In Memory of a Friend at Christmas

Click here to hear Christmas Wrapping By the Waitresses


What's a nice Jewish blogger like me doing with a Christmas opening like that?

Whenever I hear this song, I think of living in Boston in my early 20's, Christmas of course, and I think of my friend Patti.


Patti was my college roommate, randomly chosen, but deliberately kept.

Massell Quad, Brandeis University, Fall 1977, Usen Dorm is to the right.
Photo Credit: Michael Eggert

It might seem like we were opposites back then, in 1977.   We were both young, obviously, but Patti had been a bit more sheltered before she stepped foot on the Brandeis campus.  Catholic school, all girls, until then. Good clean living, right from Lowell, Massachusetts. Here comes Juliet from New Jersey with big plans for college.  I remember I got there first on move-in day, in our little third-floor dorm room double.  Mom and Dad helped shlep my stuff up all those stairs, and set up the stereo (record player and cassette deck, of course) with all my Billy Joel, Beach Boys and Beatles records, among many others, in alphabetical order in milk crates, which held up the huge speakers. The little fridge and hot pot, as Patti and I had discussed by letter, were all set up, and I went off to get my mealbook and phone.

Yes, I've saved my meal book all these years.

Hours of waiting on line, filling in forms, and getting settled. Mom and Dad left and still, no roommate.  When she finally arrived, I couldn't tell whether to be happy or not. She was with her sister, not her parents, and they appeared to have been fighting.  I offered to help her with  her stuff and there wasn't much to bring up.  The good-bye between Patti and her sister was brief and made me uncomfortable.  I remember I started to talk too much to ease the tension, and Patti was very quiet.


That night Usen dorm had a "getting to know you" event. It helped.


Two nights later they had a wine and cheese party.  That REALLY helped.  We got to know quite few of the people who are still good friends today.  Little by little, I got to know this shy, quiet person.


Classes started and I got busy and involved and met lots of other people.  I had a  boyfriend and joined the chorus.  I got connected with the people in my Hebrew class so we could practice our Hebrew at lunch.  (I just realized how lame that must have looked, but we had fun.) I made it into the Gilbert and Sullivan Society.  I joined the Waltham Group and became a "Big Sister" to a young girl in town. But there was always Patti, back at the room at the end of the day.  More often than not, we headed to dinner together.  And before I knew it, we were becoming true friends. When Christmas came around, I brought home a few scraggly branches from Faneuil Hall and made her a little Christmas tree in our dorm room.  She and I exchanged small gifts and shared stories of our family traditions. (No, Patti, that was not a latke that you had in the cafeteria.  That was a hash brown.  Wait until you taste a real latke.)  At the end of the year, we agreed to room together as sophomores.

Champagne brunch on a Sunday at the Marriott Hotel in Newton.  High Times.

Our friendship grew stronger, with only a few moments of tension here and there.  We socialized together and our group of friends grew bigger.  When Patti's mom died, we all supported her, and spent the day in Lowell, attending the funeral.  During breaks, she would visit me in New Jersey, or we'd both visit another Brandeis friend somewhere else. 


 After college, Patti and I lived together one last time, in Brighton, Massachusetts. It was just the two of us, with her cat, Sugaree , my cat Jasmine, and thousands of cockroaches.  We had a lot of adventures that year.  Most were great:  a Halloween party that couldn't be beat, a road trip to see Simon and Garfunkel in Central Park with half a million of our best friends.  Some of the times were challenging, like the break-in to our apartment that left Patti without the precious earrings that had been her mom's.  The most difficult was the death of her beloved father, Jack.  Jack spent weeks sleeping on our couch as he traveled back and forth from Lowell  to Boston for his Cancer treatments. When he died, I knew that Patti was changed.  I think she wanted to get closer to her brother and sister then, but didn't know how.   I finally broke the news to her that I was going to live with my boyfriend, Michael.  She knew that it was bound to happen.  


While I still lived in the Boston area, we spent a lot of time together.  We both worked jobs where the hours were 3 - 11pm, so sometimes we would actually go out after work.  One night we saw The Cars play a midnight show in Boston.  We really thought we were hot shit.  Another time we saw Hot Tuna at Jonathan Swifts in Cambridge and realized it was too late to take the "T" home.  I felt it would be fine to accept a ride from a couple of guys we didn't know.  The whole time she kept frowning at me and reprimanding me with her eyes.  Or  the time I picked up a hitchhiker on the way back from Martha's Vineyard because he looked cold.   Patti glared at me til he got out of the car.  (He did not stab us, you'll be happy to know.  But she was furious with me.)


Then I moved away.  Michael and I took off for Durham, NC.  And Patti continued with her life, caring for adults with developmental disabilities.  She had moved up in this field and was working 9-5 now.  She was a compassionate, caring person who was no longer shy, especially when it came to speaking up for the needs of the clients she served.


Over the years, Patti would visit me wherever I lived.  North Carolina, Portland Oregon, San Francisco, and especially New Jersey.  When my kids were born she'd be here, and when she needed a little vacation, this was where she'd pick.


In the late 90's she began to have health issues.  I brushed them off as unrelated.  Maybe she did too, or maybe she was being deliberately vague with me.


One time, though, in the summer of 1998 or 1999, she called and said she had to go to the hospital.  She had been at Cape Cod, with some friends, but had to leave due to what she referred to as "hemorrhaging," had driven herself all the way back to Boston.  It didn't make sense to me.  When I asked her questions, I didn't get answers.  When I went to visit her, she had received a transfusion and was seemingly okay, but I was alarmed.


I made several more trips up to Boston and Lowell to visit Patti, in and out of the hospital after this.  I never really understood what was wrong.  It was as if her body was just breaking down.  But at the age of 42, this didn't make sense.


Patti had moved out of her own place, and into the apartment of a dear friend who agreed to help her out. On one visit, she collapsed as we walked down the hallway.  I tried to help her up.  I could smell smoke on her skin, and another smell too.  I wondered if the friend smoked, or if Patti had started smoking.  She offered me a beer.  I took one, and asked if she were having one.  She said no, she had to stop drinking, those were just for me.  I sipped at it and started to wonder about that.


While we sat, Patti asked me to "do her funeral when she died."


Patti, a lapsed Catholic, asked me, a Jewish Educator to "do her funeral."


I said ok. I asked what she'd want.  She said I'd know.


Patti died on February 11, 2002.


I did her funeral.


I put together a playlist of music and invited everyone to get up and speak about Patti.  It was a beautiful and touching tribute to our dear friend and sister.
I think she would have liked it.


Sometimes I get mad at her for missing these great moments life has offered up since she died, nearly ten years ago.  She loved her niece and nephew deeply.   She adored my kids, how she'd kvell to see them now.  She could never understand how I could let them go away for a month to camp.  Imagine how she'd feel as I now face imminent empty nest-hood. 


How many more people could she have helped in her work?  Patti was patient, calm, and never judgmental.


Mostly, now, though, I just miss her. And I think of her with love. I think of the Beatles albums she snitched from her brother.  (Yes, Jeff, that's what happened to them.)  When I see an SNL skit that's actually funny, I think of her, or wear the jacket we bought together, or the earrings, or that leather bracelet...  When I think of Christmas, I think of Patti.


And when I hear a song by Sting (her favorite) I stop what I am doing and I remember Patti.


Fields of Gold




By the way,  I inherited Jack's guitar, and I plan to learn to play it.  That's my New Year's  Resolution.  I think she'd tell me it's about time. 

The Music Never Stopped

Click here for some appropriate background music.

Dead Freaks Unite... remember that?

When I first started my job, I was introduced to the people in my new office, and I remember going into Arthur's office at the end of the hall.  Arthur has two computers, one for his work and one for his music.  As I was brought in I heard Sugaree loud and clear from computer number two.  He didn't bother to turn it down, and we could barely hear each other.  And as I stood there, I spaced out for a second on our conversation as I wondered, "Jerry Garcia band, or Grateful Dead? No, must be the Dead, because that's defnitely Phil, not John Kahn.  That must be early 80's judging by the keyboards, gotta be Brent... I wonder if that's the Lewiston show..."  When I realized that it was my turn to say something, I said the only thing I could..."Nice to meet you Arthur!"


Our boss, who was introducing us did not seem to notice the secret handshake, or the quick acknowledgement of shared shows.  Well, that's because we Deadheads don't have a secret handshake (though some of us are huggers) and Arthur and I have not had the "favorite show" conversation yet.  


There's a T-shirt I've seen at shows that says "We are everywhere."  And I love how that's still true.

Yesterday, the Spring Tour was announced!


Yes, Furthur Fans, Deadheads, and Fellow Freaks on the East Coast spent yesterday calling, emailing, tweeting and texting each other to spread the news.  Boston, Connecticut, and, can you believe it?  The Beacon Theater in New York City.


So, while the rest of the world is up and at 'em, doing things like Christmas and Hanukkah shopping, driving their kids to sports, going to synagogue, and of course, sleeping, a tiny percent of us were decorating envelopes and taking out huge amounts of cash to be turned into postal money orders.  What am I talking about?  Read on.


The Grateful Dead has always been deadicated to their fans, in a way that has paid off for them with not only financial success but a fan loyalty that has spawned its own culture.  It's lasted since the early sixties and survived the decades of change, including the early and tragic death of beloved band leader (and now ghostly tie designer) Jerry Garcia.  One way in which the Dead shows their love is the fact that they allow people to tape their shows, despite the fact that you can buy the show from the website. 

He just keeps making them, and you guys keep buying them.  

Another way they have shown their love for us is by reserving blocks of tickets for all their shows for the fans to recieve via mail order.  It used to work by calling in to a certain phone number an writing down the info, now it appears online  at the Furthur website.  One of the sadder days in my life was receiving my tickets for the show right after Jerry died in 1995.  I still have those unused tickets.  That was the last time I did the mail order.    

My unused tickets.  Of course, they were horrible seats, but, oh how I wish we could have seen that show.

Until today.


After the news went viral yesterday that tickets were going on sale, I was pumped. I knew I could not be by my computer on Monday morning to try order online for the the eight night stand at the Beacon.  (I do actually have to work.)  Because they are playing in April during Passover, I have the whole week off, so it means I can go out late, sleep late, and just not eat or drink anything!  (Unless the Beacon has Kosher for Passover vodka, and this being New York City, that could be!)  So I got my mail order together, modestly decorated my envelope, and went to the post office with a huge wad of cash.

Waiting in line with everyone with their stacks of Christmas cards, and bags of gifts to be mailed, I smiled.  I hadn't done this in a while.  The geniuses at the post office, not thinking that today would be busy day, had two people working, so the line was out the door.  


As I waiting, I scrolled through the tweets on my phone.  Hot Tuna played last night at the Beacon.  I am going tonight, so I searched for the set list.  I texted a friend who went last night and asked for a run down of the show.  


After trying to ignore two very whiny children, a woman having a loud conversation on her cell that none of us wanted to hear, and three extremely inappropriately dressed people among a line of about 30 of us, it was my turn.  I asked for my postal money order for the exact amount for my four tickets.  $298.  I'm grinning ear to ear.  I take it to the filthy little work table where someone is addressing a pile of 110 Christmas cards.  (I know this because I heard him ask for 110 Christmas stamps 20 minutes ago.  He's nowhere near the end of his pile.) As I take my groovy envelope and put it into the mail slot, I hear the scruffy guy at the counter request a postal money order for $298 along with a stamped number ten envelope.   He and I did not do the secret Deadhead handshake... but I couldn't help but think...
"We are everywhere!"

P.S.  This was the first time I got my money order back.  I had to buy my tickets online with the rest of the world.

I'm Dreaming of a Green Hanukkah

This is my article from the Rockland Jewish Federation Reporter December Issue.  Thought it would make a good blog posting as well.  Enjoy.

I’m “rededicating” myself to Hanukkah.

Get it?

As far as Jewish holidays go, Hanukkah is aminor one.  It pales in comparison toRosh HaShannah and Yom Kippur, Sukkot and Simchat Torah.  But still, it’s here in December when thedays are short and cold.  It celebratesmiracles and light.  There are gifts andgelt.  And latkes.  Not a bad list for a minor holiday! 

The days of being volunteered by my kids tobe the class “latke mom” are behind me. I am no longer in a position to buy 300 bags of nut-free gelt to feed anentire Hebrew school.  By the time theholiday arrives, chances are I won’t have told the story or recited theblessings over a dozen times. 

Hanukkah, which means “dedication”remembers the rededication of the Holy Temple by the Maccabees .  So, I am rededicating myself to Hanukkah thisyear.  I am looking for ways to find newmeaning in the holiday, while not losing the aspects I love about it.  By a small coincidence, I’ve come up witheight.

1.      Fair Trade Gelt:   The truth is, I don’t even likechocolate.  But my family does.  So this year, I am getting guilt-freegelt.  After just a little bit ofresearch, I found two great options, and there are probably more.  Equal Exchange (www.equalexchange.coop) sells what they call “non traditionalHanukkah pieces.”  A bag of little darkchocolate pieces, saving the hassle of the gold foil wrappers from getting allover the place.  And they donate $.15from each sale to the American Jewish World Service (www.AJWS.com). If you feel like you are not ready togive up the good old gelt shape just yet, there’s Divine Chocolate (www.divinechocolateusa.com). They have a bag of gold coins that you can feel good about giving.  Both products have Kosher certifications.

2.    Home-made candles: I can’t remember thelast time I took the time to make beeswax candles with my kids.  This is a fun and easy project that makes thefestival of lights more meaningful. Buying the beeswax and rolling your own candles is a nice way to connectto the holiday, and even little hands can do it.  Homemade candles also make a nice gift if youare invited to share a night of Hanukkah with friends or family.  You can buy a kit that will make enoughcandles to last all eight nights from Kosher Krafts (1-800-9KRAFTS or www.kosherkrafts.com) or other craft supply stores. 

3.    Use less wrapping paper:  I won’t pretend that I don’t appreciate anicely wrapped gift, but let’s face it… gift wrap is a waste of paper.  If you are not ready to eschew the use ofgift wrap altogether, why not pick one night where you don’t wrap thegifts?  Or use the Sunday comics to wrapyour gifts?  At the very least, recyclegift wrap and reuse!  Your family won’tmind.   This year I am going to trywrapping gifts in scraps of cloth and use ribbons to close them.  I’ll let you know how that goes.

4.    Donate a gift:  Pick one night and have that be a night thatyour family shops to donate a gift to a toy drive.  Teach your children valuable lessons aboutG’milut Hasadim (Acts of Loving Kindness) by doing them!

5.    Teach: I mentioned earlier that this year, I may not have taught the story ofHanukkah dozens of times by the time the holiday arrives.  But that doesn’t mean I should not teach itat all.  As a parent, don’t leave all theJewish education up to the synagogue! Teach your children and learn with them. Tell them about the Maccabees, read a good book to them or tell how youcelebrated when you were their age.  Orfind a new way to explore the holiday!

6.    Tzedakah night:  On one of the nights of Hanukkah, when youare lucky enough to have your whole family together, I might suggest Friday, have an agenda.  Set a tzedakah box in the middle of the table.  and introduce a family tzedakah project forthe year.  Take suggestions.  What is meaningful to all of you?  Did you know that Heifer International(www.heifer.org) works to end hunger and poverty on family at a time?  Or that the Jewish National Fund (www.JNF.org) not only plants trees in Israel, butprovides clean drinking water for Israelis, not to mention the safe playgroundin S’derot.  And, I can’t help butmention our own Federation right here in Rockland County (www.jewishrockland.org) where your dollars go to educational, social,and supportive programs here and in Israel. Once your family decides on a cause, every Friday each person can put adonation into the tzedakah box before Shabbat. See how  much you can accumulatebefore next Hannukah and make a nice donation from your family at that time.

7.    Share: I think about sharing Hanukkah in two distinct ways.  Share the holiday with friends, both Jewishand non-Jewish.  Try someone else’s latkes,even though you know yours are better.   Invitea family with young children if your own are long grown and moved out… or adopta grandparent if you are missing yours. Most synagogues are great resources for helping make theseconnections. 

8.    And Share again: The other way to sharethis holiday is to share what you have with others in a more anonymousway.  Donate your coats and warm clothingto those who need them.  Tell yourchildren to find 5 books or toys to bring to the shelter.  Help the food pantries keep their shelvesstocked.  Other faiths are celebrating aholiday that is, in fact, a very big deal, and people of all faiths are stillfeeling the burden brought on by our recent financial recession.  If you are in a position to help others,there are countless ways to do so.

So, there you have it, my eight ways torededicate for each of the eight nights of Hanukkah this year.  No matter what you celebrate, it's time to thing about celebrating more consciously and with a conscience.    If you have any more ideas, I’d love to hear from you.

You Put our National Bird In the Oven?

If I were to believe the American media, I would have to accept that the entire US is out shopping right now.  It's a day that is called Black Friday, and it has become some kind of made-up preposterous consumer oriented day.   My email inbox is up to about 4,200 emails, most of them are ads for the best prices on things I don't need.  The TV and radio are bludgeoning my ears and eyes with more of the same.  Even the home pages on the Internet are trying to convince me to shop.

Click here to listen to Black Friday by Steely Dan, which has nothing to do with the shopping day after Thanksgiving.


I am not a shopper on the best of days (more on this another time) so there's no way I'm going to trot myself out there with the masses.  But it is a good day to reflect on things I'm thankful for, and update the blog, and try and get caught up on some household stuff.  The funny thing is my husband had a dentist appointment this morning and called when it was over to say he bought a new dishwasher.  Huh?  I guess even the dentist is cashing in on Black Friday.  He's really branched out.


Our Thanksgiving Feast is held at my parents house, a few towns over, in North Jersey.   It is just the immediate family, 12 in all.  We start with shots for everyone... flu shots that is.  My dad, a physician, lines us up and immunizes us all first thing.  This used to be a moment the kids dreaded when they were younger, but they handle it quite well now.  As I type this, the dull ache in my right arm reminds me that I'll be protected when my co-workers get hit this winter.

We then have a prolonged cocktail hour, where my dad or brother has invented a new Thanksgiving drink.  This year, the Turkey-tinis proved undrinkable... I didn't even have the nerve to sample one made from the pan drippings of my brother's Kosher turkey and vodka.  We switched over to crantinis (last year's hit) made from vodka soaked cranberries and vodka and a splash of cranberry juice.  (By the way, these were also known as Sukkah-tinis during Sukkot, and will probably return again during the winter season, as they are tart, delicious, colorful and strong!  Kris Kringle-tinis anyone?)


At the dinner table we usually go around and tell what we are thankful for, though we did not last night.  Instead Mom read from a great article from the New York Times.  You can read it too, by clicking here.  If you don't feel like reading the whole thing... the upshot is this: take time to be thankful.  Thanksgiving is a great time to start, obviously, but the author, John Tierney, suggests a "gratitude journal" to help you out.


A few days ago, however, a colleague did ask me what I was thankful for... and my answer was my family.  I am grateful for them everyday, and I hope that they know that.  Before this weekend is over, I think I'll tell them just to make sure.  When I asked her, she replied that she felt overcome with a feeling of gratitude that day.  I must admit, I have been enjoying that feeling as well.


A few other items that would make it into my gratitude journal?


I'm very grateful for my good health.  I'm even more grateful that those I love continue to be healthy and I know how precious this is.


I'm also very grateful that I can work at what I love to do.  My work is incredibly rewarding and I am continually growing and learning. That must be the secret of life.  So there you have it!


If I'm counting my blessings publicly, which appears to be the case, I'm also very thankful that after a few very intense years of some amount of negativity and stress, I've made some changes and have an outstanding work-home balance.


Last year this little gem was unearthed from my parents' archives.  

As you can see, even at the young age of eight I was an appreciative soul.  And I think it's also clear I did not inherit my artistic mother's talents! I'll also leave the question of the frowning boyfriend up to the psychologists out there!

So,  I would really like to know... what are YOU thankful for? 




P.S.  I know that this may have limited audience appeal, but this is what we grew up with, our Thanksgiving story.  Thank you Stan Freberg, 1961.  Enjoy.
Stan Freberg's Thanksgiving Story

Highs and Lows

I made the team!
I got grounded.
I got my permit!
Our soccer team finally lost.


In most of the classes I teach, I start with a check-in with my students. I call it Highs and Lows.


"What was your high point and low point  since I saw you last class?"


Seems simple right?


It's easy and it's profound.  When I explain it other educators, they either find someone else in the room to talk to, or they have an "ah hah" moment.


Highs and Lows.  We go around the room, and each of us shares our high and low point of the week.  That's it.


But first we have to learn how to speak to one another.  Class one:  Shmirat HaLashon...Quite literally: Guarding your Tongue.  No gossip, no mentioning of anyone's names, no bad language.  
And we have to learn how to listen to one another.  No judgement.  No rolling of the eyes.  No exaggerated sighing.  This is quite a challenge for the middle school and high school students I teach.  Not always a piece of kugel for the adults I work with either!


The first few weeks we share very easy, close to the surface highs and lows.  


I got an A on at test!
Our trip to Philly was cancelled.
I got a new phone.
My sister borrowed my new shoes and ruined them.
My socks don't match.
My crush finally said hi to me!


Class starts on time. Once you've been in the class for a while, you want to get there on time because you don't want to miss Highs and Lows.  You don't want to miss your turn, and you don't want to miss hearing everyone else's H&L's.  There's a sense of belonging and being part of something special that is initiated with the Highs and Lows.  When I feel that my lesson for the week is too full, and I occasionally try to do without our weekly check-in, the kids call me out on that.  They've been thinking about their Low since the car accident, or their High since the College acceptance letter arrived the day after our last class met!


This works nicely at meetings too.  I usually set the tone by modelling for the group.  Will I share something deep, or keep it light?  Will I open with a nifty piece of text from this week's parsha, or show off yet another picture of my kids?


It's November now, and we are becoming a community.  Our class is our safe place.  I can now use the Highs and Lows to take the pulse of the class, it's an instant barometer.


My dog died.  I know it's not like a person or anything, but I can't stop crying.
I got the lead in a play. I can't really brag at school because my best friend didn't even make the chorus, but I can tell you guys.  I'M SO PSYCHED!
My grandma has Alzheimers.  I'm scared to go visit her because I keep thinking each time I go is the time she'll forget my name.
My parents said I could get a smart phone if I keep my grades up one more marking period!  I thought that bribing for grades was considered bad parenting, but I'm not going to tell them!


This week I actually set aside my lesson plan and spent the class discussing Bikur Holim, the mitzvah of visiting the sick, when three of the students shared that their "Lows" were that people close to them were ill or had recent surgery.  (I also ask their permission to take information that I learn from H & L's to the Rabbi, Cantor, or Educator if that is appropriate, and invite them to share newsworthy items in the Temple bulletin as well.)


So, I'll leave you with this...my favorite High and Low of the week... maybe the year.  From an eighth grader in New Rochelle, NY.


Okay, so, my low... well, I got a C on a math test that I thought I'd do really well on.  
Class responds appropriately.
But my High... he pauses for dramatic effect, and reaches into his backpack...is that I got this LASER POINTER!  Look at this!  He shines a beam of green light around the classroom to oohs and ahs...Oh, wait a sec, no, my high is that it was my Bar Mitzvah on Saturday and my second high is that I got this laser pointer.  


What was your high and low of the week?

Let There be Songs to Fill the Air

This is not a posting about Jewish education or parenting or the weather or New Jersey.  It's about the music that gets me through all of the above.


The good old Grateful Dead are coming back to town in less than a week.  I mean, not exactly, the Grateful Dead, it's Furthur, as they are called in this incarnation.*  This concert will be at Madison Square Garden and I'm both anticipating and a little nervous about it.

On the one hand, we've been waiting for this concert for months.  Since July, the last time we saw them.  Though I have not exactly  written about this passion of mine, I've alluded to it and these concerts are among the highlights of my year.  Of course, MSG is known as an historical place to see a concert.  The buzz outside is very exciting and they get the biggest names.  But since Jerry Garcia (of blessed memory) died in 1995, the band in its many forms has taken the stage in much smaller venues and we fans have had the good fortune to see our boys up close and with great sound.  It's not a trade-off anyone would have chosen, but it's the one we got.  So the cavernous Garden is not my first choice.  But it's where they are playing, so it's where we'll go.

Jerry Garcia z''l
Storyteller makes no choice, soon you will not hear his voice.

How did it get to this?  How did I, an established Jewish educator, a mother of three with a responsible job, actually several jobs... get to a place where I'll drop everything when the Dead come to town?  Is it enough to say "they're a band beyond description?"  (We do that, you know.  We quote the Dead lyrics and unless you know we're doing it, we get away with it all the time!  I've snuck lyrics into my bulletin articles, my divrei Torah, and they've already been the titles of a few of my blog posts.  Yup.  That's what we do.)  Is it enough to tell you and other non-heads that this is what keeps us going?  It's the giant dose of adrenaline that we get two or three times a year that charges us up, and fills us with peaceful energy.

How they looked in the early 80's

Of course, it's about the music.  I guess the best I can tell someone who asks me what I find so compelling about it is that it takes me to another place.  Maybe the way jazz does for some, or classical music does for others.  Or prayer for others.  I have heard people describe praying in a Carlebach-style service with similar adjectives to the way I feel at a concert.  Uplifting and awakening. It helps that there are thousands of hours of CDs and tapes (and yes, records) available to play in between the long breaks between concerts.  But I guess the greatest thing is that each concert will be a completely new experience with unexpected gifts and surprises.  This new formation of the band, now two years old, has really started to gel, and each time they play they are stronger, more cohesive and their jams are more exciting.  I know that they plan their set lists in advance, but they are full of surprises that keep a smile on my face from start to finish.

Empire State building, decked out in tie-dye colors, the
last time Furthur played the Garden.  Cool.

As the concert date gets closer I'm getting those calls, emails and Facebook messages from friends and family.  This is part of the fun.  
"Are you going?" "What section?" "Want to meet for a drink before  the show?" "Have you heard if they're bringing out any new tunes this tour?" "Got any extras?"
In case any of you are reading this and haven't asked me yet, my answers to those questions are:

• Yes
• 104
• Of course
• They played "Golden Slumbers" by the Beatles in Amherst last night.
• Maybe

How they look now.
That's Phil Lesh and Bob Weir in the front.

I'm not sure what else I can tell you about this experience that has kept me coming back for more since 1978.  I only know that Bill Graham captured it when he said "They're not the best at what they do, they're the only ones who do what they do!" 

And if you're going too, let me know.  We can meet for a drink before the show!

*Why Furthur?  I'll tell you sometime, but if you want to know now, and you have the time, go ahead and read "The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test" by Tom Wolfe, written about Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters.  I think this might shed some light on a lot of things, actually, including a few songs, historical characters and artwork in my house. 

Me, at a show, last summer.
Waiting for the music to start.

Wake of the Flood

The flooding this spring did a number on our house.  Our downstairs rumpus room got flooded three times, and we have had to tear out the carpet because it got so moldy.  It is in a state of constant disarray and clutter as we are going to wait until next spring to see if the landscaping berm will truly hold back the water.  This will help decide the kind of floor to put in.   It's a giant hassle and too boring to write about.  


But there was a hidden gift of this major headache.  A huge box of baby clothing that had to be "saved."  Tiny tie-dyed onesies that I had packed away to save for my grandchildren got soaked and before they could also get moldy I had to wash them all and re-box them.  There's nothing like folding a miniature batik dress to make you stop and get flooded by memories rather than lake water.

All of a sudden I am back to another time and space, holding this little blue dress in my hands. I'm thinking about building a swing set in our back yard, getting our first dog, Jerry (of blessed memory) and my Grandfather, Poppa Ben, who loved it when I brought my kids to visit. And summers at the shore, long car rides when I played "name that tune" to teach them classic rock, and walks with strollers even when the child had outgrown it, just so I'd have a place for my bag, the extra sweatshirts, and the snack bag. 


I have an urge to get out an old photo album, but I know I'll ignore my work, my lesson plans and my dogs.  I never get anything done once I start scanning photos.


If you have been following along, you know I love my work as an educator.  But the most important work I do is as a parent.  I thought about parenting before I became a parent.  I had long talks with my husband about being consistent, and setting a schedule.


Like all parents, we tried not to curse.  I did a lot better than my husband.  I'd like to say I never cursed in front of the kids.  

The van, which we recently retired.
It helped that it was sold to an up and
coming rock band.  

"But Mom, remember that time when the van caught fire on Route 17 and you had to pull over, and we were standing on the highway and you couldn't get the carseat unbuckled, and then the baby started crying, and your cell phone battery died, and then your pocketbook dumped out all over the place?  I think you said 'shit' that time."  Yes, I think I did.


Each age and stage presents new joys and new challenges.  I have heard myself say, for the past 24 years, "THIS is the best age!  Look at my kid!  Isn't it amazing?"  


I am still saying that about all three of my children.  


I have been extremely pleased watching the way my three children have grown.  Their uniqueness has been a joy.  As a parent, I think that is the challenge: to sit back and say "Let's see who you are going to become," rather than try to mold them into who you want them to be.     


I know that the day I give away this box of groovy baby clothing is a long way off.  


For now, they are nice and clean, folded and in a few cases repaired and ironed.  I threw a few precious toys in there too, just in case we have another flood.


No, for now I'll continue to kvell over who my children are still becoming.  I'll share their joys and let them kvetch over their miseries, and whip up chicken soup when they are sick.  I'll still pack a snack bag for a beach trip, and try to coax anyone around to go to the supermarket with me, bribing them with a box of sweet cereal just for their company.


Okay, that's it.  I'm getting out the photo album.

When they were 8 1/2, 5 and 1 1/2.
They are now 24, 21 and 17.
I no longer attempt to make them match.

"Mom, why are you taking a picture of that dress?"
"Juliet, what have you been doing all day, what's with all the photo albums?"
"Bark, bark, bark"




Hey, it's my 10th blog posting.  I think that calls for a little celebration. 

Giant pixy stix anyone?  

Livin' on a Prayer

Dear Jon Bon Jovi,
   I owe you a major apology.  In an earlier posting, I was somewhat dismissive of you, and now I learn that you are a real mentsch.  Apparently you have had a charitable foundation for quite some time and have just opened a restaurant that allows people to pay what they can afford for their meal.  If they are facing hard times, they can pay back by volunteering instead.  The more I am learning about your restaurant, the more I am inspired.  
   Now, I could just sheepishly remove my earlier comments from my blog and no one would be the wiser... but instead, I'll be a mentsh too and say that New Jersey is proud to have you as our own.
  
   I hope you accept my apology,


    Juliet 


   To the rest of you... if you want learn more about the Soul Kitchen, click here.  Or, to find out about his charitable organization, click here.  And hey, if you want to buy his music, so that he keeps making money so he can continue to do these mitzvot ... great acts of loving kindness... go to amazon.com or itunes and keep the man making a profit.

It's The Time of the Season

This is not as long as it looks.  I used a very large font.  Mostly so I could read it myself.  


Z'man Simchateinu... the time of our joy.  How can you NOT love Sukkot?  For those of you who are perplexed (read: are not Jewish, do not live in New York or did not attend Brandeis) let me explain.  On the other hand, if this feels like Mrs. Nussbaum's 3rd grade class at Temple Beth Shalom Tikvah Emmanuel, feel free to scroll ahead.

Fall painted our backyard with a delicate brush.

Most non-Israeli, Jews who identify themselves as liberal (with a small "l") live by two calendars.  The secular calendar and the Jewish calendar.  Depending on your level of observance, where you live, and your personal choices they may be sitting side by side, or one may be a few pencil marks within the other.  (For me, the two are deeply embedded within one another, since I live in the secular world, but I make my life's work in the Jewish world. I suspect this is the case for most people in what I like to call "the Jew Biz.")  By the end of the summer as the school year looms ahead, we start to think about our big holiday season.  Just like every child knows, the new year does not start January 1, but it starts in September.   That is unless Rosh HaShannah comes at the end of August or the beginning of October.  (Why can't we pick a date and stick to it? Ah hah!  We did!  It happens to be the first of Tishrei without fail.)


(Want more info about the Jewish calendar? Click here to go to Hebcal.com.)


Rosh HaShannah and Yom Kippur are our way of saying to ourselves:  Here comes a new year.  A new chance to start over, make what's wrong right.  Correct what you don't like about yourself and polish up what you do.  I thought a lot about writing a blog entry for these days, but I was too busy processesing them.  This was the first time in years (possibly 20 or more) that I did not have some kind of work obligation during these Holy Days, and I was trying to enter into them completely open.  


(Need a real lesson on the Jewish Holidays?  Try the Reform movement's website URJ.org or Conservative Judaism's website.  Or any of the myriad of choices out there.  Or, a book!)


Right after Yom Kippur,  comes the festive holiday of Sukkot.  That means it's time to build the Sukkah for a seven (or eight) day holiday where we are commanded to "be joyful."  A Sukkah is, by definition, a temporary hut that we put up outside.  The idea is to "sit" or "dwell" in it as much as you can.  Some families eat in there every night, others try for one meal a day, some have sleep-overs in their sukkot (plural of sukkah).  We decorate them, we light them up and bring food out for back to nature dining, unless the weather is just so rainy that it will ruin the food.  

The dog is overseeing the progress.

Almost done...

Close-up of the Eastern Wall.

I love our Sukkah.  We've built one every year since our oldest child was a toddler and asked if we could build one when he learned about it in his nursery school.  Yes, he gets the credit for it.  (That is, for us building a sukkah, not for the entire holiday.  I'm a big fan of his, but let's not overdo it.)  As much as my children have life long memories of beach vacations and family trips to Maine, I know that time spent in the Sukkah, eating, singing and laughing together, is also part of the fabric of their shared family history.

Lulav and Etrog, with Holiday candles. 

So, tonight at sundown, we'll go out there and maybe have our dinner.  The fact is, it's been raining all day and we may just say the Hebrew prayers and retreat to the cozy kitchen tonight.  But we have a week to enjoy this beautiful Sukkah.


So, between all these Jewish holidays, what else is happening in my so-called life?  


I am thrilled but incredibly nervous that Gilad Shalit may be home before long.  I know that they are working out the details now, and we will know soon.  As a teacher, two important topics come to mind to discuss with my classes.  One... that this one young man... the son of every mother in Israel right now... is worth over 1,000 Palestinians.  What does that say?  And two... 5 Years in captivity.  How old were you five years ago?  What has happened in those five years?  What if you had to miss it all?  




My neighbor is having her driveway completely excavated today.  Why?  To put in heat sensors to melt the snow and ice when winter comes. Yes.  This technology exists.  All I can say is this is brilliant.  I applaud her.  Her kids are grown, I imagine her house is paid for, and she can afford it.  Now, on those ridiculous winter mornings, when I am out there, dressed in so many layers I can't bend my elbows, hacking away at the snow with that tool that's likely to take off a toe someday, I know my neighbor can sit in her house, at her computer, reading my blog, and  watching the snow melt off her driveway.

October is breast cancer awareness month... in an upcoming blog I plan to write about cancer (yes, that should be a fun one) and I'd welcome your personal stories if you want to share.  You can email me or send me a note in the comment section below.  


I was very sad, along with the rest of the world, to read about Steve Jobs' death this week.  Here is the quote of his that really resonated with me.  I got it from Cory Booker's facebook page, he quoted it from the famous 2005 speech that Steve Jobs made to the graduating class at Stanford: "For the past 33 years I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: 'If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?'  And whenever the answer has been 'No' for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something."


I wish you and your friends and family a time of joy... whether you celebrate Sukkot or not.  Go and look at those leaves before they are gone.  Bite an apple that was just picked, smell anything cooked with cinnamon, and figure out how to get some hugs from the people you love.