Why There's a Plaster Jesus in My Basement, or Another Christmas Blogfrom a Jewish Blogger

Unlike many of my fellow Jews, my Christmas custom is NOT eating Chinese food and going to the movies on Christmas day, although there was a time when I  have done that.  (This Christmas Eve is another story!)

Menorah Christmas Tree= Holiday FAIL

For the past, oh, ten? years we have spent Christmas day driving to Maine.  Not a very festive thing to do, but my father-in-law's birthday is December 26th, and we like to be there to celebrate, and it's really a great day to drive.  No one is on the roads!  This backfired exactly twice when we broke down and, as I say, NO ONE was on the roads. But usually it's smooth sailing and we get up to our igloo away from home in record time.

Some years, like this year, and in years past, we leave for Maine on the 26th,  and attend a wonderful Christmas party with family friends.  We have been going to their party since my brother and I were children, and it's a joy to go now that our own kids are grown. 

But there were years before that when I didn't live around my family, and I had to find other things to do on Christmas. Since I had just come home for Thanksgiving, sometimes I would offer to work over Christmas to let the other people get the time off.

When I lived in San Francisco, I was the case manager a group home for teens who could no longer live at home. We only had six beds, and all six were always filled.  I remember those kids so well, each one has a place in my heart.  Some of them were easy to love, and some of them made themselves a little tougher. Some of them had families who wanted them back, and some of them had families that were so dysfunctional that we could not let them go back, not even for an hour on Christmas. For those kids, we would supervise Christmas or Christmas Eve visits in the living room of our house.  A mysterious donor always send a Christmas tree about a week before, and we would decorate it with a few ancient decorations.  (I learned the word "flocking" at this time.) The kids started to behave better, or worse, depending on what emotions were being drummed up inside.  They usually liked that this was my only Christmas.

We had very strict rules about behavior.  No infractions meant you could go to the store and buy some gifts for your housemates, or family members, if you were still in touch.  But if you had broken rules, you had only on-grounds privileges, and someone else had to do your shopping. The state gave us some money to buy the kids gifts, and some of their parents brought presents, if they knew that a visit was not to be.  We did not have an "angel" or a "sugar daddy." No one thought about these kids as a charity worth a "toy drive" or a "drop off."  They weren't adorable, or pitiful, or glamorous. Just kids who had had it really rough. I was just a kid myself, looking back, just 26.

Ted was violent, but only sometimes.  Other times he was smooth and a ladies man.  He was about 6'1" already, very nice looking, and only 16. He lied as easily at telling the truth. My strongest memory about Ted was the night we caught him drinking and he was about to lose his privileges.  "Ted, you made some bad choices and..." and before I knew it, he had smashed the empty vodka bottle found under his bed and was holding it menacingly in my face.  My heart was racing.  Just at that moment another worker arrived behind him and took the bottle away.  Ted was taken to Juvenile Hall.  I don't know what happened to him.

Shelly had it rough. Her mom simply couldn't handle her. "Take her," she said. She was way more into finding drugs and finding alcohol than finding Shelley after school.  Luckily Shelley found Jesus and the church helped Shelley.  But Shelley never let anyone in again.  Except for me.  Shelley and I are still in touch.

Rosanne was 14 when she arrive at Pathways. She had already had an abortion. Rosanne was the only Jewish kid there when I was there, so I invited her to come to my house to celebrate Hanukkah one night. I knew this was against the rules, but since I was, by now, the manager, I bent the rules when I needed to. She shared her story in the car.  Mom's new husband came to her room every night.  When she told mom about this, Mom slapped her and called her a whore and a liar, and kicked her out on the street.  But Rosanne was pregnant, and she dragged herself to a hospital, who called the state.  After the abortion, she came to us, and we were working on emancipating her when she became 16.

Dwayne was Ted's roommate, and was soft spoken.  He became his true self after Ted left, and we saw a glimmer of joy in his eyes, when he was no longer living in fear of Ted.  He became more and more confident.  His issues were many, stemming from learning disabilities, school anxiety and a single mom who simply gave up on him.  Dwayne had a much older brother who came to visit and brought him home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and gave him a sense of family.

Denise.   Denise was black. I was there the day she was dropped off by her white mom. Her mom was clearly drunk, and Denise was clinging to her. It was a heart wrenching scene.  Her mother loudly announced for all to hear that she was fine with Denise's placement at Pathways.  The court appointed social worker tried to bring us all into my office to finish the paper work, but Denise's mother was anxious to leave.  Her school placement was at an all-girls Catholic school, and it seemed to be a good match for her. 

Her roommate was Kim, our oldest resident, and the big sister to other girls.  Kim had been arrested several times for several different small crimes, each of them just seemed to say "Get me out of my house," and finally she got out.  At 17, she was nearly ready to be on her own.  Her grades were good, she had a part time job, and I had just gotten her a checking account.  Our latest mini-battle with Kim was the amount of time she wanted to spend with her boyfriend. 

So it  was Christmas.  It was my third year at Pathways, so I knew the drill.  We started nice and early working to find places for the kids to go, because with troubled families (and with healthy ones) things can always go wrong.  All the kids were in the group home on Christmas Eve Day, so we did our present exchange that day.

By Christmas Eve, a few of the kids had places to go.  Those who were there were treated to a nice dinner, cooked by me (usually the kids took turns cooking as part of the therapy of becoming independent).  We watched a Christmas movie on TV and drank hot cocoa. (I always offered to take the shifts because I was the only Jewish employee.)

I put a few gifts I had bought for the last few kids under the tree.  The only one who had nowhere to go on Christmas Day was Denise.  Once everyone was gone, I broke the news to her.  She was coming with me, and my husband to spend Christmas with us.

This was, of course, against the rules. She didn't have off-ground privileges, and she wasn't supposed to go in the car with me.  And neither of those minor details was going to stop me.  Denise got all dressed up in her nicest clothes, coat and scarf, and we were off.   

I drove her up to my apartment, picked up my husband and we headed into San Francisco.  Looking into my rear view mirror I could see she was bubbling with excitement.

First stop...Chinatown!   Our Christmas dinner was a Chinese feast of dumplings, wonton soup and spareribs!  It was all a first for her, and she loved it.

Then, off to the movies, to see the new Star Trek movie.  She had been to the movies before, but not for a very long time, and she was thrilled.  

We had a great time, and it was a lot of fun to treat Denise to a special day, even if it was not exactly the most traditional Christmas for her.

Then back to the Pathways by 5:30 or so, when the next shift of staff was to arrive and the other kids were arriving back, with their stories of dysfunction, fighting and complaining.  And Denise smiling ear to ear.

After Christmas, we made sure things get back to normal very quickly because it stirs up so much for the kids. But after school one day, Denise came into my office and said she had a surprise for me.  She handed me a wrapped gift, tissue paper, ribbon, the works.  

"Merry Late Christmas, and Happy Hanukkah, and Happy New Year too. I made you this in art class.  Thanks for the best Christmas I have ever had."

She stood there while I opened it.  It was this plaster Jesus head.  She was bursting with pride.  

I have treasured it and kept it ever since.  When my kids were little I hid it, so they would not be confused.  How do you explain why a Jewish family has a plaster Jesus in the basement?   But there's nothing confusing about helping someone feel loved and celebrate her holiday.  

So, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and I wish you all the love and joy of the season.

Someday We'll Look Back on This and it Will All Seem Funny

I live in New Jersey.  I was born here.  I spent a good couple of years putting it down and waiting to get out.  And many more years calling it home again. 


So what's up with New Jersey?


Thanks to TV, the rest of the United States, (and probably a good part of the television viewing world) thinks that we speak with some kind of less-than-articulate accent, that we have big hair, and crave the material things in life.  I've never even watched two of those popular New Jersey shows, but I know the stereotype.  Ironically enough, when my family and I were at the Jersey shore two summers ago, we saw the iconic stars of that famous shore show.  But I think somehow I better not post their pictures in my blog.  


New Jersey used to feel like a an annex to New York.  When I was growing up, I didn't get that NJ had its own shtick.  All we had then was Bruce Springsteen, and we had so much of him, I lost interest.  (I know, that is blasphemy, and I've come around to appreciate him a bit more.)  


I've lived in Boston, North Carolina, Portland Oregon and San Francisco.  I even lived in Israel for part of my Junior year in college.  All of these places had their own personality.  They were all great places to live.  But I was always a visitor.  New Jersey was my home.  My parents were here, and for much of their lives, so were my grandparents. As much as I might like to put this state down, this happened to be my state.


What's up with New Jersey?  Here's what works for me...

This is a dolphin swimming by.  Really.

1. Great Beaches.  Okay, my favorite is and always has been Seaside.  With the honky tonk of the boardwalk of Seaside Heights and the spectacular waves, beaches and (usually) clean ocean of Seaside Park... this is where my family has gone for years.  Everyone has their favorite spot on the Jersey Shore. This year, we saw dolphins swim right past us.  And I have still never had better pizza  than that on the boardwalk at Seaside Heights.  (Not even in Italy.)
2. Great Schools.   I know that NJ cares about education... and although not every single town has outstanding schools, this was definitely a plus when we decided to move back here from San Francisco.
3. Proximity to New York.  Yup.  Like most people I know, my husband and I don't go into NY nearly as often as one would think, and don't take advantage of nearly enough of the cultural options.  But we COULD if we wanted to!  Mostly we go to NY for rock concerts and work related things.  And then we complain about the traffic.  But, it's still there when we want it!
4. Distance from New York.  And here's the perfection of where we live.  In our idyllic little town in Bergen County, you can almost pretend you are back in a simpler time.  Neighbors know one another and stop to chat.  Our worst traffic nightmare here is when school lets out and the crossing guard holds up the cars to let the kids cross. 
5. Happy Kids.   As much as I wanted to get out, my kids seem to have been very happy growing up here.  They loved this little town, and the freedom it afforded them to go out on their own as they got older.  They loved the shore too, and being very close to their NJ grandparents. (Their other grandparents are in Maine, and this was always a very easy drive we made 3 times a year.)
6. Prices.  This is not worth moving here, but our gas prices are lower than the surrounding states, and you never have to pump it yourself.  Also, no tax on clothing.
7. Cory Booker.   Mayor of Newark.  Maybe Governor of NJ someday.  I just wanted to mention him because I think he's all that. 
8. Tomatoes and Corn.  The best when they are in season.  Peaches too.

A few things that could be better?

1. We could do better with our environmental policies and regulations.  In my perfect little town we cannot drink the water because of high levels of arsenic.  Hmm.  
2. The Blue Laws.  Yes, we still have them.  No shopping in Bergen County on Sunday.  Don't get me started.
3. Same Sex Marriage... not here, not yet.  A same sex couple can get married in Iowa, but not in NJ?  WHAT?   DC,  New York, Massachusetts... come on now NJ, it's our turn.

Am I missing anything? 

Yes, Jon Bon Jovi.  Sorry.  I simply have nothing to say about him.  Except this.  Why does he pretend to be a cowboy? 

And It Surely Looks Like Rain

It's Saturday afternoon, August 27, 2011.  The Hurricane Irene is on her way.  It's all people are talking, tweeting, facebooking and blogging about.  Even me.


We are all "battening down the hatches" or however you spell that, and preparing for this storm of the half- century.  If it's as big as they predict, there's a good chance that we will probably have a flooded basement and lose power.  I don't live near the ocean, but if you have read my earlier blogs, I do live on a small lake which becomes a mighty, well, lake that overflows when we have these types of weather situations. 


Here's how we've prepared so far: 


1.  Eldest child has escaped to his own apartment in Boston, also in the danger zone, but a rental and not his problem.  He's carefree and probably just making sure his laptop, Droid and flashlights are at the ready.  I hope that I've taught him well and he has a stocked fridge and liquor cabinet.


2.  Middle child has also escaped to visit friend in Ann Arbor... she'll enjoy the hurricane from the comfort of the midwest which is scheduled for no weather at all this weekend.


3.  Youngest son did his obligatory 1/2  hour of helping move stuff around the garage and is hanging with his friends before being stuck in the house with his parents.  I believe he's a little put off by the threat of no electricity and having to play Grateful Dead-opoly with Mom and Dad for two days by candle light.


4.  Garage is cleaned out, garbage cans moved in.  The guy actually did arrive and put in a larger drain and pipes to drain the water out of our driveway so hopefully the flooding we usually get will not be so bad.  We do have a few holes in our roof (see "Phase One") so a leak could be in our future.  We have frozen bags of water and are filling up a few coolers of water, just in  case.  We have a full fridge, and of course, a full liquor cabinet.  Also, the great Mayor Corey Booker (Newark) suggests filling up your cars with gas and getting cash today, so that's done too.


Tom Petty said "The Waiting is the Hardest Part."  I think it's the cleaning.  If I could just sit on the couch with a nice cold drink and wait, I mean really, how hard could that possibly be?  But I need to get back to it and get everything off the basement floor and away from the windows.  


Before I go... I changed the set up of this blog so you can post your comments.  (I think.  Try it and let me know.)

And a prize goes to the person who can name this object I found while cleaning the basement!








Stay safe, and enjoy the ride!

Who'll Stop the Rain

Picture a Nicholas Sparks movie adaptation of one of his novels.  (You can't?  Ask your sister / mother / girlfriend/ gay friend.) 


The four kids (mentioned yesterday) are sitting blithely around the pool.  It's tomorrow, so it's sunny, and someone has cleaned the pool.  They are joking and laughing, and having snack and drinks out there (in plastic cups, of course).  Scene cuts to worried Mom (me) inside on the computer, tracking Hurricane Irene. 

Next scene cuts to very uptight father at work.  He's looking at the bank statement online and wildly clicking things to see if he can make money appear where it needs to be.  Viewers are perplexed.


Cut to May of this summer.  No, make that May of six years ago. Yes, that's how they do it in the movies.


The parents look pretty much the same, but the kids of course are six years younger. We come to take a final look at the house we are about to buy.  After at least 5 years of  taking our tiny house on and off the market, debating whether to stay in our  little town in Northern NJ, comparing the value of a decent sized house with a decent sized yard, we have finally sold our place and settled on what basically amounts to a brick raised ranch.  On what is arguably the nicest piece of property in the entire town.  (Did I use arguably correctly here? Read on and let me know what you think.)  As I have said, the house is really just a shoebox, only one room bigger than the one we've just sold, though each room is a little larger (except the master bathroom, which I may get to in another entry).  But then there's the yard.

And here's the funny thing.  We had pretty much decided we didn't care about the yard, as long as we had enough room in the house for our "stuff."  That lasted right up until we saw the yard.  The first thing you notice is that the front door is facing a huge front yard, but is set up away from the street.  It's hard to describe and also harder to find.  Kids on Halloween have a very tough time (guess you could say it's our trick if they want to get their treat). 

The next thing you see is that there's a beautiful pool, shaped like a chipotle pepper.  Of course, we didn't realize it at first.  I mean, of course we knew there was a pool, and that it had a fun shape, but chipotle peppers didn't come into vogue til recently, and we had really not identified it as any specific type of pepper at the time.




 

Pool with people in it.

Kids canoeing on the lake.



But the piece de resistance is the fact that behind the house and the pool flows a small river, or creek, punctuated by two waterfalls. This little pocket of zen surrenity in the midst of suburbia is what our family has called home for six years.  We love our upper lake, our waterfalls, and lower lake.  We love our barely-used canoe and the fact that there are snapping turtles in the middle lake that sometimes need rescuing.  We love that the upper lake has an abundance of fish in it, and on spring and summer nights you can see them jumping out of the water to catch insects. 

We don't love that this summer, for some reason, this lake has begun to overflow into our pool.  Which brings us to this past May.

Pool with mud in it.

The tranquil lake overflowed into the lovely blue pool TWICE, causing thousands of dollars worth of work, mess, and damage to pool, property and flooding into the house.  The pool had to be drained both times and refilled, leaving it with a stained and cracked bottom.  We had a berm built to staunch the flow of the water, and it has been tested already (and will be tested again with the impending Irene and her winds and water).

And our movie cuts back to today.  And our unknowing, naive but happy young adults are enjoying the pool and hammock... not knowing the worry in their parents' hearts.  Will the berm hold up?  Will the redirected water find a different way into the pool or into the thrice-flooded house?  (Yes, the house.  This could be the sequel, or possibly a prequel to this cinematic thriller.)  And, if you've been playing along, you'll recall that we are still not sure if there is a hole in the roof where the tree fell on the house, as the roofing contractor has failed to show at each of our arranged appointments so far.  And while we are on the subject of the money pit we call our home, we are still waiting for a no-show plumber to dig a new drainage system to allow for the water to flow away from our home and into the lawn and lake.

So, maybe it's really not like a Nicholas Sparks' movie at all.  Perhaps it should be more aptly called "Little House in the Suburbs." 

Stay tuned to find out how we fare during Hurricane Irene...