Talia at 5

Dearest Talia,

Half a decade! The BIG FIVE! The toddler is gone, and we welcome the young lady. 

I can't help but think of that night five years ago. In the wee small hours of the morning, Zaidy and I raced up to Newmarket to stay with Molly, because you were on the way. Quickly. It was the middle of the COVID pandemic, and the world was very different from what it is today. There was a lot of staying home, very little socializing, masking, and I must say, there weren't a whole lot of really fun things to do. Your arrival certainly brought sunshine and rainbows into an otherwise dismal time.

It's amazing how we all have COVID stories. Every person I know can recount and regale with some tale of that time. Some are tragic. Some are beautiful. Some are hysterical. When it's my turn to prattle on, I tend to remember that day in early August. I couldn't wait to "Bubby" you into submission; smother you with kisses and joyous tickles. I wanted desperately to bond with you immediately, the way I had with Molly. Alas, the pandemic had other plans. 

Being a COVID baby meant far more isolation. It meant initially you were shy, and everyone around you was more concerned about contagion. Care meant separation, and separation meant distance. That all changed just after your first birthday.

We decided that in the immediate aftermath of lockdowns, we would head to Disney World as a family. It was an awesome trip, even if you were a bit too young to fully enjoy the experience. There were rides, ice cream, tons of junk food, and Mickey. But for me, it meant finally spending some alone time with you. While others were riding Space Mountain, we giggled. While others went to spend money, we bonded. While others went hunting for characters, we shared contraband food that wasn't really on a one-year-old's meal plan. It was one of the best trips ever, despite Mickey infecting us all with COVID. Vaccinations are a modern miracle. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

And now, Talia, you and I have a bond that can never be broken. I love who you are and who you are becoming. You are mischievous, a bit goofy, and you possess a hidden intelligence you refuse to put on display. You perform on your own terms. I love that strength. Some people go their whole lives without learning how to say no. You've kind of mastered it. You enjoy a myriad of activities, and while you are still figuring out what really floats your boat, you are willing to try new things. You spent a week at Camp George this summer, and you basically owned the place. You've dubbed yourself "Queen of Camp George" and have spent the ensuing weeks strutting around in a tiara. That takes a self-confidence most of us don't possess. Talia, live your life wearing that tiara with self-assurance and never care what anyone else thinks about it. 

You and I share something else. We are going through life as part of the vertically challenged. Did I ever tell you that I spent the first four years of my life at school being called "Little Dawn"? There was another Dawn in my class, so she was "Big Dawn," and I was "Little Dawn." How moronic is that? I still can't believe teachers allowed such garbage to fester. I know what it feels like to not be able to see the parade. I intuitively understood the devastation you felt when you couldn't reach into the rays' tank at the aquarium to pet them. We are short, and unfortunately the world can be unfriendly to us. But here's the thing. "Little Dawn" became the girl with the BIG voice. I have no doubt that your talent and intellect will shine. And someday, I promise, you will be able to pet those rays at the aquarium. (I still can't see the parade unless I push my way to the front. Keep pushing, Talia.)

Of all the things that I love about you, the one that I simply cannot figure out where it came from is your obsession with cats. You have always loved animals, even photographs of them, but you weren't all that thrilled when Mando came on the scene. A puppy wasn't really in your wheelhouse. He is now a loyal and true friend, but I get that he seemed big and boisterous to you a few years ago. Mom told me that you started loving cats because of a TV show, but we are well past that now. I know you would love to have a kitten, and Zaidy did consider it as a birthday gift this year, but Daddy threatened us with annihilation if we even dared. This feline craze is real. Everything has to have cats on it. Toys, blankets, face paint. If it isn't a cat, it isn't worth your time. Even your zodiac sign is Leo the Lion, the biggest kitty in the universe. Coincidence? I think not.

After giving it some thought, I have decided that you are very much like a cat. Cats are curious. They are always investigating, asking questions, and peeking into corners. Cats are independent. You always want to do things by yourself and without help. Cats are playful. You always turn the simplest game into an adventure. Cats are mischievous. Just like you, they are looking for just enough trouble to make people laugh. Cats are observant. You always see the details that many of us miss. Cats are loyal. You form deep bonds with the people you love. Cats seek out comfort. You love to snuggle with a cozy blanket, or cuddle up with me. Cats know what they want. You are never shy about letting everyone know what you want. Cats are remarkably wise. You are constantly surprising me with your insightful comments. Finally, cats take joy in being themselves. Talia, I honestly can't come up with a better description of you than that. 

I am decidedly not a cat person, but I am a Talia person, and I love the person Talia is becoming. I will love a cat if you do. I sort of promise. Until then, I will spend my time in adoration of you.

Happy 5th Birthday, my darling girl. May it be lovely, warm, fun, and feline. 

I love you to the constellation of Leo and beyond.

Love, 

Bubby

P.S. Here is a fun and short video of one of my favourite songs about cats. 

To Molly on her 8th Birthday

Dear Molly,

As your eighth birthday approaches this weekend, I am taking a few moments out of my Pesach preparations to write this annual letter to you. I am not exactly sure where eight years have disappeared to, but here we are. The baby/toddler years have given way to a juvenescence filled with every emotion possible. You are engaged with everything. Learning isn't a chore for you; it is a wondrous adventure. You seem to want it all, even if it could pose obstacles. I loved how you asked for skates and skating lessons this year because you are interested in learning to play hockey. Given that your dad comes from a long line of winter haters, this foray into embracing the cold made me smile. And you took to the ice like Marie-Phillip Poulin! Well...almost. There are still a few kinks to iron out, but you are moving around the rink without too many tumbles and have embraced this new skill with verve.  

You have continued to delight us with your theatre skills. There is very little stage fright in you. That absolutely amazes me. Do you know that even today, every single time I stand up to sing in front of a crowd, I feel clammy, nauseated, and sweaty? Honest! I have never managed to feel half as comfortable on a stage as you appear to. Imparting my deep and almost obsessive love of musical theatre to you has been a true joy. We've gone to a few major musicals together in the past couple of years, and I promise you that as long as I am able, there will be more. So many more. You have embraced this art form in a way I could never have imagined. 

This was the year that Zaidy and I realized that we were developing a relationship with you that didn't include your parents. When you started texting us, sending us videos of your rehearsals, stickers, and finally FaceTiming us on your own, we knew that we had moved into a new realm. You were the initiator, and we were the thrilled recipients.  I can't tell you how much joy I feel when I see a message from you on my phone. I drop everything I am doing at that moment to engage with you. Sometimes, I wonder if you are just bored and I am the thing to keep you busy. I DON'T CARE! I am happy to be your boredom buster, and I will continue to do that forever. 

This year, Molly, I have been giving a lot of thought to legacy. What will you and others remember about these days and the people who inhabit your inner circle? Have we made an impact, not just on each other, but on the world around us? It is all very raw and deep for a carefree eight-year-old, but for me at sixty-three, it weighs heavily. During one of our many conversations this year, you mentioned how the leader to the south had upended several family visits. I was startled. I asked your dad if he and your mom had talked to you about the current world situation. He said no, and that they planned to keep it that way, but he also wasn't surprised to learn that you were aware of some of what has been occurring. It is everywhere. It made me realize that no matter how hard we try, we can only keep you sheltered for so long. You are at a stage in your growth where you are trying out new ideas and opinions. I feel that it is my responsibility, among so many others in your world, to put you on the Derech Eretz. According to the ancient rabbis, this is our ethical pathway in life. It signifies common decency, respect for others, and necessary interpersonal skills. It encompasses respectful speech, manners, and dignified behaviour towards elders, teachers, and neighbours. It emphasizes sensitivity, empathy, and maintaining high moral standards in daily interactions. These are all qualities you already possess and are actively developing. I desperately want you to understand that the person you referenced is everything that is wrong with the world today. Using shallowness, xenophobia, racism, corruption, bullying, and cruelty as a basis for leadership is always wrong. I know that you inherently understand this, but I have seen people I used to love and respect disappear into the morass of this cult. When life deals you a difficult hand, and it inevitably will, I hope that you will approach the problems with grace and dignity. When we lose that, we lose our humanity. Solutions can never be found by hurting others. 

I have come to truly understand that at this particular moment in my life, time moves only in one direction. It is what we do with the days allotted to us that really matters, and the footprint we leave on those closest to us. You and Talia are my whole heart. I desperately want the two of you to carry a bit of me throughout your journeys. I know that sounds incredibly self-involved, but I have discovered that it seems to be ok at my age. To that end, I have a story to share with you.

When I was twelve years old, I got my ears pierced. It was an occasion to celebrate because my father had been adamantly opposed to it. My mom took me to the mall, and I had it done. I was a bit worried about how my dad would react. He seemed oblivious to the new shiny studs in my ears. When my mom finally asked him if he noticed, he nodded and said, "Yes, but I chose to ignore it." The very next day, my mom had her ears pierced too. My grandmother, my Bubby Chayla, had wanted me to pierce my ears for years. She was so excited to hear my news. She gifted me with a pair of her small gold hoops. They were really lovely, and I wore them for years. She died about a year later, so those earrings meant the world to me. Unfortunately, one of them went missing. Too many moves, too many years. I still think of those little hoops, and I desperately wish I still had them. They were one of the very few tangible things I had of hers.

A few weeks ago, you excitedly called us to tell us that you were getting your ears pierced. You told me that you discussed it with mom and dad, explained why you wanted to do it, and asked if it was possible. You were so thrilled when they agreed. Honestly? Zaidy and I weren't sure you would go through with it. The smiling after photo was truly awesome. I thought about what I could do to help you mark this major milestone. I did visit a couple of jewelry stores, but every pair of earrings seemed inadequate. I thought about my Bubby Chayla and her gift. I wish I could give you the earrings she gave me, but that just isn't possible. Instead, I will continue her tradition and give you a pair that means a great deal to me. These small hearts were a gift to me from your Zaidy. I used to wear them a lot, but now I lovingly give them to you. They are a symbol of our bond, our family, and our love. I hope that you wear them with pride. Try not to lose one. 😉 I hope that you are a tad more responsible than I was.

Happy Birthday, my dear Molly. May this year of eight be exciting, filled with fun, joy, lots of new experiences, and so much love. I adore you and am so very proud of you. 

Love,

Bubby

Talia is Four!

Dearest Talia,

I'm going to begin this letter to you for your fourth birthday with a short story.

Back in June, we gathered as an extended family to celebrate Zayde's birthday. It was a lovely Shabbat dinner filled with pizza, salad, and pasta, all Zayde's favourites, but with a grandmotherly eye toward making sure the kids were happy. 

Every time you were offered something to eat, you said no. 

"Talia, do you want some pizza?"

 "No," came your emphatic reply.

 "Talia, do you want some pasta?" 

"No," you said, shaking your head. 

None of this was concerning, nor was it anger-inducing. We have all been around long enough to understand the food routines of toddlers. Your Uncle Daniel, in particular, was greatly amused. He relished the negative responses. As a former picky eater himself, I like to think that he was commiserating with you. He kept asking. 

"Talia, do you want some challah?" 

"Nope!" 

"Talia, do you want some salad?"

If looks could reduce a grown man to a puddle, this one from a 3 1/2 year-old was liquifying. 

He set you up like a pro and was ready to pounce.

"Talia, do you want a cupcake and ice cream?"

"NO!" It was the shout of pure determination and purpose.

And then came the look. It was the look of realization and expectation. Caught in a negative web of your own spin.

"YES! I want cupcakes and ice cream." 

Of course, we laughed, and of course, you laughed too. You were never upset. You just wanted what you wanted when you wanted it, and nobody was going to make you do something you didn't want to do.

I have given a lot of thought to that day. It isn't unusual for children your age to say no. It isn't even unusual for them to say no to everything. It is a growth exercise that allows for setting boundaries and limits. We all have things we like and don't like. It could be food choices or fashion. It could be activities or a favourite subject at school. We like some things a lot, and some things we simply tolerate. And then there are those things we find unbearably disagreeable. You couldn't get me to eat eggplant even if you covered it in chocolate syrup, and I know how you feel about broccoli. I think the exact word you used was yucky. As a wise woman once said, "No is a complete sentence."

There is a stigma attached to saying no. Nice girls are the ones who go along to get along. Good girls are agreeable. Being upbeat and positive is the best way to get ahead. 

What utter nonsense.

Sometimes we need to push back. Saying no is one of the fundamental life lessons many women fail to learn. We often take on more than we can handle because we neglect to say no. Many of us find ourselves in difficult situations that could have been solved if only we dared to say no. Talia, I am in awe of your ability to push back. You have taught me a great deal about what feminine strength looks like, and I value that more than you can know. My hope is that you will continue to explore your strengths and things you relish with positivity and intention, all while standing resolute against anything that doesn't meet your standards.

Becoming a four-year-old is really exciting. How can it be that you will be starting JK in the fall at the same school as your sister? How did we both age into that era? I admit to some concern about how being a child of the lockdowns, all that isolation, might affect your socialization skills. I needn't have worried. Watching you thrive and grow throughout your childcare/nursery years has been a wonder. This summer, you went to camp for the first time. There is a photo of you grinning from the bus that made me melt into my socks. There was such unwavering independence apparent in that smile. When we asked you what you did that first day, you proudly exclaimed that you went down the waterslide all by yourself. It was just so matter-of-fact. No wavering. (Of course, being four, you've decided that waterslides aren't necessarily your thing. Maybe when you're five.) You have discovered your own strong voice, and you refuse to be bossed around by anyone, especially Molly. I love watching you have dance parties with your sister, and I love that you perform Let It Go like it is the last song you will ever sing. You emote like a Broadway Belter, and you understand innately that it will never sound perfect unless you are wearing your Elsa costume. 

I adore that you are a staunch and singular cat-lover in a dog-loving family, and I can forgive this mistaken life choice because you are just so emphatic about it. Your deep affection for animals, especially sea creatures, has reignited my own, and I am absolutely determined to find you the perfect dolphin stuffy. I have gifted you with a few fairly mediocre ones, but this quest has absolutely become a lifelong pursuit for me. 

I love that you refuse to perform on command. There is no doubt that you are more than ready for your next school step, but you won't show off your knowledge unless it is your idea. I love that, despite being small in stature, you refuse to let anyone think you are a "little girl." This is an emotion I understand very well. I always hated the word "cute." Cute is for puppies and teddy bears. We are fully formed people. Being petite should never disqualify you from anything. Stand up strong and be loud when it is appropriate. The world may not have been built for us shorties, but we can force it to pay attention.

Talia, you are the next in a long line of strong, opinionated women. This is a good thing. We speak our minds in this family, and we won't be suppressed in our conversations. But it is also important to learn the art of active listening. We need to pay attention to others and understand their perspectives. We can engage in the debates without always having to win. Learning the art of compromise and when it is necessary is a skill that will come with time and growth. You have the luxury of both. 

Happy Birthday, my dear one. Eat that cake with gusto. Dance like you are looking for a unicorn around every corner. Sing loudly and proudly. 

I love you with every fibre of my being.

Love,

Bubby

For Molly On Her Seventh Birthday

Dearest Molly,

Guess what, darling girl? The seasons have once again done a lap around the sun and you are celebrating another birthday. 

It is hard for me to believe that you are really seven. Did you know that the number seven holds special significance for us Members of the Tribe? It is the essence of holiness, completion, and perfection. There are seven days in a week and seven days in the Divine Spirit's act of creation. Shabbat is on the seventh day and is the supreme time of peace and divinity. In Jewish Gematria or numerology, the Hebrew word gad, which means fortune, equals seven. The Hebrew word, mazal, which means luck, adds up to seventy-seven. There are so many great and holy things that seven signifies. Seven is a pretty freaking excellent age to be.

This year, it is your turn to be seven. Every time I look at you, I see your age's true meaning and completeness. There is a maturity that has descended upon you. You are no longer that baby girl with the chubby cheeks. You are growing by leaps and bounds, and I have no doubt that you will be taller than me within a couple of years. (Not much of an accomplishment given my challenged stature, but a milestone nonetheless.) You have a mischievousness that tickles me and a brilliance that shines through every discussion. Your imagination is always humming and your ability to find joy in the small things makes me so happy. I love seeing the world through your eyes. It is filled with rainbows and unicorns. It is the epitome of what seven should be.

I wish I could tell you that the world around you is also as carefree and happy as you are. Unfortunately, we live in uncertain and complicated times. Norms that I have taken for granted throughout my life, are crumbling as difficult and cruel people assume the mantles of leadership. It would be easy to stay silent and tread carefully to avoid confrontation with the ugliness, but I need you to know that nothing good ever came from NOT calling out injustice. We need to stand up and be brave, even when the situations terrify us. Too many people are closing their eyes and ears to the hardships of others. I cannot implore you strongly enough to be the difference maker. Be the person who stands up and speaks with a clear and impassioned voice. 

Women, girls, marginalized communities, people of colour, people who speak differently, people who learn differently, Jews, Muslims, people who identify as non-binary or transgender, First Nations, people without means or who are unhoused; they are all under attack from those who refuse to understand or learn. You are a very lucky girl, Molly. You were born into a family that loves and cares for you. They want you to have the best education and to access the best opportunities available. Not everyone is like you. Some might need a bit of help or encouragement. Some might need a lift or to just feel seen. When our leaders look at those who are somehow living outside of the mainstream or on the margins of society and refuse to see their humanity, we must call them out on their bigotry and narrowmindedness. It is our moral and ethical responsibility. Challenging authority, especially when it has descended into intolerance, is our duty as human beings.

Never let anyone tell you that you aren't good enough. Never let anyone define your worth by their own prejudices. Never let anyone bully you or pressure you into going against your conscience. Never let any man overshadow or take credit for your accomplishments. Be strong, be kind, be tenacious, be polite, but be firm. You get to decide what is right for you. Always maintain your spirit and your empathy. Life can be tough sometimes, but if you walk through it with compassion and dignity, you will be successful.

Role models are everywhere. Choose them wisely. Our heroes and mentors are often right in front of us. They don't have to be rich or famous. They simply have to make good and inspiring choices. Follow the paths that others have trod and then blaze your own. When you stumble, and you will, keep going. You have so much to offer and so much to give. You will eventually find that thing or that spark. It is within you. 

You are celebrating your year of mazal, your year of luck and good fortune. We are taught in the Talmud that we can impact our mazal through mitzvot. If we live well and do right by others, our fortune will be felt for generations. Molly, don't let anyone convince you otherwise. Live with an open mind, an empathetic conscience, and a clear-eyed resolve. Treat people as you wish to be treated, and help those whom society has ground down. Above all, speak against injustice when you see it. 

Happy Birthday, dear heart. May this year of seven be everything you want it to be. I love you with all of my heart and being.

Love,

Bubby

Here is a song by one of my favourite artists. Call it an add-on birthday gift. 

For Talia On Her Third Birthday

Dearest Talia,

Happy 3rd Birthday!! It amazes me every single time I start to write one of these letters, just how quickly time passes. As we approach your third birthday this week, I am simply stunned that this is my fourth letter to you. I have yet to bother to read my previous missives. I thought about it, but I think I prefer to let them all stand on their own. They are each a snapshot in time. I hope they offer some positivity, some life lessons, a bit of old-lady humour, and maybe even a bit of grandmotherly advice. And if they don't? Well, I hope you know that I tried. 

On your third birthday, I want to tell you about one of my all-time favourite movies. Eat Drink Man Woman is a Chinese-language film by the great director Ang Lee. Mr. Lee is probably better known for his Oscar-winning and groundbreaking flick Brokeback Mountain. That movie is one that I hope you will see someday, but when I tell you that I think that Eat Drink Man Woman is a seminal film, I am not exaggerating. (It has been remade in English as Tortilla Soup and it deeply inspired another Chinese language movie called Joyful Reunion, both of which are worth seeing.) The title comes from the Confucian classic, The Book of Rites. It refers to basic human desires and demands we accept them as natural. Eat Drink Man Woman was released thirty years ago and I saw it for the first time when your dad wasn't much older than you are now. The fact that I keep rewatching it is a testament to its message and its staying power.

Eat Drink Man Woman is the story of a famous, semi-retired chef who lives in Tapei. Chef Zhu is a widower who goes to great lengths every Sunday evening to prepare a family feast for his three daughters. The movie opens with a montage of Zhu cooking his various delicacies. It is an array that blasts the senses. You can almost smell and taste his dishes. Every time I see the film, I want to jump through the screen and pull up a chair. Zhu's daughters are less than enthused by the continual demand that they show up every Sunday for a dinner none of them seem to care about. Each woman has a repressed need to show her true self and as the story unfolds, those needs are met. The film expertly displays the important link of food to family, and why even though we may not always sit together for a meal, those tastes and smells stimulate our memories and emotions. 

Several years ago, Zaidy and I had the opportunity to have a special viewing of this film at the TIFF Lightbox Theatre here in downtown Toronto. The guest speaker that evening was the very famous Toronto chef, Susur Lee. Chef Lee spoke of why he prefers to cook his dishes in a family style. He wants people to not only savour his phenomenal cuisine, but he wants them to sit, chat, enjoy, and connect over his food. He talked about the importance of eating together as families, and about how critical it is for families to find history through cooking, recipe sharing, and communal noshing. He said all of this as a proud Chinese-Canadian but he could have just as easily been speaking about my Jewish/Polish/Russian roots.

It isn't unusual to have memories triggered by food. Whenever I bake a chocolate chunk cookie, I remember making them with my mom and her admonishments about the "best ingredients" and how I should never use artificial vanilla. The horror! Those times in the kitchen with her are so precious. I will relish them always. I am instantly lost in a haze of tearful remembrance every single time I eat a rugelach. Nobody made them better than Aunty Marlene. I can see my own grandmother Essie jarring dill pickles and the memory floods back whenever I smell the herbs. Every Pesach seder, Rosh Hashana dinner, Purim Hamentaschen bake, or meal in a Sukkah tethers me to our ancestors. Food and eating are essential to our development of family ties and whenever we eat or cook together, we strengthen those bonds.

When my Aunt Marlene died, I was given a recipe file she kept. Bits of scrap papers or stained computer printouts that she had stuffed into a folder and many were written by her own hand. When I cleaned out Bubby Sheila's closets in Florida this spring, I found a similar cache. Most of these recipes are probably useless to me and I will never even attempt making them, but I can't part with them either. They are like warm hugs coming at me from across the decades. I hope that someday someone will want them. For now, they are more precious to me than a photograph.

Talia, I want to spend hours cooking, baking, and eating with you. I want you to get to know the history of our family. I want you to have our recipes that have been made with love and care. I want to play with you while we make challah dough. I want to help you sneak chocolate chips from the cookie batter, and I want to remind you to always use the best ingredients. When we cook and eat together, we make irreplaceable memories. On this your third birthday, I bequeath to you the gift of your heritage, your family, your recipes, and all our love. 

Here are two family recipes to get you started. 

Bubby Sheila's Famous Chocolate Chunk Cookies

1/4 cup white sugar

1 cup dark brown sugar

2 1/2 cups (scant) flour

1 cup unsalted butter (softened)

1 egg

1 tsp pure vanilla (NEVER ARTIFICIAL!)

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

1/2 cup pecans (chopped and optional. Your dad loathes nuts so I often leave them out.)

1 large bar of President's Choice dark chocolate (chopped) (YES! You read that correctly. An entire large bar of chocolate.)

1. In a medium bowl, sift together flour, baking soda and salt.

2. Cream together butter and the sugars.

3. Add the egg and vanilla

4. Carefully add the dry ingredients to the butter mixture until combined.

5. Add the chocolate chunks and nuts.

6. Using a small scoop, make balls and place them on a baking sheet. (I always put them in the fridge for about 15 minutes before baking.)

Bake at 350 degrees for 12 minutes. 

Aunty Marlene's Rugelach (Good luck making these. I simply cannot replicate them even though this is the complete recipe she always used.)

Dough

1/2 pound butter (softened)

1/2 pound cream cheese (room temperature)

2 cups flour 

Filling

1/2 cup sugar

2 tsp cinnamon

1/2 cup pecans (chopped)

1/2 cup raisins

1/4 cup chocolate chips (optional)

Dough

1. Blend butter, cream cheese, and flour together in a food processor or in a bowl with your hands.

2. Mix until a smooth ball forms. 

3. Divide into 4 equal parts.

4. Shape each into a ball. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight. 

Preparation

1. Preheat oven to 350 F. 

2. Sprinkle pastry board generously with flour.

3.  Roll each ball into 1/8" (•5 cm) thick circle. 

4. Spread a small and thin amount of raspberry jam over the circle. (Any jam will do, but Aunty Marlene always used raspberry)

5. Sprinkle with cinnamon, sugar, nuts and raisins. (Don't forget the chocolate chips.)

6. Cut the circle into 12 wedges.

7. Roll each wedge from the widest end towards the point to form a crescent shape. 

8. Place on a greased cookie sheet point side down.

Bake for 20-25 minutes until brown. Remove and cool on a rack. Sprinkle with icing sugar before serving. These freeze beautifully.

Happy Birthday, my darling girl. Enjoy all that life has to offer. Eat the cake and cookies, dance with spirit and joy, hug with strength, and always remember those who came before. 

I love you to the moon and back.

Love,

Bubby

Molly Is Six!

Dearest Molly,

Time is a funny thing. For kids, it passes oh so slowly. School days sometimes seem to drag on forever, with no end in sight. For us older folks, we can’t believe how quickly the calendar turns. An old parenting adage says, “The days are long, but the years are short.” From my perch, on the wrong side of sixty, it has never felt more poignant or more true. As you approach another trip around the sun, I am marvelling that this is the seventh letter I have written to you on these special days. I wonder if I am repeating myself in these missives, and then I realize that it doesn't matter. I am writing from a specific point in time; a tiny dot in the connections of your young life. Things change so rapidly in the world today, but I am hopeful that someday you might find use for these petty scribbles. I hope that these letters can connect us across a continuum of space and time and that hopefully, you can look back on them with nostalgia, love, and maybe just a wee bit of childlike excitement. 

I thought that for this birthday letter, I would tell you about some of the amazing women in your lineage who never had the chance to meet you, but would have been so awed and totally captivated. These wonderful people helped to shape me and make me a better person. They were kind, compassionate, and fierce in their own ways, and they served as both inspiration and role models for me when I was still searching and in need of guidance. You see, Molly, we stand on the shoulders of those who came before and it is important to remember the lessons they taught.

My grandmother Essie was my lodestar when I was a kid. Widowed at fifty-three, she came to live with us when I was younger than you are now. I've been told she was lost and sad in those first years, but that isn't how I remember her. She would sit with me for hours and tell me stories about her rebel days. She was a bit of a wild child who liked to think of herself as a flapper and enjoyed fun evenings out as a young woman. She loved to dance and party. It was difficult for me to imagine that my grandmother had lived a whole other life that I didn't completely understand. When she met my grandfather, he lied to her about his age and it wasn't until they were getting ready to marry, that she discovered that she was three years older than him and that he needed his parents' permission to wed. She used to joke about "robbing the cradle," but it never seemed to bother her that she married a younger man, even though propriety at that time dictated otherwise. She was stylish and always perfectly coiffed. She worked her entire adult life, mostly because money was tight, but she held jobs as a working mother in an era when that simply wasn't done. By the time I knew her, she was still working in women's fashion stores every day until her mid-seventies. She loved her work. She was so proud when I came to visit the store and she could kvell to all her friends and coworkers. She would bring home treats every day for Uncle Michael and me and she would sneak them to us when my mom wasn't there. She often travelled with us, and I will never forget her joy when we toured England and Israel. She was feisty and strong in those days. She devoured everything she saw and she flirted with one of the single men on our tour. When I was twelve, she told me that she was moving out and getting her own apartment. I cried for days. I couldn't imagine her not being in that room at the bottom of the stairs. She lived long enough to meet and dote on your Uncle Daniel and your dad. She was tough but fair. She was lovely and loving. She taught me compassion and patience, even though the lessons went missing more times than I can count. Thinking of her today reminds me that even when life throws you the worst possible curveball, there can be joy. 

Zaidy's grandmother Rae was a truly extraordinary woman. From the first moment I met her, she wowed me. She was a powerhouse of personality all compacted into a tiny frame. When Zaidy first brought me to meet her, she hugged me and told Zaidy that he wasn't allowed to ever let me go. She had seven grandsons and I was the first girl to enter into that generation, so I quickly became special to her. She was tough and brash and she spoke her mind with a refreshing ease. She subsisted on caffeine and plain potato chips. I don't think I ever saw her eat a complete meal. Perhaps it was because she was the worst cook you could possibly imagine. Everything she made was a different shade of grey, but nobody in the family would ever tell her, either out of benevolence or sheer terror. But as horrid as she was in the kitchen, she had golden hands when it came to anything with a stitch. She was a seamstress extraordinaire. I didn't realize how widespread her clientele was until one day, my Bubby Essie went to have some clothes altered. She saw a picture of your Zaidy in Rae's home and asked how she knew him. The connections were strong. She hopelessly tried to teach me to knit. I was over at her place every day attempting to retrieve dropped stitches and pulled yarn. Those times were some of the best I ever had. She would ply me full of some store-bought baked goods while she tried to be encouraging about my lack of talent. It was never about the knitting. It was about sharing. I had been told stories about how she wasn't the best mother. She was opinionated and could be harsh, but I never saw the neglectful side. She worked hard all her life and I believe she did the best she could. For me, she was a link in the chain that brought me closer to Zaidy's family. She wanted so much to be there for me. She offered to babysit and would often show up unannounced with Zaidy Harry just to visit. When she became less able to get around, I would take her grocery shopping. A child of the depression, she instructed me to drive to every store in the area because that's where the deals were. Of course, it would have been easier for me to just do the shopping for her, but that would have denied her the outing with me.  Bubby Rae lived her passions. She loved the only way she knew. She is a reminder to me to always seek out that which makes you happy. Surround yourself with good people and never be shy to express an opinion. 

My aunt Marlene was my Other Mother. I simply don't have a childhood memory that doesn't include her. She and Bubby Sheila were two halves of the same whole. The balance they brought to each other was stunningly amazing. Marlene loved me as if I were her own. She always said that she had four children. I spent almost as much time in her home as I did at mine. Miriam and I used to plot about how we could arrange sleepovers, and while she feigned annoyance, she never cared. She was gentle and yet, she exuded a quiet strength infused with tremendous compassion. I used to watch her lovingly feed and care for the hundreds of puppies that passed through their home, sometimes at hours of the night that weren't meant for human beings. There was something innately maternal about her. It transferred easily to the hundreds of youth groupers in her care. She was creative and she loved trying new things. Cooking and baking were a true passion. I still have hundreds of her recipes written in her own hand, and I feel her presence when I use them, although I still cannot accurately recreate her rugelach. She could talk your ears off and her shaggy dog stories are legendary. She introduced me to Star Trek, Cary Grant, a love for old movies, and country music. I'll never forget going into her Florida home shortly after she died and turning on her music app which was set to Lady A. I cried for an hour. When I remember her, I know I was loved fiercely and how I was guided by so many caring and kind people. She was simply marvellous. 

Molly, these women shaped me. They helped point me in directions I never would have thought possible and they made me feel as though I could accomplish anything. Along with other role models, like my own mother, your mother, and various teachers and mentors, these women built a foundation for me upon which I built my own womanhood. They weren't perfect people, nobody was or is, but they blazed a path forward that I could follow. It is my hope that you will find and embrace amazing women throughout your life, too. The men in my life have offered different lessons and should never be discounted, but it is the women who gave me the foundation.

Happy 6th Birthday, my darling Molly. May the coming year bring only fun, joy, health, and amazing new experiences. May you continue to find and embrace all sorts of people who will help guide you along life's path. 

I love you with all my heart. 

Love,

Bubby

 

To Molly As She Celebrates Five

Dearest Molly,

I had a conversation with your mom yesterday when I remarked that not only am I having trouble believing that you are five, but I am also having issues with how quickly five years have passed. The passage of time is a strange thing. For grown-ups, it races by very quickly. We lament how we were stressing about school one day, and in what feels like a blink of an eye, we are waving to our grandchildren as they embark on their scholastic careers. We, adults, are filled with nostalgia, and the future seems like it could very well be an unfulfilled promise. We inherently understand the bargain. We get to revel in our grandchildren and their growth, only to know that time is limited. We won't get to bear witness to the completed product. We get tantalizing glimpses of who you are and who you are becoming, but we can only imagine the entirety. If this sounds slightly maudlin, it isn't meant to be. Over the past three years, I have come to realize that time is among the only treasures that we can't replicate. We can't get back that which we have wasted. As we were all forced to separate for reasons of health, I am not certain that we fully understood the deeper consequences of our sequestration. Not being together challenged our patience, our norms, and our trust. We have seen children who are fearful of new situations and people, and we have seen older folks who still refuse to engage in their social circles for fear of illness. There are no easy answers to regain a modicum of what was lost, but moving forward we need to push ourselves to be with people again. 

You, my darling, don't seem to have any trouble engaging with people. You love being with children and you chat up new folks so easily. We joke that you are so comfortable with people that someday you will probably give some stranger your parents' pin numbers and alarm codes. I think that every single cast member at Disney World had an in-depth conversation with you. I especially loved how you and Merida compared red hair. We are working on teaching you the meaning of the word circumspect. There is an unguardedness to you that is just so pure I wish we could bottle it. There is also your innate strong-willed nature that I am certain your mom would love to see tempered. While it isn't always easy to back down from what you want, the balance between compromise and doggedness will serve you well in the long term, even if Mom doesn't think so right now. And while you are ready and willing to try most things, I am most impressed by your cautiousness. There is an internal understanding that not everything is easy. Some things require work, hard work. At five you seem to get that. I saw it in the pool down in Florida. You want to swim but you know instinctively that it isn't easy. You worked hard to overcome those trepidations and have moved forward in your learning. I am so proud of how you tackled your apprehension. And...now you know just how much fun the water can be.

Molly, as you enter into the second half of your first decade, I want to impart a bit of wisdom that I have learned as I enter into my seventh. It may not be right for everybody, but I think it will serve you well as you become more involved outside of your family unit and in the general community at large. The world is a big and fascinating place and learning to navigate it well is challenging. Let's call these nuggets Bubby's Bites.

Be Kind-Not everybody is and it is my feeling that many people have forgotten how to interact with others. Treat people with respect, dignity, and kindness and they will return the favour. This includes the person who might be holding up the line at the grocery store, the harried clerk, or your sister. Impart kindness and you will be rewarded tenfold.

Be Cautious-Always be aware of your surroundings. 

Be Prepared-Do your homework and always be ready with the answers when asked. Never go into a situation without knowing all of the permutations, and try not to "wing it". If you are prepared for what is coming, you won't be caught or embarrassed.

Be Organized-Make sure that you know where things are and can find them when asked. Somewhere down the road, you will be asked to organize your time as well. Learn how to balance things now. The lessons are much harder later.

Be On Time-Punctuality is a sign of respect. It is important to show other people that their time matters as much as yours.

Be Adventurous-Try new things and never stop learning. Do you want to learn music or an instrument? Make it happen. Do you want to rock-climb? Go for it. The whole world is out there. Do whatever interests you. 

Be Lazy-Laziness is highly underrated. Spend a day in your pyjamas without guilt. Watch tv and eat some junk food. Just don't let laziness become your norm.

Be Healthy-Some of this is obviously out of our control but learn the habits early. I wish that I started exercising long before I actually did. It is much easier to learn to take care of our bodies when we are young. That said, don't obsess over any of it. Just do what is fun. Go for a walk or a scooter ride, or get outside in the fresh air at the playground. Get enough sleep and don't stress too much. Take care of you.

Be Interested-Listening is a difficult skill to learn, but if you do it right other people will know that you care about them. Being interested in what other people like is a way of telling them that you enjoy them and want to be around them. Being interested and curious is how we learn.

Be Tolerant-Not everybody is just like you. People are different and that is what makes them interesting. Just because they don't like what you like, doesn't make them less than you. Accept people for who they are and what they are. 

Be Good To Family-Family is an odd creature. We love them with all of our hearts and souls and yet, sometimes, we really want to stick a fork in some of their eyes. The thing is, they love you unconditionally. Don't forget that when the chips are down, family is what will hold you together.

Be Happy-Sometimes, it is really easy to fall into the trap of staying miserable. We can't be happy all the time and sadness is a part of life. But, striving for happiness makes our journey a whole lot easier. Try and find the joy in whatever you are doing and if it doesn't bring you satisfaction, move on. Life is far too short to be weighed down by toxicity or ugliness.

That's enough for any five-year-old to get a good headstart. If the Divine Spirit is willing, there will be a whole lot more of these Bubby Bites. I can't wait to walk hand in hand with you as you discover all that your life has to offer. In the meantime, I will content myself with your giggles, silliness, seriousness, a few games of Candy Land, some more Paw Patrol builds, a few more challah bakes, a lot more songs, tons more family time, and an infinite amount of hugs and kisses. 

Happy Birthday, my darling girl. Enjoy it all and may you stay as fiery as your hair.

I love you forever and day,

Love,

Bubby

Turning Sixty In The Technology Age

I must stress at the outset of this post that I am not dissing my parents. They are capable seniors living in a digital age that is not fully designed for their needs. The stories I am about to tell you in this missive are true, but I am not ridiculing them. I am simply stating their truth.

I am about to turn the page on another decade, and I must say that I am very stressed at the prospect. Sixty. It is a really big-sounding number. SIXTY! I often roll it around in my mouth and try it on for size, but it isn't fitting. It is like a bra that is two cup sizes too small. SIXTY F***ING YEARS OLD!

Yes, I am aware that the alternative sucks. Yes, I am aware that I don't look sixty. (Yesterday, I was told by someone not that much older than that throat-catching number that she thought I was forty-five. She is my new best friend.) Yes, I am aware that age is simply a number on the calendar and that you are only as old as you feel. (Whoever said that probably only lived to fifty-nine.) Let's be frank. Sixty is a big freaking number. 60!

Nobody can claim that you have half of your life in front of you at sixty. When scientists talk about things that will occur by 2050, I do the math and realize that my odds of seeing those things happen are slim. The Divine Spirit willing, Younger Son will be sixty in 2050. Holy Shit. None of this is meant to depress you, dear reader, but I am simply being realistic. Sixty is a big freaking number.

Many things have impressed this reality upon me over the last eighteen months. Some of them were simply age questions. For example, I couldn't get my fourth Covid vaccination for months because I wasn't sixty. Sixty was that magical age line for the government between protecting older people and those of us not there yet. I wasn't old enough. Sixty is the age when my out-of-country insurance will increase. I was fifty-nine when I left Canada, so the premiums were less. Next year, watch me hit the stratosphere. 

But, nothing has convinced me more of my age issues than dealing with my parents and theirs. My parents are amazing people. They are both in their mid-eighties, live independently, exercise regularly, and handle all of their own banking, shopping, cooking, and medical needs. They both have a decent amount of computer/smartphone literacy in that they have a basic understanding of email, online banking, texting, FaceTime, Zoom, and (God help me) social media. But my octogenarian parents are still trying to learn these skills at an age when the outside world assumes that everyone understands everything and the never-ending technological changes.

Simply put, technology for people of a certain age is a bitch. We laugh at their ineptitude, but it isn't at all funny. When I tried to explain to my dad that he couldn't actually "call" an UBER, he was befuddled. When I tried to explain to my mom that her cellphone wasn't operating correctly down here in the Southern Home because her service provider was a shitty company, she couldn't understand the difference between a service provider and her actual handset. She asked The Husband to look at her phone as if that would change the problem. When I asked my dad to call said shitty service provider and deal with the situation, he kibbitzed with the operator until they lied to him and told him everything was fixed. I have spent hours lately fixing their cable, internet, and cell phones and updating all of their devices. And here's the thing. I AM NOT MUCH BETTER AT ANY OF THIS THAN THEY ARE. I married a techie and birthed one; I am not one. And don't even get me started on lost and forgotten passwords. Is it all caps or lowercase? Did you use numbers or symbols? Did you write it down anywhere? Did you save the password with facial recognition? Do you use facial recognition? The possibilities and computations are endless. (We are beginning the labourious task of documenting all of their passwords in a notebook. It will take a while.)

To make matters worse, my wonderful brother bought them new phones before they came south and set everything up for them. And yet, they are still using their old phones occasionally because some critical apps, like my dad's hearing aides, are only useable in Canada and can't be duplicated in the U.S. app store. And...we need access to the Canadian app store from down here which we don't have. Do better, Apple.

I am in technology hell. 

Last week, The Husband and I spent two hours with a Breezeline technician because the modem in my Other Dad's condo was fried. He has yet to arrive, and we wanted to ensure everything was copacetic before he came. I had spent over an hour on the phone with Breezeline a few days before explaining that the modem was fried. After they disconnected me twice, I insisted on the in-person visit. The technician did indeed replace the modem, but he had to reset all of the network passwords. He wasn't permitted to change the network name or password to something more personal, so he left instructions with The Husband on how to do it. But you can't use an iPhone to do it. He stressed this. It will lock you out of the network. The next day, The Husband and I took his laptop to Other Dad's condo to quickly reset the name and password. 

Um...no!

It wasn't possible to do it over the internet even though we were connected to the WiFi. It locked us out of the system. Thanks to the Divine Spirit for my techie. He hardwired Other Dad's desktop computer directly into the modem so that he could access the network. But...his wireless mouse and keyboard were dead, logical after a hiatus of several months. So, he had to plug them into the wall to charge. Three hours later, we were back in his unit to change the password and network name. Without The Husband's knowledge and skill, we would have been fucked.

My brother sent me an email last month warning me that my parents' email verification would change in December. All that we needed to do was input their passwords for their email. That and update all their devices to the latest iOS and find all those passwords to access them. My dad last updated his iPad 45 weeks ago. I'm fucking serious. 45 weeks. The updates took a while. So far, their email is still working. Pray for me.

I have an excellent idea for a business. Tech support that is specifically designed for seniors. Not the Geek Squad, which expects you to understand the basics and employs less than adequate people. I'm talking about a tech support who will come to your home and deal with everything, from password retrieval to how to program your digital TV recorder. Don't tell them how to do it, just do it for them. Don't offer them explanations and instructions; order that UBER for them. The employees' prerequisites need to include Job's patience, a love of people (my dad will make them coffee, and my mom will ply them with chocolate chunk cookies), an aversion to judgement, and an understanding nature. We expect our seniors to be able to navigate new apps and phones every month. It is a loser's game. Let's find a way to make things easy for them. They are twentieth-century people living in a twenty-first-century world. Only some people have access to a techie.

I see myself in my parents. I fear the day when I fear technology. I am scared that there will come a time when it is all just too complicated. I don't want to burden my techies any more than my parents wish to burden theirs. Every time something goes haywire, I hear the exhaustion in my mother's voice. "Two years ago, I could do it all," she says. She's right. But two years is still two years. We don't get younger.

Sixty is a big freaking number. I'm not expecting sympathy. I'm blessed. But I need to acknowledge the fears before I embrace the excitement. That post is coming before the end of the month. The fears are real. This, too, shall I overcome. 

. 

A Letter To Talia On Her First Birthday

Dearest Talia,

I have started and erased this letter so many times now. I have committed to writing to you and your sister on birthdays, and I have been successful. I haven't missed one yet. But, for some reason, this year has felt different, and the writing hasn't come with ease. Perhaps it is because the world around us feels very broken, and I want these letters to have a modicum of hope. The generations in front of you have certainly messed things up with great flair, but I need to believe that there is a phoenix in the embers of our collective pyre that will rise with you and the promise you hold.

I think there is another reason that writing this year's letter has been far more arduous. Milestone birthdays can be really joyous, as is this your first. This past year has been filled with touchstones for you; your first smile, your first giggle, your first strawberry, your first babble. Each one is a barometer of your growth and a measure of the person you are becoming. I simply melt while watching the gleam you get in those big blue eyes when Molly comes to play with you. I love watching your curiosity spark while trying to figure out a new toy. I adore that you growl like a baby raptor when you are "hangry."  I am amazed at how you eat anything and everything, and you never seem to be sated. Seriously. Where does it all go? So much food in such a tiny human. Milestones. Each and every one of these deserves commemoration. There are so many more to come, and I can't wait to cheer them all. Turning one is a tremendous milestone. May it be the first of many. 

But, milestones can also be a time of reflection and contemplation. As it happens, I, too, am celebrating a milestone birthday this year. Last week, I had a conversation with someone dear to me. This person was incredulous at the idea that turning sixty might bother me. I explained that while I am not upset at the thought of getting older, this particular birthday feels different to me than previous "big ones." It somehow seems more ominous and finite. Now, don't misunderstand. My health is good, and I am not complaining, except for the various minor aches and pains that seem to be on permanent rotation through my body. I am forever looking in a mirror and seeing new lines and creases that didn't seem to exist yesterday. And while these don't perturb me all that much, they are a tangible sign of aging. Aging for a one-year-old is the excitement of impending first steps. Aging for a sixty-year-old is the realization that changes can be ominous. I'm taking a few more medications and sleeping far fewer hours. I have parents who require more assistance and children who need less. 

But, if the pandemic and its inherent isolation have taught me anything, it is that we should celebrate whenever we get the chance. So, I look forward to turning sixty with a bit of trepidation and a whole lot of excitement. I will never forget that I've been blessed with the presence of both of my parents well into their golden years and that they, in turn, have been blessed to know their great-grandchildren. I have a partner who adores me, and even though you might have suspicions about him, your Zaidy is the best. My sons are good men, and they love their families. Positive male role models are at a premium these days. Your daddy, your uncles, and your grandfathers are genuinely five-star. Look to them when men confuse you. Your mommy has become my daughter in all ways. She will be your rock, and, if you allow her, your confidant. Finally, your sister reminded me that teaching and bequeathing are sacred responsibilities. She is blazing the trail for you. She is your best friend and your best teacher. The two of you are my everything. My milestone birthday may be a bit more daunting than yours, but I never lose sight that I am grateful to be celebrating it. So, cupcakes for everybody.

Talia, you have much learning and growing to do. I am so excited to watch you unfold. Your name comes from Hebrew, which means "dew from heaven," and that is precisely what you are. You have been a bit of "mayim chayim," water of life, to all of us this year. While the world around you has been a bit chaotic, you have been the calming influence. You observe before you react. You study and then decide. You speak with authority even though you are speaking your own language. You are gradually finding your place in this crazy family. I have a sneaking suspicion that it won't be at the back of the line. 

Happy First Birthday, נכדתי היקרה, mi nieta, my darling granddaughter. You are a milestone. May the coming year bring you health, joy, excitement, wonder, and peace. Learn, grow, be strong, be wise, and be happy. I love you with all of my being.

Love,

Bubby

An Update From My 60s Project.

Depending on my mood, I promised you a series of posts that would celebrate or lament my upcoming milestone birthday at the end of the year. In typical Dawn fashion, I have found dozens of things far more essential to occupy my time and writing has become an afterthought. And while surfing the intertoobs for comfortable socks was a massive priority during those many months of lockdown, reconnecting with friends and family has taken precedence over fiddling around in this space or any space online. There are people to see, places to go, and celebrations to attend. We do so with great caution, masks, and lots of testing, but off we go. This brings me to how lovely it has been to see all of the happy pictures on social media over the last few days. Photos of newly minted graduates, happy couples celebrating engagements, weddings, new digs, and brand new babies have filled my timelines. It is a happy reversal from the usual doomscrolling, and with the improved weather, my disposition has definitely shifted. To facilitate my reemergence into the land of human interaction, I was in desperate need of some new clothes.

I can't possibly be the only person on earth who spent significant chunks of the pandemic clad in yoga pants, sweatshirts, and Crocs? It was almost as if my lifelong fashion choices had been validated by seven billion people. Every few weeks, I would slip on a pair of jeans to make sure that they still fit, but comfort was definitely the watchword of the lockdown. And now I find myself in a crisis of conscience. What does an almost sexagenarian wear to a wedding these days?

An aside. How great is that word? Sexagenarian. I am all a flutter at its provocativeness. I realize that its roots have absolutely nothing to do with erotica, but I very much like the idea of a sexy sixty.

Where was I? Ah yes...clothing.

I have never enjoyed clothes shopping. It is the furthest thing from a passion, and I have always been far more about functionality and comfort than style. Also, I loathe trying on clothes at a store with the fiery passion of the seventh circle of hell. One simply hasn't lived a full and complete life until one has had a salesperson remark on the size of one's breasts or the glaring lack of one's butt. These are encounters that have been imprinted on my psyche, and a lifetime of positive affirmation statements won't diminish them. In addition, trying on clothes that countless others have already squeezed themselves into seems unsanitary right now, but accepting social invitations means dressing in something more than a tank top and workout bra. Knowing that several weddings and functions were coming up this spring gave me the "dry heaves" when figuring out an outfit for my figure. So, I did the unthinkable.

I surfed the intertoob waves. 

I can hear the screams of derision coming through the screen. 

Yes, I shopped online for a dress for my nephew's and almost niece's wedding. And, here's the kicker.

I WAS SUCCESSFUL!!

I am as stunned as you must be. It isn't like I'm an easy fit. The options don't exactly overflow when you are under five feet tall, have short legs, a long waist, and big boobs. Standard sizing has been one of the banes of my existence. But, I was running low on options. Omicron was everywhere, and I was extraordinarily uncomfortable venturing into a store. I don't sew. (The Mother of the Groom/aka The Yin to the Lil' Bro's Yang, is the artsy one in the family, and she is making her dress. I have no doubt it will be of Vera Wang quality.) So, I was left with the intertoobs or sackcloth and ashes.

In February, I was in the Southern Home and was taking a cursory peek at some online dress shops. I was looking more for the style than an actual dress. I was stunned to find a shop that carried a variety of appropriate petite outfits that 1) didn't make me look like a dowager, 2) had a variety of colour palettes, 3) were made of fabrics that were both easy to keep and very forgivable in all the right places, and 4) wouldn't make me feel as though I was mortgaging my grandchildren's future education. I closed the computer and said no. This can't be possible. But, Jeff Bezos and internet cookies changed my mind. 

The site followed me around the web to Amazon. It seems as though this shop also has an Amazon shop that carries the same merchandise. They were willing to ship the dress via Amazon Prime with a one hundred percent refundable return policy. And on Amazon, it was thirty percent cheaper. I hovered over the keyboard for a while before hitting send. I figured that I would simply return it when it came and was wholly unsuitable.

The next evening, the dress arrived at my door. The Husband was incredulous.

"You know you'll hate it, don't you?" he said. (Everybody needs a supportive partner.)

I went into the bedroom, slipped off my sweats, and tugged on the dress. When I tell you that it fits as though it were made to measure, I am not exaggerating. It doesn't require hemming; it covers my problematic body areas; it's comfortable; I can wear a regular bra, and it has a bit of bling on the hip. I walked into the other room to show The Husband, and his reply was,

"How did you do that?" (SUPPORTIVE!)

Still totally flabbergasted, I made my way to my mom's to show her. I was confident that she would have some concerns because moms are trained to see the big picture. 

She stood stunned, and her only question was, "Do you have shoes?"

I DO!

The dress is now hanging in my closet, awaiting the chuppah this weekend and two other functions later this spring. 

A lifetime of shopping trauma had led to this moment. It was the most accessible and least miserable retail experience in my almost sixty years. 

There is a moral to this story. Clothing can look great and be comfortable. There are ways to dress without torture and expense, and we women shouldn't have to wait until we are sixty to figure it out. So, fuck standard sizing, fuck hating our bodies, fuck overpaying for an outfit you will only wear once, and fuck others telling you what is fashionable.

Here's the dress.  I promise to post a photo of me in it after the weekend. 

A Letter To Molly On Her Fourth Birthday

 My Dearest Molly,

I wrote the first of these missives a few weeks after you were born, and I have continued to post them annually on your birthday. As you approach your Flashy Four, I find it difficult to gather my thoughts into coherent sentences. The world is a really shitty place right now. (Yes...Bubby cussed. It is something that Bubby does, and I rarely apologize for it.) I wish it wasn't, but I promised that I would never lie to you. Sometimes, things are difficult. Occasionally, we all feel overwhelmed and exhausted. It isn't weak to admit that we are tired, need help, and need to lean on others. How I wish I was turning four like you, and the only care I might have is whether Mommy and Daddy will let me watch Paw Patrol after dinner. I hope that when we talk about this miserable era one day, you will only have snatches and glimpses of memory. I hope you recall how hard everybody worked to keep your life as normal as possible. I hope you remember how you readily accepted wearing a mask and how it became a mantra for keeping you and your friends healthy. I hope that you remember how wonderful your preschool was and the outstanding teachers that put joy in every day for you. 

I hope...

Last week, you and I sang some of our favourite songs from Encanto. Unsurprisingly, you know all of the lyrics and most of the choreography. Daddy says that you are a sponge. You hear or see something once, and it becomes a part of you. I asked you if you had a favourite character. Your answer was typically long and winding, as you named off the entire Madrigal family. I asked you if you could guess who my favourite Madrigal was. Excitedly, you yelled out, "Luisa!" "How did you know that?" I asked. And you said, "She's the strong one."

You were absolutely correct. Luisa is the strong one. She can move mountains, and she takes responsibility for everyone else in the family. But, I also told you another reason why I love Luisa. Luisa is strong, but sometimes she cries. You asked me, "Why does she cry?" I told you that sometimes everybody feels sad, and it is absolutely ok to cry when we do. You knowingly nodded your head. It was like I was having a mini therapy session. It was an intense and philosophical conversation to have with a four-year-old. You then showed me your Paw Patrol pups, and the universe was in total balance again. You gave me permission to cry that day, and I will be forever grateful. 

Four is such a magical age. Four-year-olds are the "in-between," not really babies or toddlers but not quite ready for the prime time of memory-laden childhood. But, oh, the things you can do and the things you say. Four-year-olds speak their minds without the filter that comes with age. Oh, how I wish I could utter some of the things you do and get away with it just because I'm four. There is a purity to your thought that is marvellous. It is yet to be tainted by rules of civility and propriety. Only young people and old people can live their lives without any shits to give. Those of us in the middle are stuck dealing with decorousness and etiquette. Enjoy it while you can, dear one. The decorum police will soon be on your doorstep.

You are a whirling dervish of imagination and chatter. There are times when I am sure that your parents just turn on the TV so that you will stop talking. I love it! I love listening to your stories. I want to crawl inside your brain and watch it work. I am in constant awe of everything that comes out of your mouth. Don't stop talking, Molly. Keep expressing yourself in ways that get you noticed. Tell the world how you feel and never hide your emotions. If someone calls you a chatterbox, tell them that you are loquacious. Words matter, and how we use them matters. Never allow yourself to be defined by somebody else's negative perception.

Are you stubborn? No, you are strong-willed. Are you picky? No, you are discerning. Be yourself, but be kind.

Kindness is in such short supply these days. People have forgotten how to interact and behave. And yet, I see it in you all the time when you comfort a friend who is having a difficult day at school or in the gentle way you treat Talia. Kindness matters so very much. We often forget that we need each other, and if we forge a bond of compassion and empathy, we can get through the difficult times together. Always return to kindness, Molly. There will be times when anger takes over, and your words might be sharp, but trust your kind heart. It will not fail you.

I have been so impressed with how wonderful a big sister you are. Talia is still so new and still learning so much. I love how you make it your mission to make her smile and laugh. Nobody makes that baby laugh harder than you. She adores you. I watch her face light up when you come close. She trusts you implicitly and wants so much to be like you. Sisters have a bond that is unlike any other. She will be your best friend, biggest fan, and best confidant. She will probably also be your biggest nemesis, aggravation, and irritant. Remember the good stuff and minimize the bad. Your relationship with your sister will be your most important and enduring. Cherish each other and work together. Always be there for her. 

You have grown so much this year. There is some wariness, and that is normal. I believe in caution, but it is essential to never let nerves overtake your desire to try something new. There are so many exciting adventures awaiting you this coming year, and it is my hope you dive in with both feet and embrace all that is offered. 

I am in constant awe of you. I love who you are becoming and am fascinated by what fascinates you. You are in ceaseless motion, and I wish I had a tenth of your energy. Keep dancing with joy. Continue to help with the cooking and baking because they feed both body and soul. Keep trying new things and embracing fresh escapades. Never stop asking questions and never settle for the easy answers when you feel them lacking.

Happy 4th Birthday, Molly. Celebrate it with dance and cake because life is always better with cake. 

I love you to the moon and back.

Love,

Bubby

 

A Birthday Story

Today is my birthday!

This story has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that today is my birthday but it is such an oddity during these difficult and bizarre times, that I am accepting it as a gift. Let's call it a birthday phenomenon. 

This morning, The Husband and I were attempting to install some extra shelving in our kitchen. (Yes, I realize that birthday celebrations in the time of Omicron have taken on a whole new level of excitement.) His phone rang during this wild time and since he was busy and didn't recognize the number, he chose to let the call go straight to voicemail. When he finally did retrieve the message, he discovered that it was from somebody who works at Benjamin's Funeral Home. Now before I continue, for those of you who are not from Toronto, Benjamin's is one of two Jewish funeral homes in the city. The woman was quick to point out that this was not a call of condolence or sadness but that she did hope that The Husband would return her call at his earliest convenience, which he did.

It seems that Benjamin's received an odd call this morning that had to do with The Husband's dad (z"l). He passed away almost seven years ago, so even the people at Benjamin's were a bit surprised by the request. The caller identified himself as a former client of my late father-in-law's and was anxious to get in touch with a member of his family. He knew that he had died but hadn't found out at the time as they had lost touch. When he finally did learn of his death, he tried to call his former legal office which had, of course, been closed and disbanded. He was about to give up when a Jewish friend suggested that he contact Benjamin's or Steeles Memorial and see if they could help. Benjamin's wasn't about to give out any contact information to a random caller but they did offer to act as a go-between and thus they made the call this morning to The Husband. They had next to no information about the caller other than his name and phone number and left it up to The Husband if he wanted to make the connection.

I tend to be suspicious and overly cautious these days. (Damn it, I really wish I wasn't) I made The Husband block his number before he called Surinder so that the Caller ID couldn't track it. Unfortunately, this is the world we live in right now. After a few formalities, both The Husband and Surinder were eager to verify the other's identity. There was no question that both were who they said they were and knew things that only someone acquainted with my father-in-law (z"l) could have known. It turns out that Surinder was indeed a former legal client of The Husband's dad and had been for over thirty years. He was anxious to touch base with The Husband's mom and was saddened to learn that she died last year. He went on and on for about ten minutes about what a wonderfully gracious man Dad was and how he took such great care of him both professionally and personally. He regaled The Husband with stories about how his dad was forever talking about his family and how proud he was of his children. As I could only hear one side of the conversation, I was struck by how choked up The Husband got and how moved he was by the effort to reach out.

But wait...there's more!

Surinder very much wanted to make a donation of $1000.00 to a charity of The Husband's choice in memory of his dad and wanted to know if The Husband had any suggestions. He was crying a bit at this point and suggested The PSP Society of Canada which is the truly horrible disease that claimed the lives of both his dad and his paternal aunt. (I am providing a hyperlink to their website in case somebody reading this might want to send a donation.) He asked The Husband if he would text him the information and he would take care of it today. 

These past two years have been filled with constant sadness and pain. We all have tended to wallow in the morass and I think it is possible that the goodness that is out there has been somewhat blurred. Surinder could have very easily made that donation in memory of my father-in-law without reaching out. He could have salved his own conscience easily with a credit card but he made the effort today, seven years later, to let my husband know something special about his dad. I don't think I could have asked for a better birthday present.

A Letter to Molly on Her Second Birthday

My Dearest Molly,

It is unbelievable to me that I am writing the third of these now annual missives. I know that the racing passage of time that I experience is still beyond your two-year-old intellect. You measure your days in terms of how many sleeps are left until a special occasion. I, on the other hand, watch the galloping by of the calendar with a poignancy that, on occasion, leaves me breathless. I want to imprint every single moment that we spend together into a cerebral scrapbook that can be replayed forever on a loop in my aging grey matter.

The pain that I feel in knowing that your second birthday is being celebrated at a distance from everybody except Mom, Dad, and Gus is acute, but then I remember how much your mom loves to make birthdays extraordinarily special and I have no doubt that your celebration will be exactly as it should be. I ache to hug you, dear one. I desperately want to be there to play with you and to read all of your new books together. I wish that we could share in your cake and get messy eating chocolate together. I want to kiss your cheeks and taste the ice cream remnants. But, sadly, that cannot be this year. The best and most loving thing that all of us can do in these difficult times, is to stay away from each other. It runs counter to everything that we want and that we understand about loving families, but it will keep us well and in each other's lives for many more birthdays to come. The thing that gives me great peace is knowing that you will remember very little from these miserable months and that it will be nothing more than a page in the history book for you.

I have marvelled at the independent human you are evolving into. Your parents might argue that you are stubborn but I prefer the term tenacious. You have very definite likes and dislikes and you have no trouble making them known to everybody. I love that even at two and with a still limited vocabulary, you are making yourself heard. Yes, there are moments of temper and yes, there are moments of needed time-outs but you are learning to use your strengths to the greatest of advantages. You can be polite, giving, sharing, and still strong and self-determining. You are learning to advocate for yourself and I love your fierceness.

Your independence has never been more on display than when you are at your childcare program. When you first started, you were the youngest in the class but after a split second of normal toddler hesitancy, you ran in and embraced the entire experience. There are days when you are so excited to be there, that you don't even notice we've left. There is so much in the world that you have yet to experience but you don't yet seem fazed by anything new coming your way. There is so much yet for you to discover and I can't wait to see it unfold.

I know that you won't remember the incredible week we spent together in Florida in February, just you, Zaidy, and me, the three of us beach walking, playgrounding, and swimming in the Miami sun. It seems so very far in the past and yet it was only weeks ago. It was a time when we three developed a routine and bond that was all our own, without Mom and Dad. We became intertwined with each other through meals, bedtime rituals, songs, and Coco. Camp Bubby/Zaidy was an early highlight of this year and now I am concerned that it has faded so deep into our collective recesses because of everything else around us. I want you to remember snuggling to House at Pooh Corner and singing Let it Go loudly with Elsa. I long to return to the boats you so ardently begged to see every day. I want to relive you going down the slide all by yourself with a smile so proud and broad. I love that you now have names for us and I worry that our newly adopted social distancing lifestyle will somehow change this still tenuous reality. If I forever remind you of that special week, even into your thirties, it is because it was so important and special to us. You can yell at me, roll your eyes and say, "Holy crap, Bubby...Again!" And I will wistfully smile disappear into my old lady haze and respond, "Yes, Molly. Again and again and again."

I miss my kids. It has been too long since we were all together as a family. Months. Pesach, which is a family time, is disappearing into the pandemic ether this year. I believe that we Jews often judge the passage of time, not by birthdays or New Years, but rather what has occurred in our lives and families from one Pesach to the next. I look at photos from only a few years back and see beloved family members who are no longer with us. Two seders ago, you were days from being born. This Pesach there are two new wee cousins that we still will not be able to meet in person. The emotions being stirred within me are bordering on painful and are visceral. I can't change the reality of the outside world but I won't deny my sadness at not being able to watch you wrinkle your nose at the taste of the maror or of missing the excitement that you will absolutely feel searching for and finding, the afikomen. The logical part of me is saying it has to be this way, but the emotional part of me is mourning this loss. No amount of Zoom time or online gathering can replace what is now forever forfeited and gone. I don't want to belabour this deprivation too much but I believe that we should at least, acknowledge it. Hopefully, next Pesach will bring us that family time that we all so desperately need.

There is so much good coming your way, my Molly. So many new things to learn, so many exciting things to experience. You can already count to ten and can recite most of the alphabet. Reading and storytelling is your passion and there are not enough words to convey my joy at this. You love to laugh and you love to sing, although the lyrics aren't really your strong suit...yet. You love to dance to the Wiggles and giggle with Gus. You are busy and in constant motion and watching or participating in your energy can be dizzying and exciting. This coming year will bring changes, as always, but hopefully only positive things and new passions. I want to cook with you, bake cookies with you, watch you grow into new activities, and learning opportunities. I want to teach you about Broadway and baseball and maybe even a few guitar chords.

I love you beyond the words and confines of this letter.

To the moon and back, my dear one.

Happy Birthday. As you have said many times over the last few weeks, you are indeed two and that is everything.

Love,

Bubby

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.