tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43726223415094882722024-03-13T08:31:10.440-07:00Random Musingsexceedingly random...Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.comBlogger186125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-16448397174099829732013-05-06T16:56:00.000-07:002013-05-06T16:56:01.331-07:00EKGSome 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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-12313405204941759712013-05-01T08:31:00.001-07:002013-05-01T08:31:57.162-07:00Getting Back to a RoutineAfter 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. <br />
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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.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-1280034510933001582013-04-30T08:25:00.000-07:002013-04-30T08:25:11.776-07:00Am 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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-63957042342941976782013-04-10T14:55:00.001-07:002013-04-10T14:55:24.044-07:00Dancing with DadMy 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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-75814513100892606232013-04-01T15:28:00.002-07:002013-04-01T15:28:56.515-07:00Leave a NoteBefore 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:<br />
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"Dear Mom,<br />
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I went to Mexico. I'll be back on Tuesday.<br />
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Love,<br />
Momo"<br />
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At least he left a note.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-7317028936393103472013-03-29T09:41:00.000-07:002013-03-29T09:41:11.251-07:00ScarsOne 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. <br />
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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. <br />
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So if you see a woman wearing a scarred Captain America sweat shirt, you can go ahead and salute.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-56993729867741606002013-03-27T07:55:00.001-07:002013-03-27T07:55:23.699-07:00Hooray 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. <br />
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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? <br />
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By all means, let gay people get married. It makes it far easier on the rest of us.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-16477846906674846322013-03-26T16:38:00.001-07:002013-03-26T16:38:29.807-07:00Frosty Road TripMomo 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.<br />
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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.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-81553148766071426512013-03-19T08:23:00.000-07:002013-03-19T08:23:25.694-07:00Misadventures ContinuedFor 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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-46934432611867763982013-03-18T07:58:00.002-07:002013-03-18T07:58:55.677-07:00Father DiedMy 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. <br />
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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.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-28889600507333451822013-03-14T09:43:00.002-07:002013-03-14T09:43:45.469-07:00Are 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.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-51275629739421726372013-03-12T10:05:00.000-07:002013-03-12T10:05:08.019-07:00Book: Bee SeasonI 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? <br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.) <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-46089255345826923142013-03-08T11:14:00.003-08:002013-03-08T11:14:51.608-08:00Movie: The GatekeepersMy 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. <br />
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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.<br />
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<br />Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-22115533701780043312013-03-07T07:34:00.000-08:002013-03-07T07:34:27.478-08:00Car ChasesSince 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.<br />
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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:<br />
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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. <br />
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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? Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-60844646958361193992013-03-05T08:29:00.000-08:002013-03-05T08:29:42.927-08:00MisadventuresThere's an idea that "never a dull moment" is a good thing in life. I would contend that more dull moments would be okay.<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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"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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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. Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-21863003516212299442013-03-01T14:41:00.000-08:002013-03-01T14:41:35.326-08:00In Like a LambNeither 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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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. Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-90576773317709836132013-02-28T07:41:00.001-08:002013-02-28T07:41:32.327-08:00Van CliburnThere'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. Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-33641840571003966272013-02-27T08:12:00.002-08:002013-02-27T08:12:49.226-08:00FashionWhen 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.<br />
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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. <br />
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See... mom's are smarter than you think.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-59428470656611262632013-02-25T15:46:00.000-08:002013-02-25T15:46:43.792-08:00Rising Sea LevelsHere's a cool <a href="http://sealevel.climatecentral.org/">link</a> 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.<br />
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So here, for example, is where the surge levels would be for the year 2020 in my neighborhood:<br />
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Now, here we go in 2100:</div>
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-45876160385997589052013-02-22T06:11:00.000-08:002013-02-22T06:11:08.810-08:00Don't Lie to Your KidsIn 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Princess? Chances are that your dad isn't a king. <br />
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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.<br />
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Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-51403587207167266442013-02-21T07:47:00.001-08:002013-02-21T07:47:42.254-08:00Purim PrepToday 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. <br />
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So here you go, your Purim warm up...<br />
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<br />Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-25770128734220351442013-02-19T10:00:00.000-08:002013-02-19T10:00:41.328-08:00Elijah?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. <br />
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Now, here's the condensed version of what happens. Every generation produces someone who <i>could</i> 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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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?"<br /><br />
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). <br />
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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. <br />
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"Yes, I do recognize you," I said. <br />
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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.)<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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I am dedicating this post to the memory of our good friend Chris Ung, who was my buddy in Elijah-ness. Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-86342784002951136122013-02-18T06:50:00.002-08:002013-02-18T06:50:44.481-08:00A Brilliant ManIn 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. <br />
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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.<br />
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It deserves a look.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-52450379641123515802013-02-15T08:40:00.000-08:002013-02-15T08:40:30.368-08:00Okay... Police Are Just WeirdI 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.<br />
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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?"<br />
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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."<br />
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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."<br />
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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.Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4372622341509488272.post-64585561081627879142013-02-14T06:44:00.000-08:002013-02-14T06:44:15.337-08:00AbandonmentFor 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 <i>great</i> reasons. <br />
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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?" <br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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:<br />
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<br />Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01345959291157401748noreply@blogger.com0