An Open Letter to Twin Son and His Better Half

To my dear friends,

Words cannot adequately express the gratitude that The Husband and I feel for allowing us to share in your little piece of nirvana once again this past weekend. Your hideaway, a mere few hours drive time from the city, has acted as a lifeline for my mental health on more occasions than a houseguest who hopes to get invited back cares to mention in a public forum. The natural beauty of the place never fails to leave me breathless, (and no-it wasn't my asthma kicking up a fight!!) and the lack of schedule or outside intrusions is truly life-affirming. Years ago you both made a conscious decision to prohibit televisions, radios, internet connections and the like from your home away from home, and while it is really difficult for us citified pukes to wean ourselves from the technology to which we have becoming uncompromisingly tethered, the peace and serenity that is felt by not constantly glancing at a watch or worrying about what is happening in the outside world is a template that all should follow several times a year. Then again, it is always amusing to watch 8 idiots wander around the cottage and the dock holding our cellphones aloft and askew, hoping to find that one perfect spot where a half a bar of available service might be bestowed upon us. Give us a break. Rome wasn't built in a day, either.

I have gleaned much from my many trips to the cottage over the years, but I thought that you both might be interested in hearing my top "what have you learned, Dorothy" moments. So, here we go in no particular order.

• The cottage is cozy but not small. We all have absolutely learned how to make allowances for the tight quarters. For example, The Husband and I are perfectly comfortable in knowing that only one of us can get dressed or undressed in our room at a time, otherwise it is like engaging in a very adult game of Twister, and the end result of that might be that nobody sees us for the duration. (Is that too private?) Packing only necessities is the key to a successful cottage weekend, unless we are discussing food-then all bets are off.
• Sharing 1 bathroom with 8 middle-aged adults is surprisingly easy. There were no pee-pee dance moments, nor were there any "who used all the hot water" bellows. I have had more issues over the years with 2 teenage boys, two cranky morning showers and a tank that is many times larger. I have come to believe that personal grooming habits enter into an odd space/time continuum at the cottage where nobody really cares if the make-up is properly applied, the hair appropriately coiffed, or if the daily shower happens hours past an expiration date. I am fairly certain that, given my appearance for most of the weekend-hair pulled back, baseball cap, sunglasses-many of my Toronto friends and family would have walked right by me without a second glance and I couldn't have cared less. 
• Alcohol is a food group and drinking begins rather early and can take many forms. There is no thought of intoxication because, really-who gives a shit??? Chocolate, Doritos, cookies, pretzels, french fries and their companion foods do not possess calories, fat, salt, or sugar and, honestly even if they did, I ask once again-who gives a shit???
• I must reverse all previous misconceptions about cottage weather. For the first time in 10 years I didn't pack my gloves, my long underwear or my winter coat, and for the first time in 10 years I didn't require them. You both have been feeding me bullshit stories for years about the myth of hot, sunny, and humid cottage weather, but I finally was allowed to enter the magic land where the heat miser resides. I apologize for doubting. 
• A few other scattered and random cottage epiphanies from the weekend. Privacy is a moving target and I still have not figured out what should and should not be labelled as such. Hip hop music can carry across a quiet lake and can blast at decibel levels louder than any club in the Entertainment District. I became intimate with Drake! Trivial Pursuit is a bloodsport and should only be played in full pads and helmets. Epithets and cuss words fly without thought during the games, so it is truly not for the faint of heart or those who think that f*@# and all of its derivatives have no place in the Queen's English. Apparently Mary Mallon incubated syphilis according to our cutthroat game. Finally, just in case anybody was wondering, women's rest rooms do not come equipped with urinals. (This is a story that requires some explanation, but must be kept under the veil of privacy. Anybody interested-email me offline!!!)

So dear friends I attempt to say thank you, but it seems so small. We had a spectacular time with good friends, good food, good drink and gigantic belly laughs that left me gasping for oxygen and doubled over in pain. If you deem us worthy, we would love to do it again. Arrange the weather accordingly!!

Pete Seeger Live - new protest song about BP oil spill in gulf coast on ...

91 years young and Pete is still fighting the good fight!! Way to go Pete!! Give 'em hell!!!

GUCI: A Destination Camp

I find myself caught between two worlds colliding this week. It is a crazy thing, because found within this cosmic impact exists a syzygy (note the ten dollar word!) that is truly unmistakable. The first universe can be found on a small cow patch located in the north west corner of Indianapolis. I have written many times before about the importance this steam pit has played in my personal growth and development, and I have remarked on many more occasions as to the centrality it has played in the lives of both of my sons. It has been so important a place to our entire family that our connection still remains unbroken 35 years after first contact. I have been fairly vociferous of late about wanting to make a summer pilgrimage to Indiana and in fact, most of those close to me have grown weary of the discussion. There were many reasons to go and just as many contrary arguments presented by The Husband and his allies to stay put in Toronto, but I prevailed in the end, so Thursday saw us piling into the car to head south for Shabbat.

This post could very easily have degenerated into one of massive bitching and moaning. It would have been a piece of cake to relay a border horror story about waiting in queue for over 20 minutes on the Canadian side just to pay the bridge toll. (The flip side to that story can be expressed in two magical words-NEXUS CARD!! You all must apply. It changes the entire dynamic of border crossing and shaved at least an hour off our drive each way.) It would have been so simple to complain about the lack of vegetarian fare available at most restaurants found off of the Interstates. (We knew were in trouble when we made a dinner out of onion rings and a meagre, tasteless, but expensive salad.) It would have been child's play to crack wise about the intense heat and humidity of the midwest, a heat so searing that it melted us where we stood. I thought about it, honestly I did. I thought about trivializing the trip; about making jokes at The Husband's and Younger Son's expense. But, just as I was making notes for that post, something really interesting started to occur. I was reminded of the intensity of the place. I watched in wonder as 400 children and young adults experienced and lived Shabbat in the most purest sense. They came together as a community, they sang, they prayed, they rejoiced and they revelled. The Husband said it best when he said "it is one of the most genuine Shabbat experiences anywhere." At the forefront of this celebration, I saw my son. I saw him step into the role of Shaliach Tzibor-a leader of the community. I watched with wonder and immense pride as he helped the camp set the tone for Shabbos by first helping the oldest girls with the music for their Kabbalat Shabbat service, and then as he and the other song-leaders stepped up and led an amazing song session. He told me afterward that he was so nervous because I was there and he really wanted it to be great. Great is a gross understatement for what it was. I swelled with pride when people I knew only by name and reputation approached me afterward and told me how much he has grown as a song-leader. This passing of the proverbial baton was only part of the delight experienced with our boy. We sat at dinner with one of the educators on faculty. After some basic introductions and her figuring out who our son was, she relayed the following story to us. It seems that earlier in the day, one of the campers from her congregation had experienced some distressing news from home. Younger Son stayed with the boy the entire time he was talking to his family, and apparently refused to leave his side even though he had other duties to attend to and others were there to help. The educator actually thanked us for raising a mensch. I was rendered speechless.

We had a chance to sit and have extended conversations with both Younger Son and his truly lovely young lady. While much of the time was spent getting to know each other, a lot of conversation was devoted to just how engaged and involved both of them are in this very special Jewish place. I was so impressed that even though said Young Lady and Younger Son were taking a day off, she was headed back to camp for an hour of that day to run a study program she had planned. What other place or job inspires that kind of dedication? It leads me into the second sphere that is colliding for me this week, and that is the idea of how we bring this intense sense of Judaism back into our home worship spaces.

This week I am charged with leading Shabbat services and preparing the Torah study for our congregation. It is simply by luck of the calendar that this coming week's parasha is Va-et'chanan, a section of the Torah that is chock full of good stuff, including a repetition of the Ten Commandments and full text of the Sh'ma  and V'ahavta-prayers that stand at the centre of Jewish faith. (Deut 6: 4-9) In attempting to develop a cohesive Torah study, I came across a commentary written this week by Rabbi Amy Perlin for the URJ website. Rabbi Perlin states:

If you asked me to tell you the most important words of the entire Torah, they would be these four words from Deuteronomy 6:7 “V’shinantam l’vaneycha v’dibarta bam,” which the Jewish Publication Society (JPS) translation shows as, “Impress them upon your children. Recite them . . .” This translation, used and explained in our Torah commentary, as well as Mishkan T’filah, chooses the word “impress” for v’shinantam.  Most English prayer books, for over a century, used the translation “teach.”* I like the word “impress” because it is not enough for us to love God and keep God’s words upon our hearts; we are commanded to pass God’s words on to our children—our own and other people’s children. Teaching them is not enough. We must have them make a lasting impression in word and deed if the Torah is to survive. There is no more sacred task.

We spend a great deal of time at synagogue meetings lamenting the fact that we cannot seem to get our children and young people to "buy what we are selling" at shul. Maybe we aren't selling the right things. Maybe we need to find better ways of impressing upon our children the importance and continuity of Jewish life, and to do it in ways that are relevant for them-through music, art, technology, film, sports and literature. God's words are being heard by our youth-camp drove that home for me-but we the generation above them just aren't doing a great job of being the conduits.

Years ago when I returned home from camp all gung-ho and armed with new music and new ideas, I was thwarted by synagogue leadership and told that those things might work at camp, but really didn't have a place in shul. Obviously those individuals were narrow and short-sighted. Many of the ideas of creative worship and participatory music that have become commonplace in our services today had their genesis at camp. So, what can we learn from this generation? We need to hear them when they say that it is the prayer that matters and not the clothes they pray in. We need to hear them and listen to them when they show us the best ways of reaching them. Websites like G-DCAST and Jewschool are giving our young people new tools from which to study, and we need to respond to their concerns through social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter. If we don't act, we will be accused of being delinquent in our job to impress God's word upon our children.

The Sister/Cousin told me this past weekend that when she crossed the border to take her children down to camp in Indianapolis, the border guard, surprised that there was any camp there at all, asked her if it was a "destination camp". I chuckled at the term, but after spending a wondrous Shabbat there I realized that it is indeed a destination camp. It is the place where our children are destined to become impressed by Judaism. Let's hope that we can continue the work when they return home.

iLuach

I have never ever used this space to advertise a product, least of all one designed by a member of my own clan. I am not a salesman. That area of expertise is the exclusive family purview of my father. I am the family creative soul. So, it is with some major trepidation, but an abundance of pride that I relay to you all The Husband's latest commercial enterprise. (This goes above and beyond the booze biz!)

Several months ago, the two of us were enjoying some downtime in the Southern Home. The Husband was looking for a quick hit hobby to keep his mind occupied. Now when most of us think about developing a hobby we think about plunging into cooking lessons or  taking up karate. Not The Husband! Once a computer geek always a computer geek. He decided to see if he could use his somewhat dormant skills to design an iPhone/iPod touch application. After some diligent research, he decided that what was poorly served by iPhone apps was a complete luach or Hebrew/English calendar. I thought the man mad. To be honest, we are progressive Jews who have very little use for the daily times for prayer, the exact times for the lighting of Shabbos candles or Havdalah. He was determined. He decided that if he was going to do this task, he was going to make it user friendly for Jews of all denominations. Did he ever succeed!!

He learned all about the lunar cycles, the differences between various rebbes and their takes on the zmanim, and the differences between the Ashkenazi and Sephardi followings of the Hebrew calendar. He even included a setting for Israeli or Diaspora observance and it uses a built in GPS to determine where you are to calculate the times. The result is an amazing app for the Jewish community or anybody who cares to follow our calendar. It is equipped with all of the above as well as holiday observances, parashiot and haftorot for all Shabbatot  and holidays, and Hebrew and English text of the same, including trope. It toggles neatly between the secular and Hebrew calendars and it works in perpetuity.
In short it is amazing.

A couple of month ago when it was ready to put on the iTunes store, I showed it to a couple of my colleagues at a cantorial concert. They were blown away and immediately loaded it onto their phones. The cantors especially like the Torah with trope feature. At $1.99 a pop, The Husband has no expectations of great riches from the sales, but he would like to make back his initial $100.00 that Apple demands of all of their developers. Nice scam, eh? Design for us and we will charge you for the privilege. I am just so proud and blown away by his abilities that I want to shout it out all who will listen.  You can find out much more about iLuach at http://itunes.apple.com/ca/app/iluach/id370066993?mt=8 I urge you all to check it out and tell your friends.

Canadian, Please

Happy 143rd Canada!!!

Karma is a Bitch!

Schadenfreude: German [ˈʃaːdənfrɔydə]
noun
delight in another's misfortune
[German: from Schaden harm + Freude joy]

I first learned the correct meaning and proper usage of this wonderfully descriptive word through a song. I was sitting in the audience in a small theatre on Broadway several years ago, when a puppet character from the smash musical Avenue Q instructed us all on its definition. A sample of the lyrics:

Gary:

D'ya ever clap when a waitress falls
And drops a tray of glasses?


Nikki:
Yea.


Gary:
And ain't it fun to watch figure skaters 
Fallin' on their asses?


Nikki:
Sure.


Gary:
Don't you feel all warm and cozy
Watching people out in the rain? 


Nikki:
You bet.


Gary:
That's 


Both:
Schadenfreude. 


Gary:
People taking pleasure in your pain.

I suppose that there is a degree of Schadenfreude just in delighting in a song about Schadenfreude. We all do it and we all attempt to hide from it, but I will readily admit that there is a certain amount of guilty pleasure in watching a real asshole get his comeuppance. Allow me to explain.

This past Saturday, The Husband and I decided to dine out at a local Thai restaurant of which we are particularly fond. Twin Son and His Better Half joined us at this very small, very quaint, but always understaffed hole in the wall. We enjoy it. The food is to die for, they make allowances for our veggie lifestyle, the owner knows us well, and while it is always busy, it is well-managed and well-kept. We were amongst the early customers that evening, but it didn't take long for every table to be filled with diners. While we obliviously went about our evening, chatting about the craziness of the day, the G20 riots that were taking place at that precise moment in the downtown core and the impending thunderstorms, we noticed a small power surge, (most likely affected by the weather) had caused the lights in the restaurant to temporarily dim and flicker. What we were not aware of at the time, was that the quick hit power failure had messed with the bistro's computer system and all of their order taking capabilities were down. The meal was served painfully slowly in shifts. Dishes were coming out of the kitchen in spurts. Rice was on the table for 10 minutes before anything else was served. Even getting a glass of water was a true test of patience. It was very much out of character for this establishment, but we knew that the staff was coping the best that they could under the circumstances.

Most of the customers in the place saw that this evening was not like other evenings, and most were willing to give everybody the benefit of the doubt. Everybody that is except one notable dickwad! Dickwad was loud, rude, abusive in his language and generally a miserable human being. He yelled, cursed, rode hard on the backs of the serving staff, and at one point actually picked up his bowl of rice and took it to the kitchen himself in an attempt to make the point that he wanted his food served all at once not piecemeal. The poor little waitresses could do nothing to please him. He complained about the temperature of the food and he complained about the taste. He angrily demanded a rebate on his bill and he swore up and down he would never set foot in the place again. (Thank God!! May he forever stay away!) The four of us attempted to continue on with our meal as best as we could even through our collective embarrassment, but the restaurant is small and thus his tantrums were the centre of attention until he and his wife finally got up to leave.

There was a audible sigh of relief from the remaining patrons when Dickwad and wife exited, but we were soon to extract a karmic revenge. Here's where the Schadenfreude kicks in. He was obviously still fuming as he unlocked his car door. As he yanked on the driver's side handle, he must have pulled a bit too hard and a bit too angrily, because the door jerked open heavily and smacked full-flush against Dickwad's knee. He hit the ground like he was dropped from a window. He lay on the parking lot pavement writhing in pain for a good 3-4 minutes, and when he finally did managed to pull himself up, he remained doubled over in obvious agony for a few more. The four of us witnessed this scene from our booth within the safe confines of the restaurant and as we all saw what had unfolded before us we looked at each other and just started to laugh out loud. I realize that it wasn't very nice. We probably should have made our way out into the parking lot to help Dickwad, but we took it as a sign that even his wife didn't come to his aid. I wholeheartedly admit that I loved it. There was something innately satisfying watching this rude prick get a karmic head slap from the universe. Thank goodness he wasn't seriously injured as he did get into his car and drive off, but he certainly must have had a black and blue mark for the ages as a souvenir and a reminder that every action in this life is followed by a proportional reaction.

The world doesn't always go according to our best laid plans, and sometimes we just have to go with the flow when circumstances present themselves. My guess is that Dickwad never equated his sore knee with his behaviour in the restaurant, and that he will behave just as badly toward the next poor shlub that doesn't do as he demands. I, on the other hand, felt that karma had the final say on the matter. She really can be a bitch.

Party Anyone?

As the bricolage that is the G8 summit and it's evil bastard spawn the G20 roll into town this week, I have become acutely aware that there is very little left about which to bitch and moan. It has all been said and by far better pundits than am I. Ok! I won't be able to attend the second coming of Roy Halladay because the Jays have been shuttled off to Philly for the weekend. Forget any kind of trek into the city for theatre or dinner. Even if we could manage to get there, (traffic congestion promises to be as artery clogging as the worst possible cardiac episode) most businesses in the downtown core have wisely shuttered for the duration. Universities in the area have shut down for the days of the summit and the school board has cancelled all buses for kids, bestowing upon them an early start to their summer vacations. "Toronto the Good" is now a police state, with fences running around its perimetre and an armed constabulary patrolling on foot, horseback, and bicycle in full riot gear. We citizens have become well versed in new-aged weaponry such as water canons and piercing noise guns that will easily disperse crowds that become too vocal or too agitated. And just think-all of this could have be your's and your cities' joy for the bargain basement price of $1.1 billion. That is just the cost for which the taxpayer is on the hook. Included in the price tag? Security and cops of course. So many are required that we have had to import them from other jurisdictions. A fake lake and a media centre to show off the Muskoka beauty that the press corps will never see because they can't all fit at the site, will cost 2 mil. Facelifts for northern communities that no leader will come close to viewing are costing millions more. Nobody can even begin to calculate the revenues lost to businesses that are shutting down on the first weekend of the summer season. Not to mention the fact, that we Torontonians never asked to host this sham. We wanted the Olympics. Now, that is an event we could have all gotten behind. Who cares if Sweatered Stevie has a nice chat with Barry or Angie? Certainly not the citizenry of my hometown.

Since complaining has gotten us absolutely nowhere and leaving our homes for the next few days will prove to be an adventure in orienteering, I have instead decided to host a virtual G20 Summit party. All suggestions are welcome. I thought that we could come as our favourite world leader. I know that I could pull off  Cristina Fernández de Kirchner of Argentina. The resemblance is striking, no?

Stop laughing now! That's an order! Well-I think I could make it work.

The Husband and I will construct a fence around our fake lake that doubles as our swimming pool, to simulate the prison-image of Toronto that the leaders will undoubtedly take home with them. Every guest must provide a cover charge to help offset the flower planting that needs to be done to bring the property up to G20 standards, and we need to purchase a few rubber duckies so that it will have that Huntsville feel. I am certain that I can convince the local neighbourhood watch to provide security. Please understand that they will be armed only with cellphones so if anything goes missing or is damaged, "dems da breaks!" The squirrels that illegally inhabit my yard are more than happy to act the part of unruly rabble-rousers and I am certain that I could scare up a BB gun or air horn to knock them off of their perches. Perhaps my neighbour's little shi-tzu will bark impatiently as she is known to do on occasion, to fend off the riff-raff. Please, no parking in the driveway or on any street within the containment zone.

I thought that we might serve cocktails. How about a mug of Angela's Ale? Maybe you'd prefer Lula's Hard Lemonade, or an Obama Mama? I am really not the drinker in this family, so I am open to suggestions. Munchies? A caldron of Calderón sopa or maybe Myung-Bak ribs. Vegetarians might want  to avoid those.

We will save money on decorations by using the various country flags that are being flown proudly across the city in celebration of the World Cup. No need to invest twice. Everybody who attends must attach one to his/her car window. I am partial to the red and white of my home country, so the rest of you can fight over the remainder.

I am willing to take any other suggestions that party-goers might have. Since it is virtual-invite any and all comers. Meet you back here on Friday. Halladay is scheduled to pitch.