My dad found a willing dance partner. A woman came over and asked my mom if she could dance with dad. Being the good sport that he is, he boogied her around the floor to the sounds of the 4 Tops and The Temptations. Pictures to follow as this is something that could only happen to my father.

Today we are at sea and tomorrow back on solid ground for good. Older Son and Nephew A will be collecting on the free gourmet dinner in the steakhouse this evening, and we will all be attempting a group photo. God give me strength for that little adventure. Next stop-The Southern Home and the task of uploading my photos. What a fitting way to help celebrate 50 years of marriage-with family!!

Some More Highlights

2012-01-06T09:23:00.001-05:00

Sorry I haven't published for a few days, but the seas have been a bit rocky and regular readers of this space know that I don't do well with motion. I haven't let it dampen my spirits, though and as we near the final days of this familial voyage, I thought it best to update the goings on of this wild and wacky clan.

Since last we met in Nassau, the ship has docked in two additional ports, La Romana Dominican Republic and San Juan Puerto Rico. While many of us checked out a small artisan village called Altos de Chacons in the D.R, The Lil Bro and his family and Sister/Cousin and her's went cave dwelling. There are some beautiful caverns in the area and the two families went to see what all the fuss was about. Truth be told, all my dad wanted to do in the Dominican was find the homes of Blue Jay greats George "kiss my purple butt" Bell and his all-time favourite Tony Fernandez. When told that they live on the other side of the country in San Pedro de Macoris, the look of disappointment on his face was so sad I almost wanted to call them myself to get them to meet the ship! Brother/Cousin took his family to the beach to see if he could actually find the gills on our youngest family member.

This family is killer at trivia. So far we have won 4-count them 4-gold-painted ships on sticks and a gold medal. Pictures of the winning teams to follow. Yesterday following sail-a-way from San Juan, we added three more trophies to our collection. We definitely watch way too much TV, movies, Broadway musicals, and listen to our iPods all to often. I think that the poor blond crew in charge of the program is slightly tired of our Canadian faces and accents. We have entered the big on board contest. Keep you posted.

We have also been extremely lucky. Sister/Cousin won a hundred dollar gift certificate in the spa which the Ying to my Lil Bro's yang is using today on a pedicure. Older Son attended an open bar reception last evening ( no surprise there!) and won a bottle of champagne and a free dinner at the exclusive fancy steakhouse. When asked what he did for a living and replying in turn that he worked for a craft distiller, apparently the "not friends of Bill W." erupted in cheers.

San Juan was beautiful. The old city with it's blue cobblestones and fortress walls is a sight. Several of our group went to Barrachino's, home of the Piña Colada and indulged. Sister/Cousin and her adventurers went zip lining. I think that I heard her screams on Calle Fortaleza. Seriously, they had a ball.

Today is my beach day in Grand Turk with The Husband, Younger Son, his Young Lady and Other Mother and Father, while many are snorkeling the coral reefs. So far we haven't killed each other and while I have lost weight on this cruise due to the rough seas, nobody is complaining. Speak from sea tomorrow.

Highlights Day 1

2012-01-03T14:13:00.001-05:00

Trying to get 23 people to share their first day highlights is a bit like herding cats. Attempting to get the 23 members of my family to share their first day highlights is a bit like herding noisy, clumsy, drooling wild boar! In the interest of sanity and since I can only share what I gathered through the morass and haze of secondhand storytelling, I will try to hit the highlights.

Younger Son, HisYoung Lady and I had an up close and personal encounter with my now favorite dolphin of all time, Clifton. I think Clifton and I could make a wonderfully cute couple, but I would either have to enjoy life in the cold waters of the oceans off the coast of Nassau, or else he would have to be content living in my bathtub. Then of course there is the issue of what we would do with The Husband, but something tells me that Clifton is man enough to take him on! In all seriousness it was a magic moment that will live within me forever. Because of limited interweb access onboard ship, the photos of me with my new honey will have to wait a week.
Sister/Cousin and her brood went parasailing and her Photographer has the pictures to prove it! Spectacular!! He is available for Bar Mitzvahs and weddings. Book now! I have come to wonder about the Judaic credentials of that family. Every last one of them cries out for action and adventure that is very un-Jewish. We are a nomadic people, not a rock-climbing, bungee-jumping tribe! We hire people to do that stuff for us. That said, hearing the stories of her squealing in terror while perched on a board with her 16 year old son, had me gripped with laughter. I can't wait to hear if she passes out on the zip line in San Juan!
My Dad, Older Son, Brother Cousin, my nephew and I absolutely kicked ass at the sports trivia contest after we set sail from Nassau. Our all Canuck team blew away the Yankee competition at their own sports history with nary a single hockey question. We knew we had it in the bag when we correctly answered the question "What is the most common nickname amongst U.S college sports teams?" I will leave you to ponder that one. Answer will be provided at the end of the next post. Our prize? A gold ship on a stick which we plan to parade around like the Stanley Cup and each keep on our mantle for an equal period of time. Once again, photos to follow!!
Thank you to my friend the Choir Director who took it upon herself to fete us last evening with wine and totally blew the boxers off of my parents with special anniversary cakes. The waiters came over and sang-at least they claimed it was singing-and my mother turned all shades of red. My father drank up the attention as his nature, and the kids devoured the cakes. You are the queen, my friend!
Today we are trying to keep our ballast at sea, me more than most. So far so good. Calm seas and beautiful weather at present and ahead. Keep you all posted.

The Mother of All Family Vacations

2012-01-02T15:44:00.000-05:00

Six months ago when The Husband, The Little Bro, The Ying to his Yang and Yours Truly were faced with my parents approaching 50th wedding anniversary, we were truly stumped on a method of celebration. The folks had made it pretty clear that a big shindig was out of the question, (actually they were so outwardly forceful in their dissent that I feared for my very safety) and that whatever plans we made had to take place in The Southern Home because they had absolutely no intentions of returning to Toronto in December! When I suggested a family cruise I was met with an extremely tepid response. School schedules would never mesh, I was told. Fun in the sun is not everybody's idea of a vacation. Nevertheless I was charged with investigating and, with immense help from my dear friend The Choir Director,(she only moonlights as a travel agent!) we found a cruise that would allow all to travel at the same time with minimal school absences. It was time to ask Mom and Dad how they felt about it.

Mom: Other Parents too?

Me: Absolutely!!

Mom: Sister/Cousin and her family and Brother/Cousin and his?

Me: As long as the are willing they are welcome!

Before I had even hung up the phone, Sister/Cousin called and said that she and her brood were in. I still maintain that she was listening in on a party line! It took some doing but by the end of October, 23 of us were booked. Yesterday, we arrived at the port-wearing matching t-shirts to thoroughly embarrass my parents-and checked in for a week long stay aboard The Carnival Freedom. It is impossible for 23 Jews to agree on what colour the sky is let alone on what constitutes fun, but we will manage! We have two large tables in the dining room and believe it or not, we are not the noisiest nor are we the most obnoxious in spite of my father's constant efforts to the contrary. So far there is something for everybody.

What has been truly amazing to me is the constant ebb and flow of conversations. The kids have become rather spread out lately due to university commitments, and some haven't been in the same city for over 2 years. Watching them all interact and reconnect has been my favorite part of this experience so far. It really doesn't matter if the food is great or if the shows are cheesy, what really matters is that we are all together celebrating for Mom and Dad!

I will attempt to update a few times throughout the trip. In the meantime, pray for us that we survive the "family experience of a lifetime!!"

My Special Piece of Chanukah

2011-12-20T16:01:00.004-05:00

As we prepare to begin the festival of Chanukah, I have been following the excitement all day amongst my friends and family through Facebook, Twitter, email and other forms of social media. It always interests me in how people celebrate holidays and which customs remain important throughout their lives. Whether it is the visceral odour of latkes cooking, the lighting of the Chanukiah, the music, or the gifting that tends at times to go somewhat overboard, every single one of us has a tradition that absolutely must be carried forward or else "it just isn't Chanukah!" Today I was reminded of mine.

This is my mother's Chanukiah.

It is the Chanukiah that we always lit when I was a child and it is the Chanukiah that my parents continue to light and carry with them wherever they are in the world for Chanukah. Today I watched as my mother brought it out and set up the candles in preparation for this evening, just like I used to do when I was a kid. It brought back a hundred different memories all at once. I love this piece. It isn't the most beautiful Chanukiah I have ever seen, but it is the most special to me. I always knew that the piece was given to my mother by her father, but until today I never delved further into the story.

It seems that my grandfather, a jack of many trades throughout his lifetime, was working as a travelling salesman shortly after the war in the late 1940s. He happened upon one of his customers who drew him into conversation and soon discovered that he was Jewish. She brought out this Chanukiah and told him that it had been smuggled out of Holland just before or during World War II. She had no idea what it was but she knew that it was of some significance, and wondered if my grandfather might like to have it. He took it gratefully, and it remained in my grandparents' home until my grandmother moved in with my family after my Zaidy's death. My mother inherited it from her mother.

Years later during one of my parents' many trips, they happened upon other Chanukiot just like it in a museum in Amsterdam. My mother was so excited that she took photos of those to show all of us at home. Until today, she never told me the story and I never knew the significance of the piece.

It has always surprised me the myriad of Chanukiot that are available today, many of which I find to be quite tacky. I could never imagine lighting Chanukah candles with Bart Simpson or Mickey Mouse as the Shamash. When The Husband and I were searching for a Chanukiah of our own, I always came back to the traditional designs that were inspired by this particular and special piece of family folklore. Tonight as we light the first lights together with my parents, I will be marvelling at uniqueness of our Chanukiah and what it means to both my mother and me.

חג שמח to all who observe!!

50 Years and Counting.....

2011-12-15T00:03:00.000-05:00

I have really struggled with the writing of this post. It shouldn't have been all that difficult. I mean, really! How many couples do you know that have managed to make the 50 year anniversary line, and how many of those are actually related to you? My parents will be celebrating this auspicious milestone this coming Saturday and since we won't actually be in the same city until Sunday, I really wanted to recognize the day in print. But the writing gods have been tremendously unkind and have afflicted me with a block at the exact moment when eloquence is desperately required. You see...I felt that I needed a hook, a literary device to express exactly what I am feeling and to hopefully make the post more interesting to you the readers. Maybe a bit of satire or comedy? But then I realized that this nonsense was horseshit. What really matters isn't the flowery language in which I couch my emotions. It is the occasion itself.

There will be ample celebratory moments for our family over the next couple of weeks as we all arrive in the Southern Home to fete Mom and Dad, but the actual day is being planned as a low-key affair. When I asked how they planned to spend Saturday, my mother answered in typically understated fashion "I am thinking chicken wings, pizza, and maybe The Big Bang Theory on Tivo." When The Little Bro and The Ying to his Yang put together an invitation for a small party being thrown down here, they used my parents wedding picture as part of the design. My mother strenuously objected. Not just because she loathes their wedding picture (too long a story for this post, believe me!) but she really wanted to keep the occasion light, fun, and devoid of mush. My sister-in-law always the artist and ever the smartass, replaced the photo with this:

My mother loved it. It was exactly in keeping with how she and Dad want to celebrate.

My parents are not the centre of attention sorts. (Ok! Dad is-but he shares this particular centre with Mom.) They don't want speechifying or toasts. They aren't into slideshows or big parties, and most of all the dictum came down from on high that "there are to be absolutely no syrupy recollections." For them, it is all about celebrating with family and close friends and that is exactly what we plan to do. But as is my nature as oldest child and obstinate daughter, I just could not let this Saturday pass without a few thoughts. So here are some random thoughts about 50 years with my Mom and Dad.

50 years of Dad telling stories and 50 years of Mom correcting his tall tales.
50 years of Dad screaming about nothing and 50 years of Mom laughing about it later.
50 years of Dad losing stuff and 50 years of Mom finding it.
50 years of Dad getting lost and 50 years of Mom digging him out of his self-created holes and getting him back on course.
50 years of Dad telling jokes and 50 years of Mom fixing the botched punchlines.
50 years of Mom taking classes and 50 years of Dad reaping the benefits.
50 years of Mom baking and cooking and 50 years of her telling Dad that he can't eat any of it.
50 years of travelling the world together and 50 years of Dad meeting people he knows in all corners.
50 years of technology and 50 years of Mom trying to idiot proof it all for Dad.
50 years with Other Mother and Other Father and 50 years of developing a relationship that is unique to the outside world.
50 years of public displays of affection.
50 years of kvetching and 50 years of thanking a higher power that those kvetches aren't much worse.
50 years with 2 kids, 1 son-in-law, 1 daughter-in-law, 5 grandchildren, 2 other kids and spouses whom they treat as their own, 5 great-nephews and great-nieces who think of them as Bubby and Zaidy, and countless other family members and friends who love and respect them.

Not a bad legacy for 50 years of marriage.

Yesterday, when discussing this anniversary with my mother she told me a story that she heard while attending Susan Werner's concert last weekend. It seems that Susan recently lost her grandmother who hit the century mark and then some. She shared some of her grandmother's wisdom with the audience. When asked the secret to a successful marriage, Susan's grandma replied "choose someone that you can live with and not someone that you can't live without." My parents figured that nugget out a long time ago. They adore living, loving, and laughing together and my guess is that they wouldn't have changed much in the last 50 years. Ok! Maybe my father's temper tantrums and my mother's guilt trips could have found their way to the trash, but other than that....NOTHING! Happy 50th Mom and Dad. May you continue to embrace every single day as if it were a gift. Too mushy? Too bad.

Love, Dawn (Your first born, obstinate, opinionated, strong-willed daughter that you made in your images!)

Where are the Women??

2011-12-07T11:19:00.002-05:00

This past summer The Husband and I made our first pilgrimage to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. I will admit that we had ulterior motives in making the five hour drive around the lake that didn't involve visiting the shrine, but while we were there we knew that we needed to finally see the place. It was a fantastic experience and one that I would gladly repeat again and again. A music lover's paradise. One of my greatest thrills during our trip to the Rock Hall was viewing the remarkable exhibit set up to honour Women Who Rock. It was like Cleveland knew I was coming and designed a special showcase just for me. We spent hours perusing and listening to all of the greats. It was pure joy.

We finally made our way into the screening room to view the film that honours all of the hall's inductees. I enjoyed it thoroughly, but was tremendously dismayed at the dearth of women who have actually been inducted into the hall. Did you know that while the Rock Hall has been open since 1983, it took until 1987 for them to induct their first woman, Aretha Franklin? There have been 619 total people inducted and only a handful of them women, some of whom were members of bands that were ushered in collectively like The Mamas and the Papas or Fleetwood Mac.

So I need to ask the question, "Where are the Women"? Where are the likes of Heart, Pat Benatar, Linda Ronstadt, Carole King (as a performer), Cyndy Lauper, Donna Summer, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, The GoGos, Janet Jackson, or The Carpenters? And this is just a list of the obviously missing. How does a group like the Red Hot Chili Peppers make it this year and not the Wilson sisters who paved the way for them? One might start to wonder if a gender bias exists in Cleveland?

Look it is obvious that rock and roll has traditionally been a guy's game, but women have forced their way into the picture and can no longer and should no longer be ignored. These omissions are neon-lighted slights that need to be corrected. Will they also ignore Melissa Etheridge when she becomes eligible next year? Travesties!

While we wait and hope for these errors to be corrected, we can and should acknowledge the great Laura Nyro who made the cut this year as the ONLY woman inductee. In the meantime, if you have a chance to get to the Rock Hall to see the Women in Rock exhibit I highly recommend it. It is on display until February 2012.

Take That NaBloPoMo!

2011-11-30T13:24:00.005-05:00

Completed! Finished, ended, concluded, finalized, accomplished, achieved, discharged, settled, done! Wrapped up, sewn up, polished off!

Thirty blog posts in thirty days. I met the challenge and made it my bitch!! (I think that's Shakespeare or maybe my Polish grandfather. I often confuse the two and their words of wisdom.) I must tell you all that I seriously considered leaving today's post totally blank-a tangible symbol of my conquering the beast and a statement of total independence. But could you imagine running the twenty-six miles and quitting with 385 yards left? Neither could I, so here I am today just like the previous twenty-nine. The Husband thought that I should extend the challenge to include the first day of December just to prove that I could go to infinity and beyond. A symbolic gesture if you will, to my new commitment of writing. I dismissed that idea out of hand if only because I really want to maintain control of this exercise and I wasn't going to let anybody dictate terms to me, not even The Husband. Besides that-I really need a break, at least for a day or two.

I already have given you a detailed post as to what I have learned from this daily blogging extravaganza, so I won't rehash. Just a few added tidbits leftover from the month have been percolating and need to be shared.

I read a great deal of really bad writing over the last thirty days. Really bad! I don't mean amateur bloggers or would-be writers, either. I mean supposed professionals who do this daily and are compensated for their efforts. Journalists, freelancers, speechwriters, and their ilk all caught my attention this month simply because I was on the hunt for post ideas. The grammatical errors in our printed materials are abundant and spelling errors are common. Look, I don't profess to be perfect nor am I the grammar police, but I do know the correct usage for there, their, and they're. You would be shocked at how many out there do not.
I was pleasantly surprised at how many people in my real life wanted to "help" me with post ideas. I truly appreciated each and every comment, email, and conversation, but it became almost impossible to explain that the process for my writing is organic and builds upon other kernels; a process that only I understand. While some of those helpful hints found their way into a post or two, more often than not the essence of the ideas were amalgamated into something totally unrecognizable to the original offering. Please don't stop offering suggestions. I love and appreciate the help more than you all will ever know. Just don't get bent out of shape when I don't use each and every one.
I was unbelievably flattered when Blogher asked to syndicate one of my posts. Thousands of bloggers had registered for NaBloPoMo during the month of November and to have one of mine selected for highlighting on their main page was incredibly exciting. That particular post had a couple of thousand reads on their site and a couple of hundred more on mine. It was the first time that I personally felt the power of the interweb and all of its connectedness. Thank you to the people at Blogher for allowing me to participate in this manner and for believing that my scribblings were worth sharing.
I loved discovering what my readers love. The recipe blogs were extraordinarily popular which stunned me. Our vegetarian lifestyle has been the butt of many jokes with family and friends. To discover that others actually liked our way of eating or at least were willing to try some of the foods we eat, was tremendously satisfying. I also enjoyed sharing some of my favourite female musicians with you all. I always knew that I was partial to the female voice in my music choices (Take that kol isha!) and I loved finding out that many of you were as well. Those Shabbat Music Breaks were amongst my favourite posts of the month, not just because they allowed for a pause in the daily writing grind, but rather because they allowed Shabbat to feel different from the rest of the week. I know that other bloggers fully refrained from posting on Shabbat, but for me that would have felt dishonest to my observance of the day. Those music breaks were a wonderful compromise.
Finally, I am thrilled that I was able to see this challenge through from start to finish. There wasn't one day neglected and there wasn't even one day when I posted late. I haven't always finished what I started, but today I state categorically that I whupped NaBloPoMo's ass!

Thanks to all of you who have read, tolerated, offered help, and basically just supported my ridiculous little endeavour. I am not giving up blogging, actually far from it. I just need a couple of days to recoup and recover and then I will be back at it as the spirit moves. I hope that you all enjoy your Decembers whatever holidays you observe or don't.

Joint Blog Post

2011-11-29T08:53:00.007-05:00

Today's post is a joint venture between my mother and myself.

It hasn't been an easy week around my family. Without delving into the details, suffice it to say that all of our emotions have been on a razor's edge. Yesterday in a conversation with my mother, she told me that she had decided to take a break from the chaos and start to go through her photos from her latest trip to the Galapagos Islands. I had briefly mentioned this most recent adventure of my parents' in a post from earlier this month. My parents are world travellers and while they love to relax on a beach from time to time, they much prefer destinations where the sights are less pedantic. A trip to an "almost untouched by human hands" part of the world is just the kind of vacation that thrills them.

My mother is a remarkable woman, although she would strenuously and vociferously argue the point. She has an artist's eye for composition and it is this sensibility that makes her a phenomenal photographer with absolutely no training whatsoever. She told me during our conversation yesterday that sorting through her pictures brought her an element of peace and happiness that calmed her frayed nerves. I asked her to forward me a couple so that I might share her awareness, and when they arrived I was absolutely stunned by their beauty, artistry, and grace. I asked her if I might share some of them with the blogosphere and she readily agreed--to all of our benefit. Every single one of these photos was taken by my mother. All the rights and copyrights to the material belong to her, so please be sensitive to that before sharing. In other words-just ask. I am certain that she will say yes.

Red-Footed Boobies

Sea Turtles doing the Deed

Smile!

Getting a better view

The look!

Black Widow-Gentlemen Beware

Sally Lightfoot Crab-Related to Gordon?

New seal pup having lunch-I love this picture!!

Iguana Community

C'mon Dad! Time to go!!

Watching and Waiting

She was absolutely right. Pure, simple joy. Thanks Mom for the glimpse into a magical trip. The perfect antidote to a difficult week.

Meatless Monday:Quinoa

2011-11-28T10:10:00.000-05:00

The final Meatless Monday edition for this year's November blog extravaganza. I hope that you have tried a few of the recipes and given some extra thought as to the amount of meat that you are consuming on a weekly basis. My hope has not been to convert you to my dark vegetarian lifestyle, but rather to offer a bit of education and some delicious alternatives to the diet that do not require animal protein to be filling and nutritious. In today's Meatless Monday spotlight we see quinoa. Quinoa is a grain-like (note that it is grain-like) crop found mostly in South America and grown primarily for its seeds. It is closely related to crops like beets, spinach, and tumbleweeds, although I haven't seen anybody eat a tumbleweed since watching old John Wayne westerns. After it is harvested, the seeds are processed and the bitter outer coating is removed. Quinoa can be prepared much like rice, but it offers a complete protein in that all nine amino acids are present. It is also very rich in magnesium and iron, is a good source of dietary fibre, and is gluten free if that is an issue for you. Because it is relatively new on the North American scene, some Orthodox rabbis and most progressive Jewish organizations have classified it as Kosher for Passover rather than banish it to the kitniyot pile. (Note: My family does eat kitniyot at Pesach and we do so proudly, but that is the subject for another post.) A few wonderful recipes using quinoa are offered below. Enjoy all.

Quinoa Salad

Ingredients:

1 cup quinoa, uncooked
8 asparagus
2 oz feta cheese, crumbled
¼ cup green olives, coarsely chopped
4 tbsp. sun-dried tomatoes, chopped
½ tbsp. olive oil+drizzle for asparagus
1 tbsp. balsamic vinegar (I use a wonderful fig balsamic)
salt and pepper

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Boil the quinoa in large saucepan and cook until tender, as per directions of package. While the quinoa cooks, prep the asparagus. Remove the woody ends by gently bending each spear until it breaks-it will naturally snap off at the right place. Lay the spears on a cookie sheet and drizzle with olive oil and a pinch of salt. Place in the oven and roast for 10 minutes.
2. Chop the asparagus into bite-sized pieces and add to the cooked quinoa, along with the cheese, olives, sun-dried tomatoes oil, and vinegar. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Refrigerate until serving.

Quinoa Pilaf

Ingredients:

1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 onion, chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
2 carrots, diced
1/2 cup quinoa
1 cup hot vegetable stock
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon lemon zest
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/2 cup frozen green peas, thawed
salt to taste
ground black pepper to taste

Directions:

Pour oil into a medium saucepan, and place over medium heat. Add onion, celery, and carrots; cook and stir for 10 minutes, or until vegetables are tender.
Using a strainer, rinse quinoa under cold water. Drain well. Stir into the vegetables; cook and stir for 1 minute. Add stock, bay leaf and lemon rind and juice; bring to boil. Cover, and reduce heat to medium low. Simmer for 15 to 20 minutes, or until liquid is absorbed and quinoa is tender.
Discard bay leaf. Stir in peas, and season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve.

Quinoa Stuffed Peppers

Ingredients:

1 medium onion, finely chopped (1 cup)
2 Tbs. olive oil
2 ribs celery, finely chopped (1/2 cup)
1 Tbs. ground cumin
2 cloves garlic, minced (2 tsp.)
1 10-oz. pkg. frozen chopped spinach, thawed and squeezed dry
2 15-oz. cans diced tomatoes, drained, liquid reserved
1 15-oz. can black beans, rinsed and drained
3/4 cup quinoa
3 large carrots, grated (1 1/2 cups)
1 1/2 cups grated reduced-fat pepper Jack cheese, divided
4 large red bell peppers, halved lengthwise, ribs removed

Directions:

1. Heat oil in saucepan over medium heat. Add onion and celery, and cook 5 minutes, or until soft. Add cumin and garlic, and sauté 1 minute. Stir in spinach and drained tomatoes. Cook 5 minutes, or until most of liquid has evaporated.
2. Stir in black beans, quinoa, carrots, and 2 cups water. Cover, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer 20 minutes, or until quinoa is tender. Stir in 1 cup cheese. Season with salt and pepper, if desired.
3. Preheat oven to 350°F. Pour liquid from tomatoes in bottom of baking dish.
4. Fill each bell pepper half with heaping 3/4-cup quinoa mixture, and place in baking dish. Cover with foil, and bake 1 hour. Uncover, and sprinkle each pepper with 1 Tbs. remaining cheese. Bake 15 minutes more, or until tops of stuffed peppers are browned. Let stand 5 minutes. Transfer stuffed peppers to serving plates, and drizzle each with pan juices before serving.

Happy Meatless Monday to all!

Shabbat and The Telephone

2011-11-27T10:40:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I commented to The Husband about the increasing irritation of our landline telephone. I had noticed that with the exception of one or two calls a day, (thanks Mom!) the telephone only rang with calls from banks offering new credit card rates, newspapers trying to increase their circulation, or duct cleaners. Yes we have registered our phone number on the f*#@ingly useless "Do Not Call" list and yes we have call display that shows most of these solicitors coming through as 800 numbers. The latest scam for the duct cleaning business is to use area codes from out of country so as to dupe us into thinking that the call might have some importance. At first we were polite, told them that we were registered on the DNC list and to kindly remove our number. Last week when the poor schmuck on the other end of the line began his pitch, I yelled loudly into the phone "ARE YOU F*#@ING KIDDING ME???" "DON'T YOU PEOPLE EVER LEARN??" And then I politely hung up. My point is that our landline has fast become the spam provider of our communications system.

We have discussed ridding ourselves of the nuisance. I know many people who refuse to use landlines. Both of my sons rely solely on their cellphones. The Husband and I just can't seem to cut the cord, though. We worry about emergency response and power outages that tie up cell service. In the great Northeastern blackout of 2003, the only phones that functioned effectively were those that were connected directly into the phone jacks and didn't require electrical power or batteries. We still keep one around for emergencies, but my realization of a few weeks ago is still relevant. Between our cells, texting, and email we barely use our landline. Until yesterday.

Shabbat is usually my quiet day. Following our morning at shul we attempt to keep the day as peaceful and unobtrusive as possible. A Shabbos nap is my hoped for activity, but it doesn't always work and there are Shabbatot where real life does intrude on the m'nucha. (rest) A series of unforeseen events all collided with one another yesterday and had my telephone in constant service for almost four consecutive hours. I don't think that I have spent four hours on the phone during the entire month of November. Every time I took a call, another went directly to voice mail. Every time that I thought that a situation was under control, the next dam burst. It was a frenzy that rendered Shabbat totally useless.

Last evening after a fun Muppet movie experience, we went for a light bite with some friends. Somehow we got onto the subject of Shomer Shabbos-the ritual keeping of Shabbat laws. Far be it from me to tell anybody how they should practice and observe, but during yesterday's craziness it became clear to me as to why many feel the need to draw a rigid line in the sand for Shabbat observance. While I cannot subscribe to many of the outright dismissals of logical modern conveniences such as electricity use, phones, cars etc.. I can absolutely understand the need to disconnect from the hustle and bustle of the outside world for a full day. Shabbat should be about study, rest, and joy. It shouldn't be about fighting crowds in the mall, haircuts, carpooling kids, banking, or frenzied telephone calls. Look. I am not naive. I realize that our modern lives are squeezed for time. Many work full-time with spouses or partners who do the same. We need those non-working days to keep the house in order or the family fed. But I urge you all to try and unplug for one day a week. Maybe one day a month? The results are cathartic and therapeutic and, frankly necessary to our well-being as a society.

If nothing else, yesterday's lunacy has put talk of disconnecting the landline on hold for a while. (pun absolutely and apologetically intended!) But it has revived an old debate of what to do with the phone on Shabbat and the determination of which calls are necessary to receive and which can wait. I admit I am still struggling with this one. I would be happy to hear what you all have to say.

Shabbat Music Break

2011-11-26T13:54:00.000-05:00

One final Shabbat Music Break for National Blog Posting Month. Melissa Etheridge is my ultimate example of a woman who flat out rocks. Her lyrics are true and pure and there is a clarity in her voice that I find spiritually uplifting. She lives life on her own terms and that honesty is reflected back in her music. And-how could you possibly not love a woman who rocks a twelve-string? "California" is off of her 2007 album The Awakening. Shabbat Shalom to all who observe.

Black Friday Bonanza

2011-11-25T09:52:00.004-05:00

I have never been a fan of the bloodsport of competitive shopping. In my mind there is something unseemly about camping for days in front of a Walmart in order to bargain hunt. I haven't got the stomach for the "every woman/man for themselves" mentality, and I certainly wouldn't go to the mattresses for a discount. (Is anybody else impressed with my "Godfather"reference?) I tried it once. This menace of zombie shopping. Not on Black Friday mind you, but on Boxing Day the day after Christmas. I was at the Southern Home as I usually am for the Christmas vacation. It was six weeks prior to Younger Son's Bar Mitzvah and I still had nothing to wear. I was seriously entertaining the idea of attending in my torn jeans and a turtleneck, when I cajoled my Other Mother (my mother was still in Toronto due to circumstances unforeseen) to trek to the stores with me in the desperate hope of finding something more suitable for the occasion. We left our homes at 6:00am so that we could a) Find a parking spot that wasn't in Tallahassee and b) enter Bloomingdales with the other crazies at 6:30. After pulling every possible item that wasn't jeans and a turtleneck off of the racks and shelves, (size matters not a whit when shopping with animals) I staked out my claim to the last available fitting room. I tried on clothes while Other Mother acted as runner. Competitive shopping is a two-person game, lest the inmates attempt to usurp your hard-won territory. After several hours of playing survival of the fittest, we left the department store with a silk skirt, a lovely top and a shrug all for a deeply discounted price. We never left Bloomies, our mission completed with one-stop shopping and neither of us having the stomach to venture deeper into the belly of the beast. Let the next morons have their shot. We both swore a blood oath "Never again".

But far be it from me to keep others from that which they love or find important. I freely acknowledge that the Jew in me doesn't fully understand the Christmas shopping mentality, so if Black Friday is your thing-have at it. I do however, want to put in a personal plug for the shopping season. Tomorrow has been labelled Small Business Saturday in the United States. I kind of love this idea. After you have muscled and bullied your way through the big box and chain megastores, try and send some of those shopping dollars to a small business in your area. How about frequenting the local pet store instead of Petsmart to find that perfect gift for Fido or Fifi? Or how about a visit to that funky bohemian clothing shop downtown, rather than Macy's? Maybe that local gourmet shop has some nifty kitchen gadgets that can't be seen at William's Sonoma? In these difficult economic times, it has been the locally owned and operated businesses that have taken huge hits. How about sending them some love and capital this holiday season? If Saturday shopping is not your thing, take Small Business Saturday and transfer it to Sunday or Monday. The sentiment is still the same.

In that vein, I would like to tell all of my Toronto-based friends about an exciting new local business finally opening for retail. The Husband and Twin Son have been making their artisan spirits for several years now and have been trying to shoehorn their way into a tightly government controlled market here in Ontario. They have finally, finally, finally been given permission to open a retail store on the site of their distillery and hope to have it up and running by December 1st, (Please note the date. They aren't ready just yet to receive the hoards that we know will be pounding on the door!!) just in time for all of those holiday parties. Please come and visit Still Waters Distillery at their new onsite retail outlet at 150 Bradwick Drive #26 in Concord. Details can be found at the website. The boys will happily set you up with their award winning vodka and some special single malts unavailable at your local LCBO. Sincere apologies to my out of town readers but e-commerce is not yet available. Hopefully soon.

Enjoy the day of bargain busting friends. Me? I will spend my time getting ready for Shabbat.

Shabbat Shalom to all who observe.

Thanks and Giving

2011-11-24T11:32:00.004-05:00

I love Marlo Thomas. Not just as an actress, although she is tremendously funny and wonderfully human in almost everything she has done. No, I love Marlo Thomas the feminist icon, the social activist, the educator, the philanthropist, and the role model for young women. It is hard to believe that it has been 45 years since "That Girl" premiered. At the time, Thomas' Ann Marie was the only single woman living an independent life on network television. The show depicted her living in her own apartment-without roommates-striving to make a name for herself as an actress in New York. The other characters, her boyfriend Donald, her parents, her myriad of temporary bosses, were secondary storylines to that of her striving to live life on her own terms. Behind the scenes, Thomas was a co-creator and a producer of the show-almost unheard of in those days unless your name was Lucille Ball. Without Ann Marie blazing the way, we probably wouldn't have seen Mary Richards, Murphy Brown, Carrie Bradshaw, or Liz Lemon.

After "That Girl" ended Thomas went on to educational projects-Free to Be...You and Me-which encouraged individuality in children and to develop pride in who they are. With the success of the book and subsequent television program, Thomas established the Free to Be...You and Me Foundation designed to "ensure children's wholeness as human beings: their right to nurturing care from women and men; their right to schools, homes and a society that are free from discrimination based on sex, race, culture, class, or any condition of birth; their right to non-sexist, multiracial education; and their right to grow up in a positive, diverse, supportive setting that encourages independence." Whew! How can you not love a woman who actively works for and believes in something like that. In 1973, Ms Thomas joined Gloria Steinem, Patricia Carbine, and Letty Cottin Pogrebin as the founders of the United States' first women’s fund, the Ms. Foundation for Women. The organization was created to deliver funding and other resources to organizations that were presenting women’s voices in communities nationwide. She did all of this phenomenal work while still maintaining a thriving acting career and a successful marriage.

But it is at American Thanksgiving that I am most impressed with Marlo Thomas. Carrying on the work begun by her father Danny Thomas, Marlo serves as the national outreach director for St. Jude's Children's Hospital raising funds for their tremendous work. In 2004 she started the Thanks and Giving program. Using her connections with corporate sponsors and within Hollywood, Marlo began this annual fundraising blitz which occurs during Thanksgiving week and the week beyond, and has raised almost a quarter of a billion dollars for the hospital in 7 years. Stunning.

When I hear young women spout nonsense like feminism is dead and it isn't necessary for them to be involved in causes to raise awareness, I always point out that it is because of women like Marlo Thomas that they have the opportunities that they do. When I watch women idolize the Real Housewives of anywhere or regard the Kardashian sisters as a positive image for girls to aspire to, I turn them onto the work of Marlo Thomas and gently explain why she just might be a better role model.

Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends. Enjoy the day. Just remember that as you all convalesce from your turkey stupors it is all about the Thanks and the Giving.

Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam she-natan lanu hizdamnut l'takein et ha-olam.

Blessed are You, Adonai, our God, Ruler of the universe, for giving us the opportunity to mend the world.

Yes Virginia, I Miss You

2011-11-23T10:16:00.001-05:00

Is it possible to miss someone whom you have never met? Well, I miss Virginia. Virginia was the kindly lady who used to call our house once or twice a month for the last five years so as to inquire whether or not we required our regular water delivery. Her calls were like clockwork. Every second Monday of the month the call display would light up revealing Virginia's company name and phone number. Her's was a call I would always take if at home. No ducking Virginia. She had a voice built for telephone conversation; smooth, calm, and without even a tiny hint of the sarcasm and cynicism she surely must have felt given that she spent most of her day making customer service calls. She was kind without any pushiness, probing without being nosy. She would wish me safe travels when informed of our absences, and more than once begged me to take her with us-in total jest, of course.

I had concocted an entire back story for Virginia. She must have been about 55 and was probably carrying around a few more pounds than she would like. She was divorced-still on good terms with her ex-but the split had forced her to take the part-time work in the family water business to make ends meet. She dreamed of travel and hoped that she could take that long-awaited trip to Hawaii at Christmas break. Yes, I liked Virginia very much and I looked forward to her calls. And then one day, she was gone. One day the phone rang with that all too familiar number and instead of Virginia's soothing voice greeting me, on the other end of the line was Kelly. Kelly is perky and young. She is sweet and efficient and probably very good at her job, but I miss Virginia. I feel like a friend has quit me with no notice and I cannot for the life of me figure out what I did wrong. I hardly had any interaction with Virginia, but something in her manner and tone had me convinced that I liked her. She was just a voice, but I had an entire picture of her in my mind. Obviously I had created a fictitious character, but it was fun while it lasted.

Years ago I used to do Bar Mitzvah recordings for a rabbi from a small community about two hours west of Toronto. Rabbi W would call the house to give me the chapters and verses he required, and I would send tapes in return. We never met. Our whole relationship was conducted first on the telephone and later via email. He was a lovely man with a baritone that would make James Earl Jones jealous. I had a picture of him in my mind as to his looks and his life. Total fabrications, of course. As our conversations became more involved and more frequent, I soon discovered many details about Rabbi W's life that didn't fit with my mental picture of the man. He was older than I had originally thought, with grown children. He loved farming and outdoor life-a far cry from the suave debonair image I had falsely formed. One day, Rabbi W informed me that he would be in my neighbourhood and would like to stop by to pick up the latest recording. When I opened the door to greet him I was totally stunned by the man who stood on my stoop. He looked nothing like my false representations, but as we spoke that day I became acquainted with the whole man and not just his voice. When he died two years ago, I mourned along with countless others. He had become a teacher, a mentor, and a friend.

We are constantly affected by the glimpses or sounds of the people in our lives. I didn't know Virginia at all and yet I am saddened by her absence. I had a cursory relationship with Rabbi W and yet his impact on me was profound. Those disembodied voices we hear every day are really quite connected to us after all.

Writing Prompts: From the Ridiculous to the Sublime

2011-11-22T10:43:00.001-05:00

During the course of this month-long blog extravaganza, I have been rather fortunate. Ideas, stories, and anecdotes have magically presented themselves to me. I have lived in abject terror of the well running dry, of hitting the proverbial wall, but so far so good. Many online sites including Blogher have been offering helpful writing prompts designed to stir the creative juices, but so far (thanks to the deity!) I have found them unnecessary. I was kind of curious about other writing sites and what they might be offering, so I decided to float around the interweb and do a quick and dirty search to see what nuggets of ideas they might be offering to those of us in the final laps.

One site actually suggested that I imagine my life as a coffee maker. Seriously! A coffee maker. How could one possibly get creative about a coffee maker? I kept imaging the sexually satisfying properties of Folgers versus Maxwell House. Which brand really was the best part of waking up or did I really need it to be good to the last drop? Twisted and perverse, I know. Never a true fan of pornography, I decided to move on.

Several sites wanted me to recall a painful breakup or to describe an incident when a supposed friend had wronged me. Gothic images of Inquisition-like torture devices invaded my sleep. Bloody tableaus with dismembered limbs littering dark forests (why do these things always take place in dark forests?) crept into my waking thoughts. Messy crime scenes worse than any imagined or depicted in the most grotesque slasher film pervaded my subconscious. Revenge may be sweet, but it is definitely not clean. After several fitful and sleepless nights, I decided that these kinds of stories were better left up the experts-serial killers and Stephen King.

Several prompts asked me to imagine that I was a princess searching for Prince Charming. Look-I have been married for more than twenty-six years to the same man and have been with him for over thirty. That number encompasses almost 2/3 of my entire life span. I love him dearly and respect him tremendously. How many men do you know who would allow his wife to continually bash him in her blog? He is a wonderful husband, father, and son, but my delusions about Prince Charming disappeared the first time I saw the holes in his socks. No partner is flawless and no marriage is a fairytale. Relationships take work-real involved and tough work-and frankly selling that "princess living happily ever after" bullshit just isn't my style. I prefer the "warts and all" view of life. Sometimes when the princess kisses the frog, he is just a frog. And sometimes he is a brilliant, kind, decent, sort of geeky, but still tremendously sexy man who just happens to love me. I will take that over Prince Charming any day.

Yesterday's prompt on Blogher asked about passion projects and try as I might, for the life of me I couldn't think of a single thing that I am currently passionate about. This little realization just about had me running for the Zoloft. My kids? Always, but they are off on their own life's journeys. My guy? Well, he got his own paragraph one up. My work? I love it and still find satisfaction in it, but passionate? Not so much anymore. Chalk that one up to middle-age. Politics? Puh-leeze! And then it hit me. Sometimes our passions are hidden and out of sight. Sometimes we don't know we are passionate about something until we start to do it and realize that it has become the best part of the day. That is what this little writing exercise has become for me. A true passion. I need to do it or else my day seems incredibly wasted. Am I any good? Who cares! I do it because I truly love it. Look-I may never be able to imagine myself climbing Everest or know what it feels like to be an Italian sports car, (both prompts from other sites!) but I do understand passion and the grip it has on my psyche. Finally, a writing prompt that I could use.

Meatless Monday:The Fall/Winter Soup Edition

2011-11-21T12:38:00.003-05:00

Once again we find ourselves at Meatless Monday. It is amazing to me that since I began this Blogapalooza, (I confess that I blatantly stole that from my Aurora friend!) the Meatless Monday posts have generated the most feedback. It seems that we all are in search of new, refreshing, and healthy ways to feed our families. Once again I urge you to try to reduce the amount of meat in your diets. I have become tremendously fond of all of you and meatless meals, as I have stated before, are generally more healthy for your bodies and for the environment. Given the distinct chill in the air today, my Meatless Monday post is focusing on soups. I love soup. A hearty soup with a light salad and some fresh bread is a wonderful way to increase vegetable consumption, warm up the insides, and it is tremendously filling. Here are some of my winter favourites. Enjoy your Meatless Monday!

Lentil Soup Sababa Style
There is a wonderful middle eastern restaurant here in north Toronto called Sababa. Several years ago they shared their recipe for lentil soup which is to die for!

Ingredients:
1¼ cup red lentils
½ cup white rice
⅓ cup vegetable oil
1 large yellow onion, chopped
6 cup warm water
1 tablespoon vegetable stock
1 tablespoon cumin , ground
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon salt , or to taste
lemon wedges, optional

Directions:
1. Soak the lentils and rice in warm water. Add onion to hot vegetable oil in a large saucepan. Add the 6 cups of water and bring to a boil.
2. Drain the soaking lentils and rice, rinse well then add to boiling water with onion and boil 15-20 minutes.
3. Add vegetable stock, cumin, olive oil and salt. Serve each bowl with a wedge of lemon.

Spicy Black Bean Soup

Ingredients:
2 tablespoon olive oil
1 ½ cup red onion, chopped
1 4 ounce can mild green chiles, diced
2 clove garlic, chopped
1 tablespoon jalapeño, chopped with seeds
1 tablespoon ground cumin
2 15 ounce can black beans, undrained
2 cup vegetable broth
8 tablespoon fresh cilantro, chopped
sour cream (Plain yogurt works just as well!)
tortilla chips

Directions:
Heat oil in heavy pot over medium high heat. Add onion, green chiles, garlic, jalapeno and cumin. Saute until onion is tender, about 5 minutes. Add beans with juices and broth. Bring soup to a boil. reduce heat to medium-low; cover and simmer until flavours combine, aout 15 minutes. Puree 3 cups soup in batches in blender. Return puree to same pot. Add 6 tablespoons cilantro. Season soup to taste with salt and pepper. Ladle soup into bowls with dollop of sour cream and tortilla chips. Sprinkle with remaining cilantro.

Tomato Bean Soup

Ingredients:
4 large onions, chopped
1 green peppers, chopped
1 red pepper, chopped
1 28 ounce can tomatoes, undrained
3 tsp. chili powder
4 cups vegetable stock
1 can kidney beans, drained
1 can chick peas, drained
salt and pepper to taste

Directions:
Saute onion and peppers together is olive oil until soft. Combine remaining ingredients and cook until flavours come together. Could it be easier than that?

My Possessions Require GPS Homing Devices

2011-11-20T13:25:00.002-05:00

I have misplaced my hot water bottle. Or I should say my house has eaten my hot water bottle. And my white oxford blouse. And my cream coloured fleece sweatshirt. I have come to the conclusion that houses gets hungry from time to time and the beasts need to be fed. Rather than politely asking for snacks of extra home heating fuel on chilly November mornings or demanding the odd wood burning fire, houses instead gorge themselves on random possessions left carelessly about. A single sock from the dryer. A grocery list meticulously created and left on the kitchen counter. A hot water bottle, a white oxford blouse, and a cream coloured fleece sweatshirt. A sort of catnip for the domicile. Most of the time the house has completely digested the articles before we even realize that they have gone missing. But every so often we might be able to save the odd one with a bit of cleaning and some careful organization. It was this desire to rescue my personal possessions that drove The Husband and me to clean out our closet this morning.

I should say that the two of us have managed to share a comfortably large walk-in closet (of course it is never large enough!) in our bedroom for much of the last sixteen years, mostly because my overflow clothing has found homes in the spare bedroom closet and what was once the Oldest Son's bedroom built-ins. I am fairly meticulous about weeding through the chaff of old clothes and I like to keep my clothing neat and organized. The Husband prefers to wear what is on the top of the nearest pile, has stuff he never knew existed, and hasn't done a thorough sorting in almost five years. In a desperate attempt to update his wardrobe, clean out the crap, and hopefully find the undigested items listed above, the two of us went to work on the old clothes. Two hours (he says two weeks and is still whining that I ruined his Sunday) and seven large overstuffed garbage bags later, we are ready for trips to Goodwill to dump the old and ill-fitting, and to the mall to procure a few new items. Our closet has never looked better. Hopefully we can maintain the order and organization for more than a week. The hot water bottle? Nary a sign. The white oxford blouse? Gone with the wind. The cream coloured fleece sweatshirt? A homemade snack for an obviously ravenous and underfed domicile.

I have a suggestion for all of the techies out there searching for the next million dollar idea. Microscopic GPS homing devices that we can attach to all of our personal items so that they can be easily retrieved. My iPhone has one now, why not my cream coloured fleece sweatshirt? Imagine the possibilities. Never again will we have to play fry cook to an overindulged and overly sated abode. Just push a button and a signal will tell you where every article is located. Find that sucker before the house's digestive juices permanently destroy it.

Ok. I know I sound wacky, but I want my stuff back and I am tired of playing the part of daft imbecile moronically searching in vain. Homeowners of the world unite. Renew the commitment to keep our stuff out of the guts of gluttonous dwellings. Either that or help me out with my obviously f@#*ed up memory!

Shabbat Music Break

2011-11-19T13:49:00.000-05:00

Shabbat is upon us once again and once again I have interrupted my blogging for a musical interlude for an artist that truly takes my breath away. Alison Krauss and Union Station have been performing together since the late 1980s. Alison began performing at the age of 10 and was recording her first solo album at the tender age of 14. A true prodigy. She has released 14 albums, appeared on numerous soundtracks, and is credited with helping to revive bluegrass music appreciation. As of the 2011 Grammy Awards, she has won 26 Grammys, making her the most awarded singer, the most awarded female artist, and tied for the third most awarded artist overall in Grammy history. (She also writes, produces, and arranges other artist's works.) She has one of the clearest and purest voices in music today. She never hits a false note and to watch her play the fiddle is pure magic. This song Paper Airplane is the title track off of her latest album with Union Station. A fabulous piece of work. Please enjoy! Shabbat Shalom to all who observe.

My Friend the Doctor

2011-11-18T09:04:00.003-05:00

I am headed out today to celebrate with a dear friend. I must admit that I wouldn't brave the jungle that is Toronto Friday mid-afternoon traffic to head downtown for just anybody, so the occasion must be pretty special. My friend the doctor (I sound like an old Jewish mother) is being feted by the big machers of his profession today, and is being awarded with (I hope I get this right) The Medal for Research Excellence awarded each year by the Kidney Foundation of Canada. This award is given annually "to honour the Canadian researcher who is recognized by his or her peers to have significantly advanced the treatment of kidney disease and related conditions." Impressive, yes? I am so very proud of my friend the doctor (it just sounds so right to say it that way!!) and I am so very honoured that he wanted to share his special moment with us.

My friend the doctor is an incredibly accomplished man. He literally is trying to eradicate disease and rid the world of its ills. He travels the globe lecturing, learning, researching, and attempting to make children's lives easier, happier, and free from pain. (He plays a pretty mean cello too, but I digress.) He is leaving an incredible mark. So, it got me to thinking. What kind of mark am I leaving?

It would be so easy to dismiss my contributions to the world as merely teaching a bunch of Jewish kids how to sing "I Have a Little Dreydl" every Chanukah. But wouldn't that be unfair to all of those kids who went on to teach Chanukah songs and traditions to their own children? It would be simple to feel disparaging about musically lifting a congregation in soulful prayer. After the idea of curing kidney disease it does seem somewhat trite. But wouldn't that diminish the emotions of the community at the end of Shabbat or Holy Day services?

Look, I know that I am not curing cancer. I will leave that to my friend the doctor. I know that what I do may seem uninteresting or dull to many, but just like him, I am using the gifts that I was given to serve my community to the best of my ability. Maybe my music makes somebody feel just a little bit better on a particularly bad day? Perhaps passing on our heritage to the next wave of young people is my reward of excellence? L'dor vador-from generation to generation.

I am thrilled to be able to join with my friend the doctor on his special day. May he continue to find joy and passion in his work and may it yield fruitful results so that the multitudes that suffer find health and peace. What a great way to enter into Shabbat!

Shabbat Shalom to all who observe.

Disturbing, Disgusting, and Dumb

2011-11-17T10:32:00.006-05:00

A few random items have caught my eye over the last few days and I must confess that each and every one elicited a response of "WTF?" I have to seriously wonder what went into the thought processes behind these campaigns. Somebody, somewhere had to realize that they would make the files of the disturbing, the disgusting, and the dumb.

Disturbing:

Clothing maker Benetton launched their new UnHate campaign yesterday with a series of creepy visuals of world leaders kissing each other. Check them out here.

Yes, that is the pope kissing an imam, Mr. Obama smooching with Hugo Chavez of Venezuela, Benjamin Netanyahu lip-locked with Mahmood Abbas, and Germany's Angela Merkel getting it on with Nicholas Sarkozy of France. It should be noted that the Vatican was so outraged about His Holiness puckering up, that Benetton pulled that picture from its campaign. Alessandro Benetton, executive chairman of the company launched the ads yesterday and attempted an explanation.

"While global love is still a utopia, albeit a worthy one, the invitation 'not to hate', to combat the 'culture of hatred', is an ambitious but realistic objective. At this moment in history, so full of major upheavals and equally large hopes, we have decided, through this campaign, to give widespread visibility to an ideal notion of tolerance and invite the citizens of every country to reflect on how hatred arises particularly from fear of 'the other’ and of what is unfamiliar to us."

While I can certainly appreciate the ideals of love and not hate, there is something untoward about these pictures. I am not getting the vibe of world peace that I believe that Benetton was aiming for, but rather an uncomfortable and squeamish feeling in the pit of my stomach. An age of understanding cannot be forced upon us with a kiss. There is actually a christological Judas imagery that comes to mind. In truth the photo of Angela Merkel and Sarkozy is the creepiest for me. It reduces one of the most powerful women in the world to a sexist punchline. This is just my opinion, but I certainly would be interested in others.

Disgusting:

Just in time for American Thanksgiving, those whack jobs at PETA are at it again. In a campaign aimed squarely at children comes this little gem that is popping up on a roadside billboard near you.

Nice? Friendly? Grotesque!! And I'm a vegetarian! I have discussed PETA's over the top tactics before and how I truly believe that their mandate of animal protection gets lost in the morass when it behaves abhorrently and batshit crazy. All this ad serves to do is creep out a bunch of unsuspecting kids and probably land them on a therapist's couch trying to figure out from where their nightmares emanated. I know that it kept me up! All I could think about was some weird science experiment involving the dog Eddie from Frasier. Get with the program PETA. If you truly want to educate kids about ethical eating my advice would be to tone done the nonsense, stop trying to scare the shit out them, and stop thoroughly pissing off their parents.

Dumb:

And now for the truly dumb. On Tuesday the United States Congress decided that pizza is a vegetable. From the Associated Press:

The final version of a spending bill released late Monday would unravel school lunch standards the Agriculture Department proposed earlier this year. These include limiting the use of potatoes on the lunch line, putting new restrictions on sodium and boosting the use of whole grains. The legislation would block or delay all of those efforts.The bill also would allow tomato paste on pizzas to be counted as a vegetable, as it is now. USDA had wanted to only count a half-cup of tomato paste or more as a vegetable, and a serving of pizza has less than that.Nutritionists say the whole effort is reminiscent of the Reagan administration's much-ridiculed attempt 30 years ago to classify ketchup as a vegetable to cut costs. This time around, food companies that produce frozen pizzas for schools, the salt industry and potato growers requested the changes and lobbied Congress.

A series of high-powered lobbyists from companies that produce and provide frozen pizzas and tater tots to school cafeterias managed to get the deep thinkers from the Congress to classify the two tablespoons of tomato sauce on a pizza as part of the daily requirement of vegetables that school children consume every day. And all of this whilst the United States is battling a growing obesity problem amongst the nation's young people. Jamie Oliver is out there somewhere crying into his fresh veg. Congress is sacrificing children's health and well-being in exchange for a deep-dish from Di Giorno. And we wonder why Americans have no faith in their legislative bodies.

If you have others from the files of disturbing, disgusting, and dumb please forward them to me or comment below.

P.S I've been syndicated on Blogher They liked my post entitled "What Have You Learned, Dorothy" so much that they published it. They like me!! They really really like me! Does this mean that I am now a professional writer? You decide.

The Muppets Are Coming!

2011-11-16T08:59:00.001-05:00

Something a bit lighter for hump day.

The Muppets are coming and I couldn't be more excited. I have always been a huge fan. I still have a scrapbook that I started from the earliest days of the Muppet Show back in the mid-seventies. Jim Henson was at his hottest back then and at that time he graced the cover of every major magazine. I still have many of those. I own original plush dolls of Kermit, Miss Piggy, Animal, Scooter and Fozzie.

I have all of the original episodes of the show on DVD, have seen all of the movies, and own several books. Two dear friends recently reminded me of a birthday cake that they designed for me in the shape of Miss Piggy. I wasn't a kid, either. I was 18. I used to have several Miss Piggy pins and stickers on my guitar strap. The only reason that I removed them was because they broke. I still have former students stop me and ask me where Miss Piggy disappeared to. Geek? Of course I am! But you knew that already, didn't you?

So when Disney announced a rebooted movie with all of my beloved original characters, I took notice. I can't wait for the release next week and I do plan to be in a theatre revelling in Muppetmania very soon. Of course along with the movie comes the inevitable Muppet merchandise. Kermit mugs and Piggy lingerie. T-shirts galore! (I personally love this one!) A whole host of Muppet paraphernalia. But the best product tie-in of all comes from nail polish maker OPI. In honour of the new theatrical release they have developed an entire line of Muppet colours.

With names like "Fresh Frog of Bel Air", "Warm and Fozzie", and "Getting Miss Piggy with It" these nail colours are destined to become classics. (Seriously-how much do I love this!!)

The guitar player in me usually prevents painting my nails. It seems like such a waste of time to polish only to have them chip and crack with my next chord or strum. Not so now. I am headed out today in search of the Muppet collection and plan on a painting party. I mean, really! Who could resist decorating oneself with "The Rainbow Connection".

The Muppet Movie opens next week on November 23rd.

What Have You Learned, Dorothy?

2011-11-15T11:50:00.002-05:00

Note: This Post has been syndicated on Blogher

Well here we are folks. At the halfway point. Fifteen posts down, fifteen more to go. It certainly hasn't been a piece of cake, but I honestly didn't expect that it would be. And while I might not always subscribe to the notion that the best things in life are borne out of struggle and pain, there is certainly some merit to the philosophy that the more challenging the task, the more pride experienced when that task is completed. That certainly has been the case for me with this writing/blogging exercise. While I definitely do not want to dig deep into my psyche just yet-I need to save that introspection just in case I get stuck for an idea around day twenty-I have learned a few lessons about the commitment and discipline that are necessary for a daily dose of scribbling.

Everything is now a potential idea. I scour the internet, the newspapers, magazines, and television for small kernels that might develop into full-blown posts. I have been people watching at the mall and at regular haunts. What might be considered mundane everyday behaviour like standing in line at the grocery store has become fodder for this blog. So, if you see me out and about over the next two weeks and I am either staring at you or am deeply lost in thought, the chances are that you have done something that might make my highlight reel. My advice to you-run far and fast. We can reconnect privately in December.

I have become a walking writer's cliche. A pad of paper and a pen is always at the ready. I have virtual post-it notes on my computer just in case an idea strikes. I have taken to carrying my laptop around the house with me-even into the bathroom (too much information?)-in the event of a bolt of lightning. My iPhone is filled with reminder notes and dumbs pictures in case I might convert them into blog postings. I never realized until just now how seriously I had committed myself to this task. Are these signs that writing has become an increasingly important part of my day or are they just an early signals of insanity?

My best notions arrive while I am exercising. Years ago I used to write song parodies for parties. Sometimes I actually made a few bucks in the process. While doing that bit of nonsense, I discovered that my best ideas came to me in the shower. It occurred to me then that this happened because I was totally alone with my thoughts while bathing. This burst of creativity on the treadmill is just an extension of that experience. About a month before I committed to National Blog Post Month, I recommitted to my exercise regimen. It is true what they say about physical fitness clearing one's mind. I can be doing my miles, rocking out to Melissa Etheridge, and formulating blog posts all at the same time. Amazing!

It was never my intention that anybody would actually read my blog except for my mother. Long time readers of this space will recall that I started this experience on Facebook as a method of sharing our kitchen renovations with my snowbird parents. (Those initial postings are in the 2007 archives.) I had no idea others were tuning in until I started receiving comments. It was The Husband who suggested moving it over to Blogger so that it was more accessible. Over the years, I have thought of it as more of an online journal than a blog, a place where I can express my thoughts and feelings. And while I do tag certain people (mostly friends and family who I know will forgive me because they have to love me!) hoping they might read my incoherent rantings, I have never had any expectation that anyone actually does. (with the exception of The Husband. He is without choice!) I have to admit that there is a certain sense of satisfaction when somebody approaches me either in the real or virtual worlds and expresses opinions on what I have written. There are a few trolls out there of whom I would like to ask "Why bother with me?" "Don't you have real writers to annoy?" But by and large the reception has been positive. You don't have to like what I have written and you certainly don't have to agree, but it is nice to know that I am not writing in the ether. Just knowing that you all are out there actually makes this process flow better.

Somebody asked me yesterday if I have too much time on my hands. While it is true that the month of November is typically a quieter time in my professional life, I did not start this project as a way to kill time. Actually quite the opposite is true. I have found that I have to actively make the time to sit and write, and on a selfish note, I genuinely wanted to see if I could do it. What I have discovered is how important a part of my day this writing has become. I love the creative process and I love the discipline it is providing.

I am certain that more bullshit self awareness will follow over the coming two weeks. These are just a few random thoughts at the halfway point. I apologize if anything has sucked so bad it was painful to read, and I apologize in advance for what I know will be a few duds to come. Thanks for reading.

Meatless Monday on Monday

2011-11-14T10:56:00.000-05:00

Today we will actually do Meatless Monday recipes on Monday. Once again please know that I am not trying to convert anybody to what Twin Son calls the "dark side" of dining, (this week he actually saw my grocery list sitting out in the kitchen and added a melange of pork products to it in the mistaken hope that we might turn) but rather to make you more aware of the food that you are putting into your bodies. Meatless meals can be delicious, nutritious, environmentally friendlier, and are anything but boring.

The Husband and I love Indian recipes and we have taken to making many of them at home. One of our favourites is Chana Masala, a lovely spiced chickpea dish. Pair it with a roasted cauliflower or the Indian style okra and some rice and you have a terrific meal. Enjoy!

Chana Masala

Ingredients

1 can chickpeas in water or 1 1/2 cups pre-cooked + 1/2 cup water

1/2 onion, diced

3 cloves garlic, diced

3 tbsp olive oil

juice from 1 lemon (approx. 2 tbsp)

1/2 tsp curry powder

1/2 tsp coriander powder

1/2 tsp cumin

1/2 tsp garam masala

1 large bunch of spinach (two handfuls) rinsed (this is optional, but I love it!)

Preparation

In a large skillet or frying pan, saute onions and garlic in olive oil until soft, about 3-5 minutes.

Add chickpeas straight from the can, including all the water. Add the spices and lemon juice, cover, and simmer about 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally, adding more water if needed, until chickpeas are cooked and soft.

Reduce heat, add spinach and cover. Allow spinach to wilt for 2-4 minutes. Serve immediately.

Roasted Cauliflower with Indian Spices and Yogurt Dressing

Ingredients

1 head cauliflower (2lbs)

4 tbsp olive oil

1 tsp salt

1/2 tsp pepper

1 tsp turmeric

1 tsp cumin

1 tsp garam masala

Preheat oven to 400˚ F. Cut the cauliflower into small pieces and place into a plastic bag. In a cup with a spout, mix the dry ingredients with the olive oil and drizzle over the cauliflower. Mix swell and allow the dressing to coat the cauliflower evenly. Spread the cauliflower on a 9x13 baking dish and bake for 1 hour.

Combine 1 cup of yogurt with 1 tbsp of dill or cilantro, 1/2 tsp cumin and 1/2 tsp salt. Serve as dipping sauce to cauliflower.

Indian Style Okra

Ingredients

3 tablespoons butter or olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped

1 pound sliced fresh okra

1 medium tomato diced

1/2 teaspoon ground cumin

1/2 teaspoon ground ginger

1/2 teaspoon ground coriander

1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper

salt to taste

Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onion, and cook until tender. Stir in the okra and the tomato and season with cumin, ginger, coriander, pepper and salt. Cook and stir for a few minutes, then reduce the heat to medium-low, and cover the pan. Cook for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally until okra is tender.

Dinner tonight is on me!!

Speed it Up Already!

2011-11-13T15:42:00.000-05:00

It is one of the remarkable experiences of aging that when we are young we wish that time would hurry up and when we get there we often wish that it would slow down. I hear it all the time. "Where did this year go?" or "Boy how time has flown." We are inundated with platitudes like "Stop and smell the roses" and frankly, for the most part I am with them. I am living the cliches. It really does seem like yesterday that I was changing diapers and now I look up to grown men. I ache more in the morning, am continually devising clever ways to cover my greying roots and creviced laugh lines, and I definitely struggle harder to keep off the winter layer of insulation. Thirty years has passed and honestly I hardly noticed. I wish like most of us that I could have lived it in slow motion. At least I have the highlight reel of videos and photographs.

But then there are the times that I honestly wish I could speed up the universe. These are the times when I don't want to live in the moment, but rather get past it all as quickly as possible so that I can move onto the more important things that life has to offer-like the roses!

I absolutely loathe standing in line at the check-out counter at the grocery store. In fairness, some stores have figured out how to streamline the experience with automated computer check outs and easy to carry storage bins instead of grocery bags, but all in all the entire escapade is an exercise in wasted time. I hate it when cashiers examine my purchases. "Oh cool-Tempe! How do you cook that?" I hate the cashier who seems to think that I have all day to watch her pack my bags. I hate it when customers in front of me act stunned when they realize that they actually have to pay for their purchases and suddenly go rooting around in their pockets or purses for exact change. I hate the coupon clipper who probably spent $5.00 in gasoline to drive to the store in order to save .05¢ on their purchase. Speed it up already and let me get on with my life.
Do political campaigns really need to drag on for as long as they do? The Republican contenders for the presidential nomination will spend up to two years, millions of dollars, endless debates, thousands of robo-calls, and a lot of wasted oxygen in order to be anointed the last person standing to challenge President Obama. Given the low level of talent available in this clown car, it might be quicker if they all just thumb-wrestled each other with a "winner take all" scenario prevailing. I can't imagine a greater waste of time. Get on with it already and let us all get on with our lives.
Do you know anybody who says to their dentist "Please slow down so that I might embrace this moment?" How about to their physicians during a particularly invasive examination? No I think that these are certainly times that could use a little kick in the ass.
Don't you hate it when driving home late at night, you are the only vehicle at the stoplight and the damn thing takes forever to turn green? Don't tell me that you haven't at least have been tempted to run the red. Why can't the city better time these intersections at off-hours so that one doesn't have to wait for what seems like an eternity all the while burning precious gasoline and life moments? Hurry up already.
There are two minutes left in the game and your team is up by 1. The other team is coming on like gangbusters, shots and bodies are flying everywhere, your heart is racing at such a dangerously high pace that it feels explosive inside your chest cavity, and yet the seconds tick down as if they were hours. If ever we wanted time to disappear, it is during these incidents. I mean, really. How is it possible for anybody to score a goal in 0.1 seconds? Get with it!

Intellectually I know that time passes at the same rate every day, every year. It is all in our perceptions of events that dictates whether it is passing quickly or slowly. We want to savour the extraordinary and bypass the mundane. I suppose that the answer to the conundrum of this temporal tempest is to recognize when the mundane is actually extraordinary and when the extraordinary is merely mundane. Maybe then we won't feel as though our lives are wasted or passing us by.

Shabbat Music Break

2011-11-12T13:58:00.001-05:00

It is once again Shabbat and once again I share with you one of my favourite artists Mary Chapin Carpenter. I seem to have a thing for ballsy women artists who write their own music and play their own instruments. "This Shirt" is one of Mary's early ballads from 1990 and frankly, it takes a special kind of lyricist to make a song about an old piece of clothing sound so beautiful. Please take a few minutes to enjoy. Shabbat Shalom to all who observe.

11-11-11

2011-11-11T08:22:00.002-05:00

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

Regrets

2011-11-10T10:51:00.003-05:00

I watch a wonderful show on CBC call "Being Erica". (My American friends can find it on the soon to be defunct Soapnet or somewhere on the wondrous internet.) The basic premise of the show is this: Young thirty-something Erica Strange is adrift. She cannot get settled in her career, her relationships, or put her family traumas behind her. Enter the mystical Dr. Tom, the wise and welcoming time-bending therapist. Using a power that only Einstein could comprehend, he sends Erica back to various points in her life where she wishes that she had handled the situations differently. Her regrets. It is kind of like a temporal taco, where one end of time just touches another and allows Erica to see how her actions have affected others. A sort of moment mulligan. The idea is that once Erica sees the consequences of her actions and attempts to rectify the situations, she can move forward into the next phase of her life.

I wonder if Joe Paterno wishes he were Erica Strange today?

JoePa, as he was affectionately known, was until last evening the legendary football coach of the Penn State Nittany Lions. Last night he was justifiably fired after 46 years for his gross inaction and negligence in the wake of the massive sex-abuse scandal involving a former assistant coach enveloping his beloved campus. To be absolutely clear-the coach did not abuse any child, witness the abuse, nor his he charged with anything. Instead, his is a sin of inaction. When another assistant informed the coach in 2002 that he was a witness to "something inappropriate" between this other coach and a ten year old boy, Coach Paterno sat on the information for a period of time. When he finally did get around to speaking of the incident with university officials, it was buried so deep in paper that while the alleged offender was no longer employed by the football team, he was still allowed to bring young boys into the locker room and he was allowed to continue his work with a charity whereby he rewarded children with "special visits" to Happy Valley. (This is what the campus at Penn State is called. It sounds so disgustingly dirty now!) There are at least eight alleged victims and who knows how many more will come forward. Yesterday afternoon in a half-hearted attempt to salvage his legacy, Paterno announced that he would retire at the end of the current season. Last night the university board put him out of his misery and fired him immediately.

At best Joe Paterno's silence is troubling. At worst he was complicit. I cannot begin to understand the mindset that allows somebody to stand idly by while crime and injustice is occurring. Judaism is explicit on the subject. Aaron Kirschenbaum a professor of Jewish Law at Tel Aviv University states:

"In Judaism, the bystander's duty to come to the rescue of his fellow man who is in peril is religious, ethical and legal. A citizen is expected to engage in the act of rescue both personally and with his financial resources. He is required, however, neither to give his life nor to place his life in substantial jeopardy to save his fellow."

Maimonides went further.

If one person is able to save another and does not save him, he transgresses the commandment neither shalt thou stand idly by the blood of thy neighbor (Leviticus 19:16). Similarly, if one person sees another drowning in the sea, or being attacked by bandits, or being attacked by wild animals, and, although able to rescue him either alone or by hiring others, does not rescue him; or if one hears heathens or informers plotting evil against another or laying a trap for him and does not call it to the other's attention and let him know; or if one knows that a heathen or a violent person is going to attack another and although able to appease him on behalf of the other and make him change his mind, he does not do so; or if one acts in any similar way - he transgresses in each case the injunction, neither shalt thou stand idly by the blood of thy neighbor...

It is interesting that yesterday and today we are recalling the anniversary of Kristallnacht. On these days in 1938 many ordinary Germans stood idly by as Jewish homes, businesses, and synagogues were ransacked and destroyed in one of the most public displays of Jewish persecution by the Nazis, and it is widely viewed as the beginning of the Holocaust. Joe Paterno and the officials that stood with him at Penn State are no better than any of those who stood idly by and watched innocents suffer at the hands of tyrants.

We don't get do-overs in life. It might be fun to watch the fiction on television, but reality is what it is. We all must live with the consequences of our actions or inactions. Joe Paterno may have regrets this morning, but they pale in comparison to those of the real victims-the violated children.

The Lost Art of Saying Yes

2011-11-09T10:18:00.001-05:00

I recently completed Tina Fey's wonderfully acerbic memoir Bossypants. If you haven't yet made the time to read it, I highly recommend that you do. It is wonderfully written, laugh out loud funny in spots, and the kind of read that we all need once in a while to escape the dreary and drab. Tina Fey is anything but dreary and drab. One section of the book is entitled The Rules of Improvisation That Will Change Your Life and Reduce Belly Fat. Tina writes:

"The first rule of improvisation is AGREE. Always agree and Say YES." She goes on. "Now obviously in real life you're not always going to agree with everything everyone says. But the Rule of Agreement reminds you to 'respect what your partner has created' and to at least start from an open-minded place. Start with a YES and see where that takes you.
As an improviser, I always find it jarring when I meet someone in real life whose first answer is no. 'No, we can't do that.' 'No, that's not in the budget.' 'No, I will not hold your hand for a dollar'. What kind of way is that to live?"

Brilliant, yes? I have come to discover lately that our lives are filled with people who say no and attempt to diminish our possibilities. Politicians are forever telling us what can't be done rather than what can be done. They sit in their ivory towers, fully divorced from those they claim to serve, wed to untenable positions of dogma that can never allow for a YES. We sit in business meetings and school meetings and club meetings and there is always at least one soul saying no. I understand pragmatism and cynicism as well as anybody, but from where will the next great idea be hatched if we are forever living in the negative? Where are our out of the box thinkers? Where will the next Tina Fey come from if she is constantly told "Oh no you can't"?

Let's try a little experiment. Let's try to work with the possible. Let's sit in our next meeting and use Yes as the default before we rip proposals apart. I am not naive. Not all ideas have merit and not all thoughts are brainstorms, but won't it be fun to ferret out the possibilities? Yes is a hell of lot more fun than no and frankly it makes the work far more interesting.

Next to my treadmill I have put up posters of some of Claude Monet's greatest work. (I love the Impressionists and viewing these images during a workout is quite calming, but I digress.) One of my favourites is Cliff Walk at Pourville painted in 1882. The Husband and I had the pleasure of viewing the original several years ago at The Art Institute of Chicago.

I am absolutely certain that hundreds of painters have been to this location and painted this exact spot, but none like Monet. He saw a different perspective, a different angle, a different vision. He saw the potential and he created art. We may not be Monet, but let's say yes to the possibilities and restart our creativity. The world desperately needs it.

Meatless Monday on Tuesday

2011-11-08T11:04:00.000-05:00

We are coming up to an anniversary. On December 1st The Husband and I will be celebrating our second year since actively adopting a vegetarian lifestyle. As many of you know, this has been an on again off again proposition for me since my camp days, but when The Husband agreed to join me on my latest quest for ethical eating, it finally stuck. I suppose it is a bit like Weight Watchers. Food and diet plans really need familial support, and having a partner goes a long way towards making a difference. I have tried not to sound preachy about our eating habits, (it doesn't always work) but I do know that sometimes it does get in the way when socializing with friends and family. For those of you who have felt personally affronted by our fleshless fetish (yes, Twin Son-this means you!) I apologize, but I need you all to know that we are perfectly happy with our food choices and don't feel as though we are missing much, although I do crave a bit of sushi grade tuna now and then.

While I am not advocating that everybody join us in our vegetarianism, there are many reasons to attempt to eat less meat. There are a number of movements worldwide that advocate a Meatless Monday, i.e cutting out animal protein for only one day a week. The benefits are easily identifiable. Eating less meat can reduce the risks of cardiovascular diseases, some cancers, diabetes and obesity. It is better for the environment as it reduces methane and greenhouse gas emissions, water consumption, and dependence on fossil fuels. One does not have to fully embrace my cause to engage in ethical eating.

I had meant to use Mondays during NaBloPoMo to share recipe ideas for Meatless Mondays. I obviously messed that up yesterday, but let's just give me a mulligan and call it even. Today's Meatless Monday on Tuesday recipe is Black Bean Enchiladas. This is actually what I am making for dinner this evening.

Black Bean Enchiladas (source: all recipes.com)

Ingredients

1 green pepper, chopped

1 medium onion, chopped

3 garlic cloves, minced

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 (15 ounce) can black beans, rinsed and drained

1 (14.5 ounce) can diced tomatoes

1/4 cup picante sauce

1 tablespoon chili powder

1 teaspoon ground cumin

1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

2 cups cooked brown rice

8 (6 inch) flour tortillas, warmed

1 cup salsa

1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese (I use lactose free)

3 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro leaves

(I add a fresh jalapeño that was minced)

Directions

In a large nonstick skillet, saute the green pepper, onion and garlic in oil until tender. Add the beans, tomatoes, picante sauce, chili powder, cumin and red pepper flakes; bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, until heated through and mixture thickens. Add rice; cook 5 minutes longer or until heated through.

Spoon a rounded 1/2 cup down the center of each tortilla. Fold sides over filling and roll up. Place in a 13-in. x 9-in. x 2-in. baking dish coated with nonstick cooking spray. Spoon salsa over each tortilla. Cover and bake at 350 degrees F for 25 minutes. Uncover; sprinkle with cheese and cilantro. Bake 2-3 minutes longer or until cheese is melted.

Delicious sounding? You bet! Please share your own Meatless Monday on Tuesday recipes. I am forever searching for new and exciting ways to spruce up our diet.

I ❤ Geeks!

2011-11-07T15:08:00.000-05:00

Ok! I admit it. I am a geek. I am attracted to geeks, I married a geek, I spawned geeks, I am the progeny of geeks, and I have geeky friends. I need everybody to know that I believe labelling you a geek is a massive compliment and one that I do not throw around lightly. I love the intelligence of geeks, the varied interests, and the social awkwardness that we have all been through, shared and overcome. I would lay odds that many of you are geeks as well, but have never really taken the time to embrace your inner geekdom. So here we go with surest ways to know that you are part of that great universal geek fellowship.

You know you are a geek when the most senior citizen members of your family are "early-adopters" of all things Apple.
You know you are a geek when you attend a lovely Sunday brunch with all of your women friends and spend much of the time arguing the merits of superhero movies over the Twilight series.
You know you are a geek when you have spent some period of time constructing a Millennium Falcon, Death Star, or Starship Enterprise out of Lego.
You know you are a geek when you follow casting announcements and trailers for the new Batman movies closer than you follow federal politicians.
You know you are a geek when this becomes normal behaviour.

You know you are a geek when you revel in March 14 being Pi day (3.14) or that November 01/11 was Binary Day (110111).
You know you are a geek when you begin to compare yourself and your family members to characters on the Big Bang Theory. Just for your edification-I am Bernadette, Younger Son is definitely Leonard, Older Son is an amalgam of Raj (the sweetness and shyness) and Howard (Jewish), and The Husband likes to think that he is Sheldon. I say that he loses Sheldon points for his lack of fastidiousness, but there is absolutely some Sheldon there.
You know you are a geek when you can have whole philosophical conversations about which Star Trek series captain was the better, more capable, and most approachable leader. Personally I am a fan of Jean-Luc Picard, but I have heard merits argued in favour of Kirk as well.
You know you are a geek when zombies are awesome, vampires are sexy, and werewolves are dreamy.
You know you are a geek when you can name each of Stan Lee's cameo appearances in every single Marvel movie.
You know you are a geek when Comic-Con is a destination vacation.
You know you are a geek when you brag about how you learned who Aerosmith was from GuitarHero, and your fitness regimen is designed by the Wii.
You know you are a geek when you use the Simpsons as your default pop culture references.

There are so many more as these were but a sampling. Please feel free to add your own in the comments section below and share them proudly with the world!

30 Years in 3 Hours

2011-11-06T11:00:00.003-05:00

I have discussed in past posts my aversion to using the telephone. I am simply just not the type of person who could ever just pick up the phone and have a long and drawn out conversation about minutiae. It isn't that I don't care about you or love you or want to stay connected to you, it is just that the telephone is not and never has been my instrument of choice. Of course this was a source of great consternation and conflict between my father and myself when I was growing up as he lives on the phone. To this day there are two landlines and two cellphones ringing or vibrating constantly in my parent's home. It drives me crazy, but it makes him happy.

Surprisingly, I was also a pretty crappy letter writer in my younger days. It wasn't the actual writing that would stunt me, but rather the lack of immediate gratification. Think about it. You write a letter filled with all sorts of wonderful stories about family, friends, and events to share with your pen pal who lives hundreds of kilometres/miles away. You carefully address it, stamp it, and run it down to the mailbox and then......you wait. And wait. And wait. If a response ever did arrive it came weeks later, as you spent hours hoping and praying that your friend was a better and more dedicated letter writer than yourself, and the excitement you initially felt writing and sharing goes AWOL in a morass of anticlimax and disappointment. As a direct result of my irrational fears and procrastination I stupidly lost touch with a great many people from my younger days. And then....it arrived. My panacea. A cure-all for the crazy and lazy looking for a way to reconnect. The electronic and information age. Social media. E-mail. I know it isn't for everybody, but it works for me. One of the great byproducts of sites like Facebook is how it has brought old friends from all over the globe back into my life. It is like a giant reunion without ever having to leave the comfort of my couch. But we are human and we crave human interaction. Updating our statuses can only go so far. So when one of these old friend connections emailed to say that she would be in The Great White North this weekend on business and could we get together, I was excited. And nervous. And panicked. Stupid? Probably. But how do you pack thirty years into three hours?

I needn't have worried. She looked amazing-as if thirty years hadn't touched her-and I...well I looked like me! It is amazing how we fell into the same patter and easy conversations. Of course we shared pictures of our kids (Way to go iPhone! Another advantage over the Blackberry!!) and talked of our families, career paths, and the twists and turns that brought us to that dinner table last evening. I caught her up on all of the Toronto people that she knew and she shared why she left rabbinic school in her third year. (It is a great story that was triggered by being posted to a student congregation in Winnipeg. Just think about Winnipeg for a while and draw your own conclusions!) We laughed, we reminisced, we ate terrific food, and we talked about the future. I told her that we sometimes pass through her town on our way down to the Southern Home, so hopefully it won't be another thirty years before we see each other.

As I get older I have come to realize that relationships are transient. People flit in and out of our lives with a frightening effortlessness. Some put down roots and stay forever and others act like waves on the sand. But, they all have left an imprint on me and they all have strengthened me a person. It doesn't mean I will get any better on the phone or with snail mail, but I am ready to embrace the next reconnection.

Shabbat Music Break

2011-11-05T13:04:00.000-04:00

It is Shabbat and I generally try not to work or think too hard on Shabbat. That said, I didn't want to miss a day of NaBloPoMo. Instead, I have decided that Shabbatot during the month of November will be dedicated to presenting some of my all time favourite musicians and songs. I absolutely adore The Indigo Girls. Their music is raw, powerful, beautifully crafted, and harmonically stunning. Their guitar work is also magnificent. The only irritating thing for me is that I have never been able to catch them live. We can't seem to ever be in the same city at the same time. Truly aggravating, but I suppose something to place on my ever-growing bucket list. Please enjoy Emily and Amy in this video of Power of Two. Shabbat Shalom to all who observe.

Do We Ever Have it Easy, Moms?

2011-11-04T11:16:00.002-04:00

For all intents and purposes The Husband and I live life as empty nesters. Older Son has a place of his own in a much more urban part of the city truly befitting his somewhat bohemian lifestyle, and Younger Son resides much of each month in an overcrowded hovel which was probably designed for four but is housing eight, and is in close proximity to his university classes. After almost twenty years of constant chaos, shlepping, slamming doors, sibling rivalry, "hoovered refrigerators," inflated hot water bills, continual worry about cars, drivers and curfews, the new norm of being just the two of us again took some getting use to. Not to worry! We settled in just fine. There is a certain peace and ease that accompanies life when the day to day worries of childrearing take a comfortable back seat. Don't get me wrong. We are still very much a part of our children's lives and they ours, we just aren't voyeurs to every single movement and detail any longer, and I have to admit it suits us. I don't find myself staying up nights wondering and worrying about where they are and how or if they will make it home. What I don't know can't hurt me, right? Of course right!

And then there are days and weekends like this one. Just when I think that I have this delicate balance of when to mother and when to back off licked, one of my boys throws me a curveball and I retreat into my nagging, hovering, annoying, anxious, insomniac default of a parent. Younger Son has been telling me for the last two weeks that he and a group of friends were planning a road trip to celebrate the end of midterms. The real draw for the boy isn't of course the seven hour car ride in each direction, the constant stream of junk food, or four sweaty frat boys in close quarters, but it is that their planned destination is the quaint college community where His Young Lady is a student. When Younger Son has gone to visit her in the past, most often he has cannibalized our frequent flier air mileage so that he might maximize his time. This weekend is a bit different in that he and his buddies have a midterm break of a few days, so the car trip was a cheaper and a more effective method of vacationing. I of course am a blabbering incomprehensible wreck.

I suppose that I should be proud of the independent manner in which he has planned this excursion. He rented the car, dealt with the insurance, made certain that the chapter house down south could accommodate his friends, and handled all of his obligations and responsibilities here at home with maturity. And yet I am still a wreck. The idea of my baby driving on the Interstates for seven hours kept me up half of the night. I know it isn't reasonable, but it is motherhood. It never ends. The Husband has been his usual calm and logical self. He reminds me that we drove to St. Louis when we were several years younger than the boy. I chime back with typical irrationality "Yeah, but we were so much more mature and way better drivers." (I know. My comebacks need work.)

There is truth to the idea that mothers never stop being mothers. We can't help it. We worry. Kids, deal with it. It is who we are and how our DNA is structured. I won't stop pacing today until I receive a text message informing me of his arrival. Then I will have two days of downtime until it starts all over again on Monday. So much for my relaxing weekend. I just hope that he has a great time. I would hate to think that I wasted all of this anxiety on a crappy trip.

These Brown Eyes Ain't Turning Blue!

2011-11-03T11:01:00.000-04:00

I must apologize upfront today. I have just returned from my annual (or in my case triennial-due to acute laziness) optometrist appointment and my eyes have been severely dilated. It is a frightening proposition to consider how I navigated home behind the wheel, but all are well and safe. If I make any glaring typos or other errors, please just chalk them up to temporary blindness.

It is rather ironic that I found myself reading vision charts this morning and focusing (insert groan here!) so much attention on my eyes. Why, you ask? Well, this little item from today's Toronto Star captured the imagination. It seems that an inventor out in California (why is it always California?) has supposedly developed a quick and painless procedure that can permanently change brown eyes to blue without altering or damaging vision. Of course, there are many eye care professionals out there that are rightly skeptical and questioning of said methodology. They worry about damage to the corneas and possible secondary diseases. While all of this discussion is prudent and correct, my first thought as a proud brown-eyed individual was not about the potential side effects, but rather "Isn't this a little bit Third Reich-ish?" Master race building and all. Why in hell would anybody need to permanently alter the colour of one's eyes?

I realize that there isn't a person out there that is 100% happy with their physical appearance, male or female. We all wish we could be shorter, taller, more muscular, thinner, blond, brunette, less wrinkled, and more tanned. We yearn for smaller feet, larger hands, fresher skin and straighter teeth. In some cases we fix what we can, and in some cases we live with what we were given. I myself would love to be a few inches taller just so that I could see over the countertops in stores with ease. I would love to have a foot two sizes larger just so that I could easily purchase shoes and boots. But, there have always been a few absolutes in my life. I am not getting any taller, my foot is a painfully small size 4 1/2 B, and my eyes are and always will be brown.

Throughout the ages we as a society have poked, prodded, stretched, bound, sucked, pierced, tattooed, and injected ourselves in order to achieve what we foolishly have been led to believe was the ideal in beauty. Who decided that blues eyes were more beautiful than brown or green or hazel or grey? Worse still, who actually believes it? Maybe the blue-eyed girls secretly yearn for brown eyes. Where is the quick fix for them? We desperately need to teach our children to be proud of who they are and love what they have. This quack deserves to be relegated to the historical dustbin along with those who offered pigmentation lightening and darkening, feet binding, and rib removal to improve the silhouette.

The fog and haze from this morning's dilation is finally beginning to lift. That statement was literal, but the metaphor works well, don't you think?

Really? You Want to Eat That?

2011-11-02T10:28:00.004-04:00

My parents (all of them, of course) are currently travelling through the Amazon and the Galapagos Islands. And in related news, McDonalds has brought back the McRib. Confused? I promise you that there is a point and a connection. Bear with me.

My parents are not the type of people to let life pass them by. They are active participants in all that they survey, and are fully determined to leave this earth with no regrets. Thank God they have been blessed with the means and the health to do much of what they choose, and I as their daughter could not be more proud. While they certainly enjoy a relaxing senior's cruise from time to time, to sit on a beach and watch the waves, they are in their absolute glory when their travels take them to some exotic locale where they can immerse themselves in local culture, traditions, and food. Hence this month's trek to the rain forests of South America and to the birth of Darwinism. Here was last evening's text message exchange as they checked in with their nervous offspring.

Mom: Great day. Bird watched and hiked in jungle. Panned for gold and rubber-tubed down the Napo River. I jumped in and let the tide carry my down the river. Having a wonderful time.
Dawn: You daredevil!! Who are you and what have you done with my mother?
Mom: This trip is so exciting. Have pictures of tarantulas and Dad holding a scorpion. Today we found a boa constrictor and Other Dad put it over his shoulders. So much more fun than seeing churches and cathedrals. Love.

I want to be them when I grow up. I want to live life to the fullest and jump into a river slide like Kathleen Turner in Romancing the Stone. I want to hold tarantulas and watch the sunset over the Amazon and I want to still be able to do all of this in my golden years.

So what does all of this have to do with McDonalds and its infamous McRib? Well....first some background.

The pressed pork rib-like sandwich was first introduced by Mickey-D's in 1982 and quietly disappeared again three years later. It has sporadically shown up ever since usually to great fanboy squeals of delight and brilliant marketing. It has developed a cult-like following and has generated Facebook pages, a Twitter account, and McRib Locator Sites. But, it is a cornucopia of everything that is wrong with twenty-first century eating. As Time magazine analyzed this week, the McRib is about as bad as it gets for knowingly putting a noxious substance into one's body.

If you haven't indulged in one yet, here's what you're missing: azodicarbonamide, ammonium sulfate and polysorbate 80 — those are just three of the 70 ingredients (34 in the bun alone) that go into the BBQ pork sandwich, according to the restaurant's website.
These components are in small enough quantities to be innocuous. But it's still a little disconcerting to know that, for example, azodicarbonamide, a flour-bleaching agent that is most commonly used in the manufacture of foamed plastics like in gym mats and the soles of shoes, is found in the McRib bun. The compound is banned in Europe and Australia as a food additive. (England's Health and Safety Executive classified it as a "respiratory sensitizer" that potentially contributes to asthma through occupational exposure.) The U.S. limits azodicarbonamide to 45 parts per million in commercial flour products, based on analysis of lab testing.

I am often stunned that anybody would eat crap like this. Fried butter at state fairs, burgers using donuts as buns, and sandwiches with enough fat and salt in them to bloat entire fleets of dirigibles have become a normative part of North American eating habits. We should all be crying "Uncle".

I am not a food prude. I have my vices. I like an occasional Diet Coke even though I know it is made of shit. I love my share of french fries and onion rings just like everybody else, and I have often stated in this space that chocolate is like air to me, but I like to know what I am eating and where my food is coming from. If I can't pronounce the ingredients in my daily fare, then I certainly should not be ingesting them. And for the most part, I try. It is a matter of health and welfare for me. I want to live long enough to safari in Africa and climb the volcanoes in Hawaii. I honestly have a hard time believing that anybody would choose eating a McRib over health and vigour in their later years. You cannot tell me that at the end of our days we want to say "I'm glad I passed on that trip to the Great Barrier Reef, but I loved me my pork sandwich!!" Some day I want to be able to take a picture like this one my mother sent me last evening.

Movember

2011-11-01T09:29:00.001-04:00

I am really not a big fan of November. With apologies to all of you who celebrate some wonderful occasion over the next thirty days, for those of us with little to anticipate it can be one long, dreary, dark, misery of a month. November doesn't have the beauty and striking hues of October, nor does it have the expectancy and suspense of December. We Canadians don't have the family fun of Thanksgiving to look forward to, nor do we have a parade to rival Macy's. The days are shorter, the skies greyer, and I truly hate waking up before sunrise. But over the last several years November has begun to provide a small modicum of entertainment. I speak of course of the annual growing of the facial hair now known across the globe as Movember.

Movember started in Australia over a few beers in 2003 as an idea to revive the '70s fashion 'stache that had gone the way of the leisure suit, disco, and Starsky and Hutch. There was no real thought to the friends' drunken conversation other than the rule that one must start the month clean-shaven and grow the best upper lip accessory for the entire month that one was physically able. The guys had such fun with the idea, that the following year they decided to attach a worthy cause to their facial hair cultivation and raise money and awareness for prostate cancer. Today, men around the world are beginning their own "visage quest" as they become walking posters for the cause.

It isn't always pretty. There are the wisps and strays that make one question the testosterone levels. There are the Ron Jeremy porn star looks and the Rollie Fingers waxed jobs. Honestly, I can grow a better moustache than some of my young friends and family! That said, it does provide a creative outlet for many who use their own faces as the canvas, and the good news is that disasters can be remedied by Gillette or Schick in thirty days.

My only issue with Movember is that the good cause may go missing in all of the fun. Much like the corporate co-opting of the pink ribbon campaign, some have forgotten that there is a bigger issue to be remembered by the facial hair sprouts. I urge all of you who are participating this year to register at the Movember website and try and raise a few bucks for the cause. You can also urge those near and dear of a certain age to head to their physicians and get screened. Prostate cancer is the most common cancer amongst men in Canada outside of non-melenoma skin cancers. So, grow those lip-ticklers and brighten up my November. Just don't forget why you are doing it.

Have You Missed Me?

2011-10-31T10:33:00.001-04:00

Well.....have you? Probably not, but that's ok because I've missed this forum and the creative outlet it allows. Now that the holidays are behind us for another year, (Praised to the Holy One!!) I have decided to take on a challenge for myself. November is traditionally National Blog Post Month or as it is known in the community (aren't I just so tres hip?) NaBloPoMo. I know what you all are thinking. Who was the genius who came up with that witty acronym? In spite of its rather unimaginative title, the idea is terrific. The challenge is to write a new and fresh post for every single day of the month of November, including weekends. It is a bit like a marathon; rather exciting at the outset, hitting the wall somewhere in the middle, and a burst of creative energy towards the end-or so I've been told. I will discover all of the highs and lows beginning tomorrow, so please faithful and faithless readers keep an eye on this space and I will attempt to be at my witty, sarcastic, arrogant, opinionated best for the next thirty days. Either that, or I will fill the posts with updated pictures of my growing fingernails. See you in November-that's tomorrow for all of you calendar-challenged.

Sweat Equity

2011-10-25T15:29:00.000-04:00

This post was cross-posted to the URJ Camp & Israel Programs Blog-A division of the URJ!!

As strange as it might sound, many of my earliest and most intensely personal Jewish experiences are closely associated with sweat. No, I don't have a glandular issue that might cause me to break out in perspiration at the first words of the Shema. I am one of the multitude of the most fortunate who attended Goldman Union Camp in Zionsville Indiana. Anybody who has ever spent a summer in the midwest knows full well from where I speak. And yet, in spite of the three-a-day showers, the moisture running into my eyes and blinding me during song leading sessions, the constant water breaks needed during shiur/shicha to ensure that campers and staff wouldn't drift into dehydrated lethargy, and mosquitos large enough to saddle, this place is where the bulk of my Jewish identity was nurtured and formed. I do what I do today in large part because of Rabbi Ron Klotz and the experiences that I had as both a camper and a staff member at GUCI.

I have been an animated poster child for Union Camps ever since. Whenever I am asked where I received my training, my first answer is "camp". I put my oldest son on a plane to GUCI at the tender age of eight and a half. When I tell that to people they stare at me with dumbfounded looks that suggest perhaps calling social services, but I simply reply he was going to camp. (It should be noted that GUCI was our area camp here in Toronto until Camp George opened.) One or both of my children attended as campers and staff for the next fifteen summers. They became active youth groupers, both of them serving as TYG president and my younger son on the NEL regional board. They both were teachers in our synagogue religious school with the younger one still acting as our lead music teacher. My older son travelled with NFTY and the younger attended Kutz camp for leadership and song leading training. I'd like to think that my husband and I had a hand in all of that, but frankly it was the influences that they received at camp that pushed them harder than we ever could.

Years later, I am still one the biggest cheerleaders for Reform Jewish camping. My synagogue, Temple Kol Ami here in Thornhill Ontario has been at the forefront of encouraging and sending our kids to Camp George since its inception. We are a fairly small congregation, but we regularly see several dozen of our young people attend camp each summer. Many go on to staff positions and some attend other Union Camps throughout North America. We have been so successful at encouraging our families to make Reform Jewish camping their priority, that some of our adults have volunteered their summer vacations to act as camp doctors, nurses, and other faculty positions.

Several years ago, our rabbi at the time was looking for a way to tangibly demonstrate Temple Kol Ami's commitment to Reform Jewish camping. He invited Jeff Rose, the new director of Camp George, to attend our second day Rosh Hashanah services and honoured him with the first aliyah to the Torah. Almost on the spur of the moment, the rabbi decided to invite every single person in the congregation-young and young at heart-who had ever attended a Union Camp in any capacity to join Jeff on the bimah for the aliyah. More than fifty people gathered around as Jeff chanted the blessings. It was so overwhelming and emotional that we have continued the practice annually. This past Rosh Hashanah another fifty or so individuals, including some as young as eight and a half, made their way to the bimah to join Jeff for his aliyah. The excitement on their faces was easily visible and the physical demonstration of our community's commitment was on display for all to see and hopefully there to convince the next family to consider Reform Jewish camping for their kids' summer plans.

A few weeks ago, I had dinner with friends and their daughters who had just returned from their rookie sessions at Camp George. Their mother complained bitterly that she had barely heard from the girls all summer. The girls of course ignored their mother, were deliriously happy, and have already made plans to return next summer. Theirs were the faces that I first noticed with me on the bimah this past Rosh Hashanah, along with those of my husband and grown sons. The sweat equity from GUCI has certainly paid off.

Pre-High Holy Day Bitch Session

2011-09-19T21:13:00.004-04:00

I haven't had a good bitch session on this blog in quite a while. I was actually starting to wonder if I had lost my mojo, but in reality it was more about the true exhaustion that I have been feeling due to political stupidity oozing out of every possible municipality, province, state and country. So here I present my pre-High Holy Day Bitch Session so that I might properly atone for my words, thoughts, and behaviour in the coming weeks. A sort of pre-confession confessional.

I am truly appalled at the genuine nastiness that has become pervasive in all political processes. Neither liberals nor conservatives can claim the high road in this battle for the lowest of the low scumbag. NDP candidates trading on the name of the late Jack Layton in an effort to garner provincial votes is as distasteful a practice as there might be. Conversely, PC leader Tim Hudak attempting to polarize the electorate with characterizations of "foreign workers" vs "real Canadians" is abhorrent. I realize that Mr. Hudak was "played" by Mr. McGuinty and the Liberals, but his xenophobic Tea Party-like rants were disgusting even for a politician searching for votes.
Since when did it become ok for a seemingly caring society to show such utter lack of concern for the most vulnerable? At two recent debates of the Republican hopefuls for the presidential nomination, morons in the crowd (I get that there exists morons everywhere, but this is my rant!) actually cheered for more Texas executions and actively shouted to let the uninsured die. I realize that the American electorate is at an unprecedented level of polarization, but really? Aren't we all in this together?
In the midst of the craziness that has become Toronto City Council, comes this phenomenal article by Edmund Pries, an instructor in the department of Global Studies at Wilfred Laurier University. I have often wondered many of the same things that Mr. Pries comments on. The difference between a citizen and a taxpayer (note I use the compound word rather than two word phrase tax payer) is all about the self vs the communal. Once again I ask the question, "Aren't we all in this together?"
The backwards steps being taken by women recently, especially in pop culture has me pissed. How can women in 2011 actually even think it is okay to watch a new television program based on the happenings in a 1960s Playboy club. I realize that it is fictionalized and probably a soap, but let's be honest. There is a reason that these clubs no longer exist. The misogyny and arrogance of the management and the cliental was horrifying. I cannot imagine that many women want to look back at these particular moments in history with nostalgia. I feel exactly the same way about the reboot of Charlie's Angels-the very first "jiggle show". When people use Mad Men as an analogy for how women are portrayed in the 1960s, I think that they totally miss the point of that show. Mad Men is all about the empowerment of women, not the idea of renewed subservience. And while I am on the subject, don't even get me started about lingerie football.
It seems to me that if the Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee mayoral twins of Toronto want to even entertain the idea of cutting libraries, they should learn how to properly pronounce the word. That's li-brar-y Messieurs Ford, not li-berry. Your ignorance is showing and on public display.
I am absolutely sick and tired of the anti-intellectualism that is pervading our political discourse. I don't want leaders that deny science, endanger women's health, put low income children at medical risk, or who believe that libraries are gravy. I want leaders who are smarter than I am, have creative solutions to complex problems, are willing to take those ideas from whatever side of the political spectrum they might arise, and who are willing to listen and work with their idealogical foes. I don't want change for change sake, and I don't want warmed-over leftover ideas from a era that is no longer relevant. Ronald Reagan is dead as is Pierre Trudeau. I want a leader who understands that we live in the twenty-first century and that our problems cannot be easily solved with thirty year old platitudes.

I am certain that there are many many many more, but these will do for now. Feel free to add your own in the comments section. For all these sins O God forgive me, pardon me, grant me atonement.

Impressions of a Magical Shabbat

2011-09-11T09:33:00.002-04:00

As readers of my last post know, this past Shabbat was a time of tremendous joy for my synagogue, Temple Kol Ami. After years of seeming futility, construction hassles, city bylaws, not so nice builders, money issues, aborted land deals, aborted project deals, aborted partnerships-frankly the list is longer than the space this blog allows-we were finally able to dedicated our new permanent home after years of wandering. With September weather fully cooperating, we marched as an entire community up the street with our Sifrei Torah taking the lead, to our not quite yet completed new sacred space. There was singing as is totally befitting our Kahal. There was laughter and joy, and when that mezuzah was affixed to the sanctuary door, there were many tears. I was struck by how many different impressions and emotions were tied up in this grand event. I thought that I would offer you just a few of mine from behind the guitar.

Walking up Atkinson Avenue, I was stunned by how many passersby rolled down their windows and started singing the Shabbat songs with us. One young woman was so engaged with her rendition of L'cha Dodi that she almost missed the light. They also took pictures, clapped hands, and honked horns of support. Sometimes living in the north Jewish ghetto has its perks.
I loved how the young and the young at heart all marched together holding hands, singing, laughing and all took a turn to carry a Torah.
I was terribly moved that our youth members were so thrilled to be asked to protect our Torah scrolls by carrying the chuppah. I realize that it is a total cliche, but these young people are our future and the dignity that they displayed as they proudly led us on the last few steps of our journey was a joy to behold.
As we gathered in the parking lot to sing Hiney Ma Tov-How good and how pleasant it is that brothers and sisters can sit here together-I watched with pure emotion as our oldest member paraded up the pavement straight and tall. He was absolutely determined to be a part of this walk, so to watch his daughter drive in reverse up the street in perfect alliance with the rest of us so that he could be there, brought tears to my eyes.
We gathered ten song leaders from within our small congregation to play and lead the music. 10!!!! They played guitars, drums, tambourines, or simply clapped and sang. More were asked and simply could not make it, but sent lovely notes of regrets. Look at the musical culture we are creating at our synagogue.
As the Sifrei Torah came into the Beit T'fillah, we asked all of the children to come forward to open the brand new ark. Dozens of them stood proudly on the bimah awaiting their moment. As a turned around from the congregation to see them, one little girl fresh off of her first summer at Camp George, was singing Hava Nashirah with such gusto that she was imploring all of her friends to sing with her. I went up to them all and conducted an impromptu junior choir on the bimah. It was pure magic.

These are just a few of my thoughts and I know that every single person who was in attendance has their own. Everybody had a different vantage point, was with different people, heard different stories. So I would like to open up this spot for you all to respond. In the comments section below, please leave your most memorable impressions from this past Shabbat. Use some economy of words and don't be afraid to post more than once. I will then compile them all into an article for next week's Voice. We will also cross-post this blog to our Facebook page so that more might view it. If you choose to remain anonymous that is perfectly fine, but it might be more interesting if we knew who you were. So get writing Kol Ami. We want to hear from you.

Joys of Elul

2011-09-06T10:49:00.001-04:00

I have been tremendously moved by the Jewels of Elul that have been making their way into my mailbox every day during this month of Elul. These little gems have been carefully prepared by people from various walks of life, in the hope that they might better facilitate our preparations for the upcoming Yamim Noraim. They have been small rays of light and have moved my spirit tremendously. If you haven't yet signed onto this site, I urge you do so by clicking above and registering for the remainder of the month. I promise that you will not be disappointed.

The daily messages and the upcoming excitement at my own synagogue this weekend has really jump-started my thought processes. I have much to say, (when is that ever surprising?) and I am certain that individuals far more eloquent will do a much better job in expression, but I thought that I might begin with an anecdote from my childhood.

When I was a child, it was family tradition to wrap all birthday, Chanukkah, and anniversary gifts in yesterday's newspaper. Rarely did The Little Bro or I receive a package that was brightly coloured, (unless Mom found the comics section!) done up with ribbons, or that didn't transfer black ink to our eager hands. I have often wondered if my parents were ahead of the recycling curve or if wrapping paper was simply too costly to be wasted being torn to shreds by a six year old. Whatever their motivation, they instinctively understood that the outer trappings of the gifts, while important to generate excitement, had nothing on the gift itself, and what was inside the box and the sentiment behind it were what truly mattered.

This week at Temple Kol Ami we will be witness to the culmination of almost twenty-four years of work. We will be moving into our new, shiny, almost completed, permanent home. We have been nomads for the entirety of our existence and this Shabbat we put down roots. It is tremendously exciting. For those of us who have been witness to the many fits and starts over the years, I fully expect tears. For those of us who are a little newer to the process, I fully expect tears. We deserve the moment and we should all bask in the beauty, the experience, and the holiness of the scared space that we have communally created, but we cannot afford to become blinded and complacent by the beautiful package. We must fill this space with all that we have been, all that we are, and all that we are yet to be. We must pray together, sing together, and study together so that this new Makom Kadosh-this Holy Place-becomes a gift that truly matters.

I cannot think of a better way to enter the month of Elul than by gathering as a Kehillah Kedoshah-a holy community-and marching our Sifrei Torah into our new home. We are just beginning our preparations for the High Holy Days and this milestone will set an auspicious tone for what is yet to come. I hope that you will all join us this Shabbat as we embark upon the next steps in our journey.

Allow Some Their Grief

2011-08-23T09:19:00.000-04:00

Years ago, when I first started officiating at funerals and shiva services, a rabbi I worked with gave me some sage advice. He said let the mourners dictate the grieving process. Listening and watching is the key. Speak when necessary, respond accordingly, touch when appropriate, and above all understand that every person grieves differently. I have tried to emulate him ever since whenever I find myself in those most difficult of situations. I may not always have the right words or the appropriate hugs of comfort, but I certainly know when silence is golden and timing is everything. Which is why I was so taken aback by Christie Blatchford''s column this morning concerning the death of Jack Layton.

To be certain, neither Ms. Blatchford nor the paper she works for have ever been a fan of Mr. Layton's or his politics. This is certainly understandable and actually important in the world of political discourse. And while I might agree that the media, including Ms. Blatchford's own publication, might be going overboard in their coverage of Mr. Layton's untimely death, there is some thought that they might be taking their cues from the millions across the country who are mourning his death, just as my rabbi taught me to do all those years ago. Ms. Blatchford's column, while true to her thoughts and convictions, is ill-timed and incendiary to all of those mourning.

I wonder if this column might have been better placed in a few days from now. It still would have offended some, but at least it wouldn't have felt so opportunistically vicious. The sting of death is keen for those touched by it, and Ms. Blatchford almost seems to revel in cutting the wound deeper.

I must admit, that when I first read the piece I was struck by the similarities to Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. Act 3 Scene 2.

ANTONY

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones;

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus

Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest--

For Brutus is an honourable man;

So are they all, all honourable men--

Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me:

But Brutus says he was ambitious;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

You all did see that on the Lupercal

I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

And, sure, he is an honourable man.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,

But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love him once, not without cause:

What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?

O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,

And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;

My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,

And I must pause till it come back to me.

Many years ago, while preparing for a funeral, I remember the mourners respectfully asking the rabbi not to sugarcoat his description of the deceased in his eulogy. They wanted their loved one remember for who she was and not some fairytale version. My guess is Mr. Layton would want that too, but Ms. Blatchford forgot that timing is everything.

May his memory be for blessing.

New Country Rehab

2011-08-14T17:50:00.000-04:00

Live concert at Yonge/Dundas Square on Friday August 12/11. These local guys are the real deal. This cover of John Fogerty's Effigy was their finale. The dancing in front of the stage was spontaneous. Old and young together. What a great night!!

Random Thoughts from Stratford

2011-08-10T19:11:00.003-04:00

I am writing this while sitting on the sofa in our beautifully appointed suite at the Arden Park Hotel in beautiful downtown Stratford. Yup! The Husband sprang for the upgrade. Fireplace, full kitchenette, 2 (count em!!) 2 flat screens and a king-sized bed that will probably swallow me up whole and I won't care one whit because I will die in ease and comfort! Too bad we are only here for the night. I could learn to love it here.

The Husband and I attempt to sojourn out this way at least once a summer to catch the very best of the annual festival. This year due to time constraints we have been limited to a single performance, but we will make up for that disappointment with a stop at the St. Jacob's market on the return trip. In the meantime, here are some random thoughts from our day.

1. The average age in Stratford rises precipitously on a Wednesday. It must have something to do with the myriad of matinee performances and buses shipping in the seniors from all over the Great Lakes Region, but The Husband and I found ourselves amongst the youngest in town today. The blue-haired set was surely on display along with a variety of walkers, wheelchairs, scooters, hear aides and visual aid devices. Nothing like a matinee in Stratford to make one feel young again!

2. Stratford must be the last bastion for the independent book store.

This was one of several that are still open and doing a fairly brisk business. I truly believe in about 50 years, my great-grandchildren are going to ask "What was a bookstore?" Hopefully somebody can answer them by pointing the way to Stratford.

3. This town is internationally known as home to one of the greatest theatre festivals, except this seems to have usurped that distinction as the number one industry.

Oy! A whole f@&*ing store dedicated to that twerp just because he was born here.

4.Overheard conversation between husband and wife exiting The Scottish Store.

Husband: "I am going into that store across the street!.

Wife: "Ok-Just don't buy a whole lot of junk that we don't need!"

Me: (Laughing hysterically) "I think that just defined every single marriage in history!!

5. Coming out of the men's room, The Husband runs into Rabbi E from the GTA. This isn't the first time that we have run into the Rabbi and his wife at the theatre, usually musicals. What was extraordinarily ironic is that we were all there to see Jesus Christ Superstar. He was there as part of a larger group from his synagogue. He and I joked that we were going to sing along and how it was kind of creepy that both of us could actually do just that. Jews of Toronto united in their passion for the Passion.

6. It has been brutally hot all summer except that today it feels like fall! What is up with that?? Honestly if I hadn't seen green leaves still on the trees down by the river, I would have sworn it was October!

7. I had the best veggie burger ever for lunch, but it totally screwed up dinner. We decided to buy some hummous, veggies, and chocolate for dinner and eat in the room. Too bad. I was really looking forward to Indian tonight, but if I eat anything right now I just might explode.

8. Finally, the show was outstanding. The cast first rate, the choreography, musicianship, vocal quality, and direction superb. I still think that it is kind of creepy that a majority of people in the world worship this truly scary and gruesome story, but clearly I am a heathen. There were people crying at the end and it was because they were religiously moved. Me? I was enthralled with Mary Magdalene and the excitement I felt recalling her luminous performance as Maria in West Side Story 2 seasons ago. Once again she shone!! This girl is a star! I told you I was a heathen. The audience is crying for Jesus and I am in awe of the hooker! Just another day in Stratford.

Not a 24 Hour City

2011-08-08T13:24:00.000-04:00

Before I go any further with this post, I want to emphasize that I have The Husband's full permission and cooperation to tell this story. Please don't get all bent out of shape by privacy concerns. He is fine with it.

The Husband is a chronic sufferer of kidney stones. As one who has never had the full displeasure of experiencing this condition, I am told that the pain endured is kind of like birthing triplets, surgery without anaesthesia, and full contact dentistry all rolled up into one massive shooting, excruciating, hot branding iron of torment. It is that bad. Over the years, The Husband and his physician have kept a watchful eye on his kidneys to be on the lookout for stones in the night. Ultrasounds, x-rays, visits to specialists, and ridiculous diets that are impossible to adhere to have all been prophylactically attempted in order to stay one step ahead of the dreaded stone. Several years ago, The Husband was referred to the Kidney Stone Centre at St. Michael's Hospital here in Toronto. (Yes, there is such a clinic and they are really on the cutting edge of kidney care-no pun intended.) It was recommend to him at the time that he undergo a non-invasive procedure called a lithotripsy. Using shock waves to target the stones from outside the body, the stones are broken up into smaller pieces so that they might easily pass. My man did undergo this procedure with excellent results and returned to his vigilant ways to reduce the occurrence. Sadly, nothing seems to really prevent their presence, and three weeks ago, knowing that several stones had recurred, he underwent another lithotripsy.

This is where the story gets interesting. At the time of the procedure, they gave The Husband a prescription for Percocet, a narcotic so strong that it would make Rush Limbaugh blush. The nurse told us that we should immediately fill the script so that if the stones began to pass, the medication would only make him wish he were dead instead of actually attempting Hari Kari. My Husband has an issue with immediacy. Procrastination is his mantra. He figured that since he was fine the last time out, he could handle any and all pain with a couple of Tylenol. Two weeks passed and no movement. He knew that he wasn't yet in the clear, so back to the clinic he went for another x-ray and another appointment. While the stones were smaller and broken, the urologist insisted on booking yet another procedure two weeks hence. That appointment was on Friday. Last night I actually saw my husband cry tears of pain.

At midnight he began writhing in bed. He thought it was nothing, but by 2:30 am he begged me for relief. I suggested a Tylenol 3 knowing full well that he hadn't filled the script for the oxycontin. Nope. It wasn't going to be nearly enough. He wanted to go to the hospital, but we knew that all they would do is prescribe the same medication and tell him to wait for it to pass. After throwing on a track suit and searching aimlessly for my glasses, I headed out with the script in hand to where I knew was a 24 hour pharmacy. Wrong again. They changed the one in our neighbourhood to a mere 12 hour location. I had no choice but to call The Husband and have him search the internet through his searing pain for the closest 24 hour spot. (The only good thing about driving in the suburbs at 3 in the morning is that there is literally no traffic. I made a U-turn on Bathurst without a thought.) 20 minutes later I was in Richmond Hill dealing with a pharmacist named Olga who thought that I was on a drug mule mission. She grilled me on the need for such a powerful narcotic and asked me if the patient was an addictive. Can you believe that I actually had to wait behind a guy getting the morning after pill for his lady friend too embarrassed to come in? True story!!

When I called The Husband on my way back south, he actually cried into the phone he was so relieved. I don't think I had experienced that kind of severity in a combined 76 hours of labour. The pills didn't actually dull the pain, but they did allow him some relief to sleep. This morning the stone passed and apart from severe exhaustion he is fine. The second lithotripsy is still scheduled.

York Region-you suck at 24 hour service. Try finding a gas station, pharmacy, or food location at 3 in the morning. There are people who require service in the middle of the night and I would suggest that our leaders do a better job of informing us where these are located. Driving around at that hour is stupid and dangerous, not to mention time-wasting. The good news? All is right in my world again and we have Percocet on hand now-just in case.

Humpback Whale Shows AMAZING Appreciation After Being Freed From Nets

2011-07-29T09:41:00.000-04:00

You must watch this. Amazing story!!.

Too Fast

2011-07-19T10:13:00.002-04:00

This past weekend as I noted in my previous post marked the 30th anniversary of the passing of Harry Chapin. Harry's music played a pivotal role in my ascendance from childhood to adulthood. His were the first concerts that I attended without parental supervision. I would sit for hours listening to his albums, (yes-ALBUMS!!) trying desperately to memorize the lyrics to every song-not an easy task as his shortest song ran over four minutes in length-while attempting chord progression after chord progression until I had a semblance of his sound. His poetry spoke to me. He was a storyteller set to music and I was enthralled. Harry Chapin was to me what John, Paul, George, and Ringo where to my friend the Beatles Fanatic. He and Debbie Friedman z"l were the soundtrack to my youth. This adoration only grew each summer as I headed off to camp to live, work, grow and share with an entire community of Harry-philes. GUCI was a veritable cornucopia of learning opportunities about Harry and his music. We would sing his songs at campfires and lights-out programs. We would use his music to enhance shiur and limmudim messages. We would talk of his work for World Hunger and his great philanthropic deeds. Harry was one of my first Tikkun Olam heroes. But most of all, we would just sit around and sing. There was always a new Harry song or album to learn and listen to.

The summer that Harry died, I was 18 years old. He was touring that July and was headed to Indianapolis later that month. Rumours were swirling around camp that "the powers that be" were in contact with Harry and his people to come to camp to visit, and perhaps perform a few songs. It was definitely in the talking stage, but it would tragically never come to fruition. When we heard the news of his horrific crash, I recall feeling as though somebody punched me in the stomach. We mourned for days as was befitting his iconic status. This past weekend marking the 30th anniversary, that feeling came back to me just as fresh and just as visceral.

It is truly odd to me that I can recall 30 years with such colour and vividness. 30 years. I have graduated both high school and university. I got married, had children, watched them grow and develop lives of their own independent from me. I have developed a career, built a life with friends and family, suffered loss and accumulated much. 30 years has gone by much too quickly. I am not trying to be wistful or maudlin, just stating a fact. Harry knew it. He even sang about it.

I let time go lightly when I'm here with you,
I let time go lightly when the day is through.
I keep a watch on time when I've have work to do,
I let time go lightly with you.

30 years is a long time and it has flown by in an instant.

***A quick addendum. It was actually Harry's brother Steve that wrote the lyrics for this song, but Harry was the singer.

Harry Chapin Remembered

2011-07-17T10:23:00.000-04:00

30 years ago yesterday, we lost Harry. I was at camp that summer and I remember the devastation that we all felt. I saw Harry many times in concert. He was one of the great live performers of all times and was way ahead of his time in terms of philanthropy. One of the all-time greats

Summer Stupidity

2011-07-06T22:47:00.002-04:00

Summer is a funny time. People seem to have feelings of invulnerability. We see it all the time. Cars driving far too fast on city streets. Young men stupidly diving into lakes, rivers, and swimming pools without first checking depth. Young women vainly scalding themselves pool or beachside without the benefit of proper SPF. Skateboarders, rollerbladers, and bikers weaving in and out of city traffic without the protective gear they so desperately require. Any of these might easily qualify for the 2011 edition of the Darwin Awards but frankly two events this week seem to have the inside track.

First up has to be the poor deluded soul who died this week from a tragic motorcycle accident. The 55 year old man was participating with others in a ride protesting New York State's requirement to wear a helmet while riding a motorcycle. He was, of course, helmet-less when his bike fish tailed sending him flying over the handlebars and cracking his skull on the sidewalk. Police and emergency personal say that he probably would have survived the fall had he been wearing a lid. I suppose that his personal liberty was a more important than his safety because he died for the cause. While one could probably successfully argue his libertarian point of view, I am having a difficult time of thinking of his death as anything but senseless and stupid.

Next we have to mention the annual stupidity in testosterone surge known as the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona. Earnest Hemingway romanticized this race against maiming in his 1923 novel The Sun Also Rises. Almost 90 years later, hundreds make the pilgrimage to Spain in order to test their mettle and stupidity against beasts angry enough to kill everything in their path. People are gored, trampled, brutalized, and often killed in a dumb and misguided attempt to hold onto a tradition that should have been outlawed years ago. Sorry! Anybody who chooses this idiocy as a "What I Did on My Summer Vacation" story is kind of asking for trouble and gets my vote for this year's Darwins! Please folks. Let's try to have a wonderful summer, but keep it safe.

A Patriotic Ditty

2011-07-01T08:39:00.001-04:00

I realize that this particular video was made for Canada Day 142, but we are still here two years later and the sentiments are the same. Music and Lyrics by Oscar Brand and sung by The Travellers. I think it is our God Bless America. Way Better than O Canada! Enjoy the 144 Canada. We are perfectly "square" today as always.

New Country Rehab

2011-06-26T13:59:00.000-04:00

From last night's "Cash Bash" at Hugh's Room! These guys were my highlight for sure. They are playing Dundas Square in August. I urge you to check them out if you are in the Toronto area.

Post Stanley Quick Hits

2011-06-16T10:33:00.004-04:00

Some random thoughts post Stanley. If you aren't a hockey fan, so sorry but it needs to be said.

The Canucks were terrible in this series. Sorry west coasters but it is true. It is pretty hard to win a seven game final while only scoring eight total goals. Their power play was simply non-existent (something like 3%!) and they even allowed two short-handed tallies. Roberto Luongo may have been horrid when it counted, but it really didn't matter because this team simply couldn't score.
I have heard a lot about how the Canucks were playing hurt. Bullshit! Great teams learn to manage their injuries in the crunch and rise to the occasion. I think the Bruins' loss of Nathan Horton for four games was a far bigger hole than Vancouver's loss of Mason Raymond for a game and half and the Black Bears still managed to put together some offence.
Boston's third and fourth lines badly outplayed Vancouver's first and second. The Sedins were MIA and Ryan Kessler, though clearly not healthy, was all but invisible. Brad Marchand, Shawn Thornton, Patrice Bergeron, and the ageless Mark Recchi were simply unstoppable.
Boston played far better in Vancouver from the very start of this series than Vancouver ever played in Boston. Frankly, the Canucks were lucky to win both of those first two games and could just have easily left for Boston down two rather than up two. There was a mirage factor that had fans hoping for the team that dominated during the regular season. This clearly wasn't that team.
Tim Thomas was all-universe. We have all seen goalies stand on their heads to carry a team, but this was truly unreal. As long as Boston scored one or two, everybody knew that Vancouver would be in tough in every single game. Luongo never showed that poise. Thomas simply didn't allow his very few mistakes to rattle him the way that Luongo did.
Can we please get off the bullshit that this was Canada's cup!! As a Leaf fan for all of my life (I know-let the ridiculing begin!!) I can almost guarantee that if the Leafs were ever fortunate enough to find themselves in Vancouver's situation with a chance at the Holy Grail, (May God make this possible during my lifetime-PLEASE!) westerners would be actively rooting for whichever team they might be playing, and hatefully against all that is Toronto. Just the way it is, folks.
As a Leaf fan I have to say that I was thrilled to watch Tomas Kaberle hoist the Cup. This is a guy who slogged away and gave his all to a thankless fan base here for 11 futile years. He never complained even when he was being mocked and dumped upon. When he was finally dealt, he had only good things to say about our laughable franchise. He deserved the chance to win and I for one was happy to see it happen.
For all of those Leaf fans lamenting Tyler Seguin, I get it but get over it. Phil Kessel has scored 30+ goals in each of his first two seasons here. Players like that don't grow on trees in the NHL. He may not be a complete player, but he isn't crap either. Seguin didn't play a huge role in these finals even after Horton got hurt. He might very well be great one day, but frankly-BYGONES!!
For all of those Leaf fans lamenting Tuuka Rask. I have two words for you-BACK UP! He didn't play a single minute. Yes he has shown to be a competent NHL goaltender, but he lost his job to a 37 year-old. BYGONES!
The after-riots have been a true disgrace but I will put forth the theory that they would have occurred win or lose. Yesterday The Husband said just that to me-BEFORE THE GAME EVEN STARTED! The fact is that these riots were not about hockey. They were about a fringe group of assholes looking for a reason to riot. Stop blaming fringe lefties or fringe righties or the cops. Stop carping about this not being Canadian. This was about too many people looking for trouble and finding it.

Just my two cents folks. One more-Playing hockey in June is really stupid. It is too hot to keep the ice decent. The pucks were bouncing all over the place in Boston the other night and it wasn't much better yesterday. When Bobby Orr scored his famous goal to win Boston's last cup, it was on May 10th-a full month earlier. Something needs to be done.

Now finally our attention turns to baseball. Go Jays!

Here's to My Man!

2011-06-06T13:29:00.002-04:00

Seeing as though I am not much of an imbiber, I really don't have all that much experience in raising a glass in toast. I am really more of the roasting kind. So you will forgive me if what I offer now is a bit off of the beaten path for a L'chaim!!

A Birthday toast for The Husband.

Here's to the man who believes that chocolate is a food group and has created a special drawer in the kitchen to honour this philosophy.

Here's to the man who truly believes that drinking a half a bottle of scotch split with The Twin Son on a strictly social occasion doesn't make him punchy. Something about the healing properties of the liquid and the idea that you can't get drunk on a fine bottle of nectar, or some such bullshit! Of course he would never consider driving, operating heavy machinery, or riding a roller coaster in said condition, but DRUNK??? No way!

Here's to the man who desperately tries to convince himself that my being born at the end of one year and his being born six months later, actually makes me a full year older than him. He really hates his birthday as that is the date when the ages on our driver's licenses are actually numerically equal.

Here's to the man who absolutely loathes fantasy, science fiction, and superhero movies and television programs, but doesn't think it at all strange and fantastical that his favourite show glorifies a serial killer.

Here's to the man who truly believes that the underwear fairies will come in and magically discard all of the decrepit briefs and socks laden with holes and tears, thereby saving him an insufferable trip to Walmart!

Here's to the man who is absolutely obsessive/compulsive when it comes to the cleanliness of the pool, but staunchly refuses to clean out his clothes closet.

Here's to the man who is the smartest person I know (really and truly!!) but who cannot figure out the light laundry from the dark laundry.

Here's to the man who allows me to poke fun at him in this space on a semi-regular basis. The best sport I know, my biggest fan and cheering section, my best friend. Here's to the man who tolerates my nareshkeit, deals with my temper, listens to my rants, and soothes my many insecurities. Here's to my solver of problems, the father and son of the year, and my b'shert. Happy Birthday! The best is yet to come! L'Chaim!!!

Is Tim Hudak Batman?

2011-05-29T14:45:00.000-04:00

Just wondering? Have we ever seen these two men together? Hmmmmm????

10 Things to do Before the Rapture Comes

2011-05-20T15:37:00.001-04:00

The Rapture is scheduled for 6:00 pm Saturday evening. I had better get busy. There is so much to do and so little time in which to do it.

Call my mother back. She has left two messages and I just haven't yet had the opportunity to return her calls. There is no greater lesson learned than it is always bad karma to not call your mother.
Clean the house. God forbid that Jesus might return and see my bed unmade.
Eat a great deal of chocolate. This is just a general rule of thumb, rapture be damned. Oops! Was that blasphemous?
Watch all of the recorded programs on my PVR. I just can't go on to the next world without knowing whether or not Bones and Booth did the deed.
Go to Dairy Queen and indulge in a Rolo mini-Blizzard. I have wanted one for weeks and the coming events afford me the opportunity. I plan on going into the next life with a lactose intolerant stomach full of gas so that I might blow the lid off what comes next with great pungency!! The powers that be will be sorry that they messed with me.
Buy a puppy! Younger Son's Young Lady has been sending me pictures for weeks via this site. I may as well enjoy his/her company while I can.
Go braless. Propriety can bite me!
Have a sauna, a hot stone massage and a whirlpool bath. If I am going to go, I may as well be relaxed.
Stomp on a few ants and flush several spiders. Hey we're all going together, aren't we? They can just get there a few hours earlier.
Start apologizing to all the people that will probably be offended by this post. When we are still here on Sunday morning, I will have some major explaining to do!

See you all in Olam Ha-ba!! Shabbat Shalom to all who observe!

Yet Another Cell Phone Story Courtesy of Younger Son!

2011-05-11T19:21:00.001-04:00

Oh, my youngest boy! The angst caused by you and your ongoing melodrama with Ma Bell's cellular division. When last we left the lad, he was fighting with Alexander Graham's namesake conglomerate due to a flawed contract over a defective crackberry device. That incident was just the most recent in a very long line of crappy cell service courtesy of Canada's premier cell phone provider. (Insert facetious smirk here!) Today we were witness to yet another chapter in Younger Son's continuing drama that I have entitled "Ask Not For Whom the Bell Tolls. It Tolls for HE!!"

A couple of days ago, Younger Son noticed some odd behaviour emitting from his phone. He was able to call out and text out, but he was experiencing "service interupt-us" on anything incoming. The problem continued off and on for most of a day, but eventually all returned to normal and as such, he was reluctant to call or visit a Bell location. Today, it all fell apart. At about 5:30 pm, I called his number just to have a friendly chat, and I was summarily informed by a recorded message that his number had been temporarily placed in disservice. I thought that it was yet another quirky issue with his Blackberry, but the fun was just beginning. At 6:00 pm we get a call from a private number. It is Younger Son calling from a friend's phone asking The Husband to please get on the computer to Skype with him as his phone is out of service. When he tried calling out, he was automatically forwarded to Bell customer service. After being placed on hold for over an hour and having been transferred to 4 separate departments including home service support, cell service support, accounts, and fraud, he was disconnected!! Hearing your son scream and swear via Skype is an experience I could have lived without for a few more years. Within 30 seconds of his disconnection, our home phone rings and The Husband finds himself speaking with the same customer service rep that hung up on Younger Son. He wants the boy to call a special fraud number. DUMBASSS!!! The boy doesn't have a working phone because you assholes cut him off without explanation. Only Bell would operate their business this way. The Husband takes the number, keeps Younger Son on the computer via Skype and spends the next hour on hold with Bell's fraud squad. After a lengthy process whereby they have to verify everything from all the account numbers and phone number to his mother's maiden name, they convey the message that his phone has been cloned and that he will have to change his number. Another series of security levels and all is again right with his world.

A few questions for Bell.

1. Why didn't you send either him or us as the account holders, an email explaining the issue?

2. Why didn't you contact the home phone number with a prompt explanation that you were cutting off his phone?

3. Why connect him immediately to Bell service without connecting him immediately to the fraud squad? Why put him through every other department in your f*&#ed up company?

4. Why can't your customer service reps immediately discern that this was an issue for the fraud squad? Aren't you all on the same computer network?

I am so tired of these mega conglomerates that I am starting to wonder if we should go back to the old fashioned methods of communication. I was a Girl Guide. I still remember my semaphore!!

Susan Werner

2011-05-09T12:31:00.000-04:00

Singing "May I Suggest" last night at Hugh's!

Post Mother's Day

2011-05-09T10:26:00.002-04:00

I have highly schizophrenic (and I think evolved!) attitudes towards Mother's Day as I have fully discussed here and here. I expect very little from the day, and frankly I prefer to treat it as just another Sunday in May. So when The Husband and I made arrangements to see Susan Werner at Hugh's Room last evening, we totally forgot that it was Mother's Day until a friend pointed it out to us. What an emotionally involving way to spend my day of ambivalence. The woman is truly gifted. If you have never heard Susan or her music I passionately urge you to check her out, and as good as her recordings are, she is so much more in person. Some talented young women Natalia Zuckerman, Garrison Starr, and Mona Tavakoli (percussionist extraordinaire!! I mean, honestly, the woman played a wooden box to absolute perfection!) joined her on stage in what often seemed like an impromptu jam session. It was a joy to share Hallmark's holiday with these empowered and truly wonderful women, not to mention my parents and great friends.

Phoebe Snow~Poetry Man

2011-04-26T15:17:00.001-04:00

The Great Phoebe Snow. Incredible voice and amazing musician. She will be missed!

Big Fish, Small Community

2011-04-21T15:00:00.001-04:00

I have spent my life working at and being a member of small synagogues. Why, you may ask? Small synagogues have big challenges. Money, volunteer involvement, money, engagement, money, logistics-- did I mention money? All true and all extraordinarily frustrating for people like me who have devoted our lives and careers to attempting to make the Jewish experience relevant and meaningful for our communities. These monumental mountains can seem like Everest at times, especially when we inevitably compare ourselves to our Big Brother and Sister congregations in a thriving Jewish centre like the Greater Toronto Area. Over the many years of my career, I have worked for quite a few of our larger brethren. The money is better, there are fewer organizational headaches, and yet I find myself returning time and again to the more satisfying and rewarding (my opinion to be certain) work and lifestyle associated with small synagogue congregational life. I have known this fact to be true for me for many years now, but recently a few very personal events have reiterated it.

Nothing rallies my community like families in need. A dear and beloved member has fallen ill and her family has spent months caring for her in and out of hospitals. For the past two months, her family has spent almost 24/7 at her bedside, all the while eating nothing but hospital cafeteria food and food court fare from a neighbouring subway station. Our Chesed committee, under the direction of our interim rabbi, quickly organized and began preparing meals on a regular basis to take down to the family at the hospital. The menu demands weren't easy. There were vegetarians, meat eaters and gluten-free needs to be met. No worries. Members quickly and readily volunteered to cook, pack and shlep all of the food downtown-an hour trip from where most of us live. Most of the food was homemade! On many days, one lovely gentleman who works as a physician in the area, agreed to act as "food mule" so that the transportation of the meals might be simplified. The response has been overwhelming and the family was dumbfounded. I realize that this type of behaviour exists in many other congregations, but there was a personal touch and a connectivity that could only be felt in this particular way in a small community. These weren't people calling caterers. These were friends opening up their kitchens to help. Remarkable.
Two weeks ago, my congregation ran its annual Scholar-in-Residence program. This event is a highlight of our adult education year. The Kabbalat Shabbat and Shabbat morning services are organized to the last detail, with our choir singing, and music acting as a tremendous catalyst for the entire weekend. We knew early on that we would have no rabbi on the bimah given our interim status. I was assigned service leading duties for the entire weekend, along with my regular musical involvement, and I volunteered to chant Torah on Saturday morning. It shouldn't have been a problem, except for the fact that I came down with a raging case of laryngitis on Friday afternoon and could barely utter a squeak. April showers possibly bring May flowers, but for me it brings allergies and asthma related issues. I was beside myself, embarrassed beyond belief, and truly devastated. I shouldn't have worried. Two wonderful members of my choir jumped in to fill my solos and they sang with such clarity and grace that I was reduced to tears. Two other dear friends rallied on a dime (one kind gentleman volunteered an hour before services!) to act as "rabbi" for Friday and Saturday so that I could concentrate on just the songleading and Torah reading without over-taxing my fragile vocal chords. I was so overwhelmed by their generosity of spirit and friendship, that I publicly declared from the bimah that I owe them both dinner after Pesach. My small congregation isn't blessed with extra staff to fill in when one of us is sick, but rather we rely on the kindness and capabilities of our own members. I had a true Scarlett O'Hara moment where I was forced to rely on the kindness of others.

I truly believe that success in our synagogues cannot and should not be measured by the number of members on our rolls, but rather by the engagement and involvement of those members already within our midst. Believe me, the challenges are great and sometimes can seem overwhelming. But when the people like the ones in my community are dedicated to the cause, the climb seems a little bit easier.

5 Questions Mr. Harper

2011-03-31T19:25:00.001-04:00

“The press is the best instrument for enlightening the mind of man, and improving him as a rational, moral and social being”-Thomas Jefferson

I have remained rather quiet since the government fell last week and we here in The Great White North found ourselves embroiled in yet another federal election campaign. Five trips to the polls in a little more than ten years is more than most Canadians ever bargained. Frankly, I am weary. I am so tired of the pontificating, the brutally vicious attack ads, the robo-calls, the out and out mendacities, and the lack of civil discourse that used to be a cherished hallmark of Canadian politics. I long for the days when elections used to promise at least the hope for something new, but I have come to understand that those days are long gone. I honestly didn't think that it could get worse, until today's news that our Prime Minister is refusing to answer more than five questions a day on the campaign trail. Those five questions are being split between media from both official language media, and one question is being reserved for local press. FIVE QUESTIONS!!!!

Now it certainly isn't unusual for politicians on the trail to carefully control what is doled out to the press, nor is it unusual for press secretaries to manage every syllable that the candidates utter so as to avoid pitfalls, but it seems to me to be the height of arrogance for any leader vying for the top job to slough off the press caravan travelling with them and treat them with total disdain. It seems counter-productive to the messages that they are attempting to convey to totally piss off the reporters and attack them as the source of all of their ills. After all, isn't a free and unencumbered press a hallmark of a democratic society? With that in mind, I thought that I would pose my own five questions to the Prime Minister and I would hope that the people who actually get to pose the queries don't let up until they are adequately answered.

How can you claim to represent all Canadians when you refuse to answer our questions?
Can you adequately explain the spending frenzy that went toward cosmetic improvements in advance of the G20 summit of last year, and why your government was so negligent in adequately planning for the obvious security issues?
What is your long term national child care plan given that 62% of women are now in the workforce fulltime and that Canada is one of only a handful of G20 countries without a cohesive child care initiative?
Given that national crime statistics show a precipitous drop in violent crime, isn't the proposed massive spending on mega prisons merely a scare tactic utilized for purely electioneering?
Où trouvez-vous ces chandails?

These are just a few of mine. I have many more but since Sweatered Stevie will only answer 5, I have used up my daily allotment. Feel free to add your own.

The "If....Then..."

2011-03-15T18:21:00.000-04:00

It seems to be the fashion lately. Some pseudo-celeb idiot publicly makes an ass of him or herself, spouts off in some form of verbal vomit while the tape or cameras are running, and is caught red-tongued. The interweb hits top gear, the Twitterverse scalds each and every megabyte, et voila-said jackass is stuck between the proverbial boulder and unyielding setting. We wait with bated breath as we know what is coming next-the dreaded and incomplete "If...Then..."

We have all heard it before. "If my words or actions have offended anybody, then I am truly sorry for the hurt that was caused." You mean you are only sorry if somebody was offended? You mean it wasn't shitty enough to cause pain to an entire group, race, religion etc? The only reason that you are apologizing is because somebody was offended? What a crock! This statement isn't an apology. It is a non-apologetic apology. It is apologizing for getting caught and called out on crappy conduct.

Look-people are fallible creatures and we all make mistakes, sometimes ugly tasteless ones. When such a thing occurs the right thing to do is to apologize, but apologize sincerely. Don't creep in the backdoor like some kind of kid trying to duck curfew. How about the following: "I am truly sorry for my words and actions. I behaved and spoke badly and my actions were intolerable. I hope that all of you can forgive my outright stupidity and callousness."

As parents, one of the first thing that we teach our children is the art of the apology. We tell them that they can't always be right and that they can't always be perfect, and when they do err they need to express remorse fully, completely and sincerely. Many adults have forgotten these lessons or at least their publicists have. I don't think that I can stomach one more insincere crappy "If...Then..."

Looking for the Perfect Hamentaschen

2011-03-10T14:12:00.000-05:00

Last year at this time, some friends and I embarked upon on a search throughout some local North Miami haunts for a decent hamentaschen. Given that it was Purim and we were in no mood to bake for ourselves, we thought that the local Jewish community could come up with some reasonable facsimile of what we were used to at home. Boy were we ever wrong. The stuff we eventually settled on had a distinct institutional flavour of cardboard and oil based products. The fillings were bottled jam and the mohn (poppyseed) was starchy. Suffice it to say we were tremendously disappointed.

This year the Reform Judaism blog has started the Great Hamentaschen Debate asking those willing to state their preference for their favourite Hamentaschen fillings. While I have definite ideas about this question-mohn is yucky, fruit based are heaven-I am more inclined to believe that the real art of great hamentaschen is less about the filling and more about the dough. So, dear readers I am asking you to share. Do you have a favourite hamentaschen recipe? Are you more inclined to cookie dough or yeast doughs? Oil or butter? I hope that you won't mind sharing Bubby's ancient family secrets with the blogosphere, because frankly I am sick and tired of commercial bakeries thinking that they can do it better than we can. Please post your favourite recipes in the comments section below and I will post them to share. Hamentaschen lovers of the world unite. Be happy! It's Adar-again!

Be Happy! It's Adar!

2011-03-08T10:11:00.000-05:00

Purim has never been my favourite holiday, but I have to admit I am enthralled with G-dcast. They do it up right. Enjoy their take on the Purim story.

All Holidays are Made Up

2011-02-21T20:41:00.001-05:00

I had a typically enlightening conversation with Older Son early this afternoon. I inquired of him if he was feeling lonely on this Family Day given that our family was scattered across the continent. In a response that was very much in keeping with his pragmatic yet sarcastic nature, he stated that it was difficult to get emotional about a holiday that was barely three years old, an invention of our provincial government to bless us with downtime during the miserable month of February, and-as he correctly reminded me-we have yet to be together as family on this day. It set off a discussion between us that began with the basic premise that all holidays are works of fiction no matter how engrained they have become in our culture. They are either remembrance days formed out of religious mythology, anniversaries of great events or birth dates, or simply an excuse to stay in pyjamas, watch DVDs, and eat junk food all day. (As I am currently in the southern home I must state that holidays down here seem more inclined to be celebrated by pushing me to buy bed linens, cars, or electronics all in the name of dead presidents.) Whatever the excuse, I can find less worthy things to commemorate than family. That said, I do offer up a few alternatives that I do believe are long overdue in being labelled statutory holidays. Apologies in advance to my Yankee friends and readers in that I can only go by what I know, and most of that is Canadian.

I believe, my fellow Canucks, that the time has finally come to celebrate the birthday of our first Prime Minister, Sir John A MacDonald. We Canadians are often accused of our complacency and derided for our lack of patriotism. How can we debate such mendacities when we can't even claim a national holiday for our Father of Confederation? Good old John A even had the decency to be born in January, a month sorely in need of a long weekend. Rally 'round the history books folks and strike a blow for our founding father.
While Family Day is becoming a nice and most welcome diversion in February, perhaps a more fitting day to celebrate might be Flag Day. Our distinctive red maple leaf was officially adopted our country's flag on February 15th, 1965. Doesn't Flag Day have a nicer and more logical ring to it than Family Day? Once again patriotism should win out.
Queen's Birthday. For 150 years we have been marking the May 24th birthday of Queen Victoria. Victoria was our reigning monarch for an astounding 64 years. Our current monarch, Queen Elizabeth II has reigned for an almost nearly astounding 59 years. She was born in April, but observes her official birthday in May. Why not call it Queens Day and honour both of these impressive women.
Tax Freedom Day!!! Last year, Tax Freedom Day arrived in Canada on June 5th-a full three days later than the previous year. For the uninitiated, Tax Freedom Day is the day when most people stop working in order to pay their taxes and start working to pocket whatever they earn for themselves. An auspicious occasion to be certain. Shouldn't we do a happy dance for a long weekend in June and celebrate by spending our new found wealth on ourselves?
Thanksgiving in Canada is observed in October. I take no issue with this harvest festival except to note that it does leave November, a dreary month to be certain, curiously lacking a long weekend. Maybe we could have American Thanksgiving as well? Many of us stay home to watch the parade and football games now as it is, we might as well have the tofurkey too.

Those are a few of my ideas. Add your own if you wish. Otherwise, I hope you all had a Happy President's Family Day.

The Chihuahua That Destroyed Hallandale Beach

2011-02-07T13:02:00.000-05:00

I have a dog problem. I realize that this sounds strange coming from somebody who last had a canine in residence five years ago, (Wow-can it really be that long?) but I really do. I have spent the better part of my life in the company of furry four-legged friends, and believe there are some dogs with whom I would much rather spend an afternoon than some people. Dogs are loyal, trustworthy, and love unconditionally. Yes, they can be sloppy, drooling, shedding, needy, and many times overwhelming creatures, (all of this is a shout-out to The Husband and a means to pacify his somewhat ill-conceived logic as to why we do not currently share our lives with a dog) but to call me anything other than a dog person with a deep seated love and longing for all things canine is to deny a huge part of my psyche. I am not usually the person in the room who complains about dogs, and I have zero fear when it comes to even the most surly of animals, but I think that I have finally found my Achilles heel.

We live a pretty quiet and unassuming life when we are down in the Southern Home. It is true that condo life is not for the faint of heart or the politically squeamish, but we avoid most of the huge pitfalls and for the most part fly under the condo bullshit radar. We have had a mostly peaceful co-existence with our neighbours and, truth be told are not even certain as to some of their identities-even those on our own floor. Our little corner of the 5th has been for the most part all about exchanging morning pleasantries and inquiries as to weather and daily health. That all changed this year, when our neighbour across the hall, who had been previously renting out her unit, decided to move in full time and bring along her obnoxious Chihuahua. Ay Caramba!!

It should be noted that chihuahuas are amongst my least favourite of all breeds. They tend to be miserably tempered, oversized rats with stupid looking satellite-sized ears. And this was before bored women with too much time and money on their hands decided that it would be cute fashion to dress the poor creatures up like a Barbie and carry them around in expensive Coach bags! They are ankle biters and barkers because, really what else do they have? Their entire defence mechanism revolves around making a great deal of noise and hoping against hope that the perceived threat won't discover that the squeaky series of yelps and growls is actually emanating from a three pound misery on four legs. I have such a nightmare living across the hall from me, and as I type this post she is creating yet another in a winter-long series of commotions about absolutely nothing. The Husband has told me that when we Skype or speak on the phone, he can actually hear the wretched thing coming through the doors and walls. Various house guests over the past couple of months have remarked on the gigantic lungs on the creature, and how her barks awakened them in our second bedroom.

She attacks when I open my front door to remove garbage, and she starts up when the elevator arrives at our floor. She is worse when her people are away, and she can actually be heard by residents a floor below. I tried to enlist the opinions of another neighbour thinking that there might be safety in numbers, but I was accused of not being "a dog person". That one hit hard. I know that I should register a complaint with the building management, but I just cannot seem to do it. I really like my anonymous existence here and the last thing I want to do is start a war with my neighbour. I tend not to be all that confrontational with issues like this one, and as we all know people can be pretty sensitive when it comes to criticizing their dogs or their kids. I am at a bit of loose ends.

I know what I must do, but I am really not looking forward to it. I have come to realize one thing, though. Big dogs have it all over their pint-sized cousins. I will take the sloppy, drooling, shedding, neediness any day over the Napoleonic complex miniature anything. I am thinking a chocolate lab this time instead of vanilla. Husband?

Born to Hand Job-I Mean Jive

2011-02-02T10:47:00.001-05:00

I am once again sitting in the peaceful confines of the Southern Home, after barely escaping the latest "snowmageddon" yesterday morning. No gloating from this girl. I know that I got out just in time. But I still cannot help but chuckle at the latest in a string of airport travel experiences that seems to lump me together with others of like skin tone. What, you say? That would be racial profiling and we do no such thing in North America! Bullshit, says I although I know that I could never conclusively prove it. How is it then, that I am ALWAYS (and I mean, ALWAYS) singled out and targeted for full on inspections at every airport from which and into which I fly? A Facebook friend yesterday reminded me of my somewhat swarthy appearance-smooth dark hair, olive skin and eyebrows that need to be tamed, lest I resemble Bert from Sesame Street-but c'mon. Enough already. On to yesterday's up close and personal account.

I was travelling alone. Probably my first mistake. Suspicious people always travel alone, don't they? I didn't have any luggage except for a backpack. Mistake number two, although in today's day of luggage fees most people are attempting to cram two weeks worth of personal belongings into oversized carry-ons. I used my NEXUS card to skirt the customs and immigration lines. Not a mistake. I still highly recommend this. Shaved at least 1/2 hour-forty minutes off of my experience. I walked towards the security lines when a turbaned gentleman in an official looking CATSA uniform approached me and pulled me over. He was quite a lovely man, very soft spoken and almost apologetic in his tone that he had to inconvenience me in such a manner. My question still remains. Why me? Why not the guy with multiple tattoos and piercings following directly behind me? Why not the briefcase-toting, frazzled-looking businessman? Why not the entire Asian family that had trouble locating their travel documents? WHY ME? He asked me to hold out my hands while he scanned them for traces of explosives. He grinned as he did it and then smiled as he told me that I popped positive. WHAT?? Me? The leftist, pinko socialist (or so The Li'l Bro believes!) that thinks weapons should be banned for the collective good. Me! The girl who needed tutoring in Grade 13 chemistry, and can't remember the difference between a mole, a compound, or an ester. Oh my God!! The nice turbaned guy told me that I shouldn't worry. I was the third woman in the last hour that blew the machine and it was probably a compound (?) in my makeup or lotion that was setting off his sensors. Isn't it nice to know that Western civilization is being kept safe from Estee Lauder and Oil of Olay? He needed to get a supervisor and I could then be on my way.

It took fifteen minutes for Claudia to arrive. Another lovely person working for CATSA who seems to know that there are major flaws in their systems. She informed me that she would have to take me into a separate room and ask me some questions, but not to worry-it was all very routine. Claudia asks me for my name, birthdate and finally for my profession. I tell her that I am a cantorial soloist and she immediately looks at me quizzically. I start to explain, but she stops me. "I know you", she says. "Are you at Temple ......?" "You play the guitar, right?" I am about to answer, but she excitedly tells me that she is at our sister congregation on the other side of Yonge Street, that she knows my colleagues there and she begins to play Toronto Jewish geography with me. She immediately apologizes for the hassles that I am currently undergoing, and she promises that she will have me out in 5 minutes. I still undergo the full body strip search, with special emphasis on feeling me up and around my lady parts, and they ripped apart all of my carry-on baggage-checking each and every item for explosive residue-but sure enough Claudia was true to her word. I was on my way in 5 minutes. She came over to me, shook my hand, and promised to come and visit us on an upcoming Shabbat.

I am still uncertain why it is that I am forced to undergo these procedures each and every trip, when my blond haired, blue-eyed friend simply saunters right through. Racial profiling is indeed a fact of our travel lives, even though every single official will deny it exists. I am a living, breathing example of the treatment. But for one brief moment of clarity and karma I had a landsman friend in the right place and at the right time. Claudia was right. It IS all about who you know.

Stay warm and dry my friends.

Contempti-BELL!!

2011-01-28T15:13:00.004-05:00

Yet another lovely story from the beautiful people who hold our collective cojones in a metaphoric vice grip-our cell phone providers at Bell cellular.

Younger Son has had horrible karma with his phones. To his credit, he has never once dropped one of his phones from the roof of a 40 storey building, gone deep sea diving with the phone in his pocket, nor has he played road hockey using it as a puck. Neither has he had to retrieve it from the toilet, left it on the subway, dropped it, tampered with it, or picked it to pieces. He is unbelievably responsible with his phones, but he has been plagued with lemon after cell-lemon. Last year, he decided that enough was enough and went for the reliable (or so he thought) Blackberry curve on contract with Bell Cellular. Because of his history with hardware problems, he even consented to purchase the extended warranty plan at a cost of an extra $4.00/month. The initial cost of the phone on sale at Bell was a very reasonable $50.00. Younger Son did the happy dance all the way home, content in the knowledge that he and his Young Lady would now be wirelessly joined at the hip with unlimited text plans and Blackberry Messaging service. The earth continued revolving around the sun and all was right again with the universe. Until three days ago.

As seems to be the norm with Younger Son's phones, it began to go kerfluey. The "a" key stopped functioning all together which resulted in a makeshift solution from him causing many of his texts to resemble the following:

"Hi Mom. How's D@d?"

When the phone began to update all on its on and at inconvenient times, the boy knew that he had to approach the seventh circle of hell in search of answers-the Bell store at the Eaton's Centre.

Now we all know that customer service is not high on any Canadian cell providers list of priorities, but Bell seems to take f*@#ing people over to new levels. After ascertaining that the phone could not be repaired, he was told to call customer service. God forbid that they should deal with it at a Bell store. No-he had to call an outsourced phone bank located in some country where snow is part of their mythology. Being the dutiful young man that he is, he calls-only to be told that he needs to call technical support. He explains that the phone has already been deemed unfixable by Bell employees, but it is to no avail. He must call technical support, they will in turn ascribe him a number and return him back to customer service. Are you all following this? He calls technical support only to be told that he cannot call from his phone. It is the only phone he has!!! No, they want him to call from a landline so that they can ask him questions regarding his broken Blackberry. After a series of screaming matches and a few calls to The Husband, Younger Son and Bell finally get on the same page and determine that his phone is busted. (That is the technical term!) Bell agrees to send him a new phone and tell him that it is a good thing that he purchased the extended warranty because his phone is just over a year old now and wouldn't be covered otherwise. So, instead they will only charge him $150.00 for the replacement phone. $150.00!!!!! The phone originally cost him $50 and he paid another $48 over the year for this warranty to have the privilege of merely paying another $150. He was devastated. He doesn't have $150.00. He called The Husband and the words that escaped from my man's mouth were unutterable even for me. He told Younger Son to arrange for the phone and he would get involved. Big talker.

After spending a good chunk of his afternoon with extremely rude Bell customer service oxymorons and uttering a few more expletives I am certain, we are back to square one. This fee was obviously in the contract that Younger Son signed, and I refuse to get into something that is obviously legal, but oh the immorality of it all. It seems that the $150 is to cover the replacement cost of a phone that they value at $500 but sold at $50. And what a scam the extended warranty turned out to be. Younger Son swears that nobody at Bell ever once mentioned the $150 when they sold him the warranty. Expensive lesson learned? Absolutely, but isn't there just a bit of underhandedness here on the part of Bell? And how can they say with a straight face that the phone is worth $500, but sell it for $50?

Canadian cell phone companies are notorious for this kind of behaviour, but short of leaving Bell for probably another round of equally contemptible garbage with Ted's company, we are not certain what our next move is. We have become slaves to our cell phones and these assholes know it. Got a story about your cell phone provider? Share it in the comments below.

Trying to relax and remember that Shabbat is soon here.

***Shabbas Update***

The Husband is a gem of a man that impresses me more every day. After work, he was determined to settle this shit with Bell once and for all, so he spent yet another hour on the phone with yet another "stupidvisor". After calmly and collectedly explaining the idiocy of this situation again, and expressing in no uncertain terms that he believed that a fraud had been perpetrated on Younger Son when the salesperson neglected to inform him of the $150 replacement fee and instead told him that any replacement would be fully covered, my guy was able to recover a rebate on Younger Son's monthly plan totally $180.00. In other words, he made $30.00 on the exchange. Not really, though. When you factor in the $48.00 spent on the extended warranty, he is still out 18 bucks, but it is better than before. We are still seriously considering reporting this mess to any number of press or consumer sites. More updates to follow, I am sure.

Janu-weary

2011-01-20T13:21:00.000-05:00

Most of you who are regular visitors to this space are well versed in my absolute disdain for winter weather. I realize that I am more fortunate than most in that I have a built in escape hatch-my retreats to the Southern home. I wish I could tell you all that these regular winter sojourns lessen the impact of sub-zero temperatures, snow, slush and greyness, but the truth of the matter is quite the opposite. I am a long time sufferer of Seasonal Affectedness Disorder, and any amount of time spent in the misery that we call winter is too long. That said, I have decided that since this year I must be in town for the month of Janu-weary, I thought that I would attempt to make the best of it. This is not to say that I am not hibernating-I am-nor is it to say that I have found a way to batter the winter chill-I have not, short of sitting on top of a hot water bottle. Honest! Nope. Winter still sucks, but here are a few things that are truly getting me through a very long four week stretch.

Tomato soup. Is there anything better than a hot cup of tomato soup and a grilled cheese (lactose free, of course) sandwich on a frigid day? Comfort food at its finest.
Aero Chocolate bubbles. I am usually a dark chocolate girl through and through, but these little bites of Canadian ingenuity are just the right size for a winter chocolate fix without feeling as though I am packing on the winter weight. They kind of melt on the tongue-oh my-a little taste of heaven.
My Restoration Hardware foot duvets. The best $35 I have ever spent. They are plush, soft and incredibly warm. I don't even require socks which I loathe with a passion even in the dead of winter. Pampered feet are happy feet.
My Kindle. The greatest invention since the iPod. I love reading on my e-reader. The Husband purchased an iPad recently so I have had the opportunity to try reading on it and compare the two, but I have to admit that I am still partial to my Kindle. It is easier to read, no glare, and it is much lighter and less awkward. I have heard all of the concerns about missing the tactile experience of a book and, yes it took a bit to adjust, but I am hooked. Look, the way I figure it, we moved from stone tablets and scrolls. The e-reader is just the next logical step.
A long, hot, steaming shower. If one is ever in need of chasing the blues away, I highly recommend a shower. It allows for the opportunity to get warm, and the solitude is a great place for problem solving.
The butt/seat warmers in my car. How did we ever function without this life-affirming gadget? I don't think that I could buy another car without one.
The Big Bang Theory, Modern Family, and my new favourite TV comedy-The Middle. It is impossible to feel depressed when laughing. Each one of these shows is smart, brilliantly written and acted, and incredibly funny.
Great music. Yesterday a friend sent me the video below of James Taylor and Yo Yo Ma performing Here Comes the Sun. Classic. Anything that good is guaranteed to lift me out of my doldrums.

These are just a few of my coping mechanisms. Please send me yours. I would love to hear about them and I would love to try them. Whatever works to get me through until the Daylight Savings.

Mental Health Break

2011-01-19T11:22:00.000-05:00

Thanks go to my friend Phil for sharing this with me. The perfect antidote for all that ails on a cold, miserable January day.

She Changed The Way We Pray

2011-01-09T16:19:00.002-05:00

I am a songleader. I have been been labeled a cantorial soloist, a teacher of music, a singer of Jewish liturgy-but ultimately I am songleader. I stand in front of my congregation, my community--guitar strapped onto my shoulder, and I facilitate prayer and spiritual awakening through music. I have always wanted to be a songleader ever since I heard my first Debbie Friedman song.

I was a young girl sitting in a religious school class in the early '70s when our music teacher taught us Debbie's Im Tirtzu as a way to facilitate some lesson about the birth of the state of Israel. I was hooked. Finally, here was music to which I could relate. Here was music that spoke to my generation and allowed us to find meaning in prayer. I wanted more.

I purchased vinyl of all of Debbie's early recordings. I found meaning and spiritual awakening in her liturgical settings. I couldn't wait to share a new melody with everybody around me. I knew that in order to properly sing these songs I would need to learn to play guitar, and so I sat for hours trying to get the exact strum patterns and odd chord changes for Sing Unto God. Debbie Friedman's music was reaching out to me and my thirst for a connection to Judaism.

Every summer I would return from Goldman Union Camp, armed with my songbook and pages of chord charts for a whole slew of new Debbie Friedman songs, hoping against hope that I might introduce them into the mainstream services of my congregation. My songleading friends and I would sit for hours trying to re-create the sheer revelry of her Dodi Li or the magical beauty of her Mi Sheberach. It took a lot longer than I would have liked for Debbie's music to find its way out of the camps and into the synagogue, but I knew then as I do now, that we in the movement were witnessing a true renaissance of Jewish music. Debbie Friedman had helped to create and define a new North American nusach, and we knew it was just the beginning.

It is impossible to overstate Debbie's importance to our prayer, to our sense of spirituality, to our music, and to our Jewish lives. She was the first to overlay English meaning with Hebrew liturgy. When she sang "L'chi Lach", she gave you a true sense of its meaning.."to a land that I will show you." She reintroduced healing prayers and songs back into our liturgy. She changed the way that congregations sing. She invited all to participate and understood that there was meaning in the silences as well as the noisy ruach. She sang for adults, for children, with choirs and solo. Music was the way in which she communicated her Judaism to us, and I for one was her willing student. She was truly on the cutting edge, a true visionary.

I am a songleader in great part because of Debbie Friedman. I was drawn to her music, her energy and her voice like no other in my profession. I will miss her creativity, her spirituality, and her teachings. Her music will inspire many for generations to come.

Zichrona Livracha-May her memory always be a blessing.

Debbie Friedman performs Mourning Into Dancing

2011-01-09T15:18:00.002-05:00

A visionary artist who has transformed the way we Jews pray and sing.

Birthday Quick Hits

2010-12-29T14:31:00.003-05:00

Happy Birthday to me. I usually couldn't care less about this day, but it does provide me fodder for the blog, so here goes.

The Husband has been wishing me a "Happy 4 Dozen" all day. Frankly, I could do without the reminder of just how many years have passed on my life's calendar, but his heart is in the right place. Why do I feel the overwhelming urge to purchase eggs or donuts? Some women get jewelry, I crave What a Bagel!!!

Younger Son called down from the balcony to inform me that a package had been delivered. The Husband was smirking, so I assumed that he had done something sweet and romantic. Imagine my surprise when I retrieved the box from security, only to discover it was filled with a special flax seed mix that The Husband favours and that he had had sent down from Toronto. Some women get jewelry, I get regulating fibre.

My boys bought me a very thoughtful gift. They know their mother so well. They bestowed upon me the latest 45th anniversary box set of The Sound of Music. ("What could they possibly have planned for the 50th anniversary?", she sarcastically inquires.)I think that this purchase completes my set!! It is number 22,342 in a limited set edition of 250,000. Not so terribly limited, if you ask me. It came complete with a book, four discs, a certificate of authenticity(???), and a small hand-painted music box that is supposed to play My Favourite Things. I say supposed to, because it apparently is malfunctioning. They offered to return it, but I am thinking that I can do without the cheesy sentimentality of the box. As Older Son so delicately put it in a way only he can, "Thank God that I don't have to hear that! I guess You really do exist!" Nice!! Some women get jewelry, I am bestowed with sarcastic wit!!

Facebook is remarkable. I have been inundated with birthday wishes from far and wide. I haven't received this much email that wasn't spam in months! Thank you to all for caring enough about me to check your Facebook feeds today and send me greetings. Seriously, it is nice to be cared about. Some women get jewelry, I get to collect friends.

Everybody enjoy my 4 dozen. I hope that your days are as lovely as mine is turning out to be.

***UPDATE

Younger Son's Young Lady has gotten into the act and she appears to have me figured out in a very short period of time. An Edible Arrangements fruit thingy arrived a short time ago-many dipped in dark chocolate. Um......she's a keeper. Some women get jewelry, I am blessed with my children's excellent choices. Lucky? You decide.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

It's Christmas, So Do a Mitzvah!

2010-12-23T10:51:00.002-05:00

I heard a story yesterday that almost brought tears to my eyes. A true story that really defines that "Christmas Spirit" thing that we all hear so much about at this time of year. As a committed Jew, I must admit that Christmas is not really on my radar screen. I do love this time of year, though. Rabbi Eric Yoffie, the president of the Union for Reform Judaism, published a blog post this week that actually articulated very well why I like this season and why Jews can learn much more from Christmas other than where to find good Chinese food. Here is one such tale.

We have a very good friend down here in the Southern Home. He is a single man who gathers his friends close. He is the first one willing to help when something breaks down. He has been known to spend hours fixing computer networks, setting up wireless systems, hunting for bargains for needed items that he has heard them mentioned once in a passing conversation, waiting around for cable guys when neighbours have been unable or unwilling to do so, and basically just being an all-around mensch!! He graciously watches over our place down here when we are north, as he does for both of my sets of parents and countless others in the building, and we have come to think of him as a part of the extended family. What our friend doesn't have a lot of, unfortunately, is family. He is an only child who lost his father many years ago, and over the past number of years has been the sole caregiver for his aging mother and aunt. Unfortunately, his mother passed away this past summer and his aunt is living in an assisted living centre. This will be the first Christmas that our friend will be spending without his mom, and as the holiday approaches it is obvious that is painful.

He has gone about his preparations as usual. He has decked out the building with his usual flair. (As a matter of fact, he was just informed that his lighting designs won first prize in the Hallandale Beach decoration contest.) His tree is up, and he continues to attend mass every Sunday leading up to Christmas Day. But he knows, as do we all with sympathetic pangs, that this year is different for him. I think it is getting to be all too much, and he has had moments of tremendous grief and sadness as one might expect he would. And then yesterday, I heard something rather wonderful. My dad and mom told me that they, along with 4 or 5 other couples-all Jews, by the way-are going to join our friend at midnight mass on Christmas Eve. I was so moved by this act of compassion. These people are committed Jews, every last one of them. Catholic mass is about as foreign to them as is the thought of travelling to Afghanistan. They are going because it is an act of love for a friend in need, a friend who has been there for them many times, and because nobody should have to celebrate their holiest days without family.

My parents and their friends have truly demonstrated the true meaning of Christmas this season. They have crossed ecumenical lines with one single act of compassion. These people are performing a Christmas mitzvah and I am so proud that they are my family.

Merry Christmas to all of you who observe and may the season be filled with joy and peace. B'simcha v'shalom!!

Stop The World I Want to Get Off!

2010-12-19T16:41:00.001-05:00

My battle with motion sickness and being equilibrium-challenged has been well documented. Those who know me well have heard tell the tales of sketchy airline flights where I searched furiously in the seat pocket for an air sickness bag that hadn't been glued together by the previous occupant's masticated chewing gum, ferry rides over to the Toronto Islands whereby I needed to grasp the railing in order to keep from fainting from the dizziness that was brought on by the swells of Lake Ontario, subway trips to the Eaton Centre that induced nausea so severe as a result of traveling backwards through the tunnels,that I almost didn't make it to the Queen Street entrance ladies room, and car rides of more than an hour that had me hanging my head out of the window at 100km like a Labrador Retriever with tongue a-wagging! This cornucopia of problems doesn't even begin to address the beautiful cities and countries in which I have been violently ill. There was the launch over to Dunn's River Falls in Jamaica, the ferry from San Francisco to Sausalito, the ferry from Halifax to Charlottetown, a day long mess on a cruise in the Caribbean to celebrate a friend's birthday in Nassau, not to mention legendary nightmares in Capri, Sorrento, a sea day outside of Limon, Costa Rica, and the Mad Hatter's Tea Party ride in Disney World. In short, I am a f@$&ing mess when it comes to issues of motion and regulating my inner ear balance.

Studies have shown (sorry, I am at sea and do not have the ability to tag these studies at the present moment, but I am certain that if you Google "puking at sea" you will find some scientific bullshit that backs up my claims!) that motion sickness affects some people more than others and that it tends to be genetic. There are no concrete answers as to why some people can withstand pitching seas, dead drop roller coaster rides, and turbulent airplane flights, while others, like myself, tend to puke in their hats. All we do know is that the world does not stand still, even if there are those amongst us that hope against painful hope that it would.

I have refused to allow my handicap (and believe me-it IS a handicap) to stop me from doing all of the things that I really want to do and experience in this life. I have researched methods and medications. I am religious about diet and food choices so as not to exacerbate the problem. I have tried it all. Ginger, soda, sea bands, acupuncture, all forms of herbal remedies and visualization. Nothing really works, but I have learned to mostly cope. And then, an episode like Friday occurs.

We had booked a tour on the picturesque island of St. Lucia. If you have never visited, I suggest that you book now. The word "stunning" doesn't really do it justice. The island is small and actually derives much of it's beauty from the surrounding pitons and volcano. There is one main road on the island and in order to access anywhere, one must climb the mountains via this one thoroughfare, and then head back down to the coastal towns. The trip up was pretty uneventful. Our small group of eight was in high spirits, buoyed by the glorious weather, our fabulous guide and the free rum punch and island beer. We chatted with the locals, saw the scenery, ate some local bananas, and headed to a magnificent beach. It was all good, mon! And then it happened. The final stop on the tour was a visit to the volcano. It was fascinating, but reeking of sulphuric acid with a stench approximating rotten eggs mixed with old man farts. We climbed back into the van for the return trip back to the ship. Oh boy was I sick. Twin Son's Better Half, always the girl guide, was prepared with a plastic bag for me, sparing my hat. The Social Butterfly called out to our good-natured guide to please stop so that I might collect my bearings. Upon disembarkation for a much needed breath of air, I learned that another in our group, Holistic Mama, was just as sick as was I. I moved into the passenger seat, hung my head out of the window and prayed that the winding ride straight down the mountain was just a nightmare from which I would surely soon awaken. When I inquired of the driver if it was almost over, he giggled and answered with a brisk "No!" This was a ride that Six Flags and Walt couldn't have concocted in their overly furtive imaginations. The turns were hairpin, the speed was excessive, the drop an amazing 15% grade, and it went on for an hour and half.

When we finally made it back to port, Holistic Mama and yours truly were more than a little bit off kilter. I couldn't sit for fear of puking. Standing had me swaying at a 45 degree angle. I didn't realize that the world moved with such fury. My inner ear was shot and my equilibrium a disaster. The last thing I needed or wanted was to get back on the ship. The Husband decreed that walking was what I needed, so (God bless the man) he supported me until I could do it myself once again.

I realize that I am defying all Newtonian,Galilean, and Einsteinian laws when I cry for a reduction in the earth's rotational speed, but please-I simply cannot take it anymore. Stop the world! I need to get off!!!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

What's wrong with that?

2010-12-17T17:27:00.001-05:00

I met a man yesterday in St. Maarten who seems to have found the secret to life. Seriously! No religious platitudes, no proclamations of eternal love or angst. He was simply happy. Marty is a transplanted Canuck who is blissfully living in the port city of Phillipsburg peddling candy. We searched Marty out because he is a friend of a friend and he was aware of our arrival. When the Social Butterfly had sent him an email before the cruise to ask his address, Marty had simply replied, "Don't worry. You won't need an address. Just ask for the Candy Man. Everybody knows me!"

After a day touring the island, we found ourselves back in Phillipsburg but with limited time before the ship was to set sail. Driving and parking in these Caribbean islands is a young driver's worst nightmare, (an entire world of nothing but parallel parking that goes on for miles) so an excursion to "The Candy Man" was beginning to look a tad optimistic. I am so glad that we made the effort. We parked the car and simply asked for the Candy Man! Marty was right. Everybody knew him. Within minutes we were in front of a sun-yellow coloured shop about the size of a mini van. Marty greeted us like long-lost relatives. He was floundering at home in Toronto, unable to find his place or his purpose, until he discovered his island paradise 2 years ago. He got some advice, borrowed some money I would suspect, and headed down to live in St Maarten full time. He works hard. 7 days a week, from 8 in the morning until 10 at night, but he is well-known, well respected, well loved and blissfully happy. He has everything he could want. He works his business, chats up the locals, has some close friends, and when it all gets to be a bit too much, he closes up his shop for a couple of hours and goes floating on his raft in the ocean and soaks up the sun. What could be wrong with that?

Marty is lean, trim, very tanned and was decked out in white linen draw-string pants and a white cotton dashiki. The only thing identifying him as a Canadian is the bright red Roots hat he sports. I would venture a guess that he has put socks on his feet since his arrival, and business suits and ties are a thing consigned to his past.

Marty did everything he could to make our short visit a pleasant one, even offering to pay for our candy purchases. (an offer we firmly refused) I was in awe of Marty. He seems to have found bliss. It may be off the beaten track, but it is genuine and seemingly lasting. Would that all of us could discover our purpose and passion as has Marty.

A quick postscript. We are actually leaving St Lucia as I complete this post. A beautiful island that deserves it's own post, but a ride through the islands has left me feeling a tad equilibrium-deprived. Think Space Mountain meets 24 hours at Le Mans and you might just get an idea of my headspace right now. More tomorrow.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Eavesdropping Conversations Onboard the Carnival Miracle

2010-12-15T12:19:00.001-05:00

Our first few days aboard ship have brought less than ideal weather conditions. Cold, windy and more than the Caribbean's share of precipitation have been the norm, so we already winter-weary Canadians have had to source out other forms of entertainment. Following a rousing game of "Where are The Social Butterfly and his Lovely Wife the Sephora Queen, and why won't Carnival let them board the ship?", (a story for another time) we decided to pursue more pedantic and sedentary activities. The Husband and I have been engaged in some serious people-watching, and like any good voyeurs we have spent several hours eavesdropping on a myriad of conversations. Here is a small sampling.

An elderly lady corners a staff person and notices from her name tag that she is from Chile. Elderly lady with heavy Brooklyn accent inquires of said crew member "Oh you're from Chile? Do you know any of the miners?" Isn't that a bit like saying to me "Oh you're from Canada? Do you know Celine Dion?"

Another elderly lady wandering around the 7th deck looking aimlessly lost, stops The Sephora Queen (who is just as lost!) and asks her to help her find her cabin. Sephora Queen immediately figures out that cabin 4123 is not on the 7th floor and directs helpless elderly lady down three decks. Sephora Queen then returns to casino to find Social Butterfly because she can't remember her own cabin number or find it alone!

Speaking with a woman from Barrie who tells us that they have just escaped 1.9 metres of accumulated snow and are perfectly fine with the weather as is. Fantastic attitude. She also relays how her husband managed to smuggled his booze onto the ship and past the alcohol Nazis. We will keep that bit of trivia under wraps until the next cruise. Brilliant piece of Canadian ingenuity. The Husband is still unsure that we will actually see our confiscated bottles at the conclusion of the voyage. He is not at all happy about this little turn of events.

Retired couple from Dallas approach The Husband and myself as we are sprawled out reading our Kindles. The woman asks how we like them, and before The Husband can answer, her husband enters into a monologue about the importance of the tactile nature of books. We never asked his opinion nor did we care. The nice woman then proceeds to tells us what a computer illiterate her husband is, and how she is the one that does all of the online work in their house. She relays a story as to how she receives pictures of the grandkids on her iPhone, to which her husband replies "Yeah, sure. Nice picture. Grampa send $20!!!" Something tells me that there is very little new technology coming her way in Dallas.

A minor sampling of the various characters aboard ship. The weather isn't really looking all that promising for St. Maarten, but at least it should be warm. If not, I am finding many other ways to occupy myself and have a great time-if you exclude my rocky nausea-induced first twelve hours. Bygones. I'm on vacation!!!!!

AT&T: Please F*&# Off!

2010-12-10T17:38:00.000-05:00

I will attempt to say this as nicely and as ladylike as I can-AT&T: Please F*&# off and leave us alone. Sometimes these hard sells are just a little bit more than a nice polite Jewish girl from the very nice and polite suburbs of Toronto, Canada can stomach. A bit of history is in order.

When we are down here in the Southern Home we have always used AT&T as our landline provider. We use another company as our cable provider and, horror of horrors according to the nice folks at AT&T, we use yet another company for our internet access. We don't want it any other way. We are happy with the arrangements we have, we like the service we are getting, and we are not willing to switch companies no matter how many times we are swamped with phone calls, emails, or flyers. We have told the torture experts at America's largest phone company this very message on the many occasions that they have inquired. We have also been stupid and lazy in not adding our phone number down here to the Do Not Call list. As such, the geniuses who sit in the sales cubicles (probably outsourced to some area outside of the North American perimetre) at AT&T continue to harass us about switching our provider. Yesterday, within a span of 2 hours, (no joke-2 HOURS!!) we received two separate phone calls, an email, and snail mail letter from this communications giant all imploring us to change our internet provider. How many times and in how many ways can we say NO politely? When the second call came in, The Husband, as only he can, tried very nicely to explain to the poor minimum wage/commission-challenged employee that we STILL were not interested in their services and would they please remove us from their call sheets. The dork on the other end said fine, but it might take thirty days to remove us from their lists. 30 days? Why? Can't they just take a pencil or a pen (I realize that these utensils have become somewhat archaic, but c'mon!) and scratch out our names with big, swift, and broad strokes? 30 days?

They aren't taking our hints and they aren't listening to our firm "No Thank-Yous" so what is left at our disposal. Maybe I should swamp their offices with emails, letters and phone calls and maybe I should only call during the dinner hour and maybe....Oh what the hell. AT&T-well you all know the rest.

Aretha Franklin - I Say A Little Prayer

2010-12-09T09:44:00.000-05:00

A voice for the ages and truly blessed by the gods. Here's to recovery of good health to the Queen of Soul. Refuah Shelemah!

What Shall We Do For 26 Hours?

2010-12-07T10:57:00.001-05:00

It has been many many many years, fifteen in fact, since The Husband and I have made the winter exodus down to the Southern Home the old-fashioned way-via Henry Ford's grand invention. (Or in our case, the technological advancement of some genius Japanese engineers at Lexus!) The last time we attempted the drive, Bill Clinton was still in the White House basking in the afterglow of Monica, OJ's glove didn't fit so the jury acquitted, Yitzchak Rabin was brutally murdered after a peace rally, and the first Toy Story movie had just been released. A lifetime ago! The boys were quite young and it was the only way that we were able to afford a trip south for the four of us. Flights from Toronto at Christmas were and still are, quite expensive. By throwing the kids and their paraphernalia into our very suburban mini-van, we were able to make the drive in about 26 hours of highway time and get away for a couple of weeks at minimal cost. The results were usually lovely and uneventful, but on the return trip in January of 1996, we were waylaid by Mother Nature, Pizza Hut and the good people of Kentucky. The story is long, convoluted and ridiculously absurd, but suffice it to say that the four of us were stranded under 5 feet of snow in the hamlet of Mt Vernon Ky for almost 6 days with nothing to sustain us but cable TV (how I learned to loathe Nickelodeon) and a Pizza Hut that adjoined our tiny motel. None of this prose is in any way, shape, or form exaggerated. Honest!! If any of you faithful readers are really interested in the whole gruesome story, post a comment and I will continue.

It was because of that incident that The Husband swore off driving to Florida in the winter. That time was the last time. The rental car costs were nothing compared to another incident on the snow-covered interstates. But this year, he seemed open to the idea of a return trip. I am spending larger chunks of the winter in the Southern Home, and the irritation of not having a car all the time was beginning to wear. The cost of renting down here during the winter months is ridiculous. I was thinking of offering the car companies the soul of my first born son, but I believe that it is already spoken for. Thus, The Husband suggested (it was HIS IDEA!!) that we drive this year and leave the car here until the middle of March. He figured that if we left early enough in December, we probably could avoid the worst of the weather and vice versa come early spring. Wishful thinking? Perhaps, but his intentions were good.

Two days before we left, Buffalo got slammed with a major winter storm that closed the NY State Thruway for 24 hours stranding tens of thousands of cars. The weather channels were calling for snow showers, snow squalls, or snow flurries (anybody know the difference?) on every route available to us. In the end we decided to go with the known quantity, the tried and true. We headed down I75 just like before. The drive is a few hours longer, but at least we knew where we were, and the hope that the further south we travelled, the less the possibility for the white stuff. We decided to get a jump on the weather by heading out on Saturday afternoon after Shabbat morning services.

We were so concerned about the weather that we forgot that we needed to occupy ourselves for many hours of drive time. I75 is one of the most boring stretches of road ever constructed. What would we do? Here are a few impressions of 26 hours alone with a husband of 25 1/2 years.

We crossed the border around 4:30pm, just as dusk was hitting. Our border guard seemed to have a Napoleonic complex and kept asking us how much money we were bringing into the country. We said we only had a few dollars and he couldn't seem to grasp how that might work. When The Husband explained the concept of a ATM, he seem perplexed. He kept grilling us about our condo and our luggage. He didn't seem at all happy to be working on a cold Saturday night, and we were his convenient targets. God bless The Husband. His cool demeanour seemed to throw off The Emperor until there was nothing left to say. I, on the other hand, was ready to go all Waterloo on his ass. Off we went.
We had heard tales of snow in southern Ohio that day, so The Husband desperately wanted to stay in front of what might be heading north. By the time hunger had set in, we were cooked and fairly confident that we had avoided the worst of it. We stopped for the night in Bowling Green Ohio and we couldn't figure out where all of the college-aged young people in our hotel had come from. It turns out that we were staying directly across the street from Bowling Green University and a visiting basketball team had come into town for a game. There were a line of vans in the parking lot and a bunch of kids in matching sweatsuits in the lobby. It seems as though we got our room just in time.
I finally got to taste Chipoltle's fine cuisine. The Husband and I have been very concerned as to what we would eat on this road trip after our nauseating experience with highway fare this past summer. The American Interstate's food system just wasn't considering vegetarians at all when it decided that Mickey D's was needed at every exit. My boys have raved about Chipoltle's for years, so when a franchise was next door to our motel, we silently cheered. Not bad for fast food. Huge veggie burrito, but very heavy on the salt. Still it beat out the alternative dinner of Doritos and Diet Coke.
As we passed Mt. Vernon Kentucky the next morning, The Husband perversely exclaimed that we should stop at Pizza Hut for lunch. I decided that spitting out the window as we passed by was more to my liking.
There was more snow in Knoxville Tennessee than there was in Cincinnati. What is up with that? The temperature actually dropped from the morning in Bowling Green to midday in Knoxville. The squalls were worse the further south we travelled. Certainly not normal to our experience. By the time we stopped for the night 2 hours south of Atlanta in Perry Georgia, the thermometer read -5C. (For my American friends-that is f*&@ing cold!!!)
I just want it on the record that my knowledge of American midwest geography is better than The Husband's. He thought that Columbus was west of Cincinnati. We fought about it until we saw the sign directing traffic east. I win! (A big apology to Younger Son's Young Lady for that gaffe!!)
I love satellite radio. What a wonderful invention. The Husband, however is ready to murder me and any direct relative that introduced me to Broadway show tunes. Sirius/XM has a station on channel 75 strictly devoted to Broadway. After 6 hours of said music, The Husband got a wild look in his eye reminiscent of Freddy Krueger, Chucky, and Jason. I quickly switched over to the 60s channel strictly for self preservation. After hearing Marianne Faithfull sing As Tears Go By three separate times over the next 12 hours, I went back to Broadway. We are still talking, barely!!
Florida-what is up with the anti-abortion billboards on the highways? They are ubiquitous!! Every few metres or so, these huge nasty slogans screaming pro-life talking points came at us at 70 miles/hour. I tried to get a picture, but really-what for! What was even more distasteful were the gun and ammo ads that were right behind them. It seems it isn't okay to "destroy" a human life through a pregnancy termination, but it is perfectly fine to blow them away with an AK47 legally purchased at any number of outlets advertising on the Florida Turnpike.
A few more random thoughts: Burger King has a veggie burger. Who knew? Not great-but edible. Perry Georgia? Not all that Jewish. The deer hunting magazines and Christmas decorations were everywhere, but nary a Channukiah. American mega churches seem to gravitate to the Interstates. What is up with that? We must have seen at least 10 with direct proximity to exit off-ramps.

So we finally rolled in around 4:00 pm yesterday afternoon, and after an excursion more dangerous than the drive down (grocery shopping at Publix on Hallandale Beach Boulevard!) we are settling in. I love my man for doing every minute of the driving and I need to tell him publicly that he is way more than just my chauffeur. Any man who can put up with me and Broadway show tunes for 26 hours in a car with no escape hatch must be my B'sheret!! By the way, for all of my friends and family freezing and digging out, it was 0C this morning in Miami. Hope that makes you all feel a bit better.

Snuggie Hanukkah

2010-12-01T11:11:00.001-05:00

A sign of the Apocalypse? Wait that isn't very Jewish, is it? Well neither is this. OY!!! Chag Chanukah Sameach all and here's hoping you celebrate it better than this!

Some Random American Thanksgiving Thoughts

2010-11-25T11:36:00.002-05:00

I have always loved American Turkey Day. It is the true definition of a non-religious national family holiday, something that we Canadians can't really claim about our October observance. I have always attempted to make parade viewing appointment television on the fourth Thursday in November, and my continual cheering for a Thanksgiving Day victory from the perennial woeful Detroit Lions is part of family folklore. I have a few random thoughts about the day.

Broadway musical presentations, always one of my favourite parts of NBC's parade coverage, (for obvious reasons) was kind of thin this year. Elf? I mean, really? While Memphis looks like a no-brainer choice for our next NYC excursion and American Idiot is intriguing, I was disappointed by the sneak peak of Million Dollar Quartet. Somehow I expected better. The recession has hit Broadway hard. Musicals are expensive to produce and fresh ideas are tough to come by.
I am thinking that as tough as it might be to admit, it might be time to retire the Rockettes. I know that they are an American institution, but they are hardly a great example of hipness or diversity. Their costumes were right out of a 1930s Busby Berkley musical, their choreography insipid, and I counted one woman of colour in the entire troupe. Nothing lasts forever, ladies.
Who is Eric Hutchinson? From my brief Google search, I have discovered that he is a 20 year old American singer/songwriter who is starting to make it big. He was riding the Food Network float this morning, and Matt and Meredith made a big deal that he was debuting his brand new song 'Best Days". Dude!! The melody is a blatant copy of the Beatles "A Day in the Life". I don't know if he realized it or not, but some smart recording executive should have.
I realize that I am a simple and parochial Jewish Canadian, but do you people really line up for days before in order to bargain hunt on Black Friday? The commercials advertising sales that begin at midnight or 2:00 am seem slightly insane to me. There was even a news break showing people in tents that have been in queue since Tuesday. OK! Anything for a buck?
Arlo Guthrie singing Pop's masterpiece. Enough said!!
How great is Marlo Thomas and her work with St. Jude Children's Hospital?
It is rivalry weekend in American College Football and while I do not usually play favourites in these games, I have some dear friends rooting hard for the Buckeyes against Big Blue. For them and them alone, will I wear scarlet and grey on Saturday.
The Rockettes could learn a lot from The Young Americans. Dancing penguins. Loved it!!
How I Met Your Mother simply has the best Thanksgiving episodes on the air since the WKRP famous Turkey Drop.

Feel free to add your own random musings. Enjoy the day, America!

Sesame Street: Cookie Monster Auditions for Saturday Night Live

2010-11-23T15:22:00.000-05:00

How much do I love Sesame Street!!!

A Red Letter Day

2010-11-21T15:34:00.002-05:00

It has finally happened. An occasion of momentous proportions. My grandmother used to call days like these "red letter days" simply because she would circle them in red ink on her calendar so that they would always stand out amongst the ordinary. Yup. I've got one of those now to call my own, Bubby. One of my progeny has finally and quite publicly declared his respect for his parents. On Facebook, no less!! What, you may query, did I do to deserve such an overt and brazen example of PDA? Was he finally impressed by the fantastic and loving environment in which he was raised? Nahhh. Too pedantic. Has he finally learned the value of a dollar and how difficult it is to manage his financial health without constant insertions of capital from Mom and Dad? Of course not! But in his defence he is getting there. Did he finally realize how much we value a job well-done and hard, diligent effort at all one strives to achieve? Uh.....not so much. Nope. That isn't what allowed me to declare today a red letter day. Instead, my Younger Son expressed his new-found respect for his father and me as a result of what I would refer to as a really stupid life-choice.

The Husband, Older Son, Twin Son, His Better Half and Yours Truly toiled yesterday at the Gourmet Food and Wine Expo being held this weekend in downtown Toronto. This is the third or fourth year (I honestly cannot remember, because frankly every hour of every day spent working these shows is torture for me, and they all run together!) that we have offered free family labour in support of the vodka business that we hope against hope might yield some contribution to our retirement funds. It is a gruelling four day event that pushes the boys to their limits; taxes their vocal chords, causes aches and pains to legs, knees and backs, provides weird insight into the dating rituals of the under thirty set, and in reality, strains credulity as to how much vodka is actually moved. In past years Twin Son's and Better Half's children have also joined in this endeavour as has Younger Son. Given all the various work and school schedules this year, their participation was either severely limited or non-existent. No issues. Life happens, so we made do with what was available. Thus, yesterday's skeleton crew at the Still Waters booth.

There was very little time to get away from the booth. The place was jammed and the tastings one after another. Pee breaks became welcome just from the standpoint of walking to the bathroom, and dinner was a true afterthought. All that food in the Convention Centre and we accessed very little of it. The crowds were massive, the lineups ridiculous, and honestly, we were just too busy. By the time the day was over and the wall of people escorted out, it was close to 10:30 pm and we were all ravenous. Older Son bade us goodbye as he envisioned a Harvey's visit in his future. The four of us remaining middle-aged morons decided to follow what has become a really stupid and ill-conceived tradition. We made our way north to a local greasy spoon called Golden Star for a late night supper of burgers, fries and onion rings. As I contemplated a minor snack of wickedly delicious onion rings, The Husband confidently stated that I shouldn't worry-Golden Star makes a veggie burger. I know, I know. What the hell was I thinking???? By the time we arrived it was 11:15 pm but the clock didn't dissuade us. STUPID STUPID STUPID!!!! The veggie burger was to die for, the onions rings sublime and the french fries unbelievable. We closed the joint. The old Greek guy who runs the place actually ushered us out the back door. I probably should have taken that as the first sign of my shame.

Of course I was up all night. The physical pain of a 47 year old digestive track under assault from a once a year indulgence is not to be underestimated. I have nobody to blame but myself. I know this, but as I sit here typing this post, still suffering from the post-ingestion glow (I actually think that I can SEE my heartburn!) I am not above looking for scapegoats. I decided that if I was suffering then it was only fitting that my friends should share in my discomfort. I took to Facebook to vent. I posted thusly.

In the interest of your former lives as youth group advisors I thought that I would frame this in language that you can fully understand. "Be it resolved that eating at Golden Star at 11:00 pm, even for a veggie burger, should never be allowed for us middle-aged wretches." I may never eat again!!!

And then it appeared. My red letter day-worthy comment from Younger Son.

I have new respect for both of my parents.

So this is what it took to garner my son's respect. I needed to abuse my body with fat, cholesterol and calories in a whimsical act of stupidity for one of my children to actually think I was cool. I wondered how he might have felt had I decided to bungie-jump off the CN Tower? Admiration? No, that is way too much for my acid-reflux infested body to digest at the moment.

If Only, I Remember, I'm Amazed!

2010-11-03T12:12:00.000-04:00

I had a very interesting experience yesterday attempting to arrange a short vacation for our family. It used to be that all I had to do was pick the dates, source the flights, pack the bags and off we went. Ok! Maybe it wasn't all that simple. In reality, there were bags and bags of clothes, toys, food, diversions, and age-appropriate paraphernalia that travelled with us. Sometimes we would spend several days in a car (before the invention of in-auto DVD players) with both boys harnessed into individual car seats that severely limited their movements. We shared cramped motel rooms and shlepped diaper bags everywhere we went, but for some reason all of that seemed simple compared to now.

Yesterday I found myself tethered to the computer with one of those travel sites on-screen, while I had both boys on separate phone lines assessing their schedules. (Neither lives at home nor do they reside together!) We also had to factor in Younger Son's Young Lady and her timetable, so that she might join us this year. She is coming from a different starting location, so I had two separate windows open on the computer with two separate flight plans. In order to facilitate all of this mayhem, Younger Son was texting her while talking to me while I was on the computer. Got all that? It was truly migraine inducing. Add to all of that mess, was The Husband's insistence (whimpering plea?) that we make one single trip to the airport to pick them all up. OY!! Suffice it to say that it all worked out (an hour or so later!) and that I was able to procure reasonable flights at surprisingly reasonable rates for the season. It was tough, but it mattered. The fact that my children still want to spend an extended period of time with me was worth every minute spent. But, it got me to thinking about those early days. I used to say "If Only....".

If only they could use the bathroom then I wouldn't have to carry the diapers.
If only they would grow a bit, we could get rid of the car seats.
If only they would be more adventurous with food we wouldn't have to stock the refrigerator with Cheez Whiz.
If only they were a little older, they could walk themselves to school and I wouldn't have to go out on a cold January morning.
If only they were young teens that could stay a few hours on their own, then we wouldn't have to pay for babysitters.
If only they could drive themselves places, I could say goodbye to carpools.
If only....

The "If Onlys...." then turned into "I Remembers...".

I remember being amazed at my early readers.
I remember when we turned what could have been miserable experiences into family jokes and family folklore.
I remember the wonder at seeing and sharing new things.
I remember enjoying sitting down to family dinners and sharing our days. (in spite of the Cheez Whiz!)
I remember all of the parent/teacher conferences (even the tough ones!) and all of the performances, speeches, debates, and song contests. I remember sitting and weeping with pride at their confidence and accomplishments.
I remember....

I suddenly realized yesterday that "If Onlys..." and "I Remembers..." are laments and that lamenting the past might have a place, but it doesn't serve to articulate what really matters now. That is instead reserved for the "I'm Amazed...."

I'm amazed at the men they have become and the fact that maybe I had a little something to do with it.
I'm amazed at the diversity they display in their interests and that musical theatre and sports can so easily coexist in their lives.
I'm amazed at the independence in their thoughts. They listen to all sides and then make their own judgements.
I'm amazed at how important camp was in their lives and how it instilled within them a concrete Jewish base, even while they now search for answers as to what Judaism and religion in general means to them.
I'm amazed that spending time together as a family still matters and will always matter to them.
I'm amazed....

I think that I prefer the world of "I'm Amazed...". Life goes by very quickly. Spending an hour of chaos yesterday in order to facilitate more of "I'm Amazed..." was an hour well spent. I am very much looking forward to our family vacation in the southern sun.

I Hope I Pass

2010-10-27T13:21:00.001-04:00

Why is it that whenever I schedule my annual physical, I suddenly feel as though I am cramming for a final? Tomorrow's date has been circled in red on my calendar for the past two months (is it actually possible to circle a date in red on iCal?) and I have been frantically scurrying around hoping against hope that I do all the right things leading up to the day of doom, and that I don't do anything stupid to f@#* it up! Is there enough time to get into good enough shape to run that 10K I have been promising myself for lo these many years? Is there enough time to exercise this week? Can I work out enough to drop 10 pounds before the weigh in? Maybe I should increase my regimens to twice daily. Of course that would require that I a) have a regimen and b) that I stick to it at least once a week let alone once a day. And no, sitting on the couch drinking a Diet Coke while watching The Biggest Loser is not a regimen!

Is there enough time to get my blood work in order? I promised myself after last year's examination that I would become more diligent in the taking of my daily supplements. Of course that vow lasted just about as long as the one to finally run that 10K. I can only hope that cramming One-A-Days, B12, Ds, and calcium pills down my throat for 14 straight days might just stave off my chronic anemia and Vitamin D deficiencies. But, we all know that there is a fine line between hope and delusion.

I can't eat that popcorn tonight. The salt might cause me to retain water and push the scale up a pound or two. I haven't indulged as much as I would like in my favourite chocolate. The calories ingested would take too much effort on the treadmill to shed. I am not sleeping properly because I am too stressed, and I am too stressed because I am not sleeping properly. Exam anxiety? Just like my old school days. I really do need help.

In seriousness, I am actually quite conscientious about my yearly physicals and the adjacent tests (mammograms, blood tests etc..) that go along with it. But just like everybody else, I allow myself to fall into habits that are either easier or far more pleasurable-hence my dependence on chocolate and Diet Coke. That said, there is a great deal of significance that accompanies these annual doctor visits. As I age, I worry more that things won't always be ok. I worry that I am breaking down slowly but surely. I know that I need to work harder at maintaining my health even though it gets easier to ignore it.

Judaism has a great deal to say about what I like to call these "well baby" visits. In Deuteronomy 4:15 we read the words v'nishmartem meod l'nafshotechem. "Be extremely protective of your lives."

Maimonides, himself a physician, declared: "Since maintaining a healthy and sound body is among the ways of God - for one cannot understand or have any knowledge of the Creator if one is ill - therefore one must avoid that which harms the body and accustom oneself to that which is helpful and helps the body become stronger." (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Deot 4:1)

Finally we have the teachings of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, in his book Horeb: "You may not in any way weaken your health or shorten your life. Only if the body is healthy is it an efficient instrument for the spirit's activity....Therefore you should avoid everything which might possibly injure your health.... And the law asks you to be even more circumspect in avoiding danger to life and limb than in the avoidance of other transgressions." (Horeb, Chapter 62, Section 428)

We are instructed by our tradition to keep the body healthy and whole so that we may better understand God and God's world. Ok! So I don't always do it well. I should exercise more often and more strenuously. I should certainly take my vitamins on a semi-regular basis, and I should absolutely drink less Diet Coke, but I can also take comfort that I am trying. I have made a more conscious effort in my diet. My vegetarian menu has become second nature and it has had the added side benefit of making me more aware of everything that I eat. I have cut my junk food consumption dramatically (Younger Son joked the other day that there are more popcorn seasonings in the house then there is meat in the freezer for him!) and I eat mostly fresh and local products, chocolate notwithstanding. I am really trying to get a full night's sleep, but some things must be taken in baby steps. My stress levels? Give me a break! Type As don't cure themselves overnight. I realize that I can't fix an entire year of suspect health habits in a three week cram session, but I can hope that following tomorrow's examination the good doctor will proclaim me fit enough for another year of debauchery and decadence. I think that I might celebrate with Diet Coke!

My Favourite Tweets from Municipal Election

2010-10-25T22:53:00.002-04:00

Some of my favourite tweets from election night 2010 in the Big Smoke.

From flyguyPR: Calgary meet traditional Toronto politics (Mr. Nenshi). Toronto meet traditional Calgary politics (Mr. Ford)
From moongoddess: Next time, Vote Quimby!...oh wait, you already did... sigh
From livinginthepost: if you voted Ford, you no longer have any right to make fun of the Tea Party in the US.
From torontocranks: Wonder how things would have been different if Giambrone had managed to keep his pants on?
From JasonJHughes: Rob Ford is the Nickelback of Mayors. All the votes, yet no one admits to voting for him
From JayGoldman: To those of you who voted for Rob Ford: Congrats! you have just George Bushed our city. Thanks
From AntoniaZ: Dunno what's scarier. Rob Ford as mayor or Ben Mulroney on a political show
From snotforprofit: The Penguin is the mayor of Gotham City!
From LaurAlexisBanks: I've never ever been this discouraged by the democratic system. What a horrendous gong show. (Note: This is about the travesty of an election in Vaughn!!)

Twitter was the most entertaining part of the entire evening. I am without words myself, so I turned to the witticisms from the Twittersphere. Thanks guys.

****UPDATE!!! Lest those of you who reside in the City Above Toronto think I am generally unhappy with the election results, I am not. What does stun me, however is that the citizens of this town could return the former mayor to office as a regional councillor in spite of the fact that he is awaiting trial for election spending issues and the fact that he was in the pocket of the developers that have brought the city to near ruin.

Election Exhaustion Syndrome

2010-10-20T16:16:00.001-04:00

Is anybody else suffering from Election Exhaustion Syndrome? (EES) I am truly politico-"ed" out! This year seems particularly bad. Not only do we here in the GTA have to endure the slings and ridiculous arrows from the miscreants running for municipal office, but given the strange timing of the election cycle, we are also being subjected hourly to the circus reality show also known as the United States midterms. Our close proximity to our southern neighbours provides us Canucks with numerous benefits, including NFL football, (GO RAMS!!) a reasonably priced three hour flight to sunshine and heat in the dead of the January winter, and Mad Men-just to mention a few necessities. But it also means that we are inundated daily with the idiots, imbeciles and fools who truly believe that they are the answer to all that ails our American cousins. Here are just a few examples of the obnoxious noise and acrid stench emanating from the south.

There is the guy running for the GOP in Ohio's 9th district who staunchly claims that he isn't a Nazi sympathizer in spite of his hobby of dressing up like the SS. The spin from both sides of the argument has been migraine-inducing, but suffice it to say that it can't be good politics to dress up like one of Adolph's boys for fun.
Then there is the less than-distinguished Senate majority leader who is in the fight of his political life in the desert. He is up against a woman who recently told a group of Hispanic high school students that they looked Asian to her. This gaffe wasn't her first or even her most egregious, but because the majority leader is so universally reviled in his home state, the race is too close to call. His answer to all of this noise has been to actually tell voters not to vote because Nevada has a none of the above option that will most likely help him win the race. OY!!! Believe me when I say that this election idiocy is cutting fairly across party lines. They are all morons!
Delaware has become the national joke. Not only did the Republicans toss a sure Senate win into the toilet with the nomination of a boob, but said boob has become a media darling because of her boobiness. It is unbelievable to me that people actually give a rat's ass about somebody whose greatest contribution to the dialogue is that she makes the former governor of Alaska look like a Rhodes Scholar.

And these are just a few of the lowlights. Canadians-stop that self-important smirking. We aren't that much better. We are currently witnessing a mayoral campaign in Toronto that is now all about holding one's nose when entering the polling booth. The "anybody but" campaign has gained steam, but it has become so unsavoury and so distasteful it is no wonder good and smart people avoid politics like the plague these days. It has come down to two candidates possessing equal amounts of squirm-factor, and the sad part is that nobody expects either man to actually solve any of the myriad of problems plaguing this really terrific city. In points west, north and east of the core, citizens are faced with choices that include a longstanding 90 year old mayor facing conflict of interest allegations, and a mayoral contest in the City Above Toronto featuring an incumbent under suspicion for spending violations (several councillors are also being investigated) and a council that tried to orchestrate a palace coup against her. Ain't it grand??

As if all of that weren't enough, I have been robo-called until my ears bleed, accosted by lawn sign wielding community anarchists, had my mailbox stuffed full of trash, and have endured hours of tv spots so slimy and sleazy that they make me ashamed for those running. It is almost enough to get me and thousands like me to swear off election day.

I think that I can safely speak for millions of others when I scream-UNCLE!! There was a time when politics had some air of respectability. No more. From where I sit it seems to be all about ego, power and money. Those of us suffering from EES are in desperate need of cure. Anybody?

Swedish Ingenuity Once Again Meets Canadian Idiots!

2010-10-16T15:32:00.001-04:00

I hate Ikea. It isn't the merchandise, which is actually often amazingly cool and remarkably functional. It isn't the prices, which are stunningly competitive. It isn't even the ridiculous store layouts, which force the consumer into the kid's bedroom department before hopefully and mercifully stumbling upon office furniture. Nope! I hate Ikea because I have an innate inability to fit bolt A into slot B. I cannot for the life of me put their furniture together no matter how hard I try nor how many different projects I undertake. I have yet to master the art of the Allen key, and I have yet to comprehend the funky diagrams with odd-sounding Nordic names like Manstad or Solsta. For all I know these could be Swedish culinary delicacies instead of sofa beds. Instead, I thank God for giving me a man who views Ikea as Hillary did Everest. I honestly think that his testosterone level surges when he opens those cardboard cartons and counts out the hardware. There are beads of masculine sweat that dot his upper lip as he prepares his toolkit and gets down to work. And then, inevitably the shit hits the fan.

Ever since Older Son finalized his move from our house last year, we have been lackadaisical in doing something with his room. If he would have done me the service of leaving the bed behind, I would have simply repainted the walls and kept it as a guest room. But because he decided that sleeping on a mattress and box spring was preferable to a sleeping bag and the floor, we were left with an empty space and a redecorating project that neither of us was truly ready to undertake. After some discussion, The Husband and I decided to convert the room into a music office where I could store all of my instruments, guitar paraphernalia, sheet music and books, and some relevant Judaic CDs. The desktop computer with my full catalogue of Jewish music would find a permanent home in the room, and in order to allow Older Son a sleeping location when he visits, we would purchase a futon that could doubly function as a sofa. It sounded so simple I knew that it was doomed from the start.

While I spent some of last winter at the Southern home, The Husband took it upon himself to choose colours for the walls and trim, and he set to work painting the room as a surprise for my return. He called to tell me about the project.

The Husband: I am painting Older Son's room.

Me: Great. Are you happy with the colour?

The Husband: I am, but I think it looks far better on the walls then it does on the floor.

Me: You painted the floor? You do know that the floor is carpeted???

In spite of the false start and the difficult mess, the room actually came out looking fantastic. The next step in the process was mine. I was to source the appropriate futon. I scoured the GTA searching for just the right piece, the right price and the right fit. The search lasted almost 6 months until the fall Ikea catalogue arrived on our doorstep. There it was. Reasonably priced and the perfect length. The only problem was that it was from Ikea-the bane of my redecorating existence. I knew that it would all work out, though. The Husband is an Ikea-slayer!!

The futon arrived late yesterday afternoon in three cartons. The Husband, all swaggering and macho, grabbed his tools and started in on the puzzle. He was clicking on all cylinders. He had it configured within an hour and just needed a couple of extra hands to help with the mattress and cover. It took 2 university graduates and a university junior almost 45 minutes to figure out how to place the mattress and pad on the frame. 45 MINUTES!!!! We felt like absolute morons. There was no logic to the diagram and nothing seemed to fit. Squeezing the mattress into the cover was like attempting to put toothpaste back into a tube. Finally, Younger Son had a brainstorm and showed his idiot parents how the f@#*ing thing fit together. Thank God for the next generation. We were cleaning up the last remnants, when I decided to try it out. I sat down on my brand spanking new futon/couch and promptly went right through the slats with my ass on the floor. (I am not that heavy! That's my story and I'm sticking to it!!) The Husband looked crestfallen. It was like I challenged his manhood. After some quick observation, it became obvious that he had put the slats into the frame upside down. (See!! I told you that I wasn't that heavy.) He repaired the damage this morning and all is again right within his world.

The room is almost complete. I now have a comfortable space in which I can work and Older Son no longer has to crash on the basement couch when he stays over. (He was starting to feel like old storage material that we shove down there so that guests can't see our mess!) This is all solely due to The Husband and his mastery of Swedish diagrams, and Younger Son and his ability to recognize his parents as the idiots they most certainly are. I-I K-(k)need E-everything A-Assembled!!

What is it about Men and Illness?

2010-10-01T14:39:00.001-04:00

I have spent the last 5 days playing nursemaid. No, I misspeak. What I should have said is that I have spent the last 5 days attempting to play nursemaid. The Husband, usually the most healthy of souls, has been struck down by a case of walking pneumonia. Now I should make it clear that I have been nagging and badgering him for about a month to get himself to the doctor to get his roiling chest cough checked out by a professional who won't placate him. Getting sick around here during the High Holidays is not an option that I can realistically hope to handle, (yes-I am a selfish bitch!!) hence the nagging and badgering. It was as much about self-preservation as concern for him and his "I never get sick so therefore I cannot be sick" ass. I have heard it all.

Me: "You need to call the doctor."

Him: "I am fine."

Me: "You are not fine. You sound like your whole insides are coming up every time you expel a hack!"

Him: "I AM FINE!!"

Me: "You are NOT FINE!! Fine doesn't sound like an old man in a nursing home puking up last night's dinner!!"

Him: "F*&@-off!!! I AM FINE!!"

A month's worth of nagging and badgering must of worn him down, because unbeknownst to me he finally engaged the opinion of a professional. On Monday he came home armed with a diagnosis, a bucketful of antibiotics with names that are unpronounceable, and an acute inability to say "Yes, dear-You were right and I was wrong." It was truly amazing to watch this man who refuses to ever relent to illness, finally admit that maybe, just maybe, there was more to this phlegm-laden bark then just allergies. Unfortunately the diagnosis of pneumonia did nothing to slow him down. I attempted to get him to stay home for a couple of days. After 3 hours on day one, I thought that I might end up as a poster-girl on Dateline for having a suspiciously missing husband with no trace of his movements or remains. His boredom was palpable. Oprah, game shows and soaps are definitely not on his TV watch list, and he decided that it was the actual diagnosis of pneumonia that was making him feel so shitty. If I hadn't nagged and badgered him into going to the doctor, he would have continued to feel just fine. Isn't it amazing how his pneumonia suddenly became my fault?

I have been told by several friends that men, when faced with illness, seem to handle it in one of two ways. Either they revert to childhood and hope that their women will care for them like their mother's once did, or they stoically and with intense machismo deny all aspects of the illness so that they can carry on. My man has been stupidly choosing option 2. As I write this, he is at the office awaiting some delivery that probably could have waited out the weekend, but at this point in time is the single most important delivery ever to arrive at any office ever in the City Above Toronto.

The wild irony in all of this is that the Twin Son, not to be outdone or out-ailed, is currently recuperating at home with several broken and cracked ribs brought on by a Peter Pan induced delusion that he can still play hockey at his age without physical repercussions. He is, I am told, on some painkillers of mammoth proportions and can barely inhale without pain. It seems rather fitting that these two idiot split souls should both be suffering from breathing issues at the exact same moment in time.

I have lived long enough in a house full of men to realize that XY chromosomes and physical discomfort don't always mesh well. All I wanted was for him to acknowledge his illness and be proactive towards its cure. I have spent the better part of the week futilely attempting this feat. If anybody has any suggestions, I am open to them all.

Really, Toronto?

2010-09-22T10:22:00.002-04:00

I must qualify this post right from the beginning. I do not live within the regional boundaries of Toronto that would provide me any say whatsoever in the upcoming mayoral election. That understood, I do live in the massive area known as the GTA where every decision, large or small, petty or important, made down at Nathan Phillips does carry significant impact for my neighbours and me, whether the denizens of the city choose to recognize it or not. Believe me when I say with no irony whatsoever, that we up here in the self-described "City Above Toronto" have our own municipal cesspool to deal with, so fixating on your election follies down there was not something I had anticipated, but I just have to ask-REALLY, TORONTO? What are you thinking?

I realize that the last 7 or so years have not been a bed of roses. The current office holder has been worse than anticipated no matter on which side of the political spectrum you sit. There have been tax increases, traffic bedlam, no truly cohesive transit strategy, bike lanes to nowhere, streetcar lanes from hell, a municipal strike that left garbage rotting in the summer heat, children without camp and parents without daycare. I get it. Toronto is ready for a change, but again I have to ask-REALLY, TORONTO? What are you thinking?

According to the latest poll, the residents of Canada's sixth largest economy are about to elect a loud, often boorish, and totally devoid of any cohesive platform other than save money on the paperclips at city hall, west end councillor as their new mayor. This man has spent more time over the last ten years being called on the carpet for his bad behaviour than a raunchy frat boy. Interviews with citizens around the city over the past few days have revealed a real distrust for politics as usual, and a willingness to try any new formula, no matter the history. They seem to like his in your face honesty and political incorrectness. They like that he supposedly speaks up for them and not for the interests of political machines. They like that he tells it as he sees it and they like that he goes from the gut, rather than studying it all to death. Where have we heard that before? W, anyone?

I would love a politician that is honest too. Believe me, I would. I would love for them to just get down to work and solve the real problems facing our society. I would love somebody-anybody-to actually say that having to pay taxes really sucks but having crappy sewers, gridlock, and potholes suck more. I would love for somebody to stand up to the union bosses and tell them the hard truths that job security is a thing of the past. I would love for somebody to stand up to developers and tell them that the free ride is over. I would love for somebody to push through a cohesive transit solution that isn't so parochial that it only takes into account the boundaries of the 416 area code and doesn't factor in those who actually NEED to drive their cars to work. I would love all of this, but again I have to ask-REALLY TORONTO? Is Mr. Etobicoke the answer? What are you thinking?

We currently find ourselves in a season of anti-establishment candidacies around the world. Chantal Hebert, a national columnist in The Toronto Star wrote just today about how governments from around the world are being turfed and forced into coalitions in order to function. One only has to turn on the TV these days to see the absolute bedlam occurring during these midterm elections in the United States. Voters are desperately searching for alternatives to the status quo and the citizens of Toronto are certainly no exception. But I urge all of you who do have a vote, to use it wisely. If Mr. Etobicoke is really the guy who you think will help address the serious issues facing our city, that who am I to tell you otherwise. But, if you are planning on entering the voting booth with the idea that he couldn't be worse, I urge you to rethink that position. REALLY, TORONTO? Start thinking!!

Jews, Baseball, and Yom Kippur

2010-09-16T09:35:00.004-04:00

Every Jewish person I know, knows the Sandy Koufax/Kol Nidre story. It has become part our collective folklore and heritage. In 1965, Koufax refused to pitch Game 1 of the World Series because it fell onYom Kippur. The Dodgers started Don Drysdale instead of their ace and the results were less than pretty. The boys in blue fell 8-2 to the Minnesota Twins while Drysdale gave up 7 runs in 2 2/3 innings, famously remarking to manager Walter Alston , "I bet right now you wish I was Jewish too!"

Jews and baseball. Quite the conundrum. In 1934, Hank Greenberg the hard-hitting first baseman for the Detroit Tigers faced a similar dilemma as to whether to play on yontif.

The Detroit media, aware of Greenberg's indecision, sought out the opinions of local rabbis, with the Detroit News running a headline saying "Talmud Clears Greenberg for Holiday Play."
"The team was fighting for first place," wrote Greenberg in his autobiography, "and I was probably the only batter in the lineup who was not in a slump. But in the Jewish religion, it is traditional that one observe the holiday solemnly, with prayer…. I wasn't sure what to do."
Greenberg skipped batting practice that day, thought some more, and finally chose to take the field. He hit two home runs to lead the Tigers to a 2-1 victory.
The next day, the Detroit Free Press ran a banner headline, in Hebrew, that read "Happy New Year, Hank," Also in the Free Press, an Edgar Guest poem celebrated Greenberg's decision:
Came Yom Kippur -- holy fast day world wide over to the Jew,
And Hank Greenberg to his teaching and the old tradition true
Spent the day among his people and he didn't come to play.
Said Murphy to Mulrooney, 'We shall lose the game today!
We shall miss him on the infield and shall miss him at the bat

But true to his religion and I honor him for that.

More recently, Shawn Green of the Dodgers decided to sit out a pennant race game against the hated Giants that fell on Yom Kippur. But for every Koufax, Greenberg, and Green there are 10 players like Jason Marquis. Marquis, a Jewish 2-8 pitcher with a 6.60 ERA with the Washington Nationals, a team that has absolutely no playoff aspirations, plans to take his regular turn in the rotation this Friday evening-Kol Nidre. Says Marquis, “Your team expects you to do your job and not let your teammates down, and that’s the approach I take.” In fact, this is the approach that Mr. Marquis has taken in past seasons as well.

Now, I have never been one to to tell anybody how to practice or observe their religion. (My children may disagree with that statement, but I reserve the right of motherhood with them!) Religion is a personal matter better left between the individual and their God. If Jason Marquis wants to pitch on Yom Kippur, who am I or anybody else to tell him not to. I will suggest the following, however. When Jews choose to work or go to school on the holiest day of the year, it makes it that much more difficult for those of us who choose to observe the day in a religious manner to explain our choices to a secular audience. "If Jason can pitch, why can't you be here for class or in the office or.........."

I have heard all of the reasons. "I simply couldn't get out of it because I would be docked." or "They told me I would be in trouble." or "What difference does it make, I don't practice anyway." I get it. Your lives are important and your jobs are important. All that I am saying is that your decisions impact all of us who do observe.

A personal story. My paternal grandfather was a practicing atheist. Back in Poland, he had begun studies for the rabbinate, before deciding that it was all hooey for him and finally ran off to join the army. When he came to Canada he was a cultural Jew who had absolutely no interest in God or synagogue practice. It probably was the height of irony for him that his children and grandchildren became so involved. Every year on Yom Kippur my grandfather would insist that his family, including my father, dress in their best clothes. They would be scrubbed and clean and out of the house early, and then he would take them all to the movies for the entire day. They would sit through several features, just long enough for synagogues to conclude their final prayers and then they would return home. When asked why he engaged in this behaviour year after year, my grandfather would respond "I can't insult every other Jew on Yom Kippur just because I don't believe." That is how I feel about Jason Marquis and every other Jew who chooses to work on Yom Kippur.

There is a reason that we Jews so identify with what Sandy Koufax did. He was taking the stand for all of us that observe but, for some reason feel the need to justify it to our employers, our families and to ourselves. It is not easy being Jewish in a modern world. Sandy Koufax made it a bit easier. It will be interesting to see what other Jewish ballplayers choose to do this weekend. Kevin Youkilis, Ian Kinsler, Ryan Braun-are you listening?

Spinning Squirrel

2010-09-08T11:18:00.000-04:00

It is really a squirrel's world! Finally-karma bit the little bugger in the ass. Happy New Year-even to the rodents. :)

Al Cheyt

2010-09-07T11:50:00.000-04:00

We teach our children very early on that they are fallible creatures; that mistakes are a part of our lives and that with the appropriate amount of remorse we can repair the errors of our ways. In other words, we teach our children the art of the apology. It is never easy. Try playing mediator between two young boys in the backseat, both convinced that the other took his video game, all the while attempting to keep your hands on the steering wheel so that the family fate isn't as roadkill. When they are young, our kids have to be instructed and prodded into apologizing.

"Tell Younger Son that you are sorry that you bit his toes," said I on one memorable occasion.

"Tell Older Son that you are very sorry that you slammed the bedroom door in his face."

This concept of repentance seems so straightforward when we are young. A simple "I'm sorry" seems to do the trick. We apologize, it is accepted and we move on. As our kids age, we hope as parents that we have instilled enough of a moral code so that the prodding comes from within them, and the apology becomes all the more sincere because the error is recognized by the perpetrator. In other words, an apology is of very little use and carries very little weight when one has to be told to apologize.

I have been thinking a great deal over the last few weeks about this concept of teshuva. (repentance) Obviously, the calendar has a great deal to with that. We Jews enter into this time of year hoping for a clean slate. We strive, and most often struggle, to get our repenting houses in spiritual order so that we might enter into the new year with clear consciences that allow us to face our God and ourselves with humility. But, I am struck by a nagging paradox. How sincere is any teshuva that comes as a result of the annual clock? Does the fact that the Yamim Noraim are on our doorstep inspire the apology, and doesn't that make the apology less worthy?

At this time of year I receive many letters, blog posts and emails. The general theme is one of asking for overall forgiveness. "If I have wronged you in anyway or said anything that was hurtful...." While the sentiment is there and I am certain mostly sincere from the authors, it does always seem a bit too easy, a bit too pat. The governing principle of forgiveness on Yom Kippur is this: for sins against God, the Day of Atonement atones. But for sins against human beings, the Day of Atonement does not atone-until the sinner has sincerely sought forgiveness from the aggrieved party. But what of timeliness? If I wrong someone in February, is it ok to send out a letter in August begging general forgiveness as opposed to apologizing in person for the specific act right away? As a parent, I wouldn't have allowed this behaviour in my children. These half-hearted attempts at teshuva are extremely difficult for me. In Judaism, forgiveness is available only to those who repent, and are willing to face the consequences of their actions. How is that found in an email?

The paradox continues for me. If it is our obligation to apologize and seek forgiveness, must we forgive just because an apology has been offered? Maimonides said: "We should be slow to anger and easily appeased. And when our forgiveness is requested, we should grant it with a whole heart and a willing spirit; we should not be vengeful or bear grudges even for a grave injury."

"This," he said, "is the way of the upright Jew."

But, what if that apology is insincere, ill-timed and halfhearted? It seems the height of self-importance for an individual to ask of God on Yom Kippur "Forgive us the sins we have committed against You," when there are those among us that we refuse to forgive. But, it needs to be acknowledged that the form the apology takes is often just as important as the apology itself, otherwise grudges are borne and ill-will fostered. How do we reconcile this problem? How do we move forward when we know that we are either apologizing or forgiving out of duty, rather than true remorse?

It seems to me that forgiveness should always be granted when true remorse is expressed. My problem is that I am terribly human and I view with tremendous suspicion, those apologies that are given with less than true sincerity. I wish I could be more like the RamBam. He understood forgiveness on a level that is still unattainable to me. I am working on it, though. I hope that the new year will afford me the opportunity to be more open to all those who seek my forgiveness, no matter the transgression, and I hope that when I am in the wrong, I will have the strength and courage of conviction to step up and apologize in a sincere and timely manner. As it states in our liturgy:

"Help me then, O God; help me always, but especially now on this sacred Day of Atonement; help me to banish from myself whatever is mean, ugly, callous, cruel, stubborn, or otherwise unworthy of a being created in Your image. Purify me, revive me, uplift me. Forgive my past, and lead me into the future, resolved to be Your servant."

Shana Tova u'metukah!

Labrador and Dolphin

2010-08-27T17:18:00.000-04:00

Today's mental health moment!! Two of my favourite creatures on earth. A labrador retriever and a dolphin. Excellent!!

Does Klutziness Exponentially Increase During Elul?

2010-08-26T14:21:00.004-04:00

I realize that I am not the most fluid of human beings. I definitely have moments that could charitably labeled as awkward and immobile. I have been told in no uncertain terms by my children, that if I ever attempt to cut a bagel again, they both categorically refuse to drive me to the emergency room. I am a klutz, there are no two ways about it. I often will discover bruises on my body that are unexplainable, but are certainly from a collision with an open drawer, a table top or a counter. I have fallen down a stair or two on more occasions then I would care to remember, (once breaking a bone in my foot!) and The Husband has taken to ridiculing my "band-aid of the day" routine. I get it. Some of us are graceful swans and some of us waddling ducks. I fall in with my mallard brethren. But my less than graceful demeanour does seem to accelerate rapidly the closer we get to Rosh Hashana. I feel like I am riding the demolition derby from hell.

I know that I have never been the calmest wave in the ocean. I stress. It is part of me. It is who I am. I know that those near and dear to me will tell me that I am like this every year, and on some basic level they would be correct. There was the pre-Yontif burning of all of the fingers on my right hand in a kitchen accident, seriously calling my guitar-playing into question that year. There was last year's debacle of voicelessness 10 days before the holidays. There have been cuts, bruises, assorted maladies and aches and pains. This year I have experienced stomach issues that have proven more effective than any diet, sleeplessness that a vampire would envy, and a new joy added to the mix-brittle hair and skin. "UNCLE"!!!! I feel like Job being tested. How much more???

Well, I will tell you how much more. Here is a litany of today's woes. I awoke from my one hour of nightly sleep with a raging stomach ache. I spilled an entire container of powdered medium-deep makeup all over the bathroom floor. (A true joy to clean!!) I got two paper cuts from this morning's newspaper. I banged into a parking curb with my car. I spilled an entire jar of honey in my condiments drawer. (A true joy to clean!!) I have dropped the telephone twice, (once into the kitchen sink!) I wasted $50.00 on a guitar capo that is a piece of shit and I stubbed my toes 3 times on the couch. And--it is only 2:30 pm.

I think that there may be a force in the universe telling me that the jig is up and it is time to find another line of work. Either that-or it is my yearly test. Help me to understand. Am I missing something?

***UPDATE: I just dumped an entire large marinated cauliflower on the floor. It is being marinated in a bright yellow turmeric dressing. (A true joy to clean!!!) God-Help me.