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

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.