I've been going to the gym for years now. About a year ago I noticed a woman in incredible shape. Mid height, small build, great figure, fabulous muscle definition. She always had her thick red hair in a high ponytail and wore nice, but not ostentatious gym clothing. She takes the 9:30am classes on most days. She walks confidently and I admire her level of fitness and commitment to working out.
About a block from my house there is a road that I frequent, on it there are many big beautiful homes. There is one in particular with a white picket fence that I always say is my "dream home." Big, three car garage, beautiful siding and garden. I drive by slowly so that I can glimpse to see if the inside would suit my lifestyle of huge Shabbat dinners and constant entertaining.
This past Friday, while rushing to the gas station on the way to the highway to pick the kids up from school, I noticed red-haired gym lady standing in the driveway of her gorgeous house, my "dream house." Even though I was rushing, running late, I still slowed at the house as a matter of habit. I could not believe my eyes when I saw that gorgeous gym lady was standing in my dream houses driveway.
I guess you cannot have it all. Who knows what this woman's life is like. Or what the inside of her house looks like. I am not envious of her as to be envious of what she seemingly has is shallow, and I don't want to be shallow. But appearance-wise, wowee, gym lady has got it made!
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Have You Ever Heard of John Larson?
Everyday when I leave my house, especially on the brisk windy days of fall, I see a man from down the street taking his daily walk. He is dressed in a beige leather bomber, jeans, sneakers, big glasses and a bright red hat, most probably knitted by his 90 year old neighbor who gave it to him for a holiday gift, pulled down around his ears and forehead. He wears a serious face yet not one that has much concentration. It more seems like he forgot how to smile, or no longer knows how to show emotion on his face.
He walks with a limp, his right leg slower than his left. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets. He walks up and down the main streets and side streets. Many times he wonders onto our street, making his rounds around the adjoining cul de sacs.
Occasionally he will start up a conversation with you. The first thing he asks you is if you've ever heard of John Larson. No, you have already asked us, is the usual reply. He says he doesn't remember because he has no short-term memory.
Give him another second and he will go on to tell you that he was once a normal young adult. He was at a party and got into the car with his friend to go home. They were both drunk. They crashed, his friend died, he survived. DON'T EVER DRINK AND DRIVE he says slowly and forcefully, in his eerie monotone. John Larson is dead and me, he continues, I am not the same person I once was, nor will I ever be.
What's amazing to me is that this was a man who once had his whole life ahead of him, and all opportunity and potential ripped away from him on one fateful night. For the rest of his life he is a walking, talking reminder of this. Remarkably, his house is directly across the street from the local high school, a place where the message is most pertinent.
Who knows what his life would have turned out to be had he not been in that accident, however now he relays this message from person to person, sometimes repeatedly. With his compromised understanding of social boundaries he literally shares this with everyone he meets and perpetuates the memory and message of John Larson.
He walks with a limp, his right leg slower than his left. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets. He walks up and down the main streets and side streets. Many times he wonders onto our street, making his rounds around the adjoining cul de sacs.
Occasionally he will start up a conversation with you. The first thing he asks you is if you've ever heard of John Larson. No, you have already asked us, is the usual reply. He says he doesn't remember because he has no short-term memory.
Give him another second and he will go on to tell you that he was once a normal young adult. He was at a party and got into the car with his friend to go home. They were both drunk. They crashed, his friend died, he survived. DON'T EVER DRINK AND DRIVE he says slowly and forcefully, in his eerie monotone. John Larson is dead and me, he continues, I am not the same person I once was, nor will I ever be.
What's amazing to me is that this was a man who once had his whole life ahead of him, and all opportunity and potential ripped away from him on one fateful night. For the rest of his life he is a walking, talking reminder of this. Remarkably, his house is directly across the street from the local high school, a place where the message is most pertinent.
Who knows what his life would have turned out to be had he not been in that accident, however now he relays this message from person to person, sometimes repeatedly. With his compromised understanding of social boundaries he literally shares this with everyone he meets and perpetuates the memory and message of John Larson.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
The Orphan Club
On Sunday, my husband's friend passed away leaving his four children in the Orphan Club. The Orphan Club is every parent's worst fear and every child's worst nightmare.
Parent's never want to leave their children alone. They want to be there when their children are happy, sad, excited and angry. They want to hug, ponder, adore, get frustrated, have pride in, and love their children UNCONDITIONALLY. Nothing makes a parent happier. Children obviously need this. This is the way the world was created. A parent's unconditional love helps them grow from childhood into adulthood with the confidence that at least two people love them no matter what. This then is perpetuated to their children and so on.
That is one of the many reasons why I cannot understand how G-d could take a parent from his children. He created an unshakable bond of reliance and love yet at any moment he can take it away. I get that G-d wants to awaken in us empathy, compassion, he wants to challenge us to grow and to become better people. He wants us to realize not to take anything for granted. However, I cannot understand how it has to come at the expense of innocent, adorable children.
These children and many others, unfortunately, have recently joined the Orphan Club. A club no one wants to be part of, but because of G-d's reasoning that is above and beyond my limited understanding they are now part of.
Please G-d if you feel the need to shake us to our very core and wake us out of our selfish worlds, please spare the children. You who created them to rely on their parents as they do, save them from the Orphan Club where membership should be closed.
Parent's never want to leave their children alone. They want to be there when their children are happy, sad, excited and angry. They want to hug, ponder, adore, get frustrated, have pride in, and love their children UNCONDITIONALLY. Nothing makes a parent happier. Children obviously need this. This is the way the world was created. A parent's unconditional love helps them grow from childhood into adulthood with the confidence that at least two people love them no matter what. This then is perpetuated to their children and so on.
That is one of the many reasons why I cannot understand how G-d could take a parent from his children. He created an unshakable bond of reliance and love yet at any moment he can take it away. I get that G-d wants to awaken in us empathy, compassion, he wants to challenge us to grow and to become better people. He wants us to realize not to take anything for granted. However, I cannot understand how it has to come at the expense of innocent, adorable children.
These children and many others, unfortunately, have recently joined the Orphan Club. A club no one wants to be part of, but because of G-d's reasoning that is above and beyond my limited understanding they are now part of.
Please G-d if you feel the need to shake us to our very core and wake us out of our selfish worlds, please spare the children. You who created them to rely on their parents as they do, save them from the Orphan Club where membership should be closed.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Laundry Last
I think that laundry capabilities skipped two generations in my family.
My grandmother and great-grandmother could fold laundry perfectly. No matter what shape or size the item was it was folded neatly. When you took it out, it looked as though it came out of its original packaging. If you open their linen closets, the sheets and towels are folded perfectly. What a shame that this talent did not pass on to me, nor did it pass on to my mother.
Growing up mom sorted the laundry into piles. Come get your pile she would yell and everyone would come get their pile and shove it into their drawer or onto their shelves. There were at least 11 piles, so I can understand her not wanting to fold each sock, however I also wonder if its because she didn't get that laundry gene.
Tonight when I was folding a dreaded load of laundry I got down on myself. I fail! I cannot fold neatly at all. When I fold a simple flat sheet the corners don't match up. I can't even fold a towel right without to fold and refold three times before I am happy with it. Forget t-shirts, socks, underwear are pretty bad too. The worst are button downs or zip up sweaters. Those, you have to first button or zip and then align all the sides perfectly. I would never be able to get a job at the Gap or Urban Outfitters as my folding skills are sorely lacking.
What I cannot get past however, is that I have been folding laundry for over TEN years and still, it looks as though a ten year old folded everything. From time to time, and actually as I write this, I mean very seldom, does my husband help me fold. He folds beautifully. Everything lines up and the piles stack nicely, its as if the clothing love him and will stand at attention for him. Me, they fight me, they don't like me, we just don't click, I didn't get the laundry gene.
Laundry is last, laundry is last for me, laundry clean or dirty, although I much prefer clean, we just were not meant to be.
P.S. My linen closet is a wonderful, fresh smelling place where my towels and sheets are lined up almost perfectly.
My grandmother and great-grandmother could fold laundry perfectly. No matter what shape or size the item was it was folded neatly. When you took it out, it looked as though it came out of its original packaging. If you open their linen closets, the sheets and towels are folded perfectly. What a shame that this talent did not pass on to me, nor did it pass on to my mother.
Growing up mom sorted the laundry into piles. Come get your pile she would yell and everyone would come get their pile and shove it into their drawer or onto their shelves. There were at least 11 piles, so I can understand her not wanting to fold each sock, however I also wonder if its because she didn't get that laundry gene.
Tonight when I was folding a dreaded load of laundry I got down on myself. I fail! I cannot fold neatly at all. When I fold a simple flat sheet the corners don't match up. I can't even fold a towel right without to fold and refold three times before I am happy with it. Forget t-shirts, socks, underwear are pretty bad too. The worst are button downs or zip up sweaters. Those, you have to first button or zip and then align all the sides perfectly. I would never be able to get a job at the Gap or Urban Outfitters as my folding skills are sorely lacking.
What I cannot get past however, is that I have been folding laundry for over TEN years and still, it looks as though a ten year old folded everything. From time to time, and actually as I write this, I mean very seldom, does my husband help me fold. He folds beautifully. Everything lines up and the piles stack nicely, its as if the clothing love him and will stand at attention for him. Me, they fight me, they don't like me, we just don't click, I didn't get the laundry gene.
Laundry is last, laundry is last for me, laundry clean or dirty, although I much prefer clean, we just were not meant to be.
P.S. My linen closet is a wonderful, fresh smelling place where my towels and sheets are lined up almost perfectly.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Burnt to a Crisp
Customarily, after a wedding, there are 6 days of celebration that ensue, which include a festive dinner for those 6 days following the Jewish wedding. Typically, family and friends of the bride and groom host the dinner parties.
Our family is hosting the one on Thursday evening. The aunts worked out a menu and jobs were given out, mine, EGGPLANT ROLLITINI. A delicious dish of a ricotta cheese, basil, garlic and mozzarella cheese mixture rolled into thinly sliced eggplant, topped with a savory marinara sauce. It is not the easiest thing to make, however the taste is otherworldly.
Upon mentioning to my mother that this is the job I ended up with, however I do not have all the diary ingredients, my aunt will probably send them over, and that it was not the easiest dish to make, she went on to pressure me as to why I was making such a complicated dish. Couldn't someone else make that she asked? Can't you just make a rice or something simple? Why are you making such a time consuming thing? She then told me she mentioned to another aunt of mine that it was just TOO MUCH for me to be making eggplant rollitini and I should just make something simpl.e
While two out of the three trays of the eggplant were cooking, the organizing aunt calls me frantic. "DID YOU CALL YOUR OTHER AUNT TO CALL ME TO TELL ME THAT IT'S JUST TOO MUCH FOR YOU TO MAKE THIS EGGPLANT?" I calmly explained that I have no idea what she is talking about as I haven't even spoken to that aunt since the wedding.
As we continued talking, it all made sense. Mom shared her thoughts about the eggplant with her sister, who happened to be speaking to the organizing aunt who mentioned to her, that perhaps I should make an easier, less time consuming dish.
WOWEEEE, the only one missing in this equation was my grandmother, usually she is involved in these stupidities, but thankfully this time she was not mixed in! I have no idea how that was avoided.
I told the organizing aunt that the trays were in the oven and the conversation was over.
Back to the eggplant. Two out of the three trays were cooling on the counter. I was downstairs on my computer when I began to fall asleep! I ran upstairs, brushed my teeth and collapsed into bed. At 4AM the baby woke up. Something smelled. I ran to the kitchen. Tray #3 of the eggplant rollitini is burnt to a crisp.
Thankfully, it didn't get to the point of setting off the smoke alarms, or breaking my oven (which is only supposed to cook 3 hours at a time). But now, we are down to two trays of eggplant for 50 people instead of three.
Well, all those that thought I should not be making such a complicated dish should not have any, that way there will be enough for those that appreciate my time and effort in preparing it and cheered me on instead of whining about it.
Weigh in, do you think that since so many people got involved in my eggplant, it just had to burn? Or is just the irony of the whole story?
Our family is hosting the one on Thursday evening. The aunts worked out a menu and jobs were given out, mine, EGGPLANT ROLLITINI. A delicious dish of a ricotta cheese, basil, garlic and mozzarella cheese mixture rolled into thinly sliced eggplant, topped with a savory marinara sauce. It is not the easiest thing to make, however the taste is otherworldly.
Upon mentioning to my mother that this is the job I ended up with, however I do not have all the diary ingredients, my aunt will probably send them over, and that it was not the easiest dish to make, she went on to pressure me as to why I was making such a complicated dish. Couldn't someone else make that she asked? Can't you just make a rice or something simple? Why are you making such a time consuming thing? She then told me she mentioned to another aunt of mine that it was just TOO MUCH for me to be making eggplant rollitini and I should just make something simpl.e
While two out of the three trays of the eggplant were cooking, the organizing aunt calls me frantic. "DID YOU CALL YOUR OTHER AUNT TO CALL ME TO TELL ME THAT IT'S JUST TOO MUCH FOR YOU TO MAKE THIS EGGPLANT?" I calmly explained that I have no idea what she is talking about as I haven't even spoken to that aunt since the wedding.
As we continued talking, it all made sense. Mom shared her thoughts about the eggplant with her sister, who happened to be speaking to the organizing aunt who mentioned to her, that perhaps I should make an easier, less time consuming dish.
WOWEEEE, the only one missing in this equation was my grandmother, usually she is involved in these stupidities, but thankfully this time she was not mixed in! I have no idea how that was avoided.
I told the organizing aunt that the trays were in the oven and the conversation was over.
Back to the eggplant. Two out of the three trays were cooling on the counter. I was downstairs on my computer when I began to fall asleep! I ran upstairs, brushed my teeth and collapsed into bed. At 4AM the baby woke up. Something smelled. I ran to the kitchen. Tray #3 of the eggplant rollitini is burnt to a crisp.
Thankfully, it didn't get to the point of setting off the smoke alarms, or breaking my oven (which is only supposed to cook 3 hours at a time). But now, we are down to two trays of eggplant for 50 people instead of three.
Well, all those that thought I should not be making such a complicated dish should not have any, that way there will be enough for those that appreciate my time and effort in preparing it and cheered me on instead of whining about it.
Weigh in, do you think that since so many people got involved in my eggplant, it just had to burn? Or is just the irony of the whole story?
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Separation Anxiety
This past Saturday night, actually Sunday morning at 4am, I packed my three children into my car and headed to Pittsburgh, PA. In my opinion, the pitts of America.
My parents were going to the same wedding, therefore we decided we would drive together, caravan style. We mapped out the route via our GPS's and even printed out Google Map directions, to be sure that we were all going in the same direction, the same way.
It seemed to me as I was driving that dawn would never arrive. It was so dark at 4am, who would have thought it would be so dark. I hate driving in the dark, especially when I am so tired and cold all I want to do is get into bed.
About an hour into our trip, after going over the George Washington Bridge, making sure of course to follow the directions exactly, going over the upper level etc. and making excellent timing all the while, my mother calls to check in.
Hi, did you get off on the I-80. The I-80 I ask, where would that have been? Right after the George Washington Bridge, there was a sign, well i told her that is not where my GPS routed me. It was on the paper she says. The paper, I am freak'n driving myself with three kids in pitch blackness, I was not reading a paper when I have a perfectly amazing GPS. After a few more minutes discussing the directions we realized that for the remainder of my trip I would be all alone, traveling on empty highways, with three children in veritable darkness.
My mother assured me that we would meet up at some point, I agreed, we would meet again...it Pittsburgh. As we hung up the phone and I realized my predicament I began to panic. Panicking is not usually my style as I usually just step up to the plate and take it like a "woman" however, I was concerned and I was nervous and I felt alone. A terrible sinking feeling.
My husband was on a flight back from Israel, he would be meeting me in Pittsburgh, my parents, meeting me in Pittsburgh, the rest of my family, the same. Aha, so I was not so alone as I would be meeting up with everyone at my destination, only my journey would be lonesome. Ok, not so bad. But really, I had five hours left, so actually, yes, it was so bad.
In the end I realize that some people have lonesome Journeys, sometimes people have lonesome lives, but thank G-d all I had here was a bout of separation anxiety for my very, thankfully, un-lonesome life.
My parents were going to the same wedding, therefore we decided we would drive together, caravan style. We mapped out the route via our GPS's and even printed out Google Map directions, to be sure that we were all going in the same direction, the same way.
It seemed to me as I was driving that dawn would never arrive. It was so dark at 4am, who would have thought it would be so dark. I hate driving in the dark, especially when I am so tired and cold all I want to do is get into bed.
About an hour into our trip, after going over the George Washington Bridge, making sure of course to follow the directions exactly, going over the upper level etc. and making excellent timing all the while, my mother calls to check in.
Hi, did you get off on the I-80. The I-80 I ask, where would that have been? Right after the George Washington Bridge, there was a sign, well i told her that is not where my GPS routed me. It was on the paper she says. The paper, I am freak'n driving myself with three kids in pitch blackness, I was not reading a paper when I have a perfectly amazing GPS. After a few more minutes discussing the directions we realized that for the remainder of my trip I would be all alone, traveling on empty highways, with three children in veritable darkness.
My mother assured me that we would meet up at some point, I agreed, we would meet again...it Pittsburgh. As we hung up the phone and I realized my predicament I began to panic. Panicking is not usually my style as I usually just step up to the plate and take it like a "woman" however, I was concerned and I was nervous and I felt alone. A terrible sinking feeling.
My husband was on a flight back from Israel, he would be meeting me in Pittsburgh, my parents, meeting me in Pittsburgh, the rest of my family, the same. Aha, so I was not so alone as I would be meeting up with everyone at my destination, only my journey would be lonesome. Ok, not so bad. But really, I had five hours left, so actually, yes, it was so bad.
In the end I realize that some people have lonesome Journeys, sometimes people have lonesome lives, but thank G-d all I had here was a bout of separation anxiety for my very, thankfully, un-lonesome life.
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