Hijab as a Fashion Item

Yesterday I sent my Island Boy to the grocery store to get some stuff so we could have sandwiches for lunch.  He and OG (not for "old gangster" but for "only goy" since he is the only non-Jew to hang out here) set out.  An hour later they came home with sandwich stuff and a girl.  Island Boy can't help it.  Sometimes he'll bring various girls home on the same day.  His problem is that, for some reason, when he asks a girl for something, they almost always agree.  I think this means he never has to eat his sandwiches alone.

This young woman walks in the door and I instantly think that she is a Muslim, since she is wearing a head scarf in the Muslim style.  On second look, I realize this is a mistake.  If her mother wouldn't let her out of the house without a hijab, she certainly would have made her change into less revealing clothes.  But this is great!  If this is a fashion that catches on, orthodox Muslims and Jews will be able to cover their hair without having to take flak from the larger community.  Now we just need big beards to come into fashion and we've got it made.

A Lot of Money

I think people probably noticed that there was a really big Powerball prize last night.  Over a half a billion dollars.  I didn't win.  Mom and I started playing the lottery years ago so we could play the what if game.  So far, I still appear to be saving my luck for something good.  Hope is such a fun thing though.  Think of people all over America last night, thinking about how generous they would be if they won.  I think that all of those good thoughts at the same time was probably a good thing.  People started wondering how to save the world.  Since most of us did not win, I guess we need to come up with a Plan B to save the world.  I'm fairly sure we can do it.

Aha Moments

I'm going to tell you right up front that I'm no Oprah when it comes to "aha moments".  I've lived in Long Beach for three years now and frequently driven by a place on Naples called "Waterskis".  I have frequently wondered what the Waterskis were selling.  (The ninja who lives here favors perogies.)  The other day I had an aha moment when I realized that they sell water skis.

I had an aha moment last night.  Remember when I wrote about the security guard at McDonalds?  Remember when I wrote about the gangs assembling outside the RiteAid?  I don't remember if I ever wrote about that McDonald's having signs up forbidding high school students from coming in.  I thought that was pretty strange.  After all, it's high school students who are most likely to live off that stuff.  Aha!  The RiteAid that I go to all the time is not in a good neighborhood!  I think that's what they mean when they talk about bad neighborhoods.  The edge of what I think of as my neighborhood isn't a good one.  Huh.

Am I less likely to frequent that RiteAid or McDonalds now that I've had this epiphany?  Ha.  Not likely.  I've always been a bit of an idiot when it comes to fearing people because of....  well, mostly for almost any reason.  The only people I really fear are the people whom I have loved and trusted that have then gone on to hurt me.  (Emotionally, kids.  Have you seen my posse lately?)

Once I was telling Momo about this OG (old gangster) I had come across when I was in the hospital once.  I was telling him how it was nice that even though his face was tattooed with a stream of tear drops (I think you get to put one on for each person you have killed), everyone was being respectful of him as a person.  Momo started to laugh and then explained to his clueless mother that the other people were afraid of him.  My politically incorrect feeling was, "Well, good for him.  Taking a position of weakness and turning it into one of respect."  That takes a true warrior mentality.  [Disclaimer: I am not condoning gang violence, or killing people to improve your tattoos.  Just making an observation.]  

Perhaps I live in this happy (and possibly false) bubble of feeling safe because of the half a dozen young men who seem to live on my porch playing a never ending card game.  They aren't gang affiliated, but it wouldn't hurt their feelings one bit to defend their home and mom to the death.

Security at McDonalds

I was out running errands today (okay... I was really just messing around avoiding my life) and I stopped by McDonalds to pick up some lunch for Momo and the old man.  A while ago they started having the girl who takes your order stand out by the menu so you don't have to yell into the little box.  Today they have a new addition.  They've added an armed security guard standing next to her.  I asked her if I ordered the wrong thing if he'd shoot me in the head.  She giggled and said no, but I was extra careful anyway.

As Easy As Pie

I've been baking pies for most of my life.  I know this because, when I was in first grade, we were assigned to write down a recipe for a cookbook that our teachers would assemble.  I had to think of something that I could make without asking mom for measurements.  I finally remembered that I could do Cook's Treat all by myself.  So I wrote the instructions for making a pie crust dotted with butter and cinnamon sugar.  (Hey... that was probably my first technical writing job.)  I didn't do a pie, because I couldn't remember off hand how measurements for filling.  Pie crust did involve fractions, which they didn't teach in first grade at Enchanted Lakes Elementary.  Anyway, my recipe did not make it into the book.  I didn't feel bad when I saw what did make it.  There was a recipe for roast goose which involved wringing a goose's neck and popping it into the oven.  "Aha," I realized, "the teachers didn't want to know how to cook, they just wanted a good laugh at the expense of six year olds."  Teachers are weird that way.  We do grow up and become technical writers.

There are years when I've made upwards of thirty pies for Thanksgiving.  (Not my favorite holiday by the way.)  There is nothing easier than a perfect pie crust, which is why it is the first thing you teach little kids to cook.  This year though, it was not easy.  I ordered Thanksgiving dinner from the Claim Jumper (delicious, as it turns out) and I had bought some pie with the common frozen food industrial pie crust.  However, I knew that pumpkin pie really deserves a light and flaky crust.  Unfortunately, I have fibromyalgia and I was far too tired and in pain to make the pie.  I tried to slough that duty onto my son, who also learned pie making skills early from my mother, but he was busy killing imaginary people on the X Box.  After a tearful Wednesday night (mostly about how useless I have become) I decided that no matter what, I was going to get up and make the damn pie first thing in the morning.  There were more tears and a lot of shaking brought on my exhaustion, but we did end up with a delicious pie.  The industrial pies were good for what they were, but the crust on the pumpkin was so perfect that my teachers surely missed the boat by not publishing the recipe.

How Many Shopping Days Do We Need?

I went to the grocery store this morning and I took a few extra minutes to think about anything that we might need for tomorrow too.  I did this because A) when I was a kid all the stores were closed on Thanksgiving, and B) because who wants to go shopping on Thanksgiving?

Unfortunately, those of us who think it's okay to close a business for a day so everyone can hang out with their families, seem to be in the minority.  When I asked the clerk about it this morning she said, "It's all about instant gratification."  I asked her about her gratification and, not surprisingly, she'd be gratified not to have to work on Thanksgiving.

Remember people, with a little planning, we can go days at a time without buying anything.

Harry and Zombies and Words, Oh My

It will be created as spoken.  That's what abracadabra means in Hebrew.  Of course, this is how the Holy One created the universe.  "What?" you may be thinking.  And G-d said, "Let there be light."  People have been trying to replicate this ever since.  Usually people have to cheat.  But not as much as you think.

JK Rowling had a story (we're all about stories because they are made of words and words are... well, magic) in her mind.  She says she just knew how to play quidich (Google can't spell it either) because she could see it in her mind.  Now, she could've just thought about it over her cup of tea and had a nice giggle.  Or she could've just told her kids and they could share her imagination about it.  But nooooooo, she wrote it down, thus giving it power.

Now JK can go to Florida to a village that is built from the ideas in her head.  She can have a glass of butter beer.  I think this is the perfect example to give kids when/if they question that G-d brought the world into being by talking about it.  It's a good idea to think about when we're sitting around talking.  So think about what you are saying, and realize that you give ideas more power by writing them down.  I'm pretty sure that during our next large war (you know, the kind that happens where we are) people will refer to the enemies as zombies.  We've already talked this out, so we know that we can ruthlessly kill them without too much guilt.

Speaking of which (pun intended), why is it okay to kill zombies?  Shouldn't we view zombies as people who are suffering a terrible illness?  Did they choose to be zombies?  Let's say your mom is a zombie, can you still double tap her?  Does her zombiness out weigh her momness?  What if zombies is just a euphemism for enemy?  Can you kill her now?  My mom is already dead, but I'll bet she'd be madder than hell if I double tapped her for any reason.

Synagogue Tagging

I wrote about the swastika that someone tagged the synagogue, so I feel like I need to let you know the follow up.  A piece about the incident appeared in the local Long Beach paper.  Then Rabbi Moskowitz spent days responding to overwhelming support from the broader community.  Several Christian churches volunteered to come to our aid as well as two Islamic groups.  The people from these groups asked if we would like them to surround our synagogue as a show of support and protection.

So from the act of one hater, we were blessed with the love and support of hundreds.  It's nice to realize that people aren't going to leave us out there to hang.  Thanks to all who sent their love and support. 

Graffiti

There are different types of graffiti.  I think I mentioned before that while our synagogue was being remodeled, someone had tagged the sign outside with  "Kill the Rich".  Fortunately, it was in an elaborate script that most of our congregants didn't seem to be able to read.

Yesterday, however, someone tagged the newly remodeled building with a swastika.  The Ninja saw it on his way to work and so after work we walked over to have a look.  It was painted over by the time we got there.  Unfortunately, our entire congregation can read a swastika.

The Ninja and I agreed that we were okay with, "Kill the Rich" because it is egalitarian.  We're not okay with swastikas.

In Utah our religious school was often tagged, but it was usually just gang signs.  We just painted over them. But when the swastika appeared, it was really hard for me to face my first graders.  How do you explain to little kids, that even though they are very nice, there are people who hate them?  You don't want them to be afraid, but at the same time, they see what's going on.

It's fairly easy to terrorize little kids.  What the haters need to remember is that those little kids are going to grow up, and the haters have already taught them to be vigilant.

Input Requested

Hi Dear Readers,

As you may or may not have noticed, this blog is all over the place.  One day it may be about surviving a giant solar flare, or zombies or whatever and the next day it may be a reflection on some mystical aspect of all the frat boys who live at my house.

I have a white board next to my computer (I know... weird huh?  Sometimes I write stuff down) and it has a list of possible topics.  I have this list because some mornings I'm not sure what I want to write about.  I can glance at this list and that usually reminds me of something that isn't on the list, so I can end up being just as random as ever.

However, if there is something idea that you want to kick around, let me know (either in the comment section, or by giving me a call) and I will put it on the white board along with the other topics I never get around too.  Currently on the list is:

• warrior class -as in social class, not as in a class to become a warrior
• desalinization - I know, you thought I was done with that one
• truth versus fact - a very important distinction
• a new anchor - probably I will never get around to this one
• and a couple of things that I can't actually read-  my white board writing isn't very legible.  

If I don't hear from any of you, and you still read the blog anyway, you're going to have to take what you get.

Love,

Auntie Helsie

Early Hanukkah

Hanukkah starts on December 8th this year.  That means that I can't wait until after Thanksgiving to start getting ready.  I went to the local Target yesterday and bought some wrapping paper and small gifts for people.  When I got to the checkout, the young clerk said, "If you got a Target card, when you come back to do your Christmas shopping, you will save five percent."

I said, "Look at the things I am buying and tell me that again."

She looked over all the Happy Hanukkah stuff in my cart and then said, "If you got a Target card, when you come back to do your Christmas shopping, you will save five percent."  Technically, she did exactly as I had asked her.  I had to chuckle.  She still didn't get it until I explained.

I'm Sorry Dad

My father is a veteran from WWII.  He served in the European theater with a group that did surveying and maps.  When I was a kid he never ever talked about the war.  Mom said that he never spoke to her about it either.  In his old age, he's loosened up a bit.  Now he will talk about it if you ask.  However, one day after  my mom had died he told me some absolutely horrible stories, he finished with a tear in his eye and said, "People really don't understand that war is hell."  I thought about the hero's homecoming that awaited the soldiers returning from that war.  I thought about all those years that he kept so much pain inside to protect us and protect mom.  I told him that I was sorry.  I was sorry that he had seen those things and I was sorry that he had had to go in the first place.  He relaxed after that.  All these years and what he really needed was an apology.

He was just a kid.  Thanks, and we're sorry.

Still Not the Queen

Last week's Torah portion was Chayei Sarah (Life of Sarah), which begins with her death.  (If I were clever, I would be telling you something about this weeks portion, but I'm still thinking of last week's.)

In Torah study yesterday, we were discussing that even though the Holy One had promised Abraham A) property "All the land you can see, I will give you and your offspring" and B) and "descendants as numerous as the stars" (both quotes from Genesis), in this portion he is near the end of his life and he doesn't even own a place to bury his wife and Isaac still hasn't married yet.  In this portion Abraham tries to remedy these problems.

The discussion very much reminded me of Friday's post about ten strong sons.  We think a lot about potential.  We start testing our kids early to try to somehow divine who they will turn out to be.  And, of course, we wonder who we are supposed to be and how we can fulfill our potential.  Father Abraham obviously thought we were going to turn out okay.  What I haven't really thought much about is how I am supposed to fulfill the potential of my ancestors.  What is it that collectively we desire?  And this includes who we were, and what we wanted then, as well as the communities that we belong to now.

My Uncle Don used to tell me that I was born in the wrong century.  Perhaps he was right.  My values are not necessarily the values of society around me.  Yesterday the conversation turn to whether Rebecca wanted to marry Isaac.  Excuse me?  We should base our alliances on the emotions of a teenage girl?

It reminds me of Princess Di.  Everyone seemed so upset that Prince Charles didn't really love her and they excused her bad behavior because she was in a "loveless" marriage.  You should NEVER marry a crown prince because you think it's going to be romantic.  It's a job.  You do it in the service of your people.  If he likes you, then all the better for you both.  It's not a job requirement.  As part of his job, he should have his people foremost in his mind, not the whims of a pretty wife.  People should be more concerned with having a queen who is good queen... cue Queen Elizabeth and the Queen Mum before her.

Despite this post, I am quite sentimental.  Luckily, I am not the queen.

Ten Strong Sons

My maternal grandmother had the gift of second sight, much to my grandfather's annoyance.  My mother says that she would wake up and say, "George, the cows are on the train tracks."  He would groan and tell her that she was crazy, that he had latched the gate and that she couldn't really expect him to go wandering around in the middle of the night.  Nonetheless, the whole time he was complaining, he would be putting his pants and boots on and then he would head out to go move the cows before the next train came.  He had to go because he knew that she had never been wrong about it.

The strange thing was that my grandmother always wished for ten strong sons.  Instead, she had one son who had some very physically trying times in this life.  It has seemed odd to me, that someone who could see so much, would have this desire for something that wasn't in her cards.

I also thought I would have many children.  It has been a great surprise in my life that I was only blessed to bear one child.  However, I quickly learned that if your only child is a son, your house will be filled with boys.  They run in packs.  Happily, my son has always chosen his friends wisely and they have filled my home with joy.

As he has grown into a fine man, his circle of brothers becomes larger and larger.  He is very close to the men he was raised with, he is very close to his father's sons who were born to his dear step mother, and he has a fraternity of brothers in Long Beach who are in our home daily.

The real test of a good son is not how much you care for him, but who he cares for as an adult.  In my times of need, my sons many brothers have stood by me as true sons.

Perhaps my grandmother saw my/our ten strong sons as they came together around my mother's death bed and recited Kaddish for her to elevate her soul, before her body was ever taken from this house.  It's a powerful sight to see ten strong men coming together in the service of one of their mothers.  Perhaps it was my grandmother's strong wish that brought them to me.

Animals and People

My niece Katherine (not to be confused with Kate) was here last weekend.  She works with homeless people in Salt Lake.  We were comparing notes on how the homeless and poor in general are treated.  Most people will go to great lengths not to make eye contact with street people.  I can understand that, if you actually see someone, it's more difficult to ignore them.  What I don't understand is why, if a mangy old homeless dog is on the street why people go to such lengths to get it into a home and fed.  We decided that it's because people are less lovable.  Yes, we don't really like each other.  People who are adamant animal lovers don't seem to have a problem with hungry children in our own communities.  I understand that people are much more difficult.  They can be smelly and crazy and mean, but so can dogs.  Maybe we need a Humane Society for people.  Right now it's just messed up.

Thank You America

I have to admit that I lost all faith in the American people when they re-elected W for a second term.  It was even fair and square the second time.  So I didn't have much hope for this election.

I feel like I should say a few words to the Romney supporters who read this blog, but be realistic... Romney supporters don't pay attention to me.

Go Vote... Unless...

The problem with living in a Democracy is that government is our fault.  If you don't like it, it's your moral responsibility to go change it.  Sigh.  That's a lot of work.

People die all the time fighting for the right to vote.  People fight revolutions.  We fought one... remember taxation without representation?

Unfortunately, we have had a recent history of slashing education, so I'm not real sure that we deserve to be a Democracy.  We have young adults now who couldn't find Afghanistan on a map to save their lives.  Does the free world need a leader elected by a nation with a fifteen minute attention span?  If it does or not, that's what we have, and therefore the responsibility rests on each of us.  If you can read this, go vote. Do NOT randomly vote on things that you don't understand, or didn't prepare for.  It's okay to leave blank answers.  You are not going to increase your score by guessing.

Tongans are NOT Samoans

I lost my medical marijuana letter the other day.  Since I only take some brownie before I go to bed to relieve  pain so I can go to sleep, I stupidly didn't think about it until night... for three nights in a row.  Which means that when I did finally go to sleep on those nights, it was at about five in the morning.  So yesterday my niece Kate took me to the doctor to get another letter, and then we went to the dispensary.  The dispensary is closed.  They had a sign on the door that said they only do deliveries now.  Actually, that's nice, because there are times when I feel too sick to go down there.  Anyway, I called in an order for my brownies (I don't smoke... that wouldn't be healthy).  Kate and I had to go run some errands, so I asked if I could just leave my ID and letter with my son and have him receive the meds.  "No problem," I was told.

If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you will know that my household can always turn things into a problem.

Despite my having told Momo that they had two new Tongan security guards that are easily 6'6" and 350 lbs., he greets the grumpy one at the door with, "Hey sole!"  Which means "hey boy" in Samoan.  This could've been a natural mistake because Momo has a Samoan uncle and cousins, except that I had already told him these bruisers were Tongan.  I had even warned him that you could tell the uncle and nephew security guards apart because the nephew is nice and the uncle is grumpy.

So Uncle Tonga gives Momo a look that clearly says, "I am thinking about ripping off your arms and shoving them down your throat," but settles instead for telling Momo that he's Tongan.   Do you think that Momo gracefully gets out of this?  What my son lacks in bulk, he makes up for in chutzpah.  He looks Uncle Tonga in the eye and asks, "You know what you call a good looking Tongan?... Lucky."

Amazingly, when Kate and I returned home, Momo was uninjured and had the brownies.