Parenting 101

This happened.


At a party last week, I was cornered by a long-time acquaintance whose three children are each about eight or ten years older than my three kids.  She wanted to know my "secret" to parenting.


"How did you manage to keep your kids Jewish?  How is it that they still are so respectful?  How did you get them to get along with each other so well?"


"Um, Dianna, isn't it a bit late for you and your kids?"


Luckily she assumed  I was making a joke, took it with a smile and said that she's working on her doctorate. She was looking for information on birth order and parenting.  I assured her I'd give her all my parenting "secrets," but just not right then, as we were making our way to the the dinner table.  I started to think about what I'd tell her if she did call me.


You make a lot of decisions when you are a  parent.  (Well, I hope you do...)  This is part one of what I think will be a multi-part blog piece with some thoughts about raising kids to be healthy, mentschy, "normal" human beings in this not-so-normal world.


Before we even had children, and certainly when they were very young parents, my husband and I were deliberate in our choices... We will raise our three children in a house that promotes peace, and love. I believed then, and believe now that every generation must be the next generation that comes closer to an understanding of true peace.  I wanted our home to reflect what I teach in my classes.  

• No weapons in the house. 

• Toys will be gender neutral.  

• No violence on television.

• No cursing or negative, hateful language.

Hah hah hah.

The first time we were challenged just slightly with our crazy gender neutral parenting ideas was when our oldest, "Daniel," was in nursery school.  He must have been 4, and our daughter, "Maya" was 1  1/2.


His teacher, Miss Laura, asked me to stay after the other moms had left with their toddlers.  She was very solemn.  Daniel was never naughty.  Not at home and not at school, so I was immediately concerned.   She let Daniel continue to "read" in the library corner, and said to me in a hushed voice, "I need to tell you something very serious."  I felt my heart race.  I looked at him.  He seemed fine.  I looked back at Laura and she was clearly very nervous to tell me...
"Yes, what is it?"
"Daniel wants to be Queen Esther in our Purim Parade."
"Oh, ok."
My pulse goes back to a normal beat.
"You know, not Ahashveros, not Mordechai or Haman.  Queen Esther."
"Yes, I get it.  That's fine."
"It's fine?"
"Yes, it's completely fine, let him make the Queen Esther costume."


I looked at my perfectly happy, healthy son and breathed a huge sigh of relief.  Having completed cancer treatments less than a year before and not being sure my next scan would be clean, this was anything but serious.  He identifies with Queen Esther, eh? The hero of the story...I always related more with Vashti, but okay. (I'd be a lot more worried if it were Haman, the evil-doer who wanted to kill the Jews.)
I scooped up my delicious, healthy, son and put him in his carseat and brought him home.


On the day of the Purim parade, there marched my son, with his crown and cape, and he beamed as he knew how great he looked.  (The fact was, the kids made their costumes and they all looked pretty much the same.  Except for the little Hamans.  They had sinister looking black paper hats, and black paper mustaches that fell off about 2 minutes after the parade started.)


Not long after that came the twin cursing incidents of the winter of '92.


I supposed that every family has a story or two like these.  


I had asked my husband to work hard to curb his language when we had children.  He agreed with me that this was a good idea.  It was not just about cursing, but all kinds of language that I did not want our children to ever hear in our house.  I'm proud to say that we do not use "hate," "stupid," or "shut-up" directed at one another to this day.


A bit of history here:  Our two cats, of blessed memory, had been with us for many years and had edged right up into pure decrepitude by this point in our family life.  Not a day went by when one or the other cat didn't miss the litter box entirely, or cost us a fortune at the vet. To say that they were long past bringing us joy is putting it kindly.  One night, little Daniel came in to see my husband very upset about something.  He was muttering and tromping around the living room, and innocently, Daniel asked, "Dad, is it the fucking cats?"


This was immediately followed by a family dinner to our favorite Chinese Restaurant, the Great Wall.  Little Maya was on her daddy's shoulders, and we ran from the car to the doors of the restaurant, through the snowy, slushy parking lot.  I held Daniel's hand on this messy night, right behind them.  As we walked in through the doors, a huge pile of melting snow/slush fell on my husband's bald head, causing him to yell out, "Shit!"  This delighted my toddler daughter to no end: The splash of the snow, the yelling of a brand new word, the excited reaction from me.  The rest of the night, Maya sat in the high chair at the Great Wall restaurant exclaiming "Shit! Shit! Shit!" enjoying her soup and noodles, and mortifying me and my mom, (and probably secretly delighting my dad).  My husband became MUCH more careful about his language after that.


As our kids grew up, the BAN on cursing morphed into a tolerance on cursing, but only when it was funny.  Which was to say, you cannot curse at another family member, but it was okay for comedic effect.


Then there was my ban on weapons.


Easy enough to enforce with our first two children.  Daniel and Maya never missed them.  At other children's homes, they were not interested, and  I was the slightly smug mom who raised the peaceful new generation of mini-hippies.  They shall learn war no more.  Not in my house.  Nope.  Not until "Jack" was born.  Before this little guy was out of the crib, he had turned everything in sight into a weapon.  We still didn't buy him any guns or swords; there was no need!  Each tree branch was a perfect pistol or rifle.  Whether he was a Jedi or a ninja, every toy in the playroom was re-purposed into his trusty weapon, and stowed into his belt.  A favorite sword was the snorkel, which I believe also served as a secret walking stick, until he left it in the movie theater in our town.  He was so utterly despondent we went back to find it, but it had been discarded with the containers of half-eaten pop-corn and overly-sweetened slushies.  Eventually we got Jack a knight costume that came with a little plastic sword, and there was no going back.  


I came to understand that this was the way he needed to play.  Pretending that the plastic knife from the play kitchen was a dagger during the Robin Hood phase satisfied or soothed something in him and allowed him to pretend, in the same way that my older son found joy in creating masterpieces with Legos, and my daughter found outlets with her art kits.  If I had taken away the markers from Maya, she would have found the crayons, take them away and she would find the colored pencils.  Was little Jack going to grow up to be a war-mongering overlord?  I didn't know.  I decided that I would continue to parent as best as I could, trying to monitor what he watched on tv and supervise the way he played with others so that he learned what was and was not appropriate play. Pretending you are pirates on the swingset is okay.  Pushing younger kids off and saying they have fallen off the plank is not okay.  ("That's a time out.  Why?  Because you aren't really a pirate.")


After I said yes to Jack having a sword, and later, a fake gun* from Wild West City** I was pretty sure I knew what I'd say to Daniel when he asked if he could have a Barbie Doll. I can't say I didn't think about it a little bit.  I had a few concerns.  Would he want to bring it to school, and if he did, would he get teased?  Should I insist that he should get a Ken doll? Should I ignore his request and see if he forgot about it?  And the big question... if you buy a boy a Barbie, will that make him gay?  


Let's get that last question out of the way, and let me just say that was for the benefit of any parent who is reading this now and is going through something similar.  Because let's face it.  A toy cannot possibly have the power to change a person's sexual identity.   So the real question was, is there a chance that my child may grow up and realize he's gay?  And will buying him a Barbie now change that later?


Here's what I did, and I am pretty sure I discussed it with my husband, though now I don't remember the conversation.    The kids' babysitter, Meggie wanted to buy the kids each something for Hanukkah, and Daniel had asked her too.  So she asked us if it would be alright, and knowing this was a way that Daniel needed to play, I said yes, please don't spend too much, but sure.  Meggie bought him a Barbie and a Ken, and Daniel was a very happy guy.  He did not ask to bring them to school. 


What lessons did I learn from my children's play habits?  My daughter Maya loved to play with little toy animals, and for a while wanted to be a vet.  She also liked to draw on the walls with Sharpie, but had no inclination to become a graffiti artist.  She now teaches children in an after-school environmental education program.


My older son, Daniel, as it happens is gay.  Jokingly, he says it's because I let him play with the Barbie, but seriously, I think we both know that letting him play with the doll then just means he doesn't need to play with one now, as a 25 year old young man.  He's a teacher and a great role model to young people.


And my son, Jack, who, during his Zorro phase carved a giant "Z" into my parents kitchen table with one of their knives?  Well, we don't know about him yet.  So far he seems to have left his need for weapons behind and has followed in his mother's more peaceful ways, but he's only 18, so we're keeping an eye on him.  After spending the summer as a camp counselor, he probably has a few stories of his own to share.


And after all this thinking and writing... so far, Dianna has not called me.  And these aren't really all my secrets, not by a long shot... just the first few things that came to mind when I thought about my children, and what I had to think, and re-think as parenting theory gave way to parenting reality.   


I wanted to raise each child to be the best most unique person that he or she could be... I hope I am still doing that.












*I did not really say "yes" to the fake gun so much as I didn't have a full-blown fight with my husband in the middle of the OK Corral when he bought it for Jack while I was in the bathroom with Maya.
**Wild West City:  The worst, tackiest theme park in NJ.   So terrible that we had to go there twice during Jack's cowboy phase.  Click here to check it out.

On the Road Again (or Canandaigua Getaway, Getaway)

Click here to get some listening music for this blog. "On the Road Again" Baltimore Civic Center 4/19/82

For those of you who have been following along with the delightful drama that is my life... you may have picked up on the following.. 

• There are no kids (of ours) around again this summer... The coming and going has slowed, so it's grown-up play time.
• I just changed jobs AGAIN and sort of have the next two months off, not on purpose, but I can't say that I'm exactly bummed out, those two months being July and August.
• And what do you know, all this is happening just in time for the Furthur Summer Tour!  Time for me to take a little summer tour myself and catch a few shows! The Finger Lakes and Coney Island show tickets are on my bulletin board and I'm ready to plan some fun for my husband and me.

I took a little yellow pad, wrote a list of things we'd need, drove over to our local AAA office to get  a map. AAA is a wonderful resource.  I'll say right now that that although the woman helping me was as nice as could be, when I asked what she'd suggest for this road trip, she replied,
"Oh, my husband and I don't like to drive.  We only fly and we always go to Disney.  We love the Magic Kingdom."
(Yep, that's just who you want working for you at the Automotive Association of America.)  No ideas, no hints... nothing.
Nevertheless, I left with two car-ride mini-trash bags filled with a TripTik, a few Tour Books and a stack of maps.  (She also threw in a map of Long Island for our Coney Island trip and a Boston map for future trips to Boston.)

Figure 1: Triple A Treasure Trove

My vacation began Thursday, July 5.  Why not July 4? Why indeed...

My husband and I thought we'd stay in town for the local celebration, which includes live music and fireworks.  How silly of us, as the town moved the 4th of July to the 7th of July (Saturday night).  So on the 4th, we did what we've done for years, which is stand in our backyard and watch the fireflies, and wait for the fireworks from the next town, which we can see over the tree-tops.

(Not great pictures, and to tell the truth, not a great view, but there you have it.)

The morning of the 5th, we packed up the car, said good-bye to our pets and headed up north... destination: Watkins Glen NY.  Why? 

One reason.  The famous Grateful Dead / Allman Brothers Concert of July 28, 1973.  My husband and I had listened to a tape of the soundcheck from July 27 '73 for years, until it became unplayable.  Now I have the show on my iPod, and we played it on our long drive from NJ. We thought of Watkins Glen as a sort of Deadhead hallowed ground.  What to do when we got there?  I had a few ideas... but the main thing was to visit this town. It was a long drive and once there we were shocked to imagine over half a million people in this tiny town (which looked like it had not yet recovered).  

To hear a great version of the Allman Brothers Mountain Jam with the Grateful Dead playing in, click here. 

We stayed at a sub-par motel, with the last parking spot available, right next to an overflowing dumpster.  In Watkins Glen there are three things to do.  Go to the Speedway, check out Lake Seneca or explore the Gorge.  The Speedway happens to be the site of aforementioned concert, but we are not fans of car racing, and felt no need to go to the actual site and dorkily guess where the stage might have been.  But, being the proper tourists that we are, we did take advantage of our other two options.  Thursday night we hastily booked a "Burgers and Blues Cruise" on Lake Seneca, where a band played quite passable blues and we dined on not quite passable burgers as we motored up the lake.  The scenery and sunset made the trip more than worthwhile.   The cash bar on the "cruise" was a pretty good deal, as we are used to steeper prices down in the metro area.  


When we are on vacation I like to chat it up with other travelers, and locals alike.  Our one interaction with another guy left us an awkward spot.  My husband and I had finished our meal and we were standing out on the deck of the Seneca Princess wishing the food would somehow digest.  We were enjoying the scenery and our cocktails, when a guy started to make friendly conversation with my husband.  He had a tattoo on his face, and a cigarette between his remaining teeth.  He was probably in his 40's but due to what I can only guess has been a life of hard-living, he looked like he was anywhere from 35 - 60. 

 "Hey man, do you know the song 'Smoke on the Water?'" he asked.  My husband said he did, and I, of course, tune in on this conversation.

"Wasn't this the lake it was written about?" he asked my husband.

Oh brother.

Before my husband can really even answer, (and he has no idea what the guy is talking about)  I say,

"Um, no. This is Lake Seneca, in New York. That was about a fire in a bar on Lake Geneva. You know, in Switzerland?" The "You idiot" was not said but even I could hear it in my tone.  My husband went off to get dessert.  I felt terrible.  To make amends I said to the dude, 

"Sorry if I sounded a little bit dismissive.  I'm not the expert on Lake Seneca.  We are only here because the Grateful Dead once played a concert in Watkins Glen."  I give him a BIG SMILE.  "And Geneva is the town at the north end of this lake... so I can see why you'd think..."

"Oh," he interrupts, with a look of disgust, "you're Deadheads." And he turned around to speak with a woman next to him. 

I felt that my penitence was standing there and taking 6 or 7 minutes off my life by breathing in their second-hand smoke (on the water).
To learn more about this little chapter of musical history, click here.   To hear the classic Smoke on the Water, which admittedly, I then couldn't get out of my head, click here.  (This is a live version, the album versions all had ads in front of them which ruins the karma of the blog, in my humble opinion.)

After the cruise, we walked back down the main street of the town, we knew that this had been our best bet for an evening activity, every store, restaurant and bar was closed up for the night.


The next day we checked out of our little motel room and headed for the Gorge.  What a great surprise.  Although the temperature was soaring up into the 90's this mile and a half hike up and down into the waterfalls was mostly cool and always breathtakingly beautiful.  My pictures don't come close to doing it justice, but we were in awe of the beauty of this place.

We left Watkins Glen and headed to Corning to check out the museum.  Also a pleasant surprise, although we wished we could have gone into the town for lunch instead of the museum's cafeteria.  But it was Friday, concert day, and we wanted to get up to Canandaigua, find our hotel, America's Best Value (turns out it was!) and check in, and then find the concert venue, as this was new territory for us and we weren't sure how long things would take.  

Our timing worked out just fine and we got to the Marvin Sands Performing Arts Center (CMAC) in time to eat our very meager dinner and have a cold drink before braving the 97 degree heat and leaving the a/c of the car.  The crowd seems different than the usual cast of characters... I can't put my finger on it... even now as I'm reflecting back a few days later... were they locals who come out to see every show and not really fans?  Were they wine enthusiasts (we were in the heart of New York wine country after all) who thought they'd see what the Grateful Dead were up to after all these years?  Tourists in the right place at the right time hoping to hear a greatest hits show?  If you are reading this and you were there... I'd love to get your feedback on the show and the crowd.   

Once the music started, I became even more baffled.  As a veteran concert-goer, I know that it sometimes takes one or two songs to get the sound mixed just right.  But even at the cavernous Madison Square Garden, where the noise bounces all over the place, eventually, no matter where you are sitting, it does settle in to place.  But much to my deep chagrin, that was not the case at Canandaigua.  For nearly the entire first set, the sound was entirely muddy and the vocals were inaudible.  And we had pretty good seats.  So good in fact, that I got some very good photos. (See for yourself...) I was shocked, and very disappointed, that a nice little amphitheater did not have better sound.  This, coupled with the 97 degree heat made for a very lack-luster first set.  And it seemed that the band was not giving it their all.  

I started to bum out.

I hadn't heard sound this bad since The Boston Garden Show in 1979.  Then they played a pretty nice version of Crazy Fingers.  And my husband said with a smile, 

"Next week we have two nights at Coney Island.  Cheer up."

And I did.  Mason's Children was a rare and unexpected treat.  We got a nice cold beer and a big pretzel during the break, and the sun set, cooling the air.

The sound got better during the break, and the crowd woke up.  

Bob and Phil gifted us with a Scarlet Begonias->Eyes of the World->The Eleven and life was perfect again.  I laughed to myself thinking how Smoke on the Water would be the perfect encore.**  Instead it was Touch of Gray, their legitimate hit, besides Truckin' and a real crowd-pleaser. 

We drove back to our hotel, hot, tired and not too disappointed with the night.  I wanted to find other Deadheads and ask what they thought of the show and the venue, but there were none to be found.  The next morning we spotted a few fellow fans at Denny's for breakfast, but they were so busy complaining about the service (it was indeed horrible) that we did not invite them into lively conversation about the show.

While we were waiting for our breakfast, and let me just say, we had PLENTY of time... we plotted out our day's activities.  As I mentioned above, the Finger Lakes Region is known for its wineries.   So using the maps, guidebooks and handy iPhone, I found a winery that also had a brewery, and featured live music and a restaurant.  Sounds good!  We agreed that if we ever got out of Denny's we'd head over to this spot.  

After a lot of driving through beautiful farm land and a lot of vineyards, we found the place and enjoyed the afternoon.  It seemed it was a destination for bridal parties, there were three, and people were in very lively moods.  I don't drink wine, so I was the designated driver and photographer.  I believe I didn't miss much as my husband took many tastes and tossed out the rest of nearly every wine he sampled.  We did enjoy the beer tasting, but it was too hot to drink more than just a taste.  It was fun to sit in the shade and listen to the bluegrass band play and watch one particular bridal party mix it up with a motorcycle gang, all of whom were getting silly on some very sweet, very fruity raspberry wine.*  I tried to surreptitiously take a picture of these two vastly different worlds colliding over sparkly pink soda-wine.  By now the band was playing Marshall Tucker's "Heard it in a Love Song," which everyone was singing (incorrectly and incoherently) along to... "Purty Little Lo-o-ove Song... C'ain't be wrong!" 

Just the right music...

And a loopy bride-to-be and a biker get to talking...

And before you know it, worlds collide to a "purty little love song!"

  
After a long day of driving (me) and drinking (my husband) we ended up at our final destination, a lovely Bed and Breakfast in near one of the lakes.  It was then that my beloved husband  decided to tell me that he hates Bed and Breakfasts.  I sensed something was wrong as we drove into the parking lot and we were shown to our lovely room... the Blue Room.  There was no lock on the door or shades on the windows, and the proprietor was just SUPER friendly and just the tiniest bit racist... and breakfast was at 8:00, oh was that too early? ok, 8:30.  I had no idea that my husband didn't like B&B's, but we did not hang around long... we headed into town and to our great joy and surprise, got there just in time for the town's July 4th Parade (yes, critical readers, it was on Saturday evening the 7th!) so we enjoyed festivities after all!  

King and Queen of the Parade.  Oh, is it gonna be rough
when school starts back again and they realize they AREN'T royalty.

Why march when you can ride with your band on a flatbed truck? Why didn't my town think of this?

We found dinner at a local tavern that had a nice varied menu, and then hung out to hear the live band (heaven forbid a day go by that we did not hear live music).  To make the day just perfect, we even saw fireworks over the lake as we walked back to our car.  

Dipping our feet in Lake Cayuga, so we can say we did.

The next day we went home via Ithaca so that we could do a little shopping and eat at the famous Moosewood Restaurant.  The shopping was a great success (for me) but unfortunately, the Moosewood Restaurant was closed for lunch on Sundays.  We did have a great lunch at a Mexican place, and then we were on our way home.

So are we!

I plugged in the iPod and set it on "random."  Mark Knopfler  gets us started for a nice long string of musical selections that the iPod has magically chosen for this mellow ride.  I checked in with our kids and called the dog-sitter.  Just for fun I looked at the set lists online of the shows that Furthur played in Philly ...  and took out my little yellow pad of paper and started making my list of things to do before the Coney Island shows.  

The author, enjoying a pretzel  at the show.

*My comment to the bartender (BARTENDER? here I go again... ) local 21 year-old who's only talent to work here is that he can "pour," regarding that pink raspberry wine: "This must be the wine people use to get their kids to drink wine."  He looked at me like I was the worst parent on earth.  Clearly he has never seen some of the parents one sees regularly at Costco.


**Smoke on the Water is not a Grateful Dead song, it's a Deep Purple Song, and The Dead have never played it, as far as I know.  Okay, now I'm going to have to Google that.  I'm going to publish this anyhow, but I'll correct this if I find out otherwise.  How cool would that be??

Commencing

I have been keeping the UPS guy very busy lately.  Birthday gifts.  Graduation gifts.  Bar Mitzvah gifts. Wedding gifts! (Read previous blog).  I am not a shopper, but at least I know my way around the Internet.  We've been celebrating a lot.




In May my daughter graduated from Brandeis University.

It was the weekend after Mother's Day.  The weather was spectacular.


The build up to the weekend was intense ... May is such a busy time.  Our youngest son just celebrated his 18th birthday and was in the midst of his AP tests, proms, and Hebrew High School Graduations.  His finals and social life were colliding and crashing together and not leaving much time for trivial family obligations, but thankfully, his sister's graduation ranked high enough to carve out the entire weekend.


Our older son, who turned 25 the following weekend, was juggling a full time job, two grad classes and a part time job at a synagogue, but had to miss the last day of Hebrew School to celebrate graduation day with his sister. Since he lives in the Boston area, he didn't have to travel so he also managed to squeeze in a Bar Mitzvah that weekend and of course finish his lesson plans for the week.  (Did I mention he is putting himself through grad school?)


I think the blog would go on forever if I told you about what my husband and I were doing.  But to give you a snapshot, it was an incredibly busy time for my husband that required quite a few late nights and a lot of travel.  And as for me, I found myself at a crossroads again.  Certain things this year didn't turn out as I had hoped jobwise, and I was in conversations with new leads, sending out resumes, and trying to finish up with the work I had left to do in the current situations.  I had this feeling I was running out of time... both at my current work, to get things done, and out there in the job market to find new employment.  And for the first time, I had heard the feedback that "they were looking for someone younger" when I did not get a call back for a particularly good position. Not legal, maybe not fair, but reality. Youch.


Back to our story.


An enormous kvell-point (hey, that's catchy!) was the fact that my parents and my in-laws were with us to join us for the festivities and nachas shepping (okay, now that sounded better in my head than it looks on the screen).  We had a great weekend in and around Boston, catching up with friends, cousins and each other.  Family dinners were events that the best party planner on the planet could not have more skillfully arranged.  


That's not to say that there weren't some awkward moments.  My dad ordered an expensive bottle of wine and the newbie waiter poured everyone a glass and the bottle was empty before my father got even a taste.  My mother-in-law spilled that very same wine on her jacket and nearly refused to be in the great group photo you see below.  (You'll notice she's in the back row, despite her diminutive height, making sure the stain is covered by the graduate.) 

 There was an incredible amount of phone calling and texting back and forth between all of us to make sure we all made it  to each spot at the right time.  (What DID we do before smart phones???)  


And, on Sunday, my father-in-law, who is 87, was finding it difficult to walk to the next event... which was up a steep hill.  We had just missed the shuttle, and the line for the next one was long, and in the hot sun.  I went to the police and politely asked for a ride for just my in-laws, and maybe some water for them, as the rest of us could walk.  As the police cars were all being used he quickly radioed the Brandeis Emergency Team, and in no time we are surrounded by the crackerjack squad of uniformed Brandeis students who all had walkie-talkies and little else.  They had no available car, van or other mode of transportation; no water, and no chair for my father-in-law.  In the meantime, my husband, having assessed the ineptitude of the situation, had walked the half mile to our car, and is back for his dad.  Then the pre-doctors and pre-lawyers, having feared the worst, walked my father-in-law up the hill to the car, and the crisis was averted, as we rehydrated with the water that is always in the car.  As we parted ways, one of the young squad members, a bright Brandeis junior, said to us, "think of it this way... in 10 years we will all be doctors."  Well, there's a relief.


The weekend culminated in the big event.  Graduation.  We sat in the bleachers, far removed from my daughter, though I did see her a few times from where we were sitting.  As the seniors came marching in I was flooded with feelings. 


First, my pride in my daughter, graduating with honors from this  school known for its academic excellence.  She had a great four years, and I could not believe that this day was here.  I looked around at the faces of my family, and then at the faces of the others around me... and I realized that we must all be feeling the same feelings... bittersweet really does describe it.  We are all pausing to recognize that a milestone has been reached.  I glanced at my older son, who had graduated from Brandeis just three years earlier.  Was he remembering those feelings his sister must be feeling? Was he amazed, as I was, how much he had done on his own since his graduation?  I looked over at my younger son.  His graduation from high school was a month away   Was he thinking about going to college?  Working at camp?  Finding a snack?


And I couldn't help but think of my own graduation, from this same institution...31 years ago... ours was outside on a beautiful sunny day, the Sunday after Mother's Day.  Rumor has it that a few of my classmates took to the bong prior to commencement ceremonies, but just to clear up any misunderstanding here, those heavy-lidded looks and glazed-over eyes were caused by the soporific speech of a Mr. Walter Mondale, using us to slingshot his Presidential campaign into the headlines...of the Brandeis paper "The Justice" at the very least.


I remember being eager to be done with school and get on with my jobs: the Unit Head for a summer camp, and then in the fall, the program director at the Hillel at Northeastern University.  I sat at my graduation and ignored the words being spoken at us.  I had sewn pockets into my graduation gown and tucked a water pistol into one, and a container of bubbles into the other.  I had fun playing during the ceremonies, as carefree as I'd ever be.  I had my whole life ahead of me.


Now I looked at the row of robed graduates and tried to find my daughter.  How much more seriously had she taken her studies?  Her graduation?  I wondered what her face might look like now as she listened to the speeches.  


I listened carefully.  "Carpe Diem." "Go for it." "Take chances." That was the theme.  In a world where finding a job is so difficult, and so much emphasis is placed on the almighty dollar, these kids were also told that they might never do as well as their parents.  I thought about my daughter, and my two sons... and thought about people's definition of "doing well."   What kind of a world were they inheriting?


The President of Brandeis gave a great speech.  I have attached links to his speech and the other speeches at the end of this blog.  But here is the part of that speech that really got to me:

As for risk-taking, is there any greater risk in this society than the shear risk of being yourself? Of trying approaches to life without certainty of success or outcome? Here we can refer to two great modern philosophers, if you will. One, the great Dr. Martin Luther King, who said that faith is being willing to take the first step without knowing that the rest of the staircase is there. The other, another great philosopher, Dr. J., Julius Erving, who some of you will remember invented playing basketball above the rim. It seems to me that if we’re gathered in Gosman, we should talk a little basketball. Dr. J., when he played his college ball not far from here at the University of Massachusetts, was cautioned by his coach once, “Son, never leave you feet without knowing where you’re going to come down.” He said, “Sir, I can’t play basketball that way.” And you can’t live your lives that way either. 

As I sat in those bleachers, watching my daughter and her peers, a lot of my life was unclear, and a lot of decisions were ahead of me.  That was the same for all of them, I realized, and that little piece of wisdom rang as true for me as I hope it did for those college seniors.   


They have their whole lives ahead of them, and I guess it's okay to leap before you look sometimes.  It's scary but it's exciting too.


After graduation, we waited for my daughter and I delighted to see a global celebration on that giant lawn outside the gym at Brandeis University.  Families of every different background, speaking every different language were hugging and taking pictures and appreciating the accomplishments of their special one.  As I got out of my own head for a moment and took a mental picture of this, it was really something to celebrate.  We were all celebrating the future.


My daughter has her whole life ahead of her.






Click here for the official Brandeis Commencement slide show.







Yesterday my son graduated high school, and the myriad of feelings arose again.  He was all smiles, and waved to us in the crowd.  He is ready to move on, and ready to be at camp and then college.




Again it's bittersweet, as we are about to learn what it is like to have no children at home, and parenting will take on a new meaning.  I sat and pondered the dichotomy between endings and beginnings. It all happened so fast.  

I still have some giant decisions to make. 
These events have given me time to see that my most important job, raising my children, continues to give me the most pride.   Now that they are all reaching their milestones and about to leave the house, I'll get back to my giant post-it pad of pros and cons and decide what the next step is for me.


Last week I attended a wonderful seminar, Teva, which engages learners in three and a half days of classes and experiential learning combining Judaism and the environment. At the conference, I met Theo, a sophomore in college, during a  class where we went into nature with our cameras and matched our photos with pieces of text.  (My masterpiece is below... )


We got to chatting on the lunch line.
He isn't sure what he wants to do, not sure what to major in.
"You have your whole life ahead of you," I tell him, as that's what I've been thinking about and writing about lately.
He looks at me with a confused expression.
"Don't you?"  Theo asks me.
"You're right. I do. Thanks for reminding me."

This idyllic spot is Suprise Lake Camp, in Putnam County, NY, the site of
the Teva Summer Seminar.

Click here to read Brandeis President Fred Lawrence's address.
Click here to read the Commencement address by student Daniel Liebman

Dear Uncle Jerry

Dear OUJ,
  First of all, you know we mean no disrespect by this nickname... O.U.J.  It stands for Old Uncle Jerry.  When the kids were little, we used it to differentiate between you and my Dad's brother, the other Uncle Gerry.  He also seems old to them, but not as old as you were.  It was meant to just remind them which uncle we meant, but it became a real term of endearment, as you became more and more a part of my kids' lives.  You were really more like another "great-grandfather" to them, more than a great-uncle in the way you paid attention to them, doted on them and made them feel loved.  But this is not about about my kids (for once).  I'm writing to tell you about one of your grandkids today.
   I know how you loved your grandchildren.  One thing you never did was boast about them to me when my kids were around.  You had a way of making my kids feel like they were the most special and right now I wish I had the words then to thank you for that.
   But the photos you showed me when I visited you by myself of your wonderful grandkids, my cousins' children, showed me your deep love for them.  You and I would catch up and fill in the pieces about what we had heard about each one.   Laughing about  Alisa's sass, and how her little sister Anna was trying to emulate that.  And how Auntie Jan would have so enjoyed these two little girls who joined our family after she had passed away.
   Or talking about the three boys you probably knew the best and your hopes for them... E, A and P... and just how proud you were of the way they were growing into young, handsome men.  You never admitted it, but I saw the way your eyes teared up when you talked about the way their dad cared for you. I hope that E, A and P know how deep your love was for them.  Maybe I'll tell them.  It's that mushy grown-up stuff that I have to do once in a while, I can't leave it all to my mom.  I know you looked at all three of those boys and you saw your daughter's face in each of theirs... and you know what a gift each life is.  She and I have remained very close, you'll be happy to know.
   And then we have three more radiant wonderful grandchildren... each of whom I have been in touch with throughout their lives, but am now getting to know as young adults.
  Uncle Jerry, you would be so proud.  M graduated college and is trying to figure out what to do with her life.  This is a common theme among college grads!  I was lucky enough to see a new piece of her artwork and it was stunning.
  Her big sister Rachel lives near me, so I see her more frequently.  Rachel has become a real New Yorker, and has alluded to the fact that she's handling life's challenges. Anyone who meets her would definitely agree!  But the real reason I'm writing today is to tell you about your grandson, Josh.
  This gorgeous golden child... the middle child of your eldest, my cousin Mike.
  A people pleaser.
  I don't know whether Mike, or anyone, told you, but Josh went through a really rough patch, Uncle Jerry.  Who knows why. When you died, I think it might have been unclear if Josh would have lived to see the year 2012.   I don't know if you knew about this.  I know I didn't, because unlike some of us in the family, my cousin Mike is a "holder-inner."  So we didn't know that Josh was fighting his demons and struggling the way he was.  We saw him at your birthday party that summer, and he was delightful and sweet, as always.  I don't know where he was in his battle at that point.  I would like to ask him about his story sometime, but this past weekend was not the time.
  Uncle Jerry, I'm writing to tell you that Josh is okay.  More than okay.  This "boy" is a young man now, and he met  woman named Danica.  Danica's family is nice, warm and welcoming.  They are Jewish, and they are from New Jersey!  I think you might have liked them. I have only met them (Danica and her parents) a few times, but they feel like a long lost part of the family. There is real love there.
  And here's the last piece... O.U.J. here's why I am writing to you tonight.  As you know, Mike and his ex-wife Katie did not raise their kids with any strong religious connection at all, but from what I remember, their compromise was to join a Unitarian church, so their kids would have something.  You never mentioned this at all.  You never even spoke of religion with me, or how your grandkids were being raised.  But Josh has spent that last year studying with a Rabbi and taking classes and has "converted" back to Judaism. I just know you would be so proud to know this, and your mother, Grand-mom Mildred, would have too.  His other great-grandparents, my grandparents Madeleine and Benjamin would have also been so happy, though in their way, they would not have showed it very obviously.  I guess that's where cousin Mike gets it from.  At one point I whispered to Josh how proud his family would have been to know that he was coming home to his roots.
  He married Danica on Sunday, Uncle Jerry.  Under a huppah that was decorated by his now mother-in-law.  During the ceremony, a butterfly landed on the huppah and seemed to watch the service for a few minutes.  If I were a little more sentimental, I might even think it was your spirit keeping an eye on things, but I am not that corny.
  Josh wore a yarmulke with his Hebrew name stitched on it in white thread.  He took the name of your father, Yishai.
  During the cocktail hour, I noticed that your daughter had placed lots of great photos in the rooms of the mansion where the wedding reception took place.  The one that really caught my eye was one I had never seen.  It was you and your father, in tennis sweaters with huge smiles, and a twinkle in both of your eyes that matched that of Josh's.  Bright, alert and brimming with promise.


  I just wanted to let you know... you would have loved it.

  I've gotta get going, but know that you are always in my thoughts.  Here are a few pictures from the ceremony.


  We miss you so much,


  Love,




 Juliet

can you see the butterfly in the upper left?

Josh and Danica

The Festival of Freedom... but Whose?

I just watched my older son and daughter drive down the street from the bathroom window.  In our house the bathroom window overlooks the driveway and rather than have them see me standing in the driveway staring at them, I snuck here.  From this vantage point, I can open a spot between the white horizontal blinds and watch the car make its way down our street.

 My kids, enjoying a little together time before they say good-bye

For nearly a week, the house was full again.  More than full at times, with all three kids, my in-laws, and various  friends, a boyfriend, and a couple of sleep-overs of friends. My husband took off time from work.   We ran the dishwasher, the washing machine, and drier more times in a week than we usually do in a month, and went through more Poland Spring 5 Gallon jugs than the state of Maine probably exports in one week.

And the matza!  Like fur when my dogs are shedding, there are crumbs absolutely everywhere, even in places where I know that matza was not eaten.  (My bed?  The bathroom? Well, lets just say, it better NOT have been eaten in those places!) 


This was the joyful week of Passover... long anticipated and over so quickly.   We also call it the Holiday of Our Freedom, although that seems like a bit of an ironic joke if you are looking at it from my perspective.  Yes, of course we celebrate the freedom from slavery and we tell our children the story of the Exodus from Egyptian bondage.  But looking back at this past week, it only just now feels that I have even enough free time to finally reflect.


We are certainly bound to eat only very specific foods.  No bread, of course, but in our house it does not end there.  We, and when I say we, what I mean is, I clean the pantry, the snack drawers, and the refrigerator and remove every food item which contains any bit of "hametz," the generic term for food which contains flour, corn, soy, yeast, wheat, or anything which could act as a leavening agent.  I take this opportunity, as many people do, to thoroughly clean, wipe down, spray and re-line the shelves of the pantry.  This is both time consuming and cathartic.  I donate a few bags to the Center for Food Action, I throw away half finished boxes and bags, and I line up items on the counter for the kids to finish, much to their delight.  

I don't know why we do this, but we buy chocolate and other candy during Passover that we would never  EVER buy during the rest of the year.

Then there is the the cleaning of the rest of the house.  Depending on how early a start I have gotten, the de-cluttering will go one of two ways... true de-cluttering or shoving everything into boxes and bags and putting it all in the office.  I had to go with the latter this year, as my in-laws arrived on Thursday, and the first Seder was on Friday.  Today I will begin going through all those boxes and bags and looking for all that important stuff I buried a week and a half ago.  I carved a pathway to the computer so I that I could do my work and my son and I could manage to keep up with Facebook during this week. 

Next we have the cooking.  If you celebrate Passover, you know that the cooking does not stop after the first two nights... Oh no.  Because we are so fussy about what we eat, we pretty much eat at home all week.  So we are cooking (and in this case, it is "we") a LOT.  And though we cut out things like corn, rice, and pasta, we get very creative with other carbs like potatoes and quinoa.  This year, as it happens many times, Passover week was school and work vacation... so everyone was home and the kitchen was the hub of activity. 

Our Seder Table... almost ready.

Nana helps with the eggs.  

Can you say SCHMALTZ?  I know it's not healthy.  I know it's wrong.  But for one week a year, I cook with chicken fat.  I didn't read it in a cookbook, and my mom never told me to do this, but what can I say?  It's in my DNA.  And while I'm at it, I start speaking with a fake accent as if I'm from the old country, I cook and eat Matza brei, which I don't even like.  Gefilte fish and hard-boiled eggs make their way to every breakfast table.  Whipped butter appears, because it's so delicious on matza.  Some traditions I learned from my parents, some we started ourselves.  And I know my children will pass them along just as surely as I know they will tell their children that "we were slaves in Egypt."    I know that the taste of my matza-ball soup on their tongues tastes like Judaism as much as the sound of the chanting of the Shema sounds like Judaism.

Last night, I stood at the ironing board, ironing out number 2 of 4 antique tablecloths that were my grandmother's.  (I hope to beat my previous record and have all the tablecloths and napkins ironed and put away before Rosh HaShannah.)  I came across a new wine stain, and wondered if Grandma, known in her later years as GG (for Great Grandma) would be happy or furious to see that now-dulled to a rusty-red-colored mark.  Would she be glad to know that I use these so many times each year for all the Jewish holidays?  Or would she scold me (as she so often did) for not taking better care of her heirlooms  i.e. leave them folded up in the drawer and use a new tablecloth from Bloomingdales?  


So when will the feeling of freedom come?  When the mountains (literally) of laundry are done?  When the ironing is finished?  When the kitchen finally gets clean?  When I find the box that contains the two paychecks that I mistakenly put in a pile in the office somewhere?  


Or, wait a second.  


Am I feeling it now, in the luxury to ignore all those tasks, plus hours and hours of work (you know, the kind that pays the bills) that has been put on hold because I have had the freedom to give myself over completely to my family and my holiday.


Z'man Heirutainu... The Time of Our Freedom...is now.

This is actually the pile of laundry I'm ignoring while writing this blog posting.

Not exactly essential, but really helps with the feeling of freedom.
Let's call it the suggested Pesach aperitif.