EKG

Some people will do anything to get out of doing dishes.  This afternoon Momo sliced his finger on a broken piece of glass and spurted blood all over the kitchen.  I mean all over.  It looked like Charles Manson had done the dishes.  There was blood on the walls, the floor, the appliances, the curtains... you get the idea.  So I said goodbye as the Ninja Who Lives Here patched him together.

I went straight to a doctor's appointment.  With the pools of blood still in mind, they took my blood pressure and heart rate.  They were impressed.  They invited me back for an EKG.

Later, while I was getting my prescriptions filled, I took my blood pressure again.  It was far closer to normal.  I guess the sight of blood everywhere bothers me more than I could've known.

Getting Back to a Routine

After dad died my son and I traveled to Utah (where my mother's family is from) for a second memorial service.  Since then we have had a revolving door of company.  We love company, but frankly, it's been exhausting.

My brother Paul left this morning after he very kindly drove down from Utah to help me with my math homework that is part of the whole post death thing.  And now... the house only has the regular hoodlums living in it.  Which means that I can get back to doing my own thing, whatever that may be.  It feels kind of nice.

Am I Ahead or Behind?

First of all I would like to apologize to my two faithful readers for my recent absence.  I've been busy sulking about what I want to be when I grow up.

Things have been difficult.  I want to say, "since dad died," but that would be silly because of course they were difficult for a long time before that.  Somehow in my head, I thought that our bad luck would end when dad died.  That things would somehow get easier.  I suppose in the long run they will.  In the short run I think the best way to describe my situation is that I've been damned.  Not damned in the sense that I think that G-d hates me or anything, but damned in the way of being stopped.

In the last months every institution I have dealt with has seemed to foil my progress.  I don't suppose there was ever any mal-intent, I think most of it was people being inept.  The institutions run the gamut from Hospice to the funeral home to investment banks to regular banks.  Throw in other daily damnings like having the house robbed and having a designated driver lose the only set of keys to the car and I feel like I have been slogging up to my waist in mud.

Of course, I'm also still dealing with losing my father.  When my dad died, it was like I lost my mom again too.  They were such a pair, such a team, that as long as one of them was here, the team was represented.  They were the only people who truly knew what my life has been about.  It's a huge hit to be without either of them.  It's a huge hit to be missing both of them.

On the other hand, maybe this is about timing.  Maybe I'm not supposed to be able to accomplish things quickly right now because I'm running ahead of schedule.  Maybe the next thing that is supposed to happen isn't ready yet.  I think I'll go with that track of thinking and keep slogging along.

Dancing with Dad

My father has not yet been dead a month.  I have been trying really hard to forget what he looked like at the very end.  His face had become distorted by the cancer behind his jaw, he had become emaciated and there was an open wound behind his ear.  It was nightmare scary.

Since he died, I have had dreams about him, but they have been dreams in which he was still ill and I was still caring for him.

Last night I had a beautiful dream.  My father was there and he was swinging me around like he used to do when I was a little girl.  My skirt was billowing out and he was young and his arms were strong.  We were laughing and when he set me down we were dancing around together and everything was wonderful.  We were so happy and we laughed the whole time.  He told me that everything is all right now and that I will go on to have many more amazing adventures in my life.  This is how I will remember him.  I feel like this dream was a gift from him.

Leave a Note

Before I went out with my sister and a friend for the afternoon yesterday, I asked my son to please leave a note for me if he went out, so I wouldn't worry about where he was.  When we got home there was a note on the table that said:

"Dear Mom,

I went to Mexico.  I'll be back on Tuesday.

Love,
Momo"

At least he left a note.

Scars

One of the strange things that we Jews do is to rip our clothing when a close relative dies (parents, spouse or children).  It's actually very cathartic to be able to rip at your clothes when you are in deep grief.  When mom died, I was wearing a favorite sweater, that I then threw away.  When dad died, I was wearing a silly Captain America sweat shirt.  I like that shirt.  The guys in the sushi place salute me when I'm wearing that shirt.  I was going to throw it away after I ripped it.  But I think I've decided to sew it back together.  It will just have a scar.  It will be a visual reminder of my emotional scar.

Our newly remodeled synagogue also has a scar.  On the front wall where the neo-Nazi spray painted hate messages, there is a rather blotchy coat of new paint.  In certain light, you can still see the shadow of darkness underneath.  I like it.  The pristine synagogue felt a little uncomfortable to me.  Too clean.  Scar-less.  Like an old woman with a perfect face lift.  Something not quite right.

So if you see a woman wearing a scarred Captain America sweat shirt, you can go ahead and salute.

Hooray for Gay Marriage!

I adore gay marriage, and let me tell you why.  I know what being married means.  I know what it means when you introduce me to your husband or wife.  Ahh... an attempt at lifetime commitment. I get it.

What I don't understand is what your relationship to your "partner" is.  Is it an attempt at lifetime commitment?  Do you play pinochle together?  Own a deli perhaps?  Or does it mean that you've gone on a few dates?  Does it mean that you currently aren't seeing other people, but I should still keep an eye open if there is someone better for you?

By all means, let gay people get married.  It makes it far easier on the rest of us.

Frosty Road Trip

Momo and I drove to Utah for a memorial service for Papi.  My brother John flew into Long Beach and drove up with us, so we took our time going and stopped in Las Vegas for the night.  It doesn't take much arm twisting to get men to stop in Las Vegas for a night.

The memorial was nice.  The weather was not.  We drove through a snow storm.  John wisely decided to fly out of Salt Lake and skip the return drive.  So yesterday morning Momo and I drove back to the land of milk and honeys.  In the morning as he was filling the gas tank I decided to wash the windshield.  He came around the side of the car and asked me in horror what I was doing.  I had very carefully added a thin layer of ice to the driver's side windshield.  Oops.  How quickly I have forgotten the perils of winter.

Misadventures Continued

For some reason, I was kind of thinking that our streak of bad luck would end when my dad died.  Well, he died on Saturday and Monday, in the early morning hours, someone robbed our house.  My cousin's purse was stolen along with a bunch of Momo's electronics.  So my cousin and I spent our last afternoon together hanging out at the Long Beach police station trying to get a copy of the incident report so she could catch her flight home.

We just took it step by step.  When we got home, my son called me on his cell to tell me one more bad thing... the mother/grandmother of some of our dearest friends had died that morning.  All of this while we are trying to make arrangements for memorials and clear out evidence of the long illness, seemed just battering.  I felt like I'd been through the wringer.

Before anyone reading this starts thinking that the robbery is our fault for housing the strange Rasta-man (earlier misadventure post) for a couple of days, let me tell you that he has been back in New York for awhile now.

Oh... I knew there was another thing.  Sunday night the boys went to a wedding.  Their designated driver brought them home and then left the car keys on the front porch.  They were not there in the morning.  (No, there were no house keys on the ring.)  So when the locksmith came to make new keys for the car, I asked him how long it would take to pick our locks if you knew what you were doing.  He looked them over and said, "Less than a minute."  Great.

My son says, "It looks like we have the luck of the Irish, which I understand to mean no luck at all."  We are trying to hold on to the belief that we are just saving up our good luck, and it would be okay with us if that kicked in any time now.

Father Died

My father died on Saturday.  I was scheduled to lead Torah Study and Services because the Rabbi was going to be out of town.  On Friday morning, I told the Rabbi that that would be impossible, because I needed to be with dad.

On Saturday morning, as my cousin and I sat with him, I sang through the morning service.  My cousin then left the room to go help my sister-in-law cook breakfast.  I sang through the first part of Hashkievenu three times and then watched him as his breathing was finally relaxed after having struggling for weeks.  After about two minutes of us just sitting there in peace, he stopped breathing.  It was a blessing that he was able to go so softly.

Are You Sleeping?

My sister-in-law saw me exercising the other day and sneaked out of the room because she thought I was trying to sleep.  Obviously my regimen doesn't appear to be too strenuous.  My bed is just a lot softer than the floor.  Oh well.

Book: Bee Season

I just got around to reading Myla Goldgerg's book "Bee Season".  I had seen the movie with Richard Gere years ago at a Sisterhood event in Utah.  The movie was interesting to me because, at the time, I was fortunate to be studying with a student of Kabballah.  Although my teacher has excellent credentials  I do not.  On the other hand, what really makes for good credentials in mysticism?

Anyway, I knew a little bit about the terminology of Kabballah, so it made the movie viewing a richer experience for me than it may have been otherwise.

Some of the ladies in our viewing group had read the book and made some small comments about how the movie differed from the text.  I'm glad that I saw the movie first because I would've been very disappointed if I had done it in the other order.  On the other hand, I'm a lot older now and I approached the book with a lot more life lessons under my belt.

I think the book is very well constructed and brings up the basic dangers of playing with the mystical in as clear as terms as you probably could.  That's the problem with mystical... you are trying to explain things for which there are no words.  The infinite cannot be defined by its very nature.

What fascinated me by the book was the classic structure of trying to tell this tale.  In our tradition we are told of four rabbis who enter into the "orchard".  I guess we could call this place a melding with G-d or enlightenment.  It's the highest form of communion that a human can have with infinite holiness.  Many many people spend their lives trying to get this closeness with G-d.  But the story from our tradition emphasizes the dangers of excess spirituality.  The four rabbis enter: one dies, one becomes a heretic, one goes insane, and one comes out whole.  (Rabbi Akiva is the one who makes it out okay.)

In Goldberg's story, we also have four main characters.  There is a father who desperately wants to enter the orchard and studies constantly but realizes that he probably just doesn't have the innate ability to make this happen.  But because of his obsession, his family also gets seduced by the idea of the possibility of attaining this elusive connection to the mind of G-d.  So, we have four people who are trying to enter the orchard.  The father can't get in, but wants to attain some degree of in-ness through his children and, in a less thought out way, through his wife.  His wife goes insane, his son becomes a heretic, and his daughter gets in and then back out safely.  His daughter is smart enough to lock the door to the orchard once she is out.

It's kind of like Moses smashing the original set of tablets when he returns from the mountain the first time and sees the havoc that has been wreaked in his absence.  Rashi tells us that smashing the tablets that had been written by the finger of G-d was what made Moses the greatest prophet of all time.

Even though I had seen the movie, I kept hoping that somehow the father in the story would die, but I guess that would've tied it up a little too neatly.

Movie: The Gatekeepers

My son kicked me out of the house and sent me to a movie the other day.  He knew I needed to take a break and wouldn't do so without a little nudging.  I am almost always nudgable in the direction of a movie.  So he did the laundry and I saw The Gatekeepers.

I was spellbound.  I felt like I should be memorizing it.  I felt like everyone should see it.  It is a documentary about the Shin Bet in Israel as described by its leaders.  Like any good Jewish story, it's not one sided.  There are more sides than you can shake a stick at.  I highly recommend that you see this movie if you get a chance.

Car Chases

Since when have car chases become so important that they supersede all other news on TV?  The local stations will literally broadcast them live for hours.  Nothing else happened today that was more important than chasing a couple of people in a car?  For this you send a helicopter?  I suppose what they are hoping for is that they can be broadcasting live when someone gets shot or blown up.  Usually the suspects are not even known to the chasers (both police and media).  Sometimes someone suspects they were involved in a crime prior to the chase.

That brings me to another point.  Why do we get more speculation on the TV news than actual news?  Talking heads are constantly asking each other what they "think" is happening.  The press will grasp at the tiniest slivers of straws.  Here is a current example:

Now A) why do we care, and B) is that really a news story?  It is reported that the sound of the letter "d" slipped from her lips.  Now it's all over the news.

To be honest, if I were a forgotten political prisoner somewhere or if my city was currently being burned to the ground, I think my heart would break to know that the attention of a "super power" was focused on a white car that may contain criminals being followed by helicopters in case something exciting happens.  How long did the television news show live shots of a cabin burning down because there may or may not have been a shooter of policemen in it?

Misadventures

There's an idea that "never a dull moment" is a good thing in life.  I would contend that more dull moments would be okay.

I think that many times I've written about the strange things that happen in my life.  This weekend a stranger asked us for help.  Very temporary help.  At first to find a non-existent address and then for shelter for a little while as he waited for someone to pick him up.  After he had been here for several hours, it came time for a meal.  He told us that he was a vegan.  Not just a vegan (as if that isn't a pain in the neck to cook for already), but a vegan who could eat only base fruits and vegetables and no bread products.  So I managed a meal that we could all eat.

After much drama he was still here in the morning.  Another pain in the neck meal.  As lunch time approached, I had exhausted our in house vegan offerings, so I went to the store to get more veggies, hummus, etc.  After lunch I told my son that I wasn't doing one more vegan meal, so this guy had to leave and go be someone else's dinner time problem.  Supposedly the visitor had lots of friends and a manager in LA.

"We were strangers once."  This is a core teaching of Judaism.  So I didn't want to be rude but I explained again that my father is dying and that we needed our visitor to go on his way.  After several more hours of stalling, my son finally packed him up in the car and took him to meet a friend in Inglewood.  Fine.  We'll laugh about it later.  Just another weird story.

But it wasn't over.  At 11:30 that night, he came back.  Really??  We kick you out and deliver you to one of your friends in another city and you end up coming back to wake us up?  He was probably hungry.  His friends probably didn't want to deal with him because they already knew he was high maintenance.

The ninja who lives here was telling a friend about this and the friend said, "Wow. This is a once in a lifetime story."  The ninja shook his head and said, "At our house, it's more like a once in a week story."  Oh, but for those precious dull moments.  

In Like a Lamb

Neither my mother nor I were ever big fans of winter.  When we lived in colder climes, we would await the first of March with great anticipation.  The saying is, "In like a lion: out like a lamb," and vice versa.  We were always hopeful that it would come in like a lion, so we could get winter over with.  No one likes a big storm at the end of March.  It's better to get it out of the way at the beginning of the month.

However, now that the family is back in Southern California, I'm pleased to announce that it came in like a lamb.  It's a beautiful day, and even mom wouldn't have worried about it.  The lionish days of winter in Long Beach are totally do-able.

You can tell the people who dress by the calendar though.  It's sunny and 85 degrees outside and I saw people walking by in jackets, knit hats and boots.  I also saw a fair number of people dressed sensibly in shorts and T shirts.

Van Cliburn

There's an obituary for the pianist Van Cliburn in the LA Times this morning.  When I was a very young teenager, Van Cliburn played at the college in the town where we were then living.  My mother had season symphony tickets, but she scored tickets for her three youngest children who still lived at home.  My brothers and I were way in the back of the balcony, but it was still a magical experience to hear and see him play.  Well, it was magical for me and John.  Mark slept through it.  In Mark's defense, he was one of those kids who played hard and then fell asleep as soon as he quit moving.  John is probably still annoyed.

Fashion

When I was a teenager, my mother used to tell me that there is only so much that you can do to drape the human body, and that the same fashions come and go.  At the time, I thought she was just saying that because her generation couldn't have been as hip as mine.  Her generation's clothes are gracing the windows of department stores now.  Hmm.

I see it too.  Now that I'm pushing 50, I flip through fashion magazines and think, "Oh yeah, I had pants like that when I was sixteen."  You can even buy corsets again, despite the fact that we now know they damage your internal organs.

See... mom's are smarter than you think.

Rising Sea Levels

Here's a cool link to play with.  It has a map that shows how high flood levels will possibly rise, depending on where you live.  There's a little slider on the left side, so you can see how high the flood surges would go based on the rate that sea levels are rising.

So here, for example, is where the surge levels would be for the year 2020 in my neighborhood:

Now, here we go in 2100:

Don't worry, we still live in the white bits.  However, a lot of people live in the flood bits.  I know some people who are about 15 years older than I am, who live in the underwater bits.  I asked them how they feel about it and they said that they don't care, because they will be dead.  I think this is a strange answer.

I don't have grandchildren yet, but my siblings do.  My parents both lived into their 80's (dad is still adding age, and he's up to 87 now).  Chances are that some of those kids I know will indeed be around (well, hopefully not in this particular neighborhood) when the waters take back the coasts.

Ironically, one of the places between here and Seal Beach is a little island called Venice.  Will it become a city on water?  Are the houses built for that?  There are a lot of houses in this particular zone.  Will people just abandon them and move farther inland?  What does that mean on a practical level?  Or will the whole country want the Army Corps of Engineers to build levees?  It will be curious to see how it plays out.

Don't Lie to Your Kids

In America there is a big lie that we frequently tell our kids.  That lie is: you can be anything you want to be when you grow up.  We live in a very competitive world.  Of course hard work plays an important part in who we become, but there are also internal and external factors that shape us.

Let's look at the kids who want to grow up to be professional athletes.  There are all kinds of reasons why any child can't grow up to be a linebacker.  No amount of practice can make up for physical stature.

How about a concert pianist? Come on, no kid wants to grow up so they can give neighborhood kids piano lessons.  In this case you need to have some innate talent.

How about President of the United States?  What if you grow up in an area with lousy schools and you are working hard and barely able to stay away from homelessness?  Your odds of getting into a prestigious university are about nil.  Unless you are intellectually gifted and freakishly lucky, in which case I suggest that you go ahead and run.  We could use a leader with freakishly good luck.

Princess?  Chances are that your dad isn't a king.

Listen to who your kids want to be and then discuss it with them.  Maybe they want to be a concert pianist and if they enjoy playing the piano, (and you have access to a piano) then it might be a good idea advise them to practice a lot and see where they are in a couple of years.  Kids are pretty good at assessing things and then changing their minds.  Help them to be successful in life.  That doesn't mean being rich or famous.  That means making basic life choices that create meaningful lives for them.  Just stop telling them that they can be anything.

 

Purim Prep

Today I'm doing a cheater posting because I still have a lot of baking to do before Purim (starts on Saturday after sundown).  My sister-in-law Char is baking Hamantaschen as fast as she can, but I need to get going on the little gingerbread Haman's that we will hang from the bags.

So here you go, your Purim warm up...

Elijah?

We Jews are a little weird when it comes to Elijah.  We set out a glass of wine for him at Passover, and we save him a seat of honor at circumcision ceremonies.  At Passover at one point we even get up and open the door for him so he (or whoever is wandering around alone on the night of a holiday).  I don't know if you remember, but he didn't get to die.  He's stuck on the planet until the Messiah comes.

Now, here's the condensed version of what happens.  Every generation produces someone who could be the Messiah.  Elijah is wandering around checking out each generation in the meantime.  He disguises himself (or maybe he just naturally is) pathetic, probably smelly, probably crazy.  Who the Christians would call "the least of these my brothers."  He will appear to our generation and if we treat him badly, he'll be back to check out our kids.  When we recognize him and treat him as he deserves to be treated, we all win and the Messianic age can start.

Personally, my own goal is not to screw it up for my generation.  Simple goal.  There are many times I have met someone who is potentially Elijah.  Face it: there are lots of pathetic, smelly, crazy people around.  I just have to remember that these people were created in the image of G-d, that they carry a divine spark.  If I get a danger vibe, I keep my distance, but otherwise, at the very least, I acknowledge their humanity.

I can tell you amazing stories of encounters of my own and others that have lifted my spirits because of very minor acts of kindness.

But the other day I went into a UPS store to overnight some legal documents.  My son was with me.  A homeless looking man came in.  He had a hodgepodge bundle of cardboard wrapped in string.  His clothes were filthy, but he had a clean strip of denim around his neck.  He came in and greeted me and told me about Levi Strauss, the guy who came up with blue jeans.  I knew this story because my father had taken me to see his house on one of our many family road trips.  He told me that he was a Levite like the blue jean maker.  Then he asked me, "Do you recognize me?"

Of course I recognized him.  He's an Elijah, just like a million other Elijahs out there.  So I told him that I did recognize him.  He then taught me some gematria (a Jewish system of numbers associated with letters so that we can mathematically figure out meanings).

I have been overwhelmed by the plight of the homeless this winter.  It has shattered my heart again.  After this man taught me some gematria about 13 (the Gregorian year we're in right now... you know 2013 = '13?)  that doesn't really matter here, he asked me again if I recognized him.

"Yes, I do recognize you," I said.

Then he told me something very important for my life.  He told me that it isn't time for me to give, it is time for me to receive.  That's why he was giving me a teaching and not asking for anything.  (That's what my therapist has told me, but I believe the crazy man more.  It's a sweeter message from Elijah.)

All this time, the UPS staff is apologizing profusely and trying to shoo this guy away.  Then he tells me something else.  He tells me that if I'm ever in Hollywood to look him up.  He says that he has a lot of money and that he'll give me $18,000,000.  He says that he doesn't let people know he has money because then they pester him about it, but since I recognize him, he will give it to me.

Now, for a very short gematria lesson.  The numeric equivalent of the word "chai" (which means "life" in English) is 18.  He was giving me the gift of life times a million.  Cool.

Much to the relief of the staff at UPS, he then left.  They apologized again.  I told them not to apologize, that all people have a need to be recognized.

I am dedicating this post to the memory of our good friend Chris Ung, who was my buddy in Elijah-ness.

A Brilliant Man

In this morning's LA Times there is an article about Israeli rivals making an alliance and that it's making it nearly impossible for Netanyahu to form a government without them.  The two groups are the far-right Jewish Home and the center-left Yesh Atid.  The guy I want to point out to you today is Yair Lapid, the head of the Yesh Atid.

Yair Lapid first came to my attention through Dov Bear's blog.  (Dov is  the reason I blog.)  Here is the clip that I think is probably the most forward looking political statement I've heard in ages.

It deserves a look.

Okay... Police Are Just Weird

I live in a pretty darn quiet neighborhood.  It's the kind of place where kids can play outside and you can walk alone after dark.

For the last couple of days, the police have been slowly cruising our neighborhood.  The first time I came out of my house, while they were cruising, one of them beckoned me over to ask me this question, "Have you seen a girl riding a bike around here?"

Really?  A girl on a bike?  Long Beach is known for being a bike friendly neighborhood.  I told him that I hadn't noticed, because I was just coming out of the house for the first time of the day.  I asked him if I needed to be on the lookout (I was imagining a missing child).  He said, "Yes, for a girl on a bike."

Then he started rolling up his window.  I stopped him.  I explained that that was a pretty vague request and that I see lots of girls on bikes ride by my house.  He told me that this particular girl was riding round and round the block and that she was paying special attention to my neighbor's house.  He would not give me any type of description.  Just "a girl riding a bike."

My neighbor is a bit of a recluse.  Maybe he's in witness protection or maybe  he has a stalker.  Who knows.  But if the police want help, they need to be more forthcoming about what they want us looking for.  A girl on a bike.  Nice.  Is she six?  Is she packing heat?  Do you really need two squad cars with two policemen each to take her down?  If she is circling the block, shouldn't you have caught her by now?  It's a small block.  But they are still slowly driving around this morning.  I hope nobody gets caught in the crossfire.

Abandonment

For the record, I'd like to say that it is not okay to abandon people.  Usually I pussyfoot around this subject because so many of the people I know have abandoned people.  They always have great reasons.

Specifically I would like to address the issue of parents.  I know that in our society multi-generational households are the exception, not the rule.  People move away from home right after high school to pursue their dreams or even just a decent job.  This often means moving away from their family.  Okay, that's life.  That's the modern American way.  Keep in touch on Facebook, where everyone has a glorious life to present.  Guess what?  That's like those Christmas cards you get.  My mother had a friend who asked her, "Doesn't anyone else have f*#^ed up kids?"

I didn't really know my parents until I lived with them as an adult.  When I was in high school I was busy being a rebellious teenager.  We didn't have very many deep or meaningful conversations during those years. The folks were working and I was hanging out with my friends.

The reality is that you probably will have to move away.  And that's a good thing.  Just don't forget them.  Don't leave them out of your life or you won't ever know who they really are.  You actually have to figure out a way to spend time with them.

If, someday, you have to put them in a "Care Facility" (that's what they call nursing homes now), don't abandon them there to die.  Go see them.  Make sure the nurses know that you will checking up on them often.  If you don't, the nurses will focus on patients who have families that care.  Send them visual reminders like photos and cards and flowers so that when you aren't there, they know you still care.

If you have kids, let them spend time around your parents, even if your parents annoy the hell out of you.  If you don't, the kids will never really get where you are coming from and you will be quickly abandoned too.

I was so proud of the Obamas for moving grandma into the White House when they went.  They know that she has a lot to add to their family and that she will always be there for them.  The love of grandparents is a sweet love indeed.  They see your shortcomings, just like they saw those of your parents, and they realize that you'll probably be just fine, just like your parents.

If you missed the movie Parental Guidance, and you are a grandparent, parent or kidlett, I think you should watch it.  Here's the trailer:

Unfriendly Police

When I was a kid I was taught some things at school that I went home and reported and was promptly untaught.  The most famous of these was when I came home from school and told my mother that we had learned that we were never supposed to talk to strangers.  She looked at me a minute and then said, "You're five years old.  How many people do you know?"

She had an excellent point.  I've been talking to strangers ever since.

The conversation that seared mostly into my mind was with my Auntie Denese.  I was explaining to her that policemen are our friends.  She stopped what she was doing (very rare since she was the queen of multitasking), sat down so we were eye level, took me by the shoulders so she knew I was paying attention and said, "The police are NOT your friends."  I was stunned.  I was a little kid and I wanted to know why.  I was a little kid, so she didn't want to tell me.  She told me to just trust her on this one.

A little background on my auntie.  She was always involved in the League of Women Voters (often as president of her local chapter).  When she and mom were invited to join The Daughters of the American Revolution they vocally declined to be a part of the then very racist organization.  She and two nuns brought about some prison reform in Alabama.  She taught political science at Saddleback, here in Southern California.  Here's the important part: she would never lie to us about something important.

I asked my mother about policemen not being our friends.  She nodded sadly and told me that Denese was right and that I would understand it better as I got older.

Guess what.  I'm older.  This is what I learned in the last year (without even trying).  The police will beat homeless crazy people to death as they cry for their dads.  You don't ever want to be in their jails.  Pelican Bay solitary is arbitrary and cruel.  They shoot kids in the back because their hand went near their waistband.  And just recently 11 of them opened fire on a mom and grandma delivering newspapers because they "confused" the Latina ladies with a huge African American man in a different kind of truck.

I'm dedicating this post to my Auntie Denese.  Please don't tell your children that policemen are our friends.  Tell them that some good men and women become policemen, but you teach them to trust that uniform at their own peril.

My Favorite Point

This is a clip from the album/movie "The Point."  I used to listen to that album over and over when I was a kid.  I hope you will show this clip to your little kids.

In Defense of the Orthodox

I think people would be surprised at how frequently Reform Jews talk smack about Orthodox Jews.  In fairness, Orthodox Jews have plenty to say about our level of observance, which is totally unfair if they are unwilling to engage us in dialogue, but it cuts both ways.

When I came home from Torah study last Saturday, I told the OJ who was sleeping on my couch (he hadn't made it home in time for Shabbes and, since he can't drive after sundown on Friday, we was camping out in my living room) that the Orthodox owe me cookies again.  He was pretty surprised and wanted to know why.  I explained that I had defended them in synagogue again.

He was absolutely stunned.  Why would they need to be defended in front of other Jews?  What on earth could we have to complain about?  The basic complaint always comes down to misogyny.

Now, in fairness, let's see what "misogyny" really means.

Webster says:

Misogyny : a hatred of women

"Hatred" guys.  That's what it says.  Is that what you really mean every time you throw that word out?  Because if what you really mean is that OJ's treat women unfairly, that would be a lot less of a mean thing to say.

There are people in the Torah study group who were raised in Orthodox families and hated it.  Most of these people are over 75.  So the data that they are providing may be outrageously out of date.  Also, they might just be from really messed up families or communities.  

Which brings me to my next point which is: Do you have any idea how many different streams (or sects) of Orthodoxy there are?  Are we talking about the guys with the furry hats, the guys with the black hats, the guys with the white beanies, the guys with the NY baseball caps, the guys who only wear a kippa when in prayer, or any other number of groups in the Orthodox world?  

Back to the black hat sleeping on my couch.  He wanted to know what was said.  So I told him that the Orthodox are viewed as misogynistic.  He has a pretty good grasp of English, so he actually knew what that meant.  He wanted to know how anyone could think that.  (I'm pretty sure that he loves women in general, and he's always very nice to them.)  

One of the examples was that women are separated from the men in synagogue by a curtain.  In my argument I had pointed out that, when the boys are in a service, they aren't supposed to be checking out the ladies.  Chaim's response was, "No kidding."  (I happen to know that if any of the boys who hang out at my house can be checking out the ladies in any setting, that becomes a top priority.)  

He wanted another example.  I told him that they think OJ's are misogynistic because a lot of the men don't want to touch women they aren't married to (this includes shaking hands by the way).  The Reform ladies interpret this as a fear of ritual impurity brought on by possible menstruation, which might be true, but the only people I know (or know of, for that matter) do it because they don't touch any woman other than their wife.  That doesn't seem so weird to me.  It's okay with me not to be touched by people who are uncomfortable touching.  There are lots of cultures where it isn't okay to go up and touch someone of the opposite sex.  

Then Chaim wanted to know my defense (no doubt wondering if it was really cookie worthy).  I gave him the arguments briefly stated above and then threw in that if you don't want to sit on the other side of the curtain from your gender group that there are lots of other Jewish communities that you can go be a part of.  He wholeheartedly agrees.  If you hate the Orthodox, don't be Orthodox, but quit talking smack about them.  

As we learned from the comic strip Pogo, "I have met the enemy, and he is us."  

Therapy

Can you fail therapy?  I started going to therapy to help me develop my meditation skills as a tool for pain relief.  I'm really really bad at it.  I had homework this week.  I tried to do it but I think I may be a little too neurotic for it.  One of the very first instructions is: close your eyes gently.  What does that mean?  Have I blown it if I slam my eyes shut?  Squintching is tense, but most people don't squintch their eyes up unless something else bad is happening.  If something bad is happening, shouldn't you pay attention instead of meditating?

One of the next directives is to "let your mind be soft".  No kidding.  That's what it says.  I'm still trying to figure that one out.  The problem is that the whole point of meditating is not to figure stuff out.  I think it's supposed to be about spacing out.

I'm not saying that it doesn't help when I'm lying on the couch and the therapist is talking me through it, but I do have to ignore a lot of the prompts because you could analyse them all day.  I think he's going to think I need therapy for the rest of my life.  Maybe he's right, because I'm really bad at it.

Why People Think I'm Crazy

(Well... one of the reasons.)

At Hanukkah I went into Best Buy to buy a voice recorder for my niece Katie.  When I walked in, a round young man asked me if he could help me find something.  Together we went on a quest for a voice recorder. As we were checking out the specs, he mentioned that he needed to get one too.  He told me that he's a ghost hunter.  Even though I don't know why people would want to go messing with people who are dead and have problems of their own, I told him that sounded nice.  I asked him where he usually went.  Then he confessed that he hadn't actually ever gone yet, but that he thought he'd be good at it.  Why not?  If you think you'd be good at something, you should give it a shot.  I found the recorder and then wandered off by myself to look at random stuff.

Right past the cash register there was another young man who was the exact roundness, brownness and wearing the exact outfit and haircut of the first guy.  I thought it was the first guy so I said, "You should try a bookstore."

He looked at me a little quizzically and then said, "Thank you."

Still being my idiot self, I then expounded, "They are almost always haunted."

At this, he looked at me like I was a total psycho, and I departed.  At the door I saw the first kid again and realized my mistake.  I did repeat my advice, but I didn't tell him that I told the other guy, because it seemed more fun that way.

People would probably think I was a lot more sane if I quit talking so much.  At this point in my life, it seems unlikely that that will happen.

Edward versus Captain Jack

I don't always read heavy religious tomes or serious fiction and non-fiction.  Sometimes I read total crap.  It's kind of like a mind vacation.  My mother was the same way.  It's like mind candy.  You don't really have to pay attention and it gives you a little vacation.

One of the series that we liked was the Twilight books.  Mom liked the first couple of movies (died before the last ones came out) but I thought they were terrible.  Bella looked like she was dead from the start.  You know, pale white people can be animated.  Some of them have a real inner light that makes their eyes sparkle.  Being white does NOT automatically make you boring.  In fairness, her character thought she was boring, but no one else in the book did.  On screen she didn't sparkle.  Not all people can, so it's not a reflection on her acting, but rather casting.

My real problem was with Edward.  Also a white guy.  No offense to Robert Pattison, because I've seen him in other things where he does good work, but he needed to be channeling Captain Jack Sparrow for this role.  If you happen to have one of these books in the house, go grab one.  I'll wait...............................

Now open the book to any page where Edward has dialog.  Read it out loud as Captain Jack would.  See??  A much better story.

Jack charmed everyone, Edward not so much.  There was no reason for Edward to be so boring.  He'd lived hundred of years, allowing him plenty of time to come up with witty one liners for any occasion.

Since you already have found the book, read it now with the voice in your imagination coming from Jack.  I guarantee that you will laugh yourself silly.

Zombies and Paranormal Romance

In the past I already told you what I think of zombies and killing my mother, so you have a point to work from.  (Grammarian police: I know that I should've said, "a point from which to work," but that sounds really prissy to me.  From here on out just deal with it.)

Currently we have a new problem and that problem is that bookstores now carry huge sections on paranormal romance.  Really?  I'm truly glad that I no longer work at a bookstore.  (Plus, do you know how much a box of books weighs?  And do you know how many people don't know the alphabet in order?  Some people will even put a book back on the shelf with the spine in.  I really want to follow them home and see if their bookcases are filled with books with no titles showing.  It must be impossible for them to ever find one after it goes on the shelf.)

What this means is that paranormal romance is becoming part of our collective mythology.  Yesterday, after we had been studying Torah, my sister-in-law (who is here taking care of me) and I decided to figure it out.  Vampires we kind of get.  It's a person who is given to fulfilling his/her dark addictions.  In the famous Twilight books we see people who struggle with this addiction on various levels.  Some occasionally suck the blood of humans, some not so much.  The evil ones just give into the addiction and hurt anyone unfortunate to be around them.  Then there are the wolf guys, who don't want to be inhuman, but have to do it in order to protect their tribe.  We see this all the time and all through history within the realm of wars and on down to the smaller order, street gangs.  So the romance comes out in the form of a virtuous but delicious girl who falls in love with the goodness she sees within a monster.  Or in her case, a couple of monsters.  She ends up having a baby monster, becoming a monster herself and living happily ever after.  At least presumably.  Check back in a couple of hundred years.

Yesterday the Calendar section of the LA Times had a front page photo having to do with the new movie "Warm Bodies".  It described the lead actor as playing a "slacker zombie".  What other kinds of zombies are there?  Type A zombies?  If you eat the most brains are you overachieving?  Can you get fat from eating brains?

Obviously there is a lot about zombies that I don't know.  Well, I can tell you that I'm not a slacker muser, so I went out to do some research.  I dragged my sister-in-law with me.  We went to see "Warm Bodies" to see if we could understand the mythology being created.

I'm trying to establish the legend about myself that I can drash from any starting point, zombies included.  What I learned from this particular movie is that zombies are scary because they don't have a collective memory.  They don't know who they are or where they came from.  The main character is called "R" because all he can remember from the past is that he thought his name started with the letter "r".  Kabballistaclly we could have a hey day (hay day?)  with this.  We could run with it in the direction of Bina and letters and clues to remembering Torah and the universe and everything.  But you guys aren't into that, so we'll go in a different direction.

It turns out the the main character is not a slacker.  He's trying to remember.  He collects things that are meaningful to him and creates a space where he can listen to his looted records and stare at the things he's collected.  Mementos.  (Another day I will try to remember to write about the kids' movie "The Guardians"  and the connection to zombies but this post is getting far longer than my general audience's attention span.)  He collects things that connect him to his past.  Eventually he collects a pretty girl (instead of eating her brains) and she helps remind him of things through what we Jews would call arguing.

There are different kinds of arguing.  When I was a kid many many adults would tell me to shut up and not argue.  If you are respectful to each other, Jews have no problem arguing all day.  It's fun.  It means, "I don't understand because it seems to me ..."  Now, if you tell a kid to just shut up and stop arguing, what you're really telling them is, "I don't care if you understand things.  I just don't want to deal with you."  Nice message.  Children who are seen but not heard must have a very difficult time developing intellectually.  But I digress (kind of).

When we are born we are the closest and the furthest that we will ever be to our own humanity.  We understand everything and nothing.  A zombie is someone who has become so focused on one thing (in this case it's eating your brains) that there's no room for anything else.  (I'm not going into the whole brain dead thing here, because that's not a part of the mythology of the particular movie we watched.)  There's no room left in this person for their humanity.  People were created in the image of the Holy One.  ALL of them.  The smelly guy who asks you for some change has a spark of godliness in him.  The kids rotting in solitary confinement at Pelican Bay have a spark.  It is our communal job to remind them who they were... who we were collectively.  When we lose our historical perspective, we focus more easily on eating people's brains.  Ask people for clues.  Everyone you meet has a clue that you need to become more whole.  If you don't like who you are, look for the clues that will make you better.

Experiment in Democracy

Let's try something today.  The next young person who you think looks like they are over 18 (old enough to vote guys... jeez-o-pete, how do we ever have a serious conversation?), ask this question:

Who is John Kerry?

No fair asking the kid at your table who is studying for his/her AP finals, just ask a stranger.

They will get full credit for any of the following answers:

• The new Secretary of State
• Senior Senator from Massachusetts 
• A Senator
• A guy from New England
• The Swift Boat guy
• The guy who ran against W.
• A one time presidential contender
• Wasn't his mom a Forbes?
• The guy on TV who kind of looks like Guy Smiley

Extra credit if they know what the State Department is.  Zero credit if they look it up on their phone.  Zero credit if they just stare blankly.  Partial credit for any smart ass answer (because at least they had to try to think of something clever).

Now.  Remember this conversation the next time you tell me democracy is the purest form of government.  Remember that the kid you talked to has a vote that counts EXACTLY as much as yours.  Don't blame the kid.  It's not the kids' fault that we didn't educate them enough to be able to wisely choose leaders.  And it's not the kids' fault that they were born into a democracy that they now have the power to screw up as much as they like.

As far as I'm concerned, democracy is a crap shoot.

If anyone gives you a particularly funny answer, please leave it in the comments section.

Google Ads

I love Google Ads.  I have no income stream, and with the ads I still don't know if I have an income stream.  It's really easy to set up the ads, but I still haven't figured out how to let them know where to send the supposed income.  Since I haven't gotten any checks yet, it might just be a virtual idea to them.  Virtual money is cheap, so I'm sure it keeps their bottom line looking good.

They do totally crack me up though.  I like seeing the first ads they attach to my posts.  Today is a case in point.  I wrote about biblical superheroes yesterday and both ads this morning were for drug rehab.  This leads me to some interesting musings... Do they think that religious believers need some type of medical intervention?  Or was it the bit about Jesus turning water into wine that requires intervention?  Did they feel that Jesus was the ultimate enabler?

If I didn't post again today, their computers would sort out the algorithms and put up more appropriate ads, but it still gives me a chuckle in the morning when I first see them.

Biblical Superheros

First, if you haven't read this blog before, you probably should know I'm Jewish.  So, although I totally approve of Jesus (who I'm sure was a very nice Jewish boy) turning water into wine (guaranteeing he got invited to parties for the rest of his life), all of my biblical heroes are from what the goyim would call "The Old Testament" and which I lovingly call "Torah".  (Which is not to say that you guys can't get your heroes from whatever testaments you got.)

What I love about Jewish superheroes is how messed up they are.  Not too long ago by brother Dave complained that my Torah study group is too hard on the Patriarchs.  Too hard on them?  Look at these guys.  Let's use Abraham as an example.  His wife talks him into doing something that he knows is morally reprehensible .. sending Hagaar (whom Sarah talked Abraham into impregnating in the first place) and her son Ishmael off into the wilderness to die.  That's a pretty lousy way to treat your first born son.  As we all know, Abraham doesn't even argue when he thinks G-d wants him to kill the next one.  Yep, that's our dad, our group forefather Abraham.  Go team.

The thing is... well saints aren't very interesting.  Do you think we would study and revere some guy who never did anything questionable?  Where's the fun in that?  We know Abraham was a prophet of the holy one, sovereign of the universe.  Haagar went on to receive blessings as generous as Abraham did.  G-d takes care of his own.  Isaac didn't get the knife (although it was very tense there for about three days).

If we look at stammering, doubting, anger management issues Moses, who was the greatest prophet of all time, and liberated us not just from bondage in Egypt, but established a precedent for us to deliver ourselves and others in the future, we see that the really good ones usually come with some baggage.

As Jews, we like the baggage.  It reminds us of ourselves.  Who wants to sit around and talk about the tzaddik (saint) from down the street?  Yep, he/she is very holy and never screws up... does anyone want to go to the movies?  

So next time you hear us talking trash about our forefathers, remember: that is how we connect with them.  Of course we love and revere them.  Just like we love and revere our real life fathers and mothers.  It still doesn't mean we think they are always right, and more importantly... they are the ones who taught us to ask the hard questions.

Merlin

King Arthur doesn't have anything up on me.  When I was younger, I had a mentor named Merlin.  My Merlin was called a poet not a wizard, but really... both professions seem to have a lot to do with the magic of words.  My Merlin is one of the wisest men I have ever met.

Once I went to him and told him that I was engaged to a man who had money and loved me and I could spend my days reading and going to museums and concerts in NYC.  After I finished Merlin reached over and patted me on the knee and said, "It sounds easy.  Some of us don't get easy."  He was right.  I couldn't go through with it and since then my path has been somewhat difficult.

Merlin used to get up at four in the morning and grade papers.  I always thought this was freakishly devoted of him.  I knew that he lived in great physical pain, but I didn't realize how he dealt with it.  This morning I got up at four thirty and now, about three hours later, I have finished my morning's work of annotating a book I wrote for my niece.  Live and learn.

Geography of Dreams

In the past few weeks the geography of my dreams has changed again.  My dreams are no longer from the space I inhabit.  I feel a little bit like Mary Poppins, who only stays in one place until the direction of the wind changes, but with me, it would be the direction of my dreams.  Who is to say what it means?

Give It All You've Got

Here's a new song from Eighth Day.  Hopefully my little nieces and nephews will like it.

Just How White Am I?

I went out to do errands this morning and remembered that I hadn't eaten yet today.  (Yes, I know that a lot of other people are better at remembering to eat than I am.  This is one of the blessings of not living alone.  The boys always seem to think eating is a good idea.)  I stopped at a McDonalds (no, I'm not in Argentina or Israel so, no, it wasn't kosher).  As I was waiting for my food a black man (maybe he was an African American... I didn't ask) ordered his food.  By mistake, the young Latina handed him my meal.  Realizing the mistake he handed it back.  Realizing her mistake, the young lady added a few conciliatory fries and handed it to me. The man, who was well over six feet tall, bristled and said to me, "She gave you more fries than she gave me."

I diffused the situation by shrugging and saying, "Well, that's because I'm cuter."  He started to laugh and agreed that I was the cutest.  See... there are perks to being an old woman.

If he thinks that I was given more fries because I am white, I invite him to come and make me laugh the next time a cinder block goes through one of the windows of my synagogue.

I Think the Freshmen are Lying

In the LA Times this morning there is a piece on a survey done by UCLA of first year freshmen across the country.  It says "with 81% saying that being 'very well off financially' was essential or very important".  I totally believe that part.  In a lot of ways being wealthy is very helpful.  Here's the part I think they are lying about: "72% said they want to help others in difficulty."

The reality is that first year freshmen are adults.  I know that we, as a society, tend not to think of them that way, but from a historical view point they are old enough to rule their own kingdoms.  If 72% were actually helping others in difficulty, we'd be in a much better space societally.  Maybe when they heard the question they were thinking that if it wasn't difficult, or if it was dramatic, that they would be helpful.  Those old grandmothers that are homeless in our communities would appreciate a little undramatic help.  Think about it.   

Don't Tell Me I Look Good

I've been going through a rough stretch lately.  As a result of that my fibromyalgia is in full flare.  I don't really eat when I'm in full flare.  Ergo I lose weight.  That means that I'm thinnest when I am at the end of a long period of illness.  That's when the compliments come flowing like a river.  Let's think about this for a moment.  I am getting positive reinforcement for feeling like dreck.  Really?  Do you also find the dark circles attractive?  Or the fact that I start getting really pale if I have to sit in one place too long and the pain can get a good strong grip on me?  How about the passing out if I stand in line for too long?  Cute as a button?  Occasionally I get so worn out that I throw up in public.  People standing around usually don't act like that's very adorable.

Here's a tip: if I am plump and smiling and running around town and busy minding everyone else's business, that is when you should tell me how good I look.  People who tell me I look great when I'm really ill just annoy the hell out of me.

I'm Not Dead Yet

If you've been reading this blog, you  know that my father is quite unwell.  He's 87 and working on wrapping up his life.  Sometimes he's pretty out of it, which may have to do with his alzheimers or his pain pills, we don't really know.  One thing that's been pretty constant is that he hasn't gotten out of bed without being under duress since he broke his hip last June.  We did drag him to doctors appointments before they put him on Hospice.

Occasionally he decides he wants to go somewhere, but as soon as we start getting him out of bed, he changes his mind and then usually takes a nap instead.  Yesterday, however, I went into his room and he was getting out of bed.  I went and found Momo who rushed in to prevent a catastrophe.  Much to my amazement, dad got up into a wheeled desk chair (the kind programmers use for office hockey) and Momo wheeled him into the kitchen.  Dad supervised the making of a martini and then went back to bed to drink it.

I know that we're supposed to be helping dad feel comfortable about his approaching death, but I can't help but being overjoyed whenever he starts feeling a little better.  Let's just say that I'm not willing to put him on the cart early.  (Yuki and her Monte Python friends will get it.)

Infinite Cups of Tea

When my mother was still alive she would occasionally complain that instead of completing her own projects that she had wasted all of her time having tea with me.  I would agree that we both would've accomplished more if we had sat around talking less.

Now, however, I am constantly amazed by how many people ask me how I've acquired so much knowledge.  Usually I'm so stunned that they think I know a lot of things that I'm semi speechless.  I mostly stammer things at them that prove I am really an idiot.  But it has happened frequently enough now that I have to take it a little seriously.  I think there are two primary reasons that I know a lot of stuff.  I'm old.  As you age, you accumulate knowledge.  I think the other reason is that I sat around drinking infinite cups of tea with my mother.  She was a very smart cookie.  She paid attention and traveled widely and had wonderful adventures.

There may be people in my readership who think I'm playing fast and loose with the word "infinite".  After all, my mother is gone now and technically we could've counted how many cups we drank together.  But... even now when I'm sitting with an aromatic cuppa, I think of her and what she would've said about things that are happening around us.  In a way, the conversation continues through the generations.

So if you are lucky enough to have a mother who wants to sit down and have a nice cup with you, don't worry about not getting other things done.  It will pay off in the long run.

The Gentling of Memories

My son and his friends are really good at helping Papa with his limitations and memories.  If Papa wants to go swimming, I tend to remind him that he hasn't been out of bed since June.  The boys don't mention that, they just tell him that it's too cold to go today.

The other night he was in and out of our reality.  At one point he called Momo in to tell him that he thought the platoon had left them behind.  (Papa was in the Army in Europe during WWII.)  Momo told him that the guys hadn't left, that they were on the porch playing cards.  The guys were on the porch playing cards, and Papa could hear them laughing and playing.  What started out as a nightmare, was met with reassurance.

This morning Papi called me in and asked me if we could be happy here.  I told him that I thought we could. You could see him visibly relax.  It worries me what happens in the minds of people as they age who don't have people close to them to reassure them that everything is okay.

Rabbis and Cage Fighting

My father is dying.  He's ready, so I suppose he can go whenever he'd like at this point.  So there is a question about how long he will stay.

In the meantime, I have to figure out how to keep eating after he dies.  Of course, there is always the mooching option, but I feel like I am still a contributing member of society.  Unfortunately, since I'm quite erratically ill (I have fibromyalgia and it strikes when it will) I really can't do the kind of work that people typically do.  The ladies at the local bookstore have asked me to bring in my resume, but I know that I can't do work that involves moving books (they're heavy) and/or standing around a lot (I'll pass out).  My geek nephew, who has a record of gainfully employing me, thinks he can do that again.  Unfortunately, I know that geek work is high stress and I also know that with my FM that it will freaking take me down.

So, I have to figure out how to be useful enough to stay off the streets, while at the same time doing something that I like so it doesn't totally stress me out. Today's idea is running cage fights between Rabbis.  If you think your Rabbi can verbally take down my Rabbi, let's talk.

Outrageous Shoes

Yesterday was one of those not so great days for me.  I won't bore you with all the details, but I will tell you that it culminated with me suffering food poisoning in the bathroom of Nordstroms at the Grove.  Luckily I was with Kate, who managed to get me home.  Part of that managing was getting a Nordstrom employee to get a wheelchair and wheel me out to valet parking so she could pick me up.  While we were waiting for Kate to go get the car we hung out in the shoe department where it was warm.  I had just been very very sick in the bathroom and had spent a fair length of time on the cold tile floor, so I was shivering.  So this unlucky worker who had to deal with me and I sat looking at shoes for awhile.  Expensive shoes are pretty outrageous.  Platforms are a ridiculous height right now.

 
I asked the worker if she had ever tried any on.  She had and admitted that they were more comfortable than they look, thanks to the platform.  I hope she has better things to spend her money on than shoes she couldn't possibly walk in.

Here's the kind of thing I think of when I see shoes you shouldn't walk in:

The Chinese aristocracy was an excellent example of foot torture.  They thought it looked beautiful.  I think it's very similar to hobbling.  

So Kate calls and I get pushed out to the valet station.  It's a couple of minutes before she pulls up.  There is a man in a coat and hat who obviously manages the valet station.  A woman laden with Nordstorm's bags comes semi-limping up to get her car.  She knows the mans name and they exchange pleasantries.  Then she makes what I think of as an inexcusable faux pax: she starts to whine at him about how exhausted she is from shopping.  She says that her feet are killing her.  He points out that she could've worn flats.  She looks at her seven inch heels and concedes that she could have chosen a slightly less high shoe.  What?  You self torture and then have the nerve to complain to a man who has been standing in the cold all day (okay, it's LA but it's cold for us) working a job that can't possibly pay enough for him to afford a woman like you.

Now, I understand that there are people who have to maintain a certain image, but it might be better if they were more concerned about their servants.

Don't get me any Pradas, I would definitely break my ankles, even if I managed to not break my neck.

Moving In

It may seem odd, but after three years I'm finally moving in.  When we first moved in, it was with the idea that it would be temporary until my parents passed.  We moved into the house that met my mother's many specific requirements.  It's close to the beach, but not too close.  It's in a good neighborhood.  It is all on one  floor.  It has a deep bathtub.  I think you get the idea.  My stipulation was that it was within walking distance of a synagogue.

Mom's gone.  Dad is on hospice.  As we reviewed our options, we realized that we actually can stay here.

So now that I'm not looking at my space as temporary, I can settle in.  Katie has been here and been extra helpful in helping me get things done.  And we've been playing every day too, so I don't get behind on my New Year's resolution.

Box Forts

I've trying to decide if having a 22 year old is more like having 11 two year olds or more like having 2 eleven year olds.  The verdict is in: he's two 11 year olds.

I brought home a chair and a freezer, so we had plenty of building materials.  The only thing better than a box fort is a box fort on the Ninja Who Lives Here's bed.  Luckily the Ninja announced that he wouldn't be home for a few hours.

Momo's flag (so you'll recognize it when he conquers your house):

Now you can see why young men get married and have children.  If you're single you're just weird.  If you have kids, you turn into a great dad.

A Case For Gladiators

Yeah, I know, we aren't supposed to like gladiators.  It just encourages little kids to beat each other up, which is a bad thing.  I get it.  We're supposed to be a kinder, gentler nation.  We haven't exactly beaten any swords into plowshares, but if we can maintain this facade of political correctness in our daily lives, we can pretend we are above that.

Several years ago I was taking a Russian language class at a local university in Utah (where I was living at the time) and there were some young men starting a hockey team.  Other than their moms, they had no audience at their games.  I went home and told my niece, "We are going to be hockey fans now."  We went to all the home games (they were free and a mile from our house) and cheered on the guys from my Russian class.  The boys really appreciated it, especially since my niece was young and pretty.  I openly admit that I loved those games.  Seeing all of that violence and aggression un-pent was a release not only for the players but also for the people in the audience.   I don't like to think of it as encouraging violence so much, as encouraging happiness.  The guys I knew thought about hockey all the time.  They loved hockey.  They loved the violence.

Violence needs a better place in our society.  It is totally wrong to hurt someone who is not asking for it, but... if two hockey players/gladiators, want to beat the hell out of each other, let them.  Especially if the loser isn't a whiner.  If other people want to watch this for a release of their pent up aggression, let them.

There's a big debate right now about the wisdom of letting football players continue disabling each other.  Let's think about a couple of things.  If this freakishly huge man was not able to play football, how would he be able to rack up man points?  Is his alternative taking his rage to the streets?  Is that a good idea for us to force him to do that?

Here's my favorite argument for violent sports players growing up all right.  (This is stolen from Jewniverse):

Though you might have always pictured the rabbis of the Talmud as bearded old men, the texts tell another story. Rabbi Shimon Ben Lakish, often known as Resh Lakish, was originally a bandit and a gladiator, known for his amazing strength. In fact, Resh Lakish’s strength was instrumental in bringing him from banditry to Judaism.

Resolution

Usually I don't make resolutions.  My family likes to make predictions instead.  Then we put them in a drawer and see how bad we did at the end of the year.  Make no mistake... my family is terrible at predictions.  Actually, we're totally amusing in our prediction making, just none of them ever come true.  We're mostly alright about that.

This year I am making a bold resolution.  I'm just going to play.  If you want me to do anything this year, you are going to have to do it in a way that I think it's a game, or I'm not going to play.

The world didn't end in 2012, we didn't fall off the fiscal cliff (yet), and a giant asteroid doesn't seem to be aimed for the earth (at least this week).  Nothing worthy of stopping messing around and enjoying life happened, and based on that, I'm pretty sure that the world will work just fine if I just kick back and relax.

So if you want to come over for Scrabble or Mah Jongg or Risk or Monopoly, drop by.  I'm sure a pick up game can be arranged.