My 2018 Best of...All Good News

In an attempt to show off my positive side, I offer unto you...

Dawn's End of Year Best of...

(I may be late for some of these things but they happened for me in 2018.)

Movies:

1. Green Book
2. Black Panther
3. Won't You Be My Neighbour
Honourable mention for Disobedience but since I saw it at TIFF in 2017 it doesn't count for this list.

Books:

1. Good and Mad: The Revolutionary Power of Women's Anger by Rebecca Traister
2. Manhattan Beach by Jennifer Egan
3. Fifteen Dogs by Andre Alexis

Television: We are truly in the Golden Age of prestige television. If you are only watching the Big Four networks, you are missing the best the medium has to offer.

1. The Good Place I owe this one to Younger Son and His B'shert. They've been telling me to watch it for two years. I binged watched the first two seasons in a week. Yes. It's that good and Season Three is even better. The most Jewishly-relevant show on television that never mentions Judaism.
2. Babylon Berlin It is weird, bizarre and in German. If you can stick with the first few episodes, it doesn't disappoint.
3. Killing Eve Sandra Oh is simply brilliant and Jodie Comer is comically terrifying.
Honourable mentions. The Americans (an amazing final season), The Good Fight, Nanette by Hannah Gadsby, and The Great British Baking Show. (It honestly kept me sane. I live in fear of making a soggy bottom and having Mary Berry judging it.)

Podcasts: If you haven't joined the revolution yet, allow my recommendations to be your introduction.

1. Bag Man Rachel Maddow and her crew put together a brilliant retelling of the rise and fall of former Vice President Spiro Agnew. If you thought you knew the story, you really didn't. Amazing.
2. Pod Save America Yes, it is unabashedly partisan but these former Obama staffers are smart, funny, and break down all the craziness for the average person in understandable segments.
3. Revisionist History with Malcolm Gladwell. Gladwell takes a fresh look at historical events that are baked into our memories and then proceeds to unravel all we think we know.
Honourable Mentions. Unspooled, You Must Remember This, Slow Burn, Why is This Happening, and This American Life

Theatre:

1. Riot It was so great but so bizarre that I have to take the description right from them. "A riotous cocktail of dance, drag, circus, and comedy from Ireland’s greatest artistic hooligans." Loved it.
2. An American in Paris I was simply amazed by the staging, choreography, and acting. This is truly a must-see. (Also...I got to sit next to the mother of one of the leads. It provides a whole new perspective.)
3. The King and I This one has never been one of my favourites of Rogers and Hammerstein but this production was stunning.
Honourable mention for The Music Man at The Stratford Festival. I didn't think they could pull it off. I was wrong.

Concerts:

1. Paul Simon I've seen him many times but his farewell tour brought out his singularity. It was an incredible performance and one of his most generous.
2. Alison Krauss Still one of the greatest voices around
3. John Prine His voice is a bit less than it was but he is still one of my all-time favourites. His newest album is great.

Twitter Follows: (These were new for me for 2018)

1. Quinn Cummings @quinncy She is wickedly funny and smart. A Norah Ephron comparison isn't too far-fetched.
2. Charles P. Pierce @CharlesPPierce He writes the politics blog for Esquire magazine. He has a sharp tongue and is honest to a fault.
3. Dr. Jennifer Gunter @DrJenGunter A transplanted Canadian gynecologist who is fast becoming Gwyneth Paltrow's worst nightmare. Science, not charlatanism.

Political Stories: (There were some good ones.)

1. Ireland votes to repeal its Eighth Amendment By a landslide, Irish voters chose to repeal its near-total ban on abortion. It was an extraordinary victory for women in the once bastion of religious conservatism and it was driven by involved and committed young people.
2. The American Blue Wave Make no mistake. It was a wave. The Democrats picked up forty seats in the House and the Congress will be more female, more racially diverse, and more economically represented than at any time in history. It's a start.
3. Legalization of Cannabis I am not a user (never have been) but I do believe that eventually, this will be like overturning prohibition. The roll-out is experiencing major growing pains and my province is proving incredibly incompetent at managing it but over time it will get better.

Add your own. I'd love to hear your favourites.

Happy 2019 to you all.

Another Trip Around the Sun Part Finale

And finally...

I hope that this holy week of my birthday finds you all in good spirits and health. If you have spent the time immersed with food, family, and festivities, I hope that you all are still speaking to one another and that your crazy Conservative, DoFo-supporting uncle has been dispatched to the tiny closet under the stairs. If you have been travelling, I hope that there has been no motion sickness and that the sun gods have been shining upon you. If you have found yourself at work, I hope it has been a quiet week and that you have found new uses for the copy machine. And if you have just been Netflixing at home, I hope you have found something great that you are willing to share with me.

Here is the final part of my list. Again, here is a reminder of the rules. This is not a resolution list. Those are for suckers. If you want to gain weight, make a new year's resolution to diet. These are merely a few of the things that I have learned this year and hope to carry forward. If you like them, feel free to adopt them as your own. I don't even require a hat-tip. If not, simply pretend that you found my journal in a bedroom drawer and are glued to it to see if I reveal any sex advice. If you would like to peruse parts 1, 2, or 3 of this list, click on the links.

• A few minutes of quiet solitude every day is renewing. I bought a pair of socks this summer that read "Go Away. I'm Introverting." These socks have quickly taken their place amongst my most favourite articles of clothing. There has been much written about the differing needs of those who identify as extroverts versus those who believe they are introverts. Introverts are rarely shy but instead require some measure of solace and quiet to recharge their batteries. We find large groups and extensive noise exhausting after a while. We really need those "alone" periods to think, plan, and to be better people. Finding a few minutes a day to recharge has been essential for my continued mental health. I am a better person for others when I can adequately equip myself with self-care. Take a long shower or maybe a cup of tea with the newspaper or a book. I like doing the New York Times crossword puzzle and I often retreat to this space as a goto place when I am "introverting". Being alone doesn't mean being lonely.
• Read a book. It sounds simple but fewer and fewer of us are actually reading books. We prefer fast reads on social media or synopses of articles. We have acquired a collective attention deficit disorder and it is affecting our intelligence and knowledge base. Reading is fundamental to expanding our horizons outside of parochial bubbles. I realized that I had been reading less this year and that epiphany ground me into the dust. I have picked up the pace again not just because I love and missed it but because I didn't even realize that it had happened. If you have a great book that I should read, pass it on. We are travelling early in the new year and I need to load up my Kindle.
• Be kind. It takes absolutely no energy and you lose nothing to just be kind. Kindness can take many forms. It can be acknowledging the people who work for or with you with a smile and a conversation that doesn't involve their duties. It can be as simple as saying thank you to the young man at the supermarket who took your cart back for you. It can be as fundamental as sharing your space, letting somebody else cut in line in front of you, being there for a friend in distress, or just listening. I mentioned before that I am angry a lot these days but that doesn't mean that I can't be kind and polite to those around me. Try being kind. It costs nothing.
• I'll do me and you can do you. I hate camping. If somebody asked me to describe my idea of hell, it would be spending eternity stuck in a tent with squirrels gnawing at my toes. I have friends who revel in their yearly camping trips but who wouldn't be caught dead in Florida. I get it. Apples and oranges. Here's my deal. I promise not to rag on your camping trips if you stop ragging on my South Florida oasis. The same goes for my vegetarianism, my Jewish observance, my involvement in progressive causes, or my need to vent my spleen in this space. Eat your meat, be an atheist, attend the Munk Debates, or be a wood nymph living in the forest. Your life, not mine. Judgement comes from my personal conversation with the Divine Spirit. Judgemental gets you a place on my shitlist. (and yes...I realize the irony of my being judgemental about being judgemental. Cut me some slack this one time.)
• Accept that which I cannot change. Twelve-step programs have this one right. I cannot close my eyes and wish I were thirty again. I'm not sure I'd even want to but I can't be young again so why pretend. Time is an unrelenting and unstoppable force that catches us all eventually. The measure of a human spirit isn't found in how I look but rather how I feel and what I do with what has been bequeathed to me. So, as I enter into another year I will breathe deeply, accept some of the frustrations and limitations of my age and enjoy all of the benefits that it now affords me. 

On Saturday, I will be 56 and fabulous. I'm not hiding from the number nor am I pretending that the downward side of my fifties isn't a bit frightening. I will screw up in many colossal ways this year. Of this, I have no doubt. Hopefully, I will learn more from those mistakes and will find a new treasure trove of things to boast about next year. 

And maybe...just maybe...we will celebrate a Stanley Cup victory down Yonge Street in June. You are all invited to my place for the party.

Another Trip Around the Sun Part 3

Happy Vacation, Santa. You've earned your tan lines and a few margaritas. Hasta luego, dude.

And so, my list continues. This is what birthdays tend to do to me. They make me pensive. Again, here are the ground rules. This is decidedly not a New Year's resolution list. It is a list of things I've learned throughout this year and will continue to take to heart and action. Maybe there is somebody out there who agrees with some or all of it. In that case, I've done a public service. If not, consider it an open journal entry, a window into my messed up psyche. If you are interested in Parts 1 and 2 of this inventory, click on the links.

• Find new artforms that challenge your biases. I've had several conversations lately about the genius that is Hamilton. The brilliant musical will finally be making its way to Toronto in 2020 and far too many people I know have said that they will take a pass, not because it is a costly ticket or because they would like to avoid the rush for seats but because, and this is direct quote, "We don't like hip-hop." The ignorance and close-mindedness of this philosophy stun me. Without getting too far into the weeds as to why I think this particular show not only raises the bar for musical theatre but moves it forward permanently, I am struck by the obtuseness of refusing to venture outside of one's comfort zone. Art, in all its constructions, is designed to make you think and to feel. Sometimes those emotions are familiar and easy and sometimes they are uncomfortable and difficult. If you avoid that which makes you uneasy, you are missing the best that art has to offer. I've attended several plays, movies, and concerts this year that challenged my biases. Some I loved (Riot at Luminato) and some I'm still searching for the answers (Vox Lux) but I have never once regretted the experience. Push yourself to be uncomfortable. It's how we grow.
• Read past the headlines. One of the things that we all need to learn how to be better at is evaluating the massive amounts of information thrown at us every day. Newspaper and media headline writers have become derelict in their jobs because those small captions rarely provide the nuance that exists within the stories themselves. When a headline screams "Sex-ed consult website flooded by 'certain groups' who may have skewed results: Ford" (an actual headline on a story from cbc.ca) it is wholly deceptive. Sure, the premier said this and yes, CBC is directly quoting him in the headline but it is also true that he is spouting nonsense with absolutely no data or facts to back up his outrageous claim. The body of the story makes that clear but if you only read the headline, you would think that there was a conspiracy out there to damage the sex-ed website with false comments. Actually, the opposite is true but now the narrative is controlled by a lie and it is very difficult to put the lie back into the jar. If however, CBC had written a headline like Without offering any evidence, Premier Ford says sex-ed consult website flooded by 'certain groups' who may have skewed results, the truth is now properly framed. Because I don't see the news media learning these lessons quickly, (Daniel Dale in the Toronto Star is a huge exception to this rule. After 4 years of covering Rob Ford and now two with Trump, he can and does give masterclasses about how the media is framing these lying pricks.) I feel it has become incumbent on all of us to spend a bit more time and read the whole story. And please don't share it on social media if you haven't. We must all take responsibility for the ignorance that is festering out there.
• Write down family recipes and share them. Our memories are all tied up in food. I have wonderful memories of baking with my aunt while she taught me how to make her rugalach. I have the recipe and I have made them many times since she died but it just isn't the same. That doesn't mean I will ever stop making them or sharing the recipe. Those recipes are a part of who we are. A friend was gracious enough this year to share her mom's (z"l) coffee cake recipe. I had never eaten it before and I knew that it took a lot for her to share it. I'm certain that no matter how delicious it was when I made it, and it was delicious, it couldn't possibly have tasted as good as when her mom baked it for her all those years ago. The graciousness and generosity it took for her to share it with me did not go unnoticed. I have heard tales of cooks and bakers who will share their family recipes, only to leave out a special or secret ingredient so as to sabotage the newbie. I'm not sure I understand the hostility or selfishness that goes into this kind of behaviour. We should relish our histories and share those stories and memories with the next generation. Thanks go out to my friend for introducing me to her mom through her cake.
• Become a fan of something or somebody new. Fandom, when it isn't creepy or stalkerish, is a great way of broadening our horizons. It is also a way of sharing and sending new talent out into the world. This year I became a fan of John Legend (late to the game, I know), his wife Chrissy Teigen (one of the best follows there is on Twitter), Quinn Cummings (the former child star and now a very funny author), TV critic and Pulitzer Prize-winning essayist Emily Nussbaum, and a young up and coming third baseman for the Blue Jays (maybe by May 1) named Vlad. Have some fun. Be a fan.
• Move from doing to being. We often get so wrapped in the details that we forget the big picture. I know that I do. I have been intently trying to be in the moment as it happens rather than running from task to task. This year it really hit home during our trip to Dublin. We had a list of "must-see" places on our list. We were doing the tourist thing but our time was limited. On our first evening, we climbed into an Uber and our driver, discovering that we were from Toronto, asked if we had seen the Famine Memorial directly across from the Immigrant Museum. We said we hadn't but wondered why he thought that we should. He explained that the corresponding statues were on display in a Toronto park down by the lake. We were stunned. We never knew this art installation even existed at home. He gave us an entire history of the piece, how Canada became involved, and why it was so important to the Irish people. That half hour drive through Dublin was the most present I felt during our entire stay there. Of course, we made time the next day to seek out the statues and then The Husband and I went searching for them again at home. We sometimes lose sight of the depth when we only hit the highlights. Be. And then....Do.

There will be a few more of these before my calendar turns over for another year. Again...Merry Christmas to those who observe and a happy day off for the rest of us. 

Another Trip Around the Sun Part 2

It's been a long time since I celebrated a birthday at The Northern Home. We've been journeying south to this particular location since I was pregnant with Older Son and to other venues across South Florida with my parents for years before that. My end of December birthday hasn't felt like a typical Canadian winter observance for years and, given my loathing of all things snow and ice, I am supremely grateful. This time of list-building and taking stock reminds me to never be complacent as to how truly blessed I am.

On with my list of things that I have learned this year. A reminder. This is not a list of resolutions but rather a few things that I have discovered have mattered a great deal to me. Part 1 of this inventory can be found by clicking on the link.

• Don't buy or fall for technology that annoys you. There is so much garbage out there, believe me when I say that we don't need half of it. I mean, why does my toothbrush require Bluetooth? I still don't know but it has it. The worst has been my new microwave and oven here at The Southern Home. The timers on both beep three times with a ten-second pause and then a subsequent three times. And it keeps repeating until you do what it is commanding you to do like the fucking Queen. My oven is a nagging bitch. Seriously. It's like it's talking to me. "Get your lazy ass up right now and get the asparagus out of the oven before I call someone to haul you out of that chair with a crane and report you to the ghost of Julia Child." I don't need technology to remind me of Jewish mothers. I've got enough of those in my life. Technology is supposed to make our lives easier, not more aggravating. If it does the latter, ditch it.
• Find smart people who disagree with you. One of the best things I did this year was to start to seek out and read conservative opinion writers who are brilliant. I started to do this in an attempt to better understand the other side of the political spectrum but what I found was some cogent intellectual debate. Most times I will still disagree with their ideas but I can better articulate my point of view if I know theirs. That is not to say that there is any excuse for nor is there any room on my reading list for sycophants or asslickers but people like Michael Gerson, Jennifer Rubin, Max Boot, Andrew Coyne, Paul Wells, offer a window into centrism and conservatism that is smart and thoughtful. I am still firmly planted on the other side for a whole host of reasons but there is a considerate discussion to be had that can exist without labels or epithets. **A codicil to this list-point is that this will NEVER include the propaganda that emanates from Fox News, Ontario News Now, The Toronto Sun, or anything or anybody who has ever been associated with Ezra Levant. These sources are dangerous to democracy and have learned their lessons at the feet of Joseph Goebbels.
• You can't teach stupid and I no longer tolerate stupid. I have zero fucks left to give for unmitigated ignorance. The world is NOT flat. I can't believe that we have to say this in 2018-19. The moon landings? Not a hoax. Vaccines? Vital and the best of scientific discovery. Childhood diseases? Bad. The flu? It kills hundreds of thousands of people every year. Really?? What is wrong with people. You don't get to pretend that hundreds of years of scientific work and discoveries are wrong because you decide that you don't like needles. Unless you have an MD, a Ph.D. in some scientific field, or are a researcher, get the fuck out of my life. If you think that going back to a world where the bible taught the best lessons to your children about sex, birth control, homosexuality, mental illness, or drug use, stay the fuck out of my mentions. If you come back at me with studies from Joe's school of homeopathy to further your argument, I am done with you. Not everything is debateable. Scientific discovery is not always perfect nor is it always altruistic but it is usually proven. Smarten up.
• Take pictures and make sure that you are in them. I have attended far too many shivas and funerals this year where the most recent photo of the deceased is thirty-years-old. Like many women my age, I hate the way I look in pictures but I have actively put myself into more this year. It is important. I want Molly to have photos with her Bubby. I want to revel in the length and success of my marriage and our visual yearly progression. We have earned those laugh lines. I want a visual record of the lovely times spent together with family and friends. So yes, I will continue to be that person with the camera that annoys the shit out of my kids at Seders or outings to the park. I will even take a few more of myself. But never with a selfie stick. That is technology run amok. 
• Friend my family and family my friends. One of the great joys of my life is being able to claim friendship with both my immediate family and my extended one. I actually like spending time with these maddening, goofy, opinionated people. Our times together aren't nearly as often as I would like them to be, but they are important and cherished. I am also blessed to have friends who have become family. Knowing that there are people in my life who have my back and will support me no matter what is anything but a trivial matter. I know that there are people in all of our lives who bring toxicity. I have come to the realization that life is far too short for me to engage with these lost souls. I'm sticking with those who love me without the drama.
• Stop engaging with trolls. Life is far too short to dive into online rabbit holes that serve no purpose other than ego-stroking. I am done with the comments section of any newspaper or media post. I also will not copy and paste your posts, engage with your uneducated online race-baiting memes, share the inspirational quotes that you didn't create yourself, or join your brother-in-law's Facebook group that advocates for the return to basic Canadian values. I have better things to do with my time.
• Look for God in unusual places. Just because I believe in science does not mean I am an atheist. Being a religious person is becoming increasingly difficult is an atheistic world. This year I have looked for and I have found The Divine Spirit in sunsets, a baby's giggles, a new Canadian's excited face while being honoured at the ballgame, rainbows, and a friend's healing. Where I will find it next is an ever unfolding mystery.

That's all for today. Wishing all who observe a Very Merry Christmas. For those who don't, enjoy your secular day off. 

Another Trip Around the Sun

Let's play a game. How many seasonal cliches can I pack into one run-on sentence?

Tis the season to rest ye merry gentlemen so that the fat, jolly old elf won't put you on the naughty list and leave lumps of coal in your stocking on a silent night before the most wonderful time of the year.

I'm pretty sure I could do better but that's really not all that bad for thirty seconds of typing. The point that I am trying to make is that Christmas is everywhere and so ubiquitous that even those of us who don't partake can't help but be assimilated into much of the hype. And we are all reluctantly pulled into the tinsel-laden year-end orbit of retrospection and resolution.

We Jews do our stock-taking at Yom Kippur. We look at the mistakes we have made and promise to not repeat them, knowing that we are flawed beings and will be back next year to once again beg for forgiveness. The secular year-end is more of a time of list-making. This time of year is filled with lists. Grocery lists. Gift lists. There are those who search for the best of or the worst of. There are lists of those whom we have lost and some of the gains we have made. There are lists for good news stories and important stories.

For me, the year-end represents an acknowledgement of another trip around the sun. Having a birthday during the Christmas/New Year week can often feel like an afterthought. (I mean, who the hell wants to shop for a birthday gift at Christmas?) It has never bothered me given that Christmas isn't a part of my celebratory cycle and it always meant that I was off school but as I have aged there is no doubt that a certain amount of self-analysis has crept into this week. This year is no exception. Since this space is all about self-examination and frankly, vanity, I thought that I might take a few minutes a day for the next several leading up to my birthday to elucidate some of the things that I have learned this year. This is not a resolution list. It is simply a few things that I have discovered carry great weight for me and maybe somebody reading this might say, "Yup. That works for me too."

• Have a grandchild. I realize that this is not in anybody's control but it is, without a doubt, the only thing that really mattered this year. Aside from the obvious instantaneous joy and unconditional love that is Molly, becoming a grandparent reminded me of my place in the line and pushed me forward by a step. It would have been easy to simply wallow in the agedness of it all.  I chose instead to look at the face of that miraculous little girl and think of the possibilities still to come. I will work as hard as I can to make the world a better place for her to live in. L'dor vador. From generation to generation we will protect this chain.
• Embrace your righteous anger. I am so very tired of people telling me to calm down or to modulate my tone. I am righteously and viscerally angry at so many things right now and I believe I have a right to feel that way. This anger has pushed me outside of my comfort zone and has led me to channel it toward actively working to fix those perceived inequalities. I marched for the very first time this year with survivors of gun violence. I voted for a party that would never before have been a possibility for me because it was the only way to help curb the avarice of a dangerous actor. I donated to individual candidates municipally to help rid council of an avowed racist. I joined a progressive group to keep pushing forward an important agenda. These were admittedly baby-steps in the huge world of activism but I will no longer be silenced by a governing minority trying to quash the collective will of the people. In the words of Paddy Chayefsky "I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore."
• Do something new to help the environment. I am not blind to the macro issues of climate change but we can all change our habits to help. It doesn't have to be big. Eat one less meat meal a week. Shun plastic bags. Lower your thermostat a bit in the winter and raise it a bit in the summer. For me, it was less driving. Moving downtown was an easy impetus for taking public transit but now I search for ways to do it. I have become a TTC maven and I am actively working to figure out the York Region Transit as well. I have never really enjoyed driving all that much and I will admit that public transit in Toronto has its challenges that will be made all the more miserable when Premier DoFo follows through on his upload of the subways, but the erosion of our environment is the one great, crushing issue of our time and it will not be solved by hiding our heads in the sand or pretending that it doesn't exist. It is the prime social, economic, political, religious, and scientific issue and affects every single person on the planet. Do something in your space to help.
• Walk more. It is the single most important thing I have done to improve my health. I walk to buy groceries. I walk to the drugstore. I walk to entertainment venues. I try and walk at least 5km each and every day. It doesn't have to be sweat-inducing, although that exercise is important too, you need to move. Our bodies weren't made to be immobile. Move the joints. Get your heart pumping. Not only that, you meet some really interesting people when you get out into your neighbourhoods and out of your cars.
• Notice people. As a pedestrian, I have almost been hit by cars several times this year. It has made me a better driver (when I do drive) and a more active observer of my surroundings. I have learned to better appreciate the server in the restaurant or the check out person at the grocery. I have given space to the cyclist who is just trying to get to work or the parent attempting to maneuver the stroller while holding the hand of a toddler. More critically, I have made sure that the homeless people that populate my area are hydrated in the summer and fed in the cold. I have looked at their faces and I have seen my own privilege. I will not pretend that their suffering doesn't exist.
• Call out racism and bigotry. I do this now even when it is uncomfortable and even when it comes from those I like or love. Hatred is pervasive and when we ignore it, it becomes normative. If you are spouting this crap, you will not get a pass from me.
• Stop wearing clothes that hurt. This year, I have abandoned high-heels forever and have forsaken shapewear and pantyhose. I have seen my future and it involves flats, jeans, and body rolls. I have a recurring nightmare that involves me getting stuck in my Spanx with nobody around to cut me out. Her obituary read, she died of Spanx-induced suffocation. Nope. Comfort can be stylish.
• Subscribe to a newspaper. Or two. Or three. My children think that the fact that I still receive a newspaper is a sign of my old age. I get where they are coming from and there is an argument to be made from an environmental perspective but I am not advocating actually receiving a paper. I am suggesting that you pay for your news, especially locally. Journalism is under assault and in real threat of disappearing. If you refuse to go behind a paywall and help fund the crucial work these dedicated and disappearing professionals are doing every day, you are contributing to the "fake news" era. Journalists are our check on the institutions of power. I urge you all to stop getting your news from social media sites and spend a few bucks a year on a newspaper.

I'll have more tomorrow. Happy Festivus and for those entering into holiday celebrations, may they be lovely and healthy. Merry Christmas.

Mrs. Green, in the Kitchen, With the Mugs Part 5 (Our Finale)

We seem to do outrage and anger really well these days. Everything offends us. We are sent reeling by bad speech or slips of the tongue. We can't believe that our family members or neighbours support this party or that one and we find ourselves reevaluating so many of our relationships based on unshared ideology.

I get it.

There is much to be angry about right now and outrage fuels our desire to change things for what we hope will be a collective betterment.

But outrage and anger are also completely exhausting. I have, quite honestly, lost count of all of the things about which I am supposed to be angry. Another story of sexual assault and child abuse? Outrage. Another attack on our crippled environment? Anger. The diminishing of personhood for people of colour, women, or LGBTQ? Rage. Anti-Semitism or Islamaphobia? Fury. Income inequality? Temper.

I'm just tired and I'm certain that there are those in positions of power who are counting on my lethargy and pounded-into-the ground ambivalence to further advance their heinous agendas, which is why I am actively trying to reserve my "Rage against the dying of the light" for those causes and macro-movements which need my full-powered energy. A procrastinating contractor, a ruptured piece of artwork, or a few broken mugs, while truly irritating, are not really worthy of my sustained outrage.

Yes. It is true that I was pissed off when I saw the broken mugs, especially given the level of packing material that was obviously used. I still cannot figure out how three mugs, that weren't even grouped together in the box, wound up as mosaic pieces. That said, just as I was ready to head over to a UPS outlet with my return slips in hand, I received an email from Mrs. Sweetpea? Green.

This is an exact transcript of her missive. (I have even left in her ridiculous spelling of the word "colour".)

Hi Dawn,

I am so sorry to hear about your troubles.  Do you happen to know which colors are broken?  Would you like me to send you replacements? Let me know pls!

Best,
Mrs. Green

I find it kind of hilarious that Mrs. Pre-teen? Green can't find a way to spell out the entirety of the word "please" and is more than happy to address me by my given name but still has not seen fit to allow me the same courtesy. That said, I was thrilled to receive her email and immediately forwarded the colours that were in shards back to her. Of course, I initially made an error as to the correct colours, a truly Dawn mistake, but I fixed it immediately. I also asked her if she wanted me to send photos to confirm my grievance about the damage. She quickly replied that it wasn't necessary and that she would ship out replacements immediately. An hour later, I received yet another confirmation email with a shipping number to follow. This phenomenal customer service all occurred within an hour of me accepting shipment of the first set of mugs. Wow.

I told The Husband that I would hang onto Amazon's return shipping label and original packaging in the likely event that I would still have to send the mugs back. The wonderful thing about their return policy is that I had a full two months leeway, so even if the second set of mugs came damaged I wasn't up against a crazy deadline. Have I mentioned that my affection for Jeff Bezos is starting to veer into Tiger Beat pin-up obsession territory?

And so...we waited. A weekend's worth of waiting. And then today...magic. 

I received a box that was totally intact.

 It was filled to the brim with non-biodegradable packing peanuts and bubble wrap.

And inside each individual packet of bubble wrap was a perfectly intact and pristine new mug...in the desired colours.

Mrs. Beautiful Forest on a Sunday Morning? Green came through just like she said she would. There was no further cost incurred for the shipping and the broken mugs will be offered to anybody who might like to use them for an art project. 

I know that you have been secretly hoping for a moral to this elongated and ridiculous recounting and here's the thing...there actually is one. We all have tales about how miserably we have been treated by others, especially lately. Customer service really bites the big one in most industries and many workers are either too tired or too underpaid to really give a damn. But I am here to attest that there still are some really decent people in this world who take pride in their work and in the businesses they run. From our "came very highly recommended" contractor who showed up the day after we arrived in order to make right all of the little things in the project that needed attention; to our amazing artist friend who repaired The Husband's error and refused compensation; to a huge multi-national like Amazon that was ready to take back the damaged mugs; to Mrs. Brilliantine? Green who shipped out replacements within an hour of being notified, they all acted responsibly, compassionately, and quickly. There was every reason at every level to rage against a faceless somebody but nobody allowed any of these stories to escalate and everybody wanted to make certain that we were happy and satisfied. Seriously. How often can you lay claim to that?

So my advice, dear readers, is to take a step back and decide if all of that outrage and anger you are feeling these days is well-placed. I would be the first to tell you that feeling angry about the big-ticket issues is so very worth your time and high blood pressure. Fight the good fight and rage like a banshee as if you were the 21st century Dylan Thomas when you see injustice and hate rear their ugly heads but I'm pretty sure that we can't live in an angry, hostile state for the rest of our lives. We need to find some much-needed balance and peace that comes from witnessing decent people behaving decently toward each other. It may be a low bar we have set for ourselves in these tumultuous times but I will take whatever tranquillity that is offered right now.

So, if you will all excuse me now...I am going to make a cup of tea in one of my brand-new mugs and just chill.

Mrs. Green, In the Kitchen, With the Mugs Part 4

As I read back over this tale, I am acutely aware of the fact that this is most definitely a "first-world" experience. I am not in the least bit cavalier about how blessed and fortunate I am and I am certainly not trying to to be glib about anything described here. But this is my life and I am just trying to live it the best way I know how. It's just a bit of fun. That said, as we enter into the days of Chanukah this evening, I would like to suggest that each of us self-examine our lives and share a few our blessings with others. What that looks like is entirely up to you, but let's not forget that we live in a time and place of great inequality. Let's send some of what makes us fortunate into the world at large.

So...the mugs.

I really loved those mugs. I felt such a sisterhood with Oprah over a set of twenty-ounce ceramic mugs. I have never connected with Oprah over anything. After years of watching and later reading her Favourite Things issue and finding it laden with shit like asthma attack-inducing bath salts or oversized purses which I never carry, I finally found something that I really liked...and wanted...and was reasonably priced even without the View Your Deal discount that I lost with my procrastination. So I did what any reasonable person looking to buy herself a gift and who had access to Amazon Prime would do, I ordered the damn mugs for a expedited two-day delivery.

That's when I met Mrs. Green.

Amazon, as most people understand, merely acts as a third party weigh station for a myriad of companies. Think of it as an online general store. They carry a shitload of products and arrange for the deliveries, but they don't create the products. Individual companies are responsible for their wares. Soon after I made the click via Amazon Prime, I was contacted by Mrs. Green.

Mrs. Green is the agent for Yedi Housewares who are the makers of the mugs. Yes, she goes by the ubiquitous handle of Mrs. Green. There is no first name, just Mrs. Green. I have spent the last week trying to discern why somebody in business in 2018 would sign her letters as just Mrs. Green. Not Mrs. ??? Green, just Mrs. Green. Is she a former schoolteacher and needs to keep the Mrs. in her life? Is there still a Mr. Green that she wants to honour? Is her given name something stupid and embarrassing like Jean or Kelly or Stringbean? I found the signature odd. I mean. Who still does that?

Mrs. Lime? Green sent me a thank you note, via Amazon, for my purchase. She seemed mildly verklempt that I had thought enough of her mugs to actually purchase them and she promised me that she would take care of any problems should they arise.

Mrs. Snot? Green obviously had no idea who or what she was dealing with.

I handled Mrs.  Booger? Green's email the way I handled most emails from Amazon, I threw it into my trash file and forgot about it. I had an idea as to the delivery date and after they arrived, Mrs. Chartreuse? Green would be a glorious afterthought.

On Monday, I received a message from our security desk that I had a package. It was like I was at camp again and Mom had sent cookies. I raced downstairs with eager anticipation to this box.

(I have removed the shipping labels for internet consumption.)
Inside that, a perfectly intact box was this perfectly intact box surrounded by bubble wrap.

Inside that, a perfectly intact box was this styrofoam protective covering.

And underneath that...well...

Three out of six came broken. Packed in all of that non-biodegradable packing shit and they came in pieces. I mean...fucking shards!! The broken bits are actually inside of the mugs. They weren't displaced in their cozy individual slots. They were just fucking busted to bits.

Mrs. Avocado? Green...we have a huge problem.

My first thought was just to return them. You have to do some searching on Amazon's site to find their troubleshooting, but it is there and it is really easy. Amazon is happy to take back the item if...their box is intact, which it clearly is, I print off a shipping label, and return the package to a UPS outlet at Mailboxes Etc. by February 1/19. I would receive a full refund NO RETURN SHIPPING COST INCURRED! Have I mentioned how much I love Jeff Bezos? This is how customer service is done in 2018. 

I made my complaint via Amazon's grievance system, printed off the shipping label, and just for good measure, I attempted to send Mrs. Puke? Green a return email of her obsequious thank you note. What happened next....well...

The hopeful conclusion to this ridiculous but really mundane story tomorrow.

Same Dawn time. Same Dawn URL.

Chag Urim Sameach to all who observe. Please find a way to make somebody's life a bit easier this holiday season through either your time or your donations. We are all so very blessed.

Mrs. Green, In the Kitchen, With the Mugs Part 3

In this time of massive political unrest and tensions that seem to transcend the borders of even the most loyal and venerable of friends, we all are searching for crumbs of sanity and reminders of what works in this world as opposed to all of those things that we now know to be broken. At this season in which we celebrate light and rededication, I believe that I have stumbled across the one thing that gives us a renewed hope, the only functioning entity in a ruptured universe. Where there once was darkness, we now can see the illuminated path forward because of and solely through the efforts of.....

Amazon Prime.

Never before has a corporate behemoth meant so much to so many who really require absolutely NOTHING of what they have to offer. And yet...we continue to mindlessly, and blindly, browse, click, and order as if our very lives depended on owning reusable shoe bags or a battery-powered squeegee with an attached water vacuum. But...but...but those bags were marked at 50% off and that two-day delivery? Must have shoe bags. Must have them NOW!

Amazon has hit on the most brilliant shopping model since the birth of the mega-mall. Sell the public a shitload of dross that they most obviously don't need, sell it cheaply, deliver it quickly, without the fuss or crowds of a traditional shopping experience, and most importantly, offer impeccable customer service when something goes wrong. It is nirvana for introverts and it is a mecca for shopping-haters. I would french-kiss Jeff Bezos right now if I didn't think I would get arrested for sexual assault. (And just for that added, extra zing...the man owns The Washington Post. I think I'm in love.) 

Amazon Prime is an amazing innovation. With the touch of a button, you can order almost anything your addled brain can possibly conjure up and have it delivered right to your front door in two days or less. Groceries? Not a problem. He owns Whole Foods. Baby equipment? Jeff had me covered. Make-up? It arrived in a day. We can discuss the evils of conspicuous consumption or the insidiousness of data-mining, but for the day to day living necessities, Amazon is my panacea. And American Amazon? Holy shit, I've died and have a suite next to Aretha. American friends, you have no idea how good you've got it until you've tried to order something from Amazon Canada only to discover that they won't deliver it to you. American Amazon is sublime.

This love letter to Amazon is relevant to our story. I promise.

Now that the kitchen was finally clean and mostly put back together, I felt that I deserved a bit of self-care. I wanted to mark the occasion of newness with something small, but useful. I wasn't interested in making a big deal out of it and I didn't even mention my thoughts to The Husband but I felt that we were deserving of a small gift. Nothing fancy. Just something that gave the new kitchen a new start.

I was flipping through channels on our first morning of downtime since we arrived at The Southern Home when I came across The View. I will admit that there was a time in my history when I watched The View with some regularity. I liked the debate of differing ideas amongst women of differing ages but that moment in time has long passed. I never liked Elisabeth Hasselbeck as the token conservative but she was a genius compared to Meghan McCain. I haven't watched since what's his name became the resident of the Oval. But that day, something on The View caught my eye. They were doing a segment called View Your Deal and were offering pre-Thanksgiving bargains for various items. It gets worse. Apparently, The View is now partnering with....Oprah...for this deal segment and all of the stuff they were hawking was from Oprah's Annual Favourite Things Christmas issue.

Hoo Boy. I was in BIIIIG trouble.

This is the item that caught my eye.

A set of six jumbo 20-ounce mugs from Yedi Houseware.  Here's another shot of my new heart's desire.

I wish I could say that I was quick enough to order them that day but as is usually the case when I think about an impulse purchase, I hesitated. I missed the View Your Deal special that expired after twenty-four hours. And then came the remorse. And then came the anger. And then came the self-examination. And then came the realization that I could still order the damn mugs if I really wanted them. And then...like a Diet Coke in the desert...along came Amazon Prime.

So now you know about the kitchen and you also know about the mugs. Mrs. Green? She will be revealed in our next episode. But tell me...aren't those mugs just really fucking amazing. Oprah may be a lot of things but the woman has great taste.

Tomorrow. Same Dawn time. Same Dawn URL.

Mrs Green, In the Kitchen, With the Mugs Part 2

A few devoted readers, who, it seems, have nothing better to do with their lives but lovingly devote their time to reading this vanity-induced space of complete garbage, have asked over the years when my book is coming out. The answer is always the same. I am simply incapable of writing anything longer than it would take these wonderful friends to read in the time that it takes waiting for their Wifi connection to run out on the subway platform. If I could come up with an idea for anything more substantive than what is produced here, I would have started it years ago. Instead, I keep subjecting all of us to this useless drivel. I am profoundly impressed and honoured that anybody is still reading this crap and I do promise that if I can find some profound meaning or independent, creative, and original thought that might be better than this bullshit, I will put cursor to screen and brain-fart it out. Until then, you are all stuck with this codswallop. (That paragraph was an exercise in synonyms. How many words can Dawn find that mean bullshit without her using a thesaurus. I impressed myself.)

When last we left our heroes, they were marvelling over the beauty of their newly renovated kitchen at the Southern Home. The "comes very highly recommended" contractor had come to finish off the last of his tasks and to clear out the mounds of garbage that his workers had accumulated over six months of less than linear work. To call the place a fucking mess is being very kind to fucking messes. There were empty boxes filled with construction waste strewn everywhere; piles of sawdust on the balcony from where the workers cut and shaped cabinetry; empty water bottles all over the counters; a white chalky shmutz lined the bathroom sink from where they mixed the grout; and there was dust so thick on every surface in the apartment that you could actually see track marks from where the summer insects had held their Olympics. These guys are very good at their jobs but neat and tidy they are not. The task of cleaning was set before us. Our jobs, should we choose to accept them, were to scrub, polish, and shine this place to a level that could pass Dawn's inspection. It was a herculean task but manageable.

Add to that, there was the task of rehanging and repositioning all of the artwork that had been stored. Keep reading. That comes later in this post.

The Husband took on the balconies and the windows. He is so very good at this. I would hire him out to make some extra cash off of his talents if I could figure out how to do it without it coming off like indentured servitude. After five scrubbings of the balconies and two more of the windows, we can finally view the vistas without thinking that smog has permanently descended on South Florida. His back and his knees weren't getting him anywhere quickly but there is a satisfaction that comes from a job well-done that transcends even the most gruesome pain. You buying this crap? He complained for days. It's a guy thing. I tackled the bathrooms, the floors, the kitchen cabinets and countertops. I dusted and washed and wiped and mopped for four days. Four days! I kept wondering how long I would have had to clean if we had decided to gut the bathrooms too.

We moved the kitchenware back into cupboards, measured drawers for inserts that still needed to be purchased, and searched in vain for the spice bottles that I know I stored somewhere but were now playing hide and seek. We tested the oven and microwave and stared longingly at an empty refrigerator in the hopes that it would provide sustenance. We braved Publix to restock the pantry and to repurchase the spices that I'm convinced had jumped into the Intracoastal Waterway to escape the noise and dust. We made a trip to Whole Foods, another to Walmart, a third to CVS and we still weren't even close to replenishing our reserves. The tasks seemed daunting but by working together like the synchronized machine we have become after thirty-three years of marriage, we whipped the place back into shape.

We bought the drawer inserts and a spice rack and new spices to fill it. And just when they were all properly settled and alphabetized, the old spices miraculously jumped out of their hiding places, yelled "Surprise", and expected a warm reception and some space in their new digs. Of course, they did. Anybody need some turmeric? How about cumin? I have a shitload of cumin.

And then The Husband set about the final task of rehanging the artwork. Most of it was fairly straightforward. We had left the hooks in the walls for the paintings but the three-dimensional climbers were tricky. They required a deft hand and a light touch. Have you met The Husband?

And....he dropped and broke one. 

Before the fall

After the fall

You know that sunken seasick feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when your partner yells "Shit" from another room? I swear I wanted to hide in the bedroom until Chanukah.

No judgement. No anger. Just a pragmatic response to determining what the FUCK do we do now. Well, we bought the suckers from a South Florida artist so let's see if he has a remedy. He answered our panicked email within minutes. Really? Who does that? Send the afflicted climber back to him via FedEx with a prepaid return label and he would repair it. He didn't ask for money. Really? WHO DOES THAT? After spending three days trying to figure out which empty box to pack him in, The Husband did as instructed and shipped our damaged climber off to the nether regions of Miramar for surgery. He arrived that same day and within thirty-six hours was back in FedEx's hands for his return trip. Really?? WHO DOES THAT?? He is expected to be back on the wall later today. (I'll post a photo as an update.)

I know. I know. I still haven't explained the title of these posts. I promise you all that I am getting to it but really, what's a shaggy dog story without the matted and tangled shaggy hair.

Tune in tomorrow. Same Dawn time, same Dawn URL.

Mrs. Green, In the Kitchen, With the Mugs Part 1

I have an old friend who posts long rambling stories on Facebook about his trials and tribulations. They are usually extended over several days, always hilarious, and usually end with a conclusion so ridiculously mundane you question your investment in the time spent reading them but know that you will be right there along for the ride the next time because...well...this is really the best that Facebook has to offer, our connections with old friends.

I have a blog for such ridiculousness, so I hope that you all might indulge me in the same manner that I do my friend. This story will be told in several parts and therefore several posts.

It all started with our kitchen renovation at the Southern Home. It always seems to begin with a kitchen renovation. This entire blog began as a kitchen renovation. We had been putting off this much-needed makeover for at least five years. There are always better ways to spend one's money than on an expensive remodelling in a place we use as our home away from home. That isn't to say that we don't use our kitchen here. We do. A great deal. But every time we got close to agreeing that we should proceed with the project, something far more important and, honestly, more desirous diverted our attention and funds. This year, we were backed into a corner by our thirty-five-year-old appliances. The refrigerator was singing like Louis Armstrong on meth and the dishwasher was leaking so badly that a grotesquely mouldy towel, inserted between it and the sink, had become a permanent fixture. The appliances were giving us fair warning of their impending demises. It was time to heed the death rattles and jump headlong into the hell that is home renovation.

As home makeovers go, this was actually the least painful of any we have done throughout our many years together. We decided early on that the best way to handle the mess and disruption was to simply pretend it wasn't happening. In other words, we went home in March and left the work to a "came very highly recommended"contractor. We had every intention of flying down in the summer to check on the progress, but life got busy and that trip never happened. Our "came very highly recommended" contractor figured out our game fairly early on in the process and knew that there was no real rush to finish the job until sometime in the fall. Out of sight, out of mind is definitely a two-way street.

As an aside...if you find yourselves in need of a home renovation, moving out and forgetting it exists is the best way to go. Anybody who has ever lived through one can attest to it being a hellscape. Find someone you trust to manage the project and then get the fuck out. It could save your marriage and your relationship with sanity.

After the High Holy Days in September, we mentioned to our "came very highly recommended" contractor that we were planning on being down at The Southern Home sometime before American Thanksgiving. His response reminded me of an old joke from the comedy album You Don't Have to be Jewish.

A guy walks into a shoemaker and says:

Guy: You're not going to believe this but I was going through my closet and came across a very old coat. While going through the pockets of that coat I found a ticket for a pair of shoes I dropped off more than 10 years ago. I know it is a longshot, but I thought that since I was in the area, I might check and see if you still have the shoes.

Shoemaker: (in very old-world Jewish accent) What are you? Crazy?? You think that I might still have a pair of shoes still here that you dropped off more than 10 years ago? Meshuggah!

Guy: I realize it's a bit farfetched but could you please check?

Shoemaker retreats into the back of the shop. 

Shoemaker: Hey, Mister. These shoes, were they black patent leather?

Guy: Yes.

Shoemaker: And did they have silver heels?

Guy: (Very excited) Yes, Yes!!!

Shoemaker: And did they have gold-braided tassels?

Guy: Yes, Yes, Yes! You found them!

Shoemaker: THEY'LL BE READY, TUESDAY.

Our "came very highly recommended" contractor told us that not to worry and that they would be finishing up the job shortly after we arrived.

In total fairness to him, there were only a few things to touch up when we arrived (including a non-functioning oven) but he did show up within a day of our letting him know that we were back in town to make all of the necessary improvements. He is a great guy and I would absolutely stamp him with my "comes highly recommended" seal of approval. A true mensch. That isn't always easy to come by in his profession.

The story is just getting interesting and I haven't even explained the title of this post.

If you would like to know what comes next, tune in tomorrow. 

Same Dawn time, same Dawn URL.

Kitchen before

Kitchen after

Care Enough

In a really easy distractive effort to avoid any kind of brick and mortar shopping, I spent part of this Thanksgiving weekend here at the Southern Home watching several of those cheesy and incredibly formulaic Christmas movies on the Hallmark Channel.

The Husband hates these time-wasters with a passion so red-hot that it burns through the chair he is sitting in. I, on the other hand, find the mental tapioca they provide so extremely soothing and calming. There is something serene about knowing the plot stylings so well in advance of viewing that I can almost predict down to the minute when the protagonist will realize all that has gone wrong in her life and take up with the standardized hunk of the day in order to give her life purpose and completion. The fake snow and tinsel merely add to the appeal.

But if truth be told, I find myself drawn to these films and the Hallmark Channel specifically because of the commercials that Hallmark runs at this time of year. They aren't merely thirty-second spots to hawk greeting cards, rather they are several minute stories or essays about deep and personal connections. There is the one about the former high school basketball player, now fully grown with a family of her own, who shows up to say goodbye to a beloved coach on the occasion of his retirement; or the one with the two sisters trying to downsize their childhood home to prepare their aging parents for a move; or my personal favourite about the new neighbours who try all year to connect with the curmudgeon next door, only to discover the source of his pain when he finally lets them in at Christmas.

Hallmark has discovered a formula for their advertising that is intensely personal and accomplishes what a great commercial should do. These spots force you to remember the company and, more importantly, why you should purchase from them.

In watching my Christmas movies on Sunday, I noticed something new from Hallmark this year. They have altered their tagline. For years, Hallmark's slogan was "When you care enough to send the very best." They have now shortened it to simply read "Care enough".

It's amazing how much power I find contained in this simple message. A large company is imploring us to just care. They aren't interested in your politics or your religious affiliation. They don't care how busy you are or where you live. They are sending out this simple moral lesson to old and young, rich or poor, people of all races, creeds, and colours. Care enough.

Maybe, for just a bit, we can stop what we are doing and follow through on this mantra.

Care enough.

Consider it when you are in a hurry and thinking it might be a great idea to run that red light or make that illegal turn or lane change.

Care enough.

Ponder it when you interrupt the busy salesperson who is already serving a customer.

Care enough.

Think twice before responding angrily to the online troll who is trying to bait you.

Care enough.

Remember it when passing by the person out in the cold who could use a meal and a pair of mittens.

Care enough.

Believe in it when you see your neighbour struggling to clear his walk or carry in her garbage can or groceries.

Care enough.

Surmise it when you become short of temper with the new girl at your favourite coffee place.

Care enough.

To visit someone who can't visit you.

Care enough.

To connect. Face to face. Voice to voice. In person.

Care enough.

To listen.

Our world is filled with problems. I can't pretend to have the answers to any of them but I do believe that if we followed Hallmark's lead and cared enough with small acts of kindness we could make a pretty good start.

I'm buying Hallmark cards this year for my holiday giving. They have earned my patronage.

Drive Carefully. You Might Be Saving My Life.

I nearly became a statistic on Toronto roads today.

It isn't the first time that I've almost been eviscerated by a car while following all of the rules as a pedestrian and I'm certain that it won't be the last, but I am so tired of feeling like walking chum to the swirling sharks of combustion engines, I thought that maybe if I vented my spleen, it might help those of you who drive on a daily basis better understand those of us who walk or cycle.

It was a miserable day in the city today. The weather was just brutal and depending on where you were, you were subjected to either torrential rains, a mixture of wet flurries, or full on white stuff falling from the sky in an ugly prelude to winter. I loathe this kind of weather but I was happily babysitting today and as such, needed to use public transit in order to make my way north. The final part of the journey involves a one-kilometre walk from the subway station to Younger Son's and His B'shert's home. I noted on my walk, in the miserable rain, that there was construction happening directly in front of Fairview Mall on Sheppard Avenue going westbound. There was a police officer stationed in front of the mall trying to divert traffic around the mess but cars were backed up all the way east to Victoria Park. The detour added a few minutes to my walk that felt like hours because of the weather. I hoped that perhaps the increased traffic would be gone before I made my return trip.

I was so very wrong.

As I left this afternoon, the cars were piled up three lanes deep and barely moving. The weather had gotten even worse throughout the day, adding whipping winds to the mixture from hell. I knew that I had to cross Sheppard in order to complete the construction-induced detour, so at the off-ramp from the DVP, I pressed the button to make the crossing.

Here's where things got dicey.

Drivers were in no mood to play nice. Cars exiting the Don Valley were immediately funneled into the line of three lanes being squeezed into two. Cars heading west on Sheppard had already endured many more minutes than they should have in a jam and were piling into the intersection with no cares about blocking both the DVP cars and those trying to make left-hand turns from the adjacent street. When the light turned green for me to cross, it was like playing real-life Frogger. As I started to move, two drivers decided to block me out, one tapping me on the leg with his bumper and another angrily flipping me the bird as I tried desperately to make it to the south side of the street. Technically, I got hit by a car today. Yes, I am fine and no I have no injuries other than a damaged psyche.

I want it understood that I crossed at a properly marked crosswalk, on a green/walk signal, and the countdown on the signal hadn't yet begun. I wasn't on my phone, I didn't have earphones in, I could see everything in all directions, and I wasn't even carrying an umbrella that could have impeded my vision.

THIS WAS NOT MY FAULT!!!! 

This incident was the fault of drivers who were aggravated, anxious, probably late, and miserable because of the weather.

And therein lies my lesson.

I hear from drivers all the time about stupid pedestrians and selfish bikers. Some of the time, those descriptions are true. But the fact still remains that the person operating the two-tonne vehicle is usually the problem and almost always at fault. There is a selfish mentality of righteous ownership that comes over drivers about the roads. We who drive, often forget that we must share the public space with those who don't have the same kind of power. Cars are big and dynamic and in the wrong hands, they can be weapons. Thirty-four pedestrians and five cyclists have been killed on Toronto roads already this year. It is the highest total since 2007. We are all getting impatient and forgetting that the person who walks is totally exposed to every danger that the driver is but without the security of airbags and rollbars.

I am exhausted from my myriad of near-misses. I have almost been hit by drivers who speed through already red lights, stop signs, jump ahead for right turns on reds and directly into pedestrian traffic. I have had close calls with drivers blowing past open streetcar doors as I've exited and with drivers making illegal u-turns into oncoming traffic. This is the short list.

Here's my Shabbat wish. Take care on the roads this weekend. If you are a driver, watch out for the bikes and pedestrians. If you are a cyclist or walker, follow the rules set out for you. We all count no matter how we traverse this city.

Kehillah Kedosha-We are a Holy Community

I was in synagogue this past Saturday.

I was there, like I am on many a Shabbat morning, to study Torah with a group of regulars who over the years have become like family to me. Sometimes I stay after Torah study to daven and sometimes, like on this particular day, I leave before the service begins in order to observe my Shabbat in a variety of ways usually filled with Oneg and Menucha. (Joy and rest.)

We are Jews. We observe.

We, who are regulars, often joke about our routines and our repetitions. We find ourselves sitting in the same sections of the room, if not the same seats from week to week. We know instinctively who will be late, who will be early, and we worry when somebody is missing, often calling or texting to check on their well-being. We know who are the active talkers and who are the passive but intent listeners. We openly welcome the newbie, warmly inviting them to our table and encouraging them to participate and badgering them to return.

We are Jews. We badger.

We bring each other breakfast and we help with the set-ups beforehand and the cleaning afterward.

We are Jews. Eating is a major component of our DNA.

We leave our coffee mugs in the shul's storage cupboards, a sign of our permanency in this space and we take turns teaching when the rabbi is occupied elsewhere. We are a close-knit community, we who have learned together, celebrated together and too often cried together. These are my people, my synagogue, my Jewish family, my community.

We are Jews. We are communal.

As I left shul on Saturday, I was blissfully unaware of the horror taking place at that exact moment at a sister community in Pittsburgh. When my phone started vibrating with intent, I instinctively knew that it was catastrophic. We all know these people. We are these people and we all know the hate that inspired their murders.

We are Jews. We know.

When the carnage was over and the dead revealed, I could see in my mind's eye the longtime members, the regulars, who are the spine and structure of every congregation. I could see the retired teacher who lost her husband two years ago. She is a face I see every week across my Torah study table. I recognized the two brothers who did everything together. They are the siblings in my congregation who lovingly care for their aged mother. I know the longtime married couple who attended weekly. They are my parents.

We are Jews. We understand suffering.

On the Shabbat before this last one, my Torah study cronies discussed the story of the Tower of Babel and whether or not The Divine Spirit was indeed punishing us with the fracturing of language. As is often the case with our discussions, we headed off into a tangental talk of modern anti-Semitism in our own community. A young man of the age of Older Son, a millennial for whom I have great respect, stated quite forcefully that he has never felt uncomfortable or held back from opportunity in his city or country simply because he is Jewish. I wondered aloud if that was blissfully generational and asked if others around the table felt similarly. There were people there old enough to recall a time in Toronto when Jews were barred from country clubs and public beaches. My own mother was part of a quota of Jewish girls accepted into her nursing program in the late 1950s. To this thirty-something, those stories were historical and distant. I gently reminded this gentleman that an avowed white-supremacist was standing for election for mayor of Toronto a mere two days later and that her following was vocal and growing. He simply couldn't fathom it and dismissed her as a crackpot. On election day, more than 25,000 of my fellow Torontonians voted for a woman who wishes me dead.

We are Jews. We understand the hatred is always there.

So, we are now in mourning...all of us...all Jews. We will leave the debates about responsibility to others while we bury our dead, sit shiva, and comfort our mourners. It is what we do, what we have always done. We search for answers where there are none and we search for scapegoats where there are many. In Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5 we read, "Whoever destroys a soul [of Israel], it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life of Israel, it is considered as if he saved an entire world." We have lost eleven souls. We will return to fight for our lives, for our very essence, for our very right to be. We are diminished but we are not defeated.

We are Jews. We survive.

Zichronam Livracha. May their memories always be for a blessing.

What I Want in My Mayor.

I had a conversation the other day with my hairstylist. This jabbering is something women tend to do with the people charged with the sacred duty of cutting our hair. I think that maybe we converse like this in order to distract us from the fact that the person holding the scissors standing behind us has the potential and ability to make us look like Pee Wee Herman. So we civilly engage in these banalities in order to avoid such a fate.

On this day we discussed the upcoming municipal elections. Since I still travel up into the suburbs for my haircuts, (I know it is ridiculous but the woman has been cutting my hair since before Younger Son was born) I was a bit surprised to realize how little she understood about the mess that was made of the Toronto civic vote by our vindictive and arrogant new premier. I get that she doesn't live in Toronto and will cast her ballot in a city north of us but she really didn't understand the subtleties of Premier DoFo's meddling in an already in process election and the chaos that this has caused to our rights as citizens to a free and informed vote. While we can argue the merits of reducing the number of councillors in the city, the craziness of doing this three months before the vote when it had been informed, studied, and approved three years ago was political malpractice. There was absolutely no disguising the motives of the premier and while he did win the legality argument in court, the resulting chaos and disengagement of Toronto voters have been palpable. Many council candidates and voters have been confused as to which riding they are a part of or where they are now running. Several incumbents have found themselves running against council colleagues and there have been no debates that have featured the two front-running mayoral candidates one on one. Our incumbent and uninspiring mayor has ridden the wave of apathy towards what looks like a landslide victory tomorrow. The whole mess has me thinking what I want in a mayor for this wonderful but still stagnating city. I will preface these comments with the fact that both of the front-runners are decent, educated, and kind people who I believe only have the good of the city at heart. For one of the only times in my recent voting history, the choice between the two candidates at the head of the pack doesn't involve a scum-sucking corrupt hack who is only interested in his/her own power that comes complete with the demonization of minorities, the disadvantaged, or the raiding of the municipal coffers.

And so...with that in mind.... 

I want a mayor who will stand strong for the city in the face of a meddling provincial government and a premier who wants to use the city as his personal Lego set. I want to see some passion when the mayor confronts DoFo and not total capitulation. When the premier comes for our subways, and make no mistake that is most definitely coming, will the mayor publicly defend this city and tell him to back off or will he/she call for some bullshit referendum?  The mayor of Toronto needs to lead this city in defiance and in a crusade against the damage that Queen's Park is already causing.

I want a mayor who relies on evidence-based and economically sound principals when planning for the city. I don't want back-of-the-napkin transit solutions dishonestly sold to the electorate because there are votes to be had in Scarborough or North York. We are all one city and the integration of transit must be done with all stakeholders in mind. 

I want a mayor who takes the Vision Zero strategy seriously and not in stages. It has been two years since council adopted it and so far this year, there have been more than 50 cycling or pedestrian deaths on Toronto roads. 2018 is on pace to be the deadliest ever. As a driver, transit user, and pedestrian, I have been in more dangerous situations this year than I can count. I want a mayor who understands that creating safe cycling, walking, and transit opportunities is the key to Vision Zero and that even one death on our roads is abhorrent. Worrying about an extra minute for drivers' travelling times is regressive. This city needs a transportation visionary.

I want a mayor who is progressive and sees the city's long game. I think that trying to find a compromise in many issues is commendable but often short-sighted. The east end of the Gardiner should be torn down in order to release the potential of the waterfront. Spending an extra billion dollars to maintain it in order to save drivers 3 minutes in travel time is regressive. Cities all over the world are removing elevated highways while Toronto is trying to save this crumbling and ugly piece of 1940's infrastructure. The Yonge corridor north of the 401 should be reduced to two lanes in each direction in order to create a walkable plaza in downtown North York. This plan has been championed by city planners and transit experts alike. The community wants it. I want a mayor who recognizes that cars are not king.

I want a mayor who will commit to and fight for our most vulnerable. I want funding restored for the safe injection clinics that are on the frontlines of the opioid crisis. I want funding restored for shelters for abused women and children. I want a mayor who recognizes that there are not nearly enough cold-weather shelters for those on the streets and doesn't need to be cajoled and embarrassed into opening up the armories when the temperature drops. I want a cohesive and immediate plan that sees the unlocking of city land to be used for affordable housing and not merely for the profit of greedy developers. 

I want a mayor who will champion programs for at-risk youth and commit to finding the funds. It is a fundamental step to helping curb the gun violence on our streets.

I want a mayor who will invest in green initiatives including demanding proper stormwater management and the greening of rooftops in all new condo buildings. 

I want a mayor who understands that all of this cannot be achieved without new sources of revenue and who sees property taxes as the communal fund that works for the betterment of this city and all of its citizens.

These are just a few of the things that I will be thinking about when I cast my ballot tomorrow.  Toronto deserves it all and not just a nice, decent guy.