Letting Go

This essay, appeared in the Jewish Journal on July 27, 2017, but was written about a month before that.  Thank you to Editor Steven Rosenberg for publishing it and for his help in keeping the story short and (bitter) sweet. 

JULY 27, 2017 – Scrolling through social media yesterday I stopped to “like” my friend’s post. Actually, these days you can “love” a photo, and as I held the like button down to get to the word “love,” I felt tears welling up.

The picture was his 9-year old daughter, getting on the bus to go to sleep-away camp for the first time. There she was, this little girl, in her denim shorts with the white lace cut-outs, a hot pink baseball cap and a back-pack that looked like it held absolutely nothing, looking back over her shoulder, waving a final goodbye to her daddy.

Thirteen years ago, right around now, I was packing up my youngest child, a skinny 10-year-old boy, for sleep-away camp in the Berkshires. He had slept soundly the night before. I had been up until some ungodly hour, labeling every item of clothing, folding bedding and towels, cramming sports equipment into a huge duffel bag, and writing our address and stamping envelopes he’d never use.

Jacob loved camp so much he called it his home away from home. His camp friends became his best friends. He went back summer after summer and although he always continued with his Jewish studies through our synagogues, he will credit camp with the most vital of his Jewish learning, growth, and identity.

As his sister had done, he took advantage of the camp’s trip to Israel when he was 15 and the bonds with his friends became deeper. As his brother had done, he went to Israel for his junior semester abroad, and like his parents, attended Tel Aviv University.

I really wanted to visit him there and I knew he was wary about the whole family descending on him while he was studying abroad.  Looking back on my own experiences, I was a bit hesitant when my parents visited me at age 20, living in the dorms at Tel Aviv University. When I got on the plane in Newark that December, I was already quite self-confident, but I had never really had the experiences that would form the core of whom I was to become.

I did things in Israel I would never have done here in the US. Camping in the Sinai, no tent, just a sleeping bag under the stars, watching the sun come up over the Red Sea. Having nothing more critical to do than go snorkeling and trade for eggs and pita with the local Bedouin kids.

Hitchhiking on a day off from classes to get to the beach with a few American friends, realizing I had spent the whole day speaking only Hebrew. Going on a date with an Israeli guy and finding out that, due to the fact certain words were not yet in my vocabulary, I had agreed to going to a live sex show! Afterward, of course we went out for a snack, and as I learned, he knew the best place for hummus.

After all I had been through, I wasn’t so sure I was ready to be “parented” yet. I had also changed physically, my once straightened hair now long, slightly bleached by the sun, and curly. But when my parents arrived, after they got over the shock of my sundress, Israeli sandals, and wild hair, we had a fine time, and they wined and dined me, even setting me up on a blind date.

Believing I had my own son all figured out, we booked the trip anyway and planned to tread lightly on his schedule and plans. We took my older son and daughter, and thought we had a wonderful time.

After Jacob had been home for quite a while, more than a year, he referred to that time as less than stellar. I felt I had done so well in mastering the fine line between family time and giving him space. We fed him well, and then left him alone. But I guess that was not how he best wanted to spend those days. I then realized not only is he not a junior me, he is also not his siblings.

When Jacob graduated college last spring and announced that he won a fellowship to teach in Israel, I felt conflicted. Everything indicated parenting gone right, right? Then why did it feel so wrong? It would be a 10-month job. Apartment, car, money for food; a mother’s dream for her child. Except that I was no longer a part of that dream.

And, he asked us not to visit.

How sheepish I feel when speaking to people about how proud I am of the work he’s doing in one breath, and in the next answering the obvious question: “Well, no, I didn’t get to see him there this time.”  I just can’t bring myself to say “because he didn’t want us to come.” I told my husband recently I wonder if I will look back on this and regret it, or if I did the right thing, respecting his autonomy.

This Israel-loving, independent child is now a 23-year-old young man who is living a life that I barely get to see. There have been some posts on Facebook, short messages via WhatsApp, and a few phone conversations. Just enough to know that he’s fine.

And recently, sadly, when my mother-in-law passed away, Jacob was on a plane and with our family as we grieved. There was no conversation about whether he should come home, just the logistics.  He was fully present and there when it mattered.

He is due to come home at the end of next month. Texts about jobs and plane tickets go unanswered. I look forward to seeing him, and hopefully, having my choices validated. As surely as I returned from Tel Aviv a changed person, I am considering that this is what will happen with my son. But his way.

For now, I have had to settle for scrolling through all of my friends’ photos of camper’s smiles, with the hope that I will see my son’s smile somewhere in my news feed.

Jacob and me at a Tel Aviv Beach during his Junior year. 

Juliet Barr is married, and the mother of three. She is a Jewish educator and has worked in congregations and Jewish federations in Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York and Washington. 

Good-bye Starman

Click here for some music to set the tone for this blog.

Yesterday, it rained all day. I went to work in the rain. Came home in the rain.  Took a nap in the rain and woke up listening to the rain on my roof. 

I didn't realize the skies were crying. 

Suddenly, my son came in, knowing it was perfectly okay to wake me up for a rainbow. And what a brilliant one it was.  Little did I know, it was the most elegant chameleon saying good-bye. 

The first song I ever heard by David Bowie was when someone performed "Changes" in a talent show during my Freshman year of High School.  I thought 2 things.  She's great... how come we didn't know this girl could sing all through middle school?  And WHERE DID THIS SONG COME FROM??? Back then you didn't look it up on iTunes, or Google it.  I asked her afterwards, and she told me it was David Bowie.  I went and got the 45 immediately. 

I first heard David Bowie live in concert in 1975.  He was touring to promote the "Young Americans" album, which I didn't even own yet. But the songs were getting a lot of airplay, and when a group of kids at school asked if I wanted to go to Madison Square Garden, I had only been there once before, and it was all very exciting.   My crush on the way in to NYC  became my boyfriend on the way home.  I realized there was more to life than "Just and Old Fashioned Love Song*." My parents had let me go into New York City with my friends, I made it home alive, and I grew up a little that night.

My musical horizons were opening.  Billy Joel and Beach Boys were giving way to the The Who, Paul McCartney's solo stuff, and I was even  re-discovering the Beatles, as people tend to do when they get a really good pair of headphones for the first time. 

But then, in 1976, along came David Bowie's Station to Station Album. 

When he came back to play  at  MSG, I was the one who said to my friends that we should buy tickets.  My boyfriend was already moving on to the next big thing, which I believe was Peter Frampton at our high school.  But we went to the concert.  And I was transfixed.  Transformed.  If you don't know this album, play it (like an album, please, in order).  

I understood "I Wanna Hold Your Hand," and "God Only Knows What I'd be Without You."  Yes, of course. These made sense to a fifteen year old.  But "Wild is the Wind?" WHOA.  Love isn't simple. Love is messy.  Love is complicated.  David Bowie was talking about something I was just on the verge of understanding. (I was, after all, now a sixteen-year-old.)

On the bus ride home, my boyfriend said, "You know, he likes girls AND boys."  I did know that, and said something like, "So?"  I remember my boyfriend looking at me with a mixture of disgust and incredulity.

Not long after that we were in his car and I found the hand cream of another girl.  Even at the tender age of 16 love was messy and complicated. 

I went home and played Station to Station with my headphones on.   In fact, as the melodramatic teen-aged girl that I was, I repeated this ritual every single day.  I still can't hear TVC15 without thinking of Jim** and my newly broken heart. 

David Bowie didn't come out in platform shoes during those shows. He didn't wear make-up or an extreme haircut.  He had on a stylish suit and sang songs that touched my soul.  I remember saying even then to probably no one that he was ahead of his time.

His music has had the power to make me feel: happy, sad, energized, strengthened.  With words I understood, but concepts I sometimes had to struggle with.  Different genres on a single album.  Superior musicianship, and outstanding partnerships.  And of course, excellent showmanship.  Just three days ago, on his birthday, I watched a special called Storytellers, where David Bowie told the tales behind some of his most popular songs, and some obscure ones as well.  It was a delight.  As I watched, I wondered, not for the first time in the last year, why he's been so quiet.

The outpouring of love for him on social media is heartwarming.  I know I for one will miss him always.  And will always consider him my first grown-up love.

Good-bye Starman.

*A classic by 3 Dog Night, and not a bad song.  Just wildly over-played at the time. Click here to hear it.  Or don't.
**Jim was not his real name.  
Click here to get to the New York Times article and obituary.

Thank you to Adam Barr, my brother-in-law, for posting this and giving me a real laugh...David Bowie shows his humorous side...
Click here to end with a laugh.

Family Dinner

Since 1987, when my husband Michael and I packed up our baby son and drove from San Francisco, across the United States to live back in the great state of New Jersey... we have had a tradition of the Family Dinner with my parents.

At first, it was just natural.  We lived in their house while we were looking for a new home, so every night was family dinner.  Actually what I remember most was keeping my two cats locked upstairs in what used to be a playroom (now my mother's art studio) and our beloved 5:00 cocktail hour when my husband and my dad would both come home from work and we would meet in the kitchen for martinis and laughs about the day with our  joyful toddler Zachary bouncing from one person's arms to the next.

Soon we were in our own home, with our daughter Maddie joining the family; my brother had moved to the area as well soon to start a family of his own. Family dinners were usually on Sunday nights.  We chose places which were kid friendly.  I remember that Chinese food was a favorite of ours.  There was also a deli we loved.  We had a pizza place we adored, and it was there, a few years later,  having pizza and a great antipasto when we got the phone call that my niece Talia was born!

We meet and share the news the of the week.  New jobs, new boyfriends and girlfriends (the kids, not the adults... don't worry!), house troubles.  The snow.  The rain. The hurricane.  If the weather is terrible we meet for dinner.  If the weather is great... we meet for dinner.  We bring sad news, and we bring great news.  Heavy news and frivolity.  We laugh and we  are sometimes loud. We sometimes change seats before dessert.  We sing Happy Birthday in Hebrew.  Jacob and Ben, the same age, would sword-fight with tooth-picks when they were little.  Then, in the blink of an eye, they were already in the "sneak-texting" phase!

And before we knew it, our first was grown and off to college, and the reservation was for 10 and not 11 anymore.   And more often than not, the kids had things to do, rehearsals, social engagements, homework.   And just this September, the last grandchild, little Talia went to college.  Family dinner is just six of us, my parents, my brother and his wife, my husband and me.

We went out to dinner last night.

My brother chose sushi, because it was his birthday... 5 days ago.

As we order I think about all the years of the family dinners.  My husband isn't here because of work. The kids are all off, three are in college, two of mine are already through with school and on their own. October has been a rough month for me and I am somewhat pensive.

My parents are through with the menu and my sister-in-law and I are ready to order.

My brother pours some sake into his glass while we wait for the waitress.

He starts a story.

"When I was in London, sushi was very rare."
"Too bad," Dad says, not missing a beat, "because it should have been raw!"

While we are laughing over this I get a text.  As impolite as it is, I secretly check my phone at the dinner table.  It's a photo of my three kids.

They are having family dinner at my daughter's house tonight in Cambridge.  They know I love a good selfie, so they sent it to me before they cleaned up the dishes.

I see they sent it to my husband who clumsily tries to send back a smiley but sends the angry face emoji by mistake.

I smile, and I hear myself laugh.  I look up and see my brother has caught me "sneak-texting" on my phone.  I slip it back in my pocket.

Surrounded by love, I get back to the family dinner. (Insert happy emoji here.)

Very Mature

Whenever I do something particularly grown-up, I feel the need to call my mother.  You might think, at my age, that I would have outgrown this habit, but, no... actually... I do it more and more as I do more and more grown-up things.

When Mom texted me about getting together for Shabbat dinner, I had to immediately text back that I was at Lowes BUYING A WASHER AND DRYER.  All caps to emphasize I was doing something uber mature, not to indicate I was yelling at her.

Our washer AND dryer have been barely working (the washer walked all over the basement and the dryer only fluffed, it didn't actually dry clothes) for about 3 years.  It was past time.  My husband did a small amount of research, and I reluctantly went along, since I am the once who does ALL the laundry. 

We chose Lowes, and the experience was not horrible. I nearly forgot why we were there when the brightly colored yard furniture lured me to the garden area.  Spring flowers also nearly made me forget about the laundry room altogether.  But my husband remained steadfast.  I was heard to say "We're on a mission from God" in my best Chicago accent, as we headed to the large appliance section.

The top of the line washers are so high-tech you can program your iPhone to interact with them.  I think they also iron your clothes for you and feed your cat when you're not home.  The dryers have so many settings that you can dry each item at a different level of dryness. They're super quiet while running, and  they call you on your phone with a jaunty British accent when the load is done.

We went with something a bit more middle-of-the-road.  Our new washing machine tells me exactly how many minutes the cycle will take, and how energy efficient the load is.  The same with the dryer, and it's SUPPOSED TO turn itself off after everything inside is all the way dry, but after load one, that did not seem to be the case.  I may have not used the correct settings, there are so many to choose from. I can't program it from my smart phone, but that's okay.  I don't see why I need to program the washing machine from the living room, unless they invent one that sorts the laundry and puts it in the machine by itself.  (Oh, they do.  It's called hiring a maid to do your laundry.)

So this may be too much information, but I also texted my mom just now to say, yes... I also scheduled my colonoscopy and my breast MRI.* Because even though nothing is wrong, and I haven't even had a cold this winter (poo-poo, spits on the ground) I got those two letters from the two doctors about 4 months ago, and have left them in the middle of the "Juliet pile" for long enough.  Whenever they reach the top, I pile other papers on top of them.  But today, I thought about all the great things ahead, concerts to see, and Seders to have, and children to hug, and I thought about Warren Zevon (he ignored his health) and I picked up the phone. Whether you are a cancer survivor or a survivor of life there's no sense in not having these tests done.  I promise I won't blog the details... I can't promise I won't blog the results. 

I think to celebrate my new maturity, It's time to do a little shopping online... I saw a nice tie-dye skirt in a catalog yesterday... and some new sandals to make me feel like spring will be here any minute.  But no need to text my mom about that.   

Well I gotta go, I have work to do, and besides, I just got a call from an English woman that my laundry's done.



*Mom texted back immediately: proud of u.  (She loves doing the abbreviation thing.) 
*I had a clear mammogram 6 months ago, but due to my age and cancer/radiation history, they want me to have an MRI.

Reunion

It's here.  Tonight.  It's too late to lose those 15 pounds I meant to lose.  It was even too late to have my hair highlighted.  As a matter of fact... I had not even reached out to those long lost friends to make sure they were going to be there.  I grabbed my High School yearbook off the shelf, dusted it off and threw it in the backseat of the car. 

I always go to my reunions. Why?  Why not?  I live near where I grew up, and it's a fun thing to do, to throw myself back into the mix for a night and reminisce for a while.  I keep in touch with only  handful of friends;  it takes me a while to remember people, and incidences, but I like the experience.  The funny thing is, I usually start by feeling that everyone has stayed put, while I have changed, that we would have nothing in common.  I am no longer that person captured in the black and white picture in the yearbook.  

The pre-reunion cocktail party was at the same hotel where the reunion would be the next night, very convenient to where I live.  My husband bravely agreed to join me for this first event, so, after a dinner at my parents' house (also nearby), we ventured over.  Someone had the idea to invite teachers to the cocktail party, which was a nice idea.  I didn't happen to remember any of them, but I could see they were the ones who looked even older than the rest of us, and their names tags were preceded by Mr. and Mrs.       


Within the first five minutes, a friend I've known probably longer than anyone else opened up to me in a genuine way and we were off.  A real conversation. A great start.  I suddenly missed her.  And I wanted more of this.   Another conversation, the ice broken with truths and smiles, ancient hurts uncovered, opened up and pain allowed to escape.    

And this was just the PRE-reunion.  I realized my husband was not to be seen.  He texted me to let me know he was happily at the bar, watching the baseball game. Later, he brought me a tequila with impeccable timing.

I'm the one with the red clogs.  And the beads.  This was during the high school tour.

We didn't stay for very long, the next night was the real reunion. But I pondered my surprise at the success of the night.  Over the last, well,  I'll just say it, 35 years, I'd knew that I had changed from a kid who tried to fit in, and look and act like everyone else to the person I am now:  A very active, observant Reform Jew, who makes a living in the Jewish world.  In our high school there were very few of us "Members of the Tribe," and even fewer who stayed practicing members after we went out into the real world.  

I was also a bit reckless and of course I now see the world, and navigate my way through it, as a mother.  And and older, wiser, and more seasoned citizen of that world. But then, everyone in the room was older, hopefully wiser as well. And almost everyone in the room had been married and had children.

What else?  A Democrat.  A Deadhead.  A Cancer Survivor. Animal lover and (multiple) pet owner.  A struggling environmentalist and failed (this year) gardener.   People who knew me then do not know me at all now.  What would we talk about?  What would we have in common?   As my son put it, "Mom, these people knew you before you sewed beads onto all your clothes and wore clogs to weddings and funerals. You can go there and act normal."    

Well, I don't know if I did go and act normal, but memories came back to me like little YouTube clips, flooding my brain that weekend, and for a few days afterwards.   I started to list them here, but that seemed too personal and too boring at the same time.  (Select all, delete.) 

So, what's the take-away? 

Besides a bunch of slightly drunk 53-year-olds dancing to Paradise by the Dashboard Lights in a too-small, too-loud room? 

We don't exactly have everything in common, but a lot more than I thought.  We have all fought some battles, and have survived.  We want to show pictures of our kids or our dogs, and then we want to put them away and remember the good old days. The Beach Boys Concerts.  The times we went down the shore.  The Musicals.  The football and basketball games. Championships won and nearly won. Things we shouldn't have done and things we wish we could do one more time.   And oh yea, the classes.

And then suddenly, much too early, the DJ says it's the last dance... and the class does a group hug dance where there are no longer cool kids, or nerds, or stoners,  or jocks, or geeks, or drama queens or choir kids.  For 2  1/2 minutes, there's just a class dancing together in a way that there never was.

And that's why I go to reunions.

you can walk down memory lane...

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