Wonderful Wonderful Copenhagen

I love Danny Kaye movies. He was a truly gifted actor/musician/comedian. Every movie he made just oozed with charm and fun. In his completely Hollywood-ized "biography" of Hans Christian Andersen, he croons a bit of a love letter to the city of Copenhagen. He sings:

Wonderful wonderful Copenhagen

Salty old queen of the sea

Once I sailed away

But I'm home today

Singing Copenhagen

Wonderful wonderful

Copenhagen for me

I agree with Mr. Kaye. There is a very homey feel to this city by the sea. It is busy and bustling, yet it is self-deprecating and communal. Yesterday, we chatted with a young waiter who attends college in Upstate New York. He told us that his parents couldn't understand why he would want to pay a fortune for his education when he could be getting it for free here at home. Free!!  

As we hopped onto a commuter train, we noticed that there was a car strictly for those with bikes equipped with appropriate racks to secure them. The bike lanes here are totally separated from both cars and pedestrians. This is a city  that has learned to compromise and accommodate all. I can almost hear Torontonian's heads exploding. 

During our canal tour yesterday, our guide Marie pointed out Denmark's contribution to the war in Iraq. It was a lonely submarine now sitting in dry dock in the harbour because it broke down during its mission. It now functions as a naval museum. The Danes seem just fine with this bit of comedy. There is no sense of lost national pride at all.

The people here are determined to enjoy whatever summer has to offer, even if the weather refuses to cooperate. On a chilly evening at Tivoli Gardens, the outdoor cafes and patios are equipped with furs and blankets for patrons to bundle up and/or snuggle up, and outdoor heaters are ignited so that the warmth is felt by all. The season is simply too short not to be savoured, and savour it they do!

Thank you for a wonderful few days, Madam. Mr. Kaye was correct. Copenhagen. She is a friendly old girl of a town.

Like a Fairy Tale

You have got to love a city and a country that prides itself on being one of the birthplaces of the modern-day fairy tale. That magical spirit is almost a part of the DNA of the people here in Copenhagen.

After an exhausting journey and dinner consumed in a mostly comatose stupor, we awakened refreshed and raring to go this morning. It was our plan to just wander the streets and see where the city took us. I was particularly excited to see the Hans Christian Andersen house and to view his memorabilia and the back stories to his tales. Yes, I had images of Danny Kaye floating around in my head, and for some reason I kept humming the melody to The Ugly Duckling. It is truly amazing to note how much of our modern pop culture has been influenced by Andersen's stories and fables. The Little Mermaid, The Snow Queen, The Emperor's New Clothes, The Duckling, Thumbalina...it just goes on and on. Disney in particular, owes Andersen a huge debt of gratitude (for Frozen alone, if not for anything else) and his descendants a huge barrel of cash. You can't walk into a shop anywhere here without tripping over fairy tale paraphernalia.

A lovely, if not a bit bone-chilling cruise of the canals followed. Copenhagen had been built around a series of quiet waterways. There is a massive shipping industry here and the cruise ships are busy and thriving. It was incredibly impressive that our young tour guide Marie, had no trouble keeping up her patter in three distinct languages. I can't imagine the North American teen who is that comfortable thrice. Another fairy tale.

A tour of the Christianborg Palace reminded me that there are still some people in this world who really do lead fairy tale lives. The opulence of the place was eye-popping. The palace is in its third incarnation as the Danes have had some trouble keeping the place from burning. No matter. The royal family has found alternative quarters just down the way at Amaliaborg. It's good to be the Queen.

Tonight...we head to the Tivoli Gardens, hoping to grab dinner and catch the place all lit up. Maybe like H. C might have imagined it in one of his stories? The problem? It doesn't get dark here until near 11:00pm, and the gardens close then, so we will do our best.

A few quick hits.

*Our little boutique hotel is charming and is located in a neighbourhood that has been re-gentrified. I think that it used to be a red light district. The adult store down the street has the biggest collection of dildos in the window I have ever seen. Another fantasy?

*When traveling, it is best to find compatible partners. I love vacationing with Twin Son and His Better Half. We have so many of the same interests and she is a whiz with a map and a spread sheet. Not that that is the only reasoned love her, but it is a definite bonus.

*The Little Mermaid statue, while tiny, was more than worth the effort. It was an exclamation point on the day.

*The bicycle culture here is amazing. This country really understands how to do it right. Thousands of bikers are everywhere. No parking lots. Bicycle parking, even on the commuter trains. They say that everyday in Copenhagen, the locals ride he equivalent of thirty times around the earth. Even in the dead of winter. Stunning!

The Day Before The Journey

Yesterday The Husband told me, in passing, that he thought he needed a butler.

And just as quickly, I responded (with my typical sardonic wit) that he married one.

His fascinating observation was mentioned in the context of our labourious packing exercise for our latest adventure. While he loves to travel and adores the exciting experience of visiting the world's hotspots, the actual preparation for the event seems to flummox this incredibly knowledgeable and monumentally brilliant man. If entirely left to his own devices, he might actually wear the same t-shirt and jeans for the entire two-week period. And while that might suffice for a teenager who is summer backpacking through European hostels, it really doesn't work for a slightly middle-aged man with various social needs at various locations with various climates dictating various clothing demands. 

Now...don't get me wrong. I am all for packing light. I loathe excess baggage, or more explicitly the excess weight it forces us to shlep. So when I say that I have got this preparation thing almost down to a science, I am not exaggerating. 

All of our belongings anally packaged in Ziploc Bags!

What I think The Husband is trying to express through his own procrastination is the fact that while travelling is exciting and adventurous, the preparations needed to facilitate the excursions are far less so. As a matter of fact, in recent years they have become downright onerous. Everything from added airline fees, to baggage weight restrictions, to fighting for overhead compartment space, to security measures that limit my Purell and choice of footwear, to middle seats, to angry passengers and pissed off crew, to the real consideration of whether or not I need to scarf down a heartburn-inducing bagel before I board, can all conspire to make for a truly miserable kick-off of what should be the latest trip of a lifetime. What The Husband has failed to grasp is that my overly compulsive preparations (see the above photo), along with a few luxurious perks provided by American Express Platinum, will serve to alleviate some of the stress that accompanies all of the afore mentioned. 

We make a great team, The Husband and I. I worry about the details and he doesn't. I make lists and he doesn't. I wake up in the middle of the night concerned that I have forgotten something important and he....doesn't. Oh how I wish I had his cool and calm demeanour. How I wish that I could see the forest for the trees. How I wish that I could let the water roll off the duck's back. 

How I wish that he would pack for himself. 

The Husband has a wonderful philosophy about travel. He believes that as long as you have your passport and a credit card you can get anything and go anywhere. He is absolutely correct. And I believe that next time, he should use that credit card to actually hire his butler.

***Check back daily for my travel blogs for the next couple of weeks. The Husband and I really do make a great team. My words and his incredible photography. 

When is Prayer Simply Not Enough?

I am tired of being told to pray.

Pray for the victims.

Pray for those affected by the violence.

Pray for the families and the mourners.

Pray for our leaders and our country.

Pray for peace.

Pray....

When is prayer simply not enough?

When it distracts from and obfuscates the real issues of institutional racism, gun violence, and domestic terrorism.

When it allows for an abdication of a collective call to action.

When it obscures our responsibilities to engage in Tikkun Olam, the reparation of our world.

When it tolerates an us versus them mentality.

When it gives leave for politics and ideology to stand in the way of logic and reason.

When it permits us to become immersed in what we think God wants instead of recognizing what people need.

By all means...pray. We all need it.

But it is simply not enough.

Di Goldene Pave

Every so often a story just lends itself to a blog post.

Did you know that there is a peacock running loose today in downtown Toronto?

Apparently the photogenic bird is not all that happy with his (yup it's a boy!) accommodations at the High Park zoo, and has flown the coop twice in the past two days. He was last seen parkouring the rooftops of the west end.

There was something in the back of my music-addled and age-atrophied brain about a peacock and Jewish music. So, I did what any trivia-challenged fifty-something might do. I googled it and found a eureka! It seems that the Golden Peacock is a mythical symbol of Yiddish literature and song. Many a Yiddish poet has written about the majestic bird and more than a few songwriters have put those poems to music.

Here is a beautiful melody based on a piece by Anna Margolin with music by Chava Alberstein, sung by Chava Alberstein and The Klezmatics. Enjoy!




iz di goldene pave gefloygn, gefloygn.
un di nakht hot geefnet di goldene oygn,
likhtiker mayner, shlof ayn.

di nakht hot geefnet di goldene oygn,
bin ikh fidl gevorn un du der boygn,
umruiker mayner, shlof ayn.

bin ikh fidl gevorn un du der boygn,
un doz glik iber undz hot farlibt zikh geboygn,
tsertlekher mayner, shlof ayn.

un dos glik iber undz hot farlibt zikh geboygn,
gelozt undz aleyn un farfloygn, farfloygn,
troyeriker mayner, shlof ayn.

The golden peacock has flown off, flown off.
And the night has opened its golden eyes,
Oh, my bright one, go to sleep.

The night has opened its golden eyes,
I was the fiddle and you were the bow,
Oh, my tense one, go to sleep.

I was the fiddle and you were the bow,
And fortune loved us and bowed down over us,
Oh, my soft one, go to sleep.

And fortune loved us and bowed down over us,
Left us alone and flew off, flew off.
Oh, my sad one, go to sleep.

This wayward peacock traversing the downtown core seems to be a sign. Maybe his sprint for freedom is something that we can all strive for this Shabbat and perhaps we can just enjoy him and his beauty in peace?

Shabbat Shalom

A Letter to My Mom

Dear Mom,

As much as we both despise Mother's Day, you have to admit that it does offer some glorious time for reflection on the nature of family and the ever-evolving relationships carried within. It has been several years since I publicly informed the world that not only do I love and respect my mother, but that I actually like you and adore spending time with you. For some women, this admission would be tantamount to smearing one's body with honey and running naked through the forest, but for me it was a natural as breathing.

You see....

I think that my mother is probably one of the most fascinating, brilliant, and talented people I know.

Now that I have said all of that, I can hear her cries of self-derision and embarrassment pulsating through my screen. But frankly Mom, it's time you listened and truly took to heart what I know to be true about you, even if you yourself can't see it.

You complain vociferously that you aren't smart enough or clever enough. This nonsense is being spewed by the same woman who worked her ass off and persevered through dyslexia, at a time when it wasn't on any educator's radar, to shatter old-time quotas placed on Jewish women entering nursing. You followed your passion when it wasn't always easy or "ladylike" to do so, and you lived it because you felt it completed you. How could your daughter not look at that drive and determination and not see a brilliant and powerfully independent woman?

And you have never rested on your laurels.

You continue to study, learn, create, beautify, interact, engage, experience, seek out, and acquire new ideas and skills. Your self-deprecation, while charming at times, infuriates the shit out of me. (And yes..I know that you wish I didn't swear so much.) I wish you could see what I see, but you come from a generation that pushed its boys forward into the limelight while allowing its girls to remain quietly in the shadows. You have never been shy about expressing yourself with me, but out in the world you prefer to stay buried in the background. I have never been able to fully reconcile these two sides of you. The greatest gift that you ever gave me was to push me out of my own comfort zone and onto a public stage where my gifts would be recognized and appreciated. Do you honestly believe that I could have achieved all that I have without your counsel, wisdom, guidance, critical eye, and unwavering support?

You have been my confidante, my guidepost, my biggest fan and my most needed and essential critic. You have been my shoulder to cry on, my organizational guru, my therapist, my role model, my mentor, and my friend. You are my rock. Our daily conversations (sometimes many) are sustenance to me.

There is no disputing that these have been challenging times for you, Mom. Nobody, least of all me, expects you to ever be fully whole again. There is a part of you that is broken and perhaps beyond repair. That's ok. It really is. Just accept it. But, I would like to think that maybe you are being remodelled, much in the way that fractured bones mend. There is a perpetual weakness where the break occurred, and even pangs of sharp pain on occasion, but there is strength in the resoluteness of the core to continue on and make the most of what is left. That strength has always been a part of you. You just need to dig fairly deep down to summon it now. I have no doubt that you will. There is still so much left for you to experience; so much that is yet to come.

I love you, Mom. But more importantly, I like you. Not in a smarmy "Sally Field" kind of like, but rather a true admiration and esteem. Our relationship is one of the true joys of my life.

Oh...and by the way...this is your Mother's Day present! (Yes...you taught me sarcasm as well!)

Love always,

Dawn

Spring Cleaning

Over the past several weeks, The Husband and I have embarked upon a massive and long-overdue spring cleaning exercise. As we rapidly approach our thirtieth (yes...that's 3-0!) wedding anniversary this June and are now most definitely full-time empty-nesters, it seemed like a good time to sort through the years of accumulated "stuff" that has managed, true to everything George Carlin ever prophesied, to expand to the size of our house.

We decided from the outset that we would downsize the bits and pieces and dispose of the odds and ends. We needed to accept and embrace the idea of binging and purging, as painful as it might be. We needed to adopt a ruthlessness that would go hand in hand with the inherent sentimentality of wanting to save every scrap of paper, weep over every photograph, fawn over every elementary school art project, and relive all of the "good old days."

Some of it has been easy and straightforward. Finally ridding ourselves of over twenty years of paper receipts and tax information was extraordinarily cathartic. As we shlepped close to two hundred pounds of outdated scraps and forms to a local shredding company, it felt as though we were flipping off Revenue Canada, and there was tremendous pleasure in it.

And did I really need to save the ugly seder plate given to us as a wedding gift from a relative whom I couldn't stand then and has been out of my life ever since? Dropping that into the Goodwill pile was a no-brainer.

There is no sentimentality in keeping broken and damaged luggage no matter how wonderful the trips associated with it might have been. And the Halloween costumes that I poorly constructed for the boys (I am not a craft person, nor can I sew) went out with the trash.

But, some of it has been extremely difficult and painful. As I sorted through the certificates, awards, and assorted framed documents that my children earned over the years, I was awash with nostalgia and immediately transported back to school gyms where I watched with immense parental pride as Older Son kicked ass during speech competitions and Younger Son swept up the yearly scholastic prizes. I remembered music concerts and karate tournaments, and I recalled family events, picnics, car rallies, vacations, and I found myself weeping for people who had shared much of this with me and who are now gone and sorely missed. There is an acute self-awareness that goes along with this job that transcends the simple disposal of junk. There is a need to accept that which is firmly rooted in the past, and to move decisively forward through the present into the next phase.

I have noticed that while we have methodically, yet schizophrenically, advanced this project, I have felt moments of deep spiritual cleansing. Could it be that while de-cluttering our physical space, I have de-cluttered my inner space as well? Is it possible that I have finally been able to compartmentalize instances of anger, pain, love, family, illness, and loss? Have I finally been able to shed chunks of emotional baggage that have been weighing me down? I think so.

This is surely an ongoing exercise, both the physical and the spiritual. While I continue to pack up junk, outdated technology, (assorted VHS tapes to anyone who wants them) and memorabilia, I am  finding new comfort and joy in reminiscing and catharsis in the copious tears. And....saving a few special and well-chosen mementos helps the process along nicely.

 Shabbat Candlesticks from both Older Son (left) and Younger Son (right) (Kindergarten projects)