Thanksgiving muse

My daughter tells me that all I do is complain.....well, don't read it then.

I need someplace to let out my feelings and sometimes it's here that I do it.

That said...Thanksgiving has come and gone and it was wonderful. Not that I had that much to do with it. The deal was my daughter, Toni, would do the work if she could use my house. Now that I think of it, it's not much of a deal for her - her friends didn't come or weren't invited. But it was mostly family
and adopted family.

The numbers fluctuated right up until the last minute. This one could make it but then not; that one could come but would bring 3 extra people (actually 7 people at the last minute which changed to 4 at the last minute).
Meanwhile I invited the next door neighbors who had no place to go.
We ended up with about 20 people!

I must admit to being exhausted just by the preparations for the preparations. Long before the first guest entered the house, I was pooped.
But Toni, G-d love her, chugged along for hours on her feet. Getting things set up - cooking and baking both her dishes and mine and moving furniture with her Father.

We ended up with two long tables and borrowed chairs from all over. But there was enough seating and elbow room and tons of food. We forgot the salad until the last minute when everyone was already full, so we had enough for grazing stock leftover.

We had a second turkey which was our "emergency turkey" which never got cut into. My son-in-law couldn't deal with Thanksgiving without mashed potatoes so, he got mashed potatoes and was the only one, I think who ate them.

My daughter-in-law had the opportunity to experiment - she loves to cook - and made some sumptuous dishes which everyone wanted recipes for. A carrot souffle to die for, roasted veggies which I thought were wonderful.
And apple tart I gave up my "diet" for! That was a mistake, because with me one "slip" and I'm off to the races.

Anyway, we had food, wine and music. Toni and her family brought guitars and, who knew, most of the guys could play the guitar and it was delightful.

My neighbors fit in pretty well. They have two little kids - a boy I adore, named Kai and a little girl named Nella - who is very, very shy - except when she isn't. One day she forgot to be shy with me and flung herself into my arms and hugged me extensively. I was so aghast, I keep wondering who she thought I was......she's never done that before or since for that matter.

I think my neighbor (who is Polish) misses her home, her parents and her friends and, even though they don't celebrate Thanksgiving, Christmas is just around the corner and all that entails for Christian people.

My grandchildren (the two older ones) each baked a pie, which disappeared without too much trouble. The only problem was I forgot to put whipping cream on the shopping list, so globs of it weren't available for some of the desserts. No-one seemed to mind.

For years my sistera-in-law and I did Thanksgiving at each other's houses.
We all knew exactly what to bring and we all looked forward to it. But one by one, we have got older and found it necessary to turn it over to the younger generation. But the younger generation have problems of their own. Some live at a distance and can't afford to make the trip. Some have small houses and can't squeeze the whole contingent in. Some just don't want to do it.

I think ALL the cousins remember the big parties we had with fond memories. I hope the grandchildren have the same feeling. All MY grandchildren were there and there are two clusters. Mia and Marcus at 13 and 1 0 and Dahlia and Micah at 2 1/2 and 1 1/2. Everyone seemed to get along.

Micah is the youngest but he's a little ball of fire. Talks up a storm - three word sentences (just like his Mom) and cute enough to eat.

Dahlia is the lovely little imp. Mommy and Daddy's girl unless they aren't available and then Nana will do.

We all went to the Dicken's Fair on Sunday after Thanksgiving and had our picture taken in period costume. Oh my Gosh - those little boys looked adorable. I can hardly wait to see the picture.

I found it uncomfortable in my "costume", perched on a low couch - and sitting while everyone got their costume together but the end result is well worth it, I'm sure. It's always amazing that even though you are only wearing the front of the costume, and bits and pieces of things to look like hats, scarves, headpieces etc. The end result looks great.

There must be a message there about life. I'll think about it.

I'm hoping to go back to the Fair next weekend. I really didn't get to see all the things I wanted to. Too much chasing babies around, locating adults for lunch or watching performances of one sort and another. My grandson was in a demonstration of fencing which was pretty good - at least to my eyes.

But I want to look at all the jewelry, glass decor, odds and ends of various things which are expensive and fairly useless.

We took Micah to the Sonoma Train Station on Saturday - a place where we often took Mia and Marcus in their younger days. It had been raining and cold, but cleared up enough to ride the train and really enjoy the "scenery".
Micah was thrilled - what is it with little boys and trains?

We also walked through the Sonoma plaza and the ducks and egrets put on a show for us. I guess they like cold, wet days. I liked it too after I bought a fuzzy warm sweater from my favorite "Church Mouse Thrift Shop". $6 and I was warm the rest of the day - and today too.

I remember when we first moved here we took my Mother with us to Sonoma and she and I were cold and bought sweaters at that Thrift Shop.
Same thrill.....a very nice fun purchase for very little money. We bought Micah a fire engine. Mostly because he wouldn't let go of it. But it was a good toy for him.

The weather continues cold and my fuzzy sweater is getting a lot of wear.
Frost everywhere in the morning. Bird baths frozen solid. Electric blanket getting turned up on high. Even Toni ordered some hot water bottles because they were so cold.

When I was a kid in England, hot water bottles were the only way to get warm on cold winter nights. One night I dreamed I was swimming and woke to find my hot water bottle had emptied into the bed!

Still eating leftovers though. What would Thanksgiving be without leftovers?

We drove the Albuquerque contingent off to the airport today. I'll miss them - especially the little guy. But my daughter and I were already getting on each other's nerves so it was probably not a minute too soon. I think it's hard for Mothers and daughters to be in close contact for long. Pretty soon old issues start to rear their ugly heads and, if it lasts long enough, open warfare breaks out.

Somehow my husband steers clear of all the emotional tangles. He probably doesn't even know they are there. He's busy reassembling the house and putting everything back in it's place. I'm thinking we'll leave some things out as I like the spacious look without cocktail table and end tables.

So another Thanksgiving has come and gone. I'll try not to get too nostalgic about them. With any luck we'll do the whole thing again next year.

Grumpy is not one of the Seven Dwarves

I am Grummpy....I feel weak and wobbly and went to the Craft Fair at the temple anyway. Once I got there, I realized (and I have to realize this anew every year) that these crafts are waaaay to rich for my blood.

The paintings start at $250 and goooo up. The pottery starts at $50 (which was actually a bargain) but that, I think, was the loss leader.

The problem is not just money - but my house is crammed with "things" and I need to divest myself of some of them if I'm going to buy more. Plus, we've had a lot of expenses lately and so spending $250 for a painting I'm not actually insanely in love with doesn't make sense.

But I feel like a piker. It makes me feel like this temple is too rich for my blood - whereas, the truth is that people who can't afford this level of "art" don't come.

I'm also pissed that NONE of my recipes made it into the new cook book.
I had sent in about 4-5 and then got the message that they were looking for more California cuisine, more organic and healthy recipes. OK! But then I looked at some of the recipes and they are, many of them, the old "Sour Cream Coffeecake, Blintzes, Pot Roast" - what happened to the "nouveau
cuisine"? And what happened to my recipes - if this is the type of recipe they printed, why not mine?

I see a lot of the names are "old timers" but I've now been in the temple for 16 years - I think that qualifies me as an old timer. Or maybe they volunteer more, or make bigger donations...........phooey. It's silly really, but there it is - I'm hurt.

I also ran out of steam almost as soon as I got to the temple. I felt tired and
wobbly and had little or no voice - then my hip started hurting, so I was out of there.

Good I have somewhere to complain.

Plus, I started a 600 plus page book recommended by the Book Club (not one of the books to discuss, just recommended). Now I can easily plow through a 600 page book if I like the subject, or am interested in that particular time period, or it's well written, but I'm not finding any of this true of this book. I HATE to give up on a book - so I'll give it the usual 100 pages to "grab" me but so far, while the basic story is interesting, it is very elliptical and flows off into all these poetic side paths - do I have faith that it will all come together at the end? We'll see by page 100.

I have maybe 20-30 books lined up to read, I sure don't want to waste my time and energy on something that doesn't grab me.

So I guess worse things can happen.

I went to a craft show where I couldn't afford anything.
I felt weak and wobbly and left quickly.
I'm annoyed that I didn't make the cookbook finale.

Hmmm! Nothing worse should happen as Mom so often said.

Good to let it all hang out and move on.

Oh, and Morey lost his credit card AGAIN - what is that? 3 times this year?

I worry about where all this is going..................................

Aging - revisited

I'll probably re-visit this theme a lot on this blog as it seems to be the dominant theme of my life at this point.

Morey is looking at the possibility of thyroid surgery for a very enlarged thyroid. Kaiser is doing all the tests to determine how big it is, whether or not it's malignant and what the best course of action should be.

The endocrinologist is in favor the thyroidectomy - as am I. But surgery is a daunting experience and Morey has been through a few. I can understand that he panics a little at the thought of more - or is it something else?

He asks me repeatedly when the surgery is going to be - and I repeatedly tell him that it's not scheduled and won't be until he has a PET scan (which hasn't even been scheduled yet)....and he asks me again.

I've have laryngitis for a few days now and I can't speak above a whisper - so I write notes. But he is oblivious - as always - but worse. I try to get his attention (I can't yell can I?) by waving my arms around - now you and I would notice this activity with our peripheral vision and look toward the movement. Not Morey. He's never been aware of his surroundings as much as most people are - but this is ridiculous.

This morning I sat across the breakfast table from him and he was reading the newspaper. I waved my arms to get his attention. Nothing. I clapped my hands to get his attention. Nothing. I finally threw my napkin at him and he looked up startled. Now we weren't more than 3 feet apart - you'd think he'd be aware of some activity across the table from him?

Don't laugh, but what if I were choking, or had a stroke, or a heart attack.
He'd finish reading his article - look up - and I'd be dead! Surprise, surprise.

Well, he's not going to change now. I don't think he ever was going to change but early in our marriage I thought he would. It reminds me of the old joke that "Men marry thinking their wives will never change; and women marry planning to change their husbands." Both are doomed to failure.

So I'm worried that he's getting some kind of dementia, senile or otherwise.
I know it's selfish, but that's going to be very hard on me. It was dreadful when my Mom deteriorated and I had to try and take care of her with all her paranoia, hallucinations and total craziness. I don't think I can go through that again. But I have no choice. It's for better or worse - and no bailing out now if worse is approaching.

He'd take care of me I know if it were reversed. Actually, that's given me some trepidation too.

As a nurse I've seen husbands "take care of their wives" - oy vey. They seem to think - generally - that keeping their wives clean and fed is what it's all about. Very few husbands I have ever encountered thought to play music, turn on the TV, take their wives for a ride in the country - not that these things "work". They didn't for my Mom - but I wracked my brain trying to think of things that she might enjoy on some level and providing them for her.

One of the last things she responded to was Mia - who was a baby at the time. But when Mia was brought to visit, my Mom "qvelled" - I don't know if she knew it was her great-grandchild, but she responded to "baby". I know I would too. I went to the lengths of paying for Carol to come visit as Mom had always had a special connection with her and I hoped she, Mom, would respond to Carol. She didn't.

But men - don't think the way women do. Although, I have seen some good male nurses - but I haven't seen many good male caregivers. On the contrary, there were a few but vastly outnumbered by shabby ones.

Maybe it's because women outlive men - or at least in that generation. So that there weren't many men required to take care of their wives. But I saw the beginnings of the Alzheimers' development and in those cases, the sexes acquired equality. Some of the best male caregivers were those men taking care of their wives with Alzheimers. I don't know why that should be - is it easier than strokes, or brain cancer?

Whatever, I don't want to be on the receiving end - more than I don't want to be the caregiver AGAIN. Maybe I could just arrange for a meteor to hit us both and quickly put us out of our misery.

I've seen so many families wracked with problems trying to care for aging parents. Young people with jobs, young kids, responsibilities - now trying to do their best for aging parents - or parent. There's not much out there to help them. There are some organizations that will provide respite care, or some activity to help the caregiver cope. But precious few.

Oh well. I'm lucky I have good kids - some in the vicinity - who would help me however, and whenever they could. It's just that I don't want to have to ask for help. I don't want to need help, either for me or for Morey. But, as I said, short of a meteor strike, I don't know how to avoid it.

Sleepless once more

Had a couple of night's sleep straight through and IN BED. More than half the time lately I've been sleeping on the sofa. I seem to be more comfortable there and can sleep for a few hours - but I thought I might be "over" the insomnia. Think again.

Maybe it's a function of aging, but bits and pieces of my childhood come back quite strongly these days. Anything can trigger those memories.

This time it was reading some articles about bullying in the schools. It seems a frequent topic lately and I'm pretty certain that most kids have to deal with it at some time in their lives.

If you had asked me a few weeks ago, I wouldn't have applied that term to my experience as a child but after reading these articles, it's quite clear to me that I was bullied and terrorized in school, particularly in England. Although when I think of it, I got bullied in elementary school in Los Angeles too. It was part of the reason I tried to get rid of my English accent as it made me "different".

I went to school in England from the time I was 4 until I was 10 when we came to the USA. And I think that, being a pretty happy natured child, I just rolled with the punches for the most part. I certainly never came home and complained to my Mother, let alone my Father. I knew instinctively that that would only lead to trouble.

Being a German in wartime England didn't enhance me to the English.
Being a "stranger" in a small town (a very small town) in 1930's England was also not a winning situation. England was very insular, homogenous and isolated in those years. So that when an American soldier's camp opened up on our farm (or the farm where we lived), it was like the people there were from another planet. Oh, did I mention they were black soldiers? In those days, called Negroes.

I was in a similar category. I might have been white, but I had this name "Helga" - not English (trust me on this one). Although the teacher's called me the "little Polish girl", it fooled no-one and confused the hell out of me.
My Mother hated the Poles and the last thing we would identify as, would be Polish.

And then I was Jewish - not that they had ever seen a Jew. Many expected us to have horns. I had curly hair where everyone else had dead straight hair. My parents had thick accents and spoke to me in German (usually when they wanted me to get rid of my friends - which was often). So we were alien beings.

I got called "Jerry" a lot - which was a derogatory name for Germans. Never invited to anyone's home except once or twice when I sensed I was an object of "interest".

I remember being chased a few times - we lived waaay far out on this farm and most of the kids were from town. So if I could get through the tunnel that went under the train tracks, I was home free. Once I got cornered and
turned back on my pursuers and blubbered "You only want me for my jewels." Which surprised me a lot since I had no idea what I was refering to. It surprised the chasers too as they stopped cold, looked bewildered and sheepishly slipped away.

I was challenged to fights too. I always won those. I was big for my age, heavier than kids my age and I had my secret weapon which even when they knew what it was, they couldn't figure out how to get around it.
I just knew I didn't want to get hit. So as soon as they reached from me, I grasped their hands with mine and twisted their fingers backward. It worked every time and they gave in quickly.

The English seemed to fight fair - something I didn't experience in the USA.
Here if I grasped their hands, they'd kick me or try to. Still, I usually managed to come out on top.

On the playground, I had a small group of kids who would play with me - and I willingly and happily took the low man on the totem pole. I'd be Trigger to their Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. Or I'd be "Boy" to their Tarzan and Jane. Just once I wish I could have been Tarzan.

When my kids complained of being bullied I gave them the advice I had learned - fight back. Even if you lose, they get tired of having to fight you every time. But, their different personalities had more problems with what had worked for me.

I think another thing that made me the object of bullying was that I was good in school.

The English school system at that time didn't have a distinct school year with everyone moving up at the same time. The teacher's moved you up a grade when they thought you had learned whatever that form or grade required. Kids moved up more or less quickly but generally were the same age in the same form.

I wasn't like that. I got moved up quickly and was soon 3 years ahead of my age group. I was stuck in the 6th form for years because I couldn't take the exams that would move me to another school (either academic or technical) until I was 10 (I think) - I turned 10 the day we arrived in New York so I never did take those tests. Funny, but I arrived in England from Germany on my 2nd birthday!

Moving up that quickly made me stand out from the other children and made all the teachers notice me. I was fairly oblivious. It was only in retrospect that I realized what an odd ball I was and how it made me stand out from the other children. Of course, it was a pretty small pool in which I was a big fish and it was a big shock to come to Los Angeles and start school and not be a "star" - or even noticed.

Schools were MUCH more rigid here in the USA.

For example: In England you were free to talk and chatter with the other kids until the teacher rapped her desk and then you settled down to listen to the class instruction. In the USA, you were supposed to be silent as soon as you sat in your desk and not speak unless called on. And you stayed silent until the bell rang releasing you.

I got into a lot of trouble in my first school until I figured that out.

Most of the teachers in England were nice to me and appreciated my enthusiasm for learning - and I did love to learn. But the Principal, Miss Slin, did not like me and every mistake on my part gave her an opportunity to punish me. Fortunately, she didn't teach any of my classes, but whenever she got her hands on me, she managed to hurt me.

Miss Slin had - among her less appealing jobs - to check our hair for lice.
She used a metal comb to comb through our hair for this purpose. She almost drew blood on me, digging that comb into my scalp. But my impression was that she did that to all the kids not just me. But I knew she was not my friend.

Sometimes, if I were walking home through the town, people would make remarks to me, or about me. I knew they were unflattering, unkind and sometimes scary but generally I had this childish ability to be oblivious of anyone over 4 feet tall.

Many of the kids had Fathers, brothers, Uncles etc. in the Army. I remember one time a girl I knew came over and kicked my in the stomach.
It was totally out of the blue for me, but some of the kids explained her Father had been killed in the war. I don't know how she decided I should be targeted, but the label "Jerry" said it all.

For me, the war was background music to my life. The radio played all day every day and my parents hovered over it to try and understand newscasts as though their lives depended on it. I didn't really understand just how much our lives did depend on it. We all had gas masks and knew how to use them. We all knew where to go if there was a bombing attack. Or how to hide under desks or tables in school - much like the "drop drills" of the Cold War in Los Angeles, years later.

Winston Churchills' voice was as familiar as my parents. And sometimes I had to translate or explain what he said as their English wasn't up for it.
Well, mine wasn't all the sophisticated either, but I could at least give them the gist of the message.

There were no men of my Father's age in town. There were "old" men, and little boys. Occasionally men would show up in uniform and there would be great excitement - but more frequently they just weren't around.

The black soldiers were an oddity in more ways than one. They were casual, easy going, had lots of food, gave the kids chocolate and me books.
I read everything I could get my hands on and Mickey Spillane was one of my early readers. I got the books from the soldiers - my Father was responsible for carting out their garbage and he was appalled at the waste.
But he got their old books for me. It was years before I found out what "going on the lam" meant.

There were black babies showing up in town by the time the war was over.
There was no onus to having one either as far as I remember.

Well, I've strayed away from bullying - but it was all part of the experience of being a kid in wartime England.

Dark and Gloomy thoughts

OK, I may as well warn you readers that this is probably not a good blog to read.

It's one of those nights when I can't sleep and just lie there with dark thoughts chasing each other through my brain.

I'm feeling old and kind of scared of the future and most of all scared of ending up like my Mom. I remember my Mom telling me at one point that she was afraid she was losing her mind - and I (good nurse that I was) said
"Oh, of course you aren't Mom. It just feels that ways sometimes."

Well, I'm not quite feeling like I'm losing my mind but when I lie in bed and can't sleep my mind goes to all the "what if's"

What if Morey dies first (as he most likely will being 7 years older than I),
I've never done my own taxes forms - not even been involved with him doing ours - I don't know how he plans his investment strategy even though he's explained - and I've taken notes - many times. I have no experience taking care of cars (other than filling the tank). I can't possibly take care of the house and garden - I'll have to move.

What if - my kids don't want me to be too close to them or too dependant on them? Not that I want that but...........

What if there isn't enough money to take care of me?

What if I can't drive - or my friends are all older than I am and they can't drive?

What if I'm in pain, or sick - will Kaiser/Medicare be enough?

What if I'm suffering?

Oh crap! All the outcomes I've seen as a nurse come back to haunt me.
Elderly parents abandoned by selfish kids.... my kid's wouldn't be like that would they? Elderly people taken advantage of by predatory caregivers. Who would protect me from that - well, my kids of course. Of course?

It's terrifying how dependant we are on our children in our old age. No-one wants to be a burden, but without children to be there for you, it's a tough place to be. Our society has few, if any, low cost recourses for the elderly.

I used to think that "if things got too bad, I'd end it"....but would I have the courage, the nerve, the means? Like my mother-in-law, every day she was fairly alert and aware was a good day and when she ceased to be alert or aware, it was too late for her fall-back plan of taking all her pills.

Jewish "schmaltz" dramas are filled with elderly parents abandoned by their selfish children - for whom they gave up food from their mouths to provide for fancy education and homes. My Mother loved those stories and wept at them. I think she felt she abandoned her Mother - and I feel I never did the best I could for Mom - even though she lived with us for 5 1/2 years.

Maybe it's in the nature of the beast. Aging is hard and demanding and children (especially adult children) have lives of their own and children of their own to deal with. Maybe nobody goes quietly into the night - shivering on an ice floe, or abandoned for the wolves.

See, even back then there was no good way of taking care of aging parents.

I've often wondered how people took care of their aging parents back then when there were too many mouths to feed and no-one had invented Depends. And is there anything more demeaning than needing them and needing your adult children to change them?

On some level, I always knew that I would be responsible for the "old folks". It wasn't hard to figure out. My Aunt and Uncle had no children and even though they were beastly to me and my Mother, I wasn't going to leave them to fend for themselves. I didn't even know how much money they had, I just knew it was my responsibility to take care of them.

I loved my Mom dearly - even though she drove me nuts sometimes - but even I, as a nurse, couldn't take the stress of caring for her as she deteriorated and yet sturdily kept on living, and living. Thank goodness that she had money that I could draw on to provide help in the home, and a nice board and care when I couldn't handle the home situation any more.

I hated leaving her in the skilled nursing facility, but had few options. Indeed, I worked at "preserving" her money as I knew she wouldn't want to use it all up and leave nothing for her child (me) and her grandchildren.
I don't want to do that either!

But, unlike other Mothers, who went quietly in their sleep, Mom had an iron core and just kept on and on. Not as though she had a choice in the matter.

So I don't know how it's all going to play out - just as well. But I worry about the details. Maybe it's like wanting to learn to SCUBA dive after I retired until it occurred to me that maybe I wouldn't be able to do it physically then. Maybe I won't want to continue all my activities and interests as I age and it will be easier to give up - I seem to have already given up some of the more physical of my pleasures like gardening. Maybe I won't mind not driving or living in a retirement facility.

What is that saying - something about being ready to meet that eventuality when you finally get there.

Meanwhile, it's after midnight and I still can't sleep. Maybe a glass of wine will do it?

The Relentless March of Time

You see, no matter how hard you try to pretend you are not aging - you are (with any luck).

No matter how hard you try to keep up with the trends in fashion, music, electronics, whatever - you won't.

No matter how much you insist you won't age and get stuck in your thinking,
you will.

All of the above are things I swore I'd never do. And I thought I was successful but life has a way of intervening.

Joints age, muscles weaken, diseases intrude - poor Baby Boomers who think they can legislate away aging. "Todays 60, is more like yesterday's 40." You wish!

I love the commercials showing couples lovingly easing into bathtubs together as the Viagra kicks in. See, you know you are old when you think
"how easy is it to get in and out of the tub?" and "oh my G-d, there isn't enough room in here for both of us." And "Do I even want you to take that Viagra - I'm tired."

Well, here's the good news. Viagra doesn't work all that well. I guess that's the bad news too. But really, nature hadn't planned on aging bodies having vigorous sex into the 70's - joints and muscles don't cooperae. Clitori don't contract, penises don't erect.

But don't try and tell anyone, if the commercials say it's true - it must be.

No, it's more likely that gas will erupt without volition; bathrooms will be just a mite too far to "make" comfortably; knees and back will ache abominably if you overdo.

You can use all the skin products known to man and G-d and the wrinkles and brown spots will still magically appear. Plastic surgeon are good - but remember that the word "plastic" appears as part of their title for a good reason. Do you really want to look plastic?

Just asking.

Just gave away all my sleeveless shirts - those arms are more than saggy, they are cottage cheesey and saggy (what a combination). Who knew I would look my best with lots of clothes on - preferably loose ones.

The price paid for extra nuts, the little marguerita, the fudge brownie (without even ice cream) is high, non-refundable, irrefutable and the basis for hysteria.

That doesn't work either. You can scream and rant and rave all you want, but if you've lost an inch in height, you'll lose 20 lbs to play with on the desirable scale.

Who was it that said "Aging is not for sissies."?

I am saddened by the strong stride, easy stance, good balance, rhythmic dancing and easy pushups are all gone with the wind. Everything is a struggle and any gain in flexibility, endurance or appearance will disappear overnight if you don't religiously do it every single day.l

You must work hard to maintain what you have and even so you'll see it relentlessly slip away. No bribery, seduction or negotiation will change it.

Good luck with all that.

Oh Dear What Can the Matter BE?

Damn it, I've done it again. I signed up for a class at the temple without understanding fully what it was all about.

One of the people I see every week in Torah Study was talking about taking it in the summer and since she and I are on a similar journey in our Jewish studies, I thought OK I'll sign up at the next opportunity.

Turns out (after one session) that it's like a 12 step program for Jews. Only it was started about 1000 years ago. Of course, there are recent updates, modernizations and revisions (which require a book and a workbook) but it's a soul searching plan in order to "refine" our souls.

Right off the bat it took a negative turn for me because Ani, my Bat Mitzvah menace, was in the class. When the leader talked about teaming us up in pairs or triplets to study together I was nervous that she would place me with Ani, mistakenly thinking that we had been in the Bat Mitzvah class together and so "sisters". I knew that wouldn't work, but fortunately it never happened, so I didn't have to say so.

But - I got paired up with a lady I hardly know and a man I don't know at all to I'm supposed to "talk" to these people off and during the two week interlude between classes and in class as we go step by step through the various character qualities that we need to "refine".

So here I am - the first quality is "Humility" and I'm supposed to share my feelings with these two people based on some questions handed out and they are deeply personal questions. Let me say right off the bat - I don't want to do this.

How do I talk to strangers about how I find a balance between abject self hate and prideful selfishness. That was question number one.

I found it very destabilizing to say the least. Came home and ate all the leftovers in the refrigerator and I haven't done that in years.

I don't really WANT to tell these people that I've had 8 years or more of intensive psychotherapy and 11 years of (at least) a 12 step program trying to find a balance in my life.

If we discuss humility vs. pride - how do I tell them that it took me all of that and more to acquire some self worth and to value myself enough to protect myself in arguments and to stand up for what is important to me.
I'm not a hard core person like Toni who knows what she wants and fights for it. I was a wishy washy doormat and trying to explain to strangers how I came to like myself better and to value myself enough to have opinions and speak them and stand up for my needs would be difficult, painful and - shall I say it - more self revealing than I feel comfortable with.

Wasn't that enough "refining"? Do I have to explain that though I speak up now and am - maybe too much so - forthright in my shares in classes and Torah study, I've worked long and hard to feel that confidant to do it.
It feels good and I'm not about to back down to a position of "humility" which in my mind is little more than submissive, subservient and mealy mouthed.

And this is just the beginning - there are other character traits which I even less want to explore with strangers. And I don't much care that they won't be strangers for long if I tell them all these things.

I've done a lot of "refining" with OA. I intend to continue my program of refining with OA. But these are people who understand me when I speak, know where I'm coming from - for the most part don't judge me and are denied by the structure of the program from commenting on whatever I share. We are also told not to give advice or try to problem solve for each other. We share!

In these Mussar classes, it's quite the opposite. We invite our partners to give their opinions and responses to our comments. I don't trust either of my "partners" to have enough insight to tread lightly where that is concerned - especially the male member of this little group.

My first reaction to him is he is a smug, self satisfied and proud of himself individual with little insight or sensitivity. I may be wrong - I have been known to be wrong. But am I supposed to tell him that - even politely.

The woman in my little triumvorate is clearly more insightful and sensitive. But I sense that she is fragile and vulnerable and I don't want to step on her feelings either. She may be able to help me look at my issues, but I doubt my ability to help her look at hers.

Well, it's only four session - although I gather the momentum is to continue beyond them. I don't have to go - I don't have to stay - I don't have to continue. And most of all, I don't have to worry what they will think of me if I don't.

This might have been useful and helpful if I didn't have a background as I have - but NO, I doubt I could even begin to look at these things without my background. It's not easy to look at your own failings and begin to see where they may be fallacies or realistic.

I hate elections

Don't get me wrong - I'm all for democracy. I have no desire to live in an oligarchy or monarchy and definitely not a country run by a tyrant.

But......I get so tired and depressed when I hear all the differing points of view which in my opinion are illiterate, thoughtless and narrow minded.
They so often reflect prejudices - although it's not politically correct to say so.

People will vote against their self interest. Those receiving
Social Security regard it as a right and not a privilege accorded them by the rest of society. They talk about individual rights, and government interference but all the while, they are using their Social Security and any other benefit like Medicare that they can.

People talk about Big Government as though that isn't "them". Yet we owe big government roads, electric power, dams, water, freeways, health care,
food and drug controls, access to international distribution of food and
heaven knows what else.

Don't these people realize that the government we support, vote for and turn to for assistance is a reflection of societies willingness to band together and help everyone in that society. We are not agrarian farmers living off the land self sufficiently. We never were.

At a time when most people lived on farms, they still depended on "government" to provide military defense, schools for their kids and
infrastructure to bring them power, water, access to material goods they couldn't produce themselves and assistance in their old age with health care and maintenance.

Those things are still true. But the loudest voices against Big Government are those that use those benefits.

Yes, it takes taxes - yes, I hate to pay taxes - but I want schools, libraries, universities, and all the benefits of a dynamic and vigorous society ie. jobs
that provide a good living, housing that is affordable and attractive and neighborhoods that have parks, gardens, and are safe.

And don't forget the museums, art galleries, sports venues and gardens.
We ALL benefit from the taxes we pay and we all have a higher standard of living by pooling part of our resources in the form of taxes.

It's like - what I often see - people who go to church and enjoy the community, but balk at paying into the church funds to maintain the roof!

Yes, there are abuses - but there are bureaus, committees and government organizations that keep them in check and we have a free press (or did have) which kept everyone fairly honest. The very many good, hard working politicians are abused for the few who aren't.

But we cut off our noses to spite our faces - disregarding the damage we do to our own welfare by insisting on "small" government and limited
social investment. If we don't invest in our society - others will. The Chinese are already a challenge - we will fall into a second class country
or even a third class one if the Tea Party people have their way.

The 17th century has come and gone and we need a 21st century mentality to survive as a nation and as a people. And we need to make compromises so that we can work together for the benefit of all. It's not every man for himself! Never was.

Everybody's got a weight problem

I have struggled with my weight for years.

Even as a child in England, I was absolutely sure I was the fattest kid in the school - which, when I think about it, had to be absolutely wrong! There were 14 year old kids there and I was 10 or less!

There was a public weighing - at least once that I can remember - where we lined up in the play yard and there was a scale where we each in turn were weighed.

As I inched forward, I was dying inside of embarrassment. I knew I was fat - I knew everyone else knew I was fat and I was going to be humiliated publicly. When I got weighed there were sniggers and giggles but I don't remember name calling. At least not at that time.

Name calling occurred in other times and places. I was German in England during WWII. It was pretty clear to everyone that I was German - even though the teachers tried to save me by saying I was "the little Polish girl".
I knew that was a lie and most of the kids did too.

When I came to the United State, the first words out of my aunt's mouth were "Oh, she's so fat." I weighed 135 at the age of 10. Not so terrible in today's world, but in that world....and to my aunt, terrible.

She and my Mom took me to a doctor early on who tested me and found I had a slightly sluggish metabolism which would account for about 10 extra pounds. But they put me on my first diet - with diet pills and I was off to a lifetime of ups and downs.

By the age of 13 I was gorgeous - but it lasted about 5 minutes. Some of it was that I had grown to my full adult height by then. I also had "developed".

In the ensuing years I was always on a diet, going up, or going down. Striving for a goal that my body did not want to achieve. Just because the
insurance statistics said I should weigh a certain weight did not make it so.

I have big bones - REALLY? Don't laugh. I'm convinced that when I'm dead 100 years, my bones will be a size 14.

But the truth is I love to eat - I love to cook (or used to) - and in my family food is love. I ate to please my Mother for whom a chubby child was a healthy child. I was not allowed to leave the table until I finished everything on my plate and I had to eat everything whether I like it or not. Some things made me gag....too bad. Food was in short supply and we didn't waste any.

We also ate under stress. So I learned early that if I was scared, lonely, angry or happy food would level me out and subdue my mood swings.
Many years later I heard someone say that "food is my drug of choice" and it resonated with me - because that was exactly how my family used it.

When I got married, one of the things we loved to do was eat. I cooked, baked and we ate it all....my husband never gained as much as I did though.
But we also ate under stress and for reasons not associated with actual hunger. I'm not sure I knew what actual hunger felt like.

When I had children of my own, my Mother used to heap food on their plates - adult size portions for 3 year olds. I would tell her it's too much but she loved them so she heaped on the food - and then was upset they didn't eat it. I realized then that she had done that with me too - adult portions for little kids and hell to pay if I didn't eat it.

I found Weight Watchers shortly after they were formed and just after my youngest was born. Over the years I've joined WW at least a dozen times and each time I was less and less successful with them.

One of the reasons for my waning success with Weight Watchers was that they started selling their own label foods which were incorporated into the food plans. That meant that they included foods known to cause problems but it was OK, if it was Weight Watcher food. So I ate WW cheesecake, and WW pudding, and WW ice cream - duh! No wonder it no longer worked.

I also tried Jeannie Craig and other prepackaged food plans. The food was ghastly and the real world beckoned. As it must sooner or later.

My weight fluctuated by 30 lbs. up and down and I was either always on a diet or I was gaining weight. Obsessed with my weight - and appearance, I was never happy with myself and lost all sight (if I ever had one ) of what was real. In other words my view of myself was totally different from reality.

Now - thirty years or more later - I look at home movies and think "What was I thinking? I look fine." But at the time and always I never felt "fine"
I always felt "fat".

I even tried Optifast - which is five packages of some kind of powder a day mixed in coffee. P ERIOD Of course, I lost weight and then at the end they said "by the way,, now you won't be able to eat more that 1000 calories a day because your body is readjusted".........to what I ask?

I had tried Overeaters Anonymous in the 1970's and for four years was successful with it. It was pretty strict - one size fits all and punitive if you "failed". So naturally, I "failed" and couldn't face the music. It took me many years and other "diets" before I decided to go back.

This time it stuck. I'm not thin by any means, but I'm 40 lbs. lighter and have stayed that way for 7 years now. I eat a wide variety of foods, but not the ones that give me problems - like refined sugars and refined flours.

But most of all, I feel happier within myself and have some ways to deal with issues that don't involve eating to sedate my feelings.

I do go meeting often but it's like group therapy. We talk about everything and support each other through all our various life events. Food is not the problem, it's a symptom of personal issues we all have and need to work through.

I'm really glad I found OA again.

Relentless Time

Time marches on - the year is in it's last quarter and I'm still trying to remember to write 2010 on my checks. I can't believe how busy this year has been and how quickly it is going, going, gone.

I am still struggling with back and leg pain and am hoping that Thanksgiving will work out without too much effort on my part. I did Rosh Hashana for 9 people this year and it was a week before I could walk without too much pain as a result.

I'm looking at the possibility of another back surgery - not that I'm looking for surgery, but I am looking for some relief of the pain so I can function at some level above a cockroach.

There are so many things I want to do, places I want to go and people I want to see and I have neither the energy or the physical ability to do them. I spent some time - about 20 minutes - in a book store the other day and it wore me out. This used to be one of my favorite pastimes - spending time with books; deliciously figuring out which ones I'll buy to read and enjoy etc. But now it's an ordeal.

My very dear friend and her husband and my husband and myself went on the Wine Train yesterday. You basically sit and watch the vineyards go by and eat a very NON OA lunch. Taste a few glasses of wine. Not a high energy day. But the walking the short distance from the train and through the winery was exhausting.

Gosh, I hope this entire blog isn't going to be whining!

Anyway, I have an MRI coming up. And my husband has cataract surgery and retinal surgery coming up. So that will take care of any events in the next few weeks.

It's always a surprise to me to find how much my brain lives a seperate existance from my body.
In my head, I can go and do stuff; I was fantasizing about travel on the Danube River and in my fantasy I forgot that I have trouble getting around. I was thinking we could rent bikes at the various stops along the way and explore a little that way - like I can ride a bike? I thought it might be fun to go on one of those travel tours that take you to archeological sites and you can even take part - although I doubt that crouching in a hole reached by rough travel is going to happen any time soon. I guess what I'm noticing is that my options are narrowing down. Waaay down.

I realized quite a few years ago, that it was too late to become a ballet dancer, concert pianist, or cellist. Not too long after that, I realized that it wasn't going to work out going back to school to become a doctor - nor a historian, nor for that matter a psychologist specializing in problems of aging!! That, at least, was familiar territory to me. So when they say at Yom Kippur, the gates are closing, slowly closing for another years - I worry about whether or not it's too late to do anything - even living comes into questionable - pretty basic stuff.

I read the papers, often the obituaries. In a small town like this, it's not unlikely that you know someone in the obits. I'm happy my name hasn't shown up yet, but I notice a lot of those people are younger than I am. And my husband's age numbers give me the heebie jeebies - he's OLD.
Really , OLD. OMG!

So whether you notice or not, whether you regret it or not, time marches on. Time may well be an illusion but it's one we cannot ignore at will. By the time you figure it all out, it's too late for it to be of any use to you. And your kids don't give a shit! Because they know it's not going to happen to them. Good luck!

I guess the real message - oft repeated - is to enjoy what you can while you can. Be grateful for being here and mentally alert enough to appreciate life with all it's pitfalls and mousetraps. And if you can make the most of those moments left to you - for me, it's the hugs and kisses of my children and grandchildren. It's the snuggle with my husband when I'm not hurting too much to let him near me. It's the sense of spiritual connection when services hit just the right note. It's being with friends and family to share in special events, to eat, to laugh and to hug.

It's all good stuff. They say in the temple "Choose life" - so even as life is slipping by me like an eel in water, I choose life.

Jewish Journey

Jewish Journeys

Hi everyone - L’shana tovah - or, as my family would say “Betta dir aus alles gute” - which means roughly “may your prayers bring good things”.

My name is Helga Spizman and I was asked to do a Jewish journey this year.

It’s made me think a lot about how I got from “there” to “here” so I’ll share some of the things that have come up for me.

July 16 th of this year, I was 73 years old.

August 14th of this year, I was Bat Mitzvah’d.

A little late - but that’s the journey.

If you h ad told me five years ago, that I would have done this - this Bat Mitzvah - I would have laughed, or at the very least been incredulous.

Who me? Well, yes - me.

How did I get from there to here. Good question - because I didn’t really know the answers. The opportunity to do a “Jewish Journey” made me look at my past and examine my reasons, my history - myself.

First of all, I was born in Berlin, Germany in 1937. NOT as auspicious time or place for Jews. We escaped Germany in increments, first my Father, then my Mother and myself, leaving behind friends, family, home, history and roots.

First my Father went to England to help build a refugee camp in 1938. From there, he had a better picture of what was happening in Germany and wrote my Mother to leave - leave everything just take the baby - me - and come.

My Mother had a visa to be a housemaid in England but she had been trying to sell the business, household goods etc. She and I arrived in England in July of 1939 and war was declared 6 weeks later.

When the war broke out, my Father was put in a detention camp for enemy aliens - after all he might be a spy. Mother was told she had to work, but no-one wanted a maid with a 2 year old in tow. So the agency that had organized the Kindertransport, helped find a family who was willing to raise a Jewish child.

From a religious perspective, my family was assimilated or thought we were. My Father, German through and through - proud of his heritage, proud of the German history, culture and accomplishments and angry at the Allies for the resolution of WWI which left Germany in tatters and prey to Hitler.

My Father died young, at 46 only 5 years after we came to the United States. I was 14 and had no chance to really get to know him. No opportunity to find out how he felt about Germany now - after the war. After we had seen the photos of the concentration camps.

My Mother said my Father was Bar Mitzvah’d but, though he attended temple here in the United States on High Holy Days, I saw nothing that indicated he had any attachment to things Jewish. Or ever had.

My Mother, on the other hand, was a Polish “schtetl” Jew. Raised in a pretty Orthodox home in a small community. My Mother lived and breathed Judaism. Without even thinking about it, sentences began or ended “thank G-d” or “G-d forbid”.

My Mother lit candles every Friday of her life even when it was dangerous in Germany. And I grew up thinking the candles needed to be hidden - not visible from the street, not “out” when people entered our home, and I interpreted that as being ashamed of being Jewish. Or that being Jewish was dangerous. And it was.

Oh yes, I knew I was Jewish. But I had little or no clue of what that meant.

I was different. I was not included in the social activities of my school friends. I was sent out of the classroom when prayer time came (I suspect at my Mother’s request) and waited in the hall with the gypsy children. The teachers called me “the little Polish girl”. I think to relieve the onus of being from Germany and Jewish. I’m pretty certain that town hadn’t seen a Jew since the 13th century and maybe longer than that.

All I knew, was we had to lie. To hide our Jewishness - and who were really were.

When we collected canned food for “refugees” I was sure I would be struck dead in church - where the food was collected - because I knew I didn’t belong there.

My Mother accommodated my Father. He liked pork. She cooked pork.

Far from keeping kosher as she had been raised, she accepted the label of being a backward, superstitious Polish Jew - a label my Father’s family apparently applied to her. Yet………..she made holiday meals, said the prayers and tried to teach me Hebrew.

One day when I was 5 and my Mother had taken me back from the English family with whom I had lived for a couple of years, she took me out into the garden on the farm where we lived and said “Look around, see the beauty of the world around us. This was all made by ONE G-d.” And I thought - something like “well, of course, that makes sense.” She also taught me the Sh’ma.

Somehow my Mother found for me, religious books for children. Maybe only one or two. But I remember loving the 23rd. Psalm and memorizing it of my own volition.

In England, we were one of two Jewish families - both refugees - in the town where we lived and as I said, I don’t think the people there had seen a Jew since the 13th century. I had Shirley Temple curls and on more than one occasion someone would run their hands through my hair looking for horns.

I must have been about 7 when we went to the movies as we did religiously every Saturday night. In those days they showed the Movietone news as part of the “entertainment”. On this occasion, they showed the Allied soldiers entering concentration camps. I was appalled. I didn’t know what we Jews had done to deserve that - but I certainly saw the price of being Jewish.

My parents sat next to me in the movie. We didn’t discuss the news or talk about what we had seen. What they felt or thought about it was not available to me - only many years later did I realize that there were my grandmothers, my aunts and uncles and a cousin who were swallowed up on that Holocaust - my parents brothers and sisters, mothers……..

So what did I know about being Jewish? Well, it was something that made me different; it was something that was somehow dangerous to be; it was regarded as a “less than” quality. I didn’t know any other Jewish children

And had no one to bounce my identity off of other than white, Christian,

Anglo Saxon, small town, English people. And in the United States, it wasn’t that much different in 1947 when we came here.

It has always been hard to me to imagine a G-d, the G-d my Mother talked about, who was all knowing, all powerful, all good and yet who would allow this, this Holocaust, to happen. It has been the biggest stumbling block on my journey.

We went to London a couple of times when it was safe. My Mother took me to a Jewish temple for a service. I thought it was the most exotic and alien thing I had ever seen or heard. Nothing there related to anything I understood. No surprise.

When we came to the USA, I was 10 - we went to Los Angeles because one of my surviving Aunts and Uncles lived there and had sent us a visa. They were closer to my Father’s point of view than my Mother’s. BUT, we did do Pesach, Rosh Hashana, and Yom Kippur with them. My Uncle went through the motions of reading in Hebrew while everyone else talked about other things. It was perfunctory and cold - disrespectful even although the table and food were lovely.

I think my Uncle was concerned about my ignorance, because he bought a comic book version of the “Old Testament” - and that was my source of information about the stories and drama of the Torah. That was ALL I knew. I am now grateful for that - it was another step in my Jewish journey.

A much more positive step than much of anything else I had experienced to that point.

When we bought a house it was in a totally Christian working class neighborhood. If there were Jewish kids in my school, I didn’t know more than one or two of them. My closest friend was another refugee child whose family came from Vienna. And they were even less observant than my family. SHE went to school on the High Holy Days.

The “temple” we went to was whatever store front was rented for the purpose. I spent most of my time outside playing with other kids. Of Jewish education there was no sign or, as far as I was concerned availability.

I don’t think Jewish education was something high on the list for girls of my generation. My family seemed not to think it was important and the focus was on cooking the right foods for each holiday and that was about it.

After my Father died and my Mother remarried, my stepfather was concerned I would never meet any Jewish boys and drove long distances to take me to a Jewish Center and to Bnai Brith Young Women meetings and activities. That was where I met my husband.

.

I married a Jewish man because, among other reasons, it was inconceivable that I marry someone not Jewish. One Jewish guy I went out with shot himself in the foot, when he asked me if I HAD to wear that - Star of David - ALL the time. I did.

Don’t ask me why. But I did.

Conflicted as I was by my Jewish identity, I clung to it. I had Christian friends, but, as one friend said, I became more Jewish the longer she knew me, because I felt safe the longer I knew her. When I met new people, I told them I was Jewish right away and asked if they had a problem with that. I didn’t want to be rejected after I had developed a connection with them.

My husband came from an Orthodox home, but rejected all that. He asked nothing of me in the home other than we not have pork or shellfish. We expected to circumcise our sons and Bar Mitzvah them - we only had one.

Our girls, we chose to send to Sunday school because I knew from my experience that they would always be considered Jewish and had a right to know what that meant - historically, culturally if not religiously.

We went to my husband’s Uncle and Aunt for the holidays - at least initially

And there I found little difference from my own family’s holidays. The patriarch read in Hebrew, mostly to himself, while the rest of the family talked and cooked. I did find out that children had four questions to ask and afikomen to seek - something my family didn’t do. But there were lots of children to do that and it bypassed me.

I was interested in things Jewish and read books about history, Israel

And folklore. But I didn’t find a foothold for me to grow as a Jew. I didn’t even know that I was looking for that foothold.

It was many years later that I was invited - with my husband - to a Passover at a Jewish friend’s house and I was surprised - even stunned - to see that they LOVED the songs (which we had never sung), the ceremony (which we had glossed over) and being Jewish. That was a real milestone in my Jewish journey. To know that there were people who really LIKED being Jewish! And that it was possible to take joy in Jewish ceremonies.

We lived most of our married lives on the fringes of the Jewish community.

We lived in an area where every 4 th person was Jewish.

I took classes on World religions, I tried Transcendental meditation. I read about Buddhism. Did I know I was looking for something? I don’t know.

Those years were ones where I called myself an “atheist” or, at best, an “agnostic”.

I realize now that I was very angry with G-d. I wrestled with feelings of attachment to a G-d I neither understood, nor seemed to care for my people.

What I realize now, is that although I was angry - I was always engaged in a dialog with my faith, trying to find a way to reconcile rational knowledge

With a need for something more - something “spiritual” in my life.

What I had seen of Judaism seemed to reject me as a woman - to make me feel less than in the eyes of G-d.

Only now am I seeing how all those social and cultural influences affected my religious and spiritual life. Sometimes it just takes time to come to understanding of some sort.

We took a trip to Israel in the 1980’s and I found another milestone. We stood on the Mount of Olives on that first day and I looked back at the city of Jerusalem and I cried, and cried and cried. I realized that that city, this country, had meant so much to my people for centuries. To actually be there and walk in the steps my people had trod so long ago was powerfull and unforgettable.

When we moved to Sonoma County, I missed my Jewish friends and neighbors. I felt isolated - much as I had felt in England. One had to be careful what one said - I felt. One could not find matzo for Passover easily

And certainly not anything like Chanukah decorations or good corned beef.

The important things in my Jewish life.

I became careful again about what I said to people I wasn’t sure of.

My first job in Sonoma County was as Home Health nurse. People commented on my being the first Jew they had hired. When they hired a second one, everyone ran to tell me. I think we were supposed to be best friends.

At Christmas time they exchanged ornaments and I told them we didn’t have a Christmas tree at my house - and they were amazed. I felt, once again, alien and out of step. Although they were kind enough and curious

About Jewishness.

Every patient I saw that first Christmas asked me if I was “ready for Christmas”

And my stock answer became “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” I just didn’t feel safe to announce that I was Jewish.

We decided we needed a Jewish connection, a community. What I called my Jewish “fix”.

The next thing we did was go to a community Passover. We knew no-one.

We sat at the first table we saw seats and found to my surprise that I was sitting with women who were immersed in Judaism. They were the expression of feminist feeling in Judaism that was a growing force in the community and I hadn’t even known that such a thing was possible or growing around me.

What a surprise. The old, cold Conservative Judaism which was all I had experienced really; had been filled with misogyny and untenable dogma (at least for me). And here were the antithesis of that - women who learned, taught, prayed, (with a tallis yet!) chanted and sang! I was jealous.

So another step in my journey - a BIG one.

We went to a few temples and I was amazed to find that that was no aberration, that Judaism had moved on - Reform Judaism - which we had explored briefly in Los Angeles and which felt more like church than Judaism - had changed - at least here in Sonoma County it was warm, welcoming, inclusive, accepting and felt like home. It also harbored the possibility of intellectual and spiritual change………..Wow!

I need not feel uncomfortable because I didn’t know the prayers or the service. Someone would come over and show me the page, or words for the songs and prayers we were singing. Usually Judith.

I need not waffle about our practice or non-practice of dietary laws - no-one asked.

There were classes to introduce Judaism to Jews - there was Torah study to help interpret what we read.

I was always surprised at the freedom I felt to ask silly questions, to challenge unpleasant passages, to tear into the deeper meaning if I could find it.

No-one frowned at me; no-one criticized me; no-one condemned me. Because you see, although I identified as Jewish, and felt Jewish (whatever that means), I didn’t know what that meant beyond victimization and ostracism. And the strangest thing was the more we ripped into the Torah, the more spiritual I felt when I walked out. Another milestone on the Jewish journey.

There were people who befriended me - who offered me time and knowledge and exposure to Judaism as they live it now. Who shared their emotional connection and gave me suggestions as to how to pursue my own journey. I went to a mikvah - it was very special and only now do I realize what I did when I went. I thought I went for the experience - but I went to make a commitment….to follow through on my Jewish journey. All these mentors, guides and role models were around me.

Go figure.

And then my Mother died.

Even sick and in a skilled nursing facility, she had been the center of my Jewish life. The center of our family’s Jewish life. And then she was gone.

I suddenly felt a great responsibility to reconnect with my family’s history.

To take my place in that generation to generation that “dor v’ador” of Jewish history. To pass it on as best I could. I had a commitment to all those who had died and I needed to do something more to give meaning to their lives and loss.

So we did Passover, Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, Chanukah as we had done for years but added Friday night - Shabbat. That felt really good. My Mother had done it without fail as long as she had her senses about her. And now I was doing it. Another step in the journey.

And then one day, a friend invited me to her Bat Mitzvah. I was stunned.

She was my age and it never occurred to me that such a thing was possible at our age. I went and loved it. I was so touched by these women, who at this stage of their lives were willing to learn, to commit themselves (as if they hadn’t all their lives) to being part of the Jewish community.

I wanted it. I wanted to know more, to understand more, to take part more,

And the more I did, the more I felt like an undernourished part of my soul was finally being fed.

I let go of trying to explain G-d to myself. I realized that for most of my life I had been angry at G-d; or trying to create a G-d where all these terrible things that had happened made sense. It finally occurred to me that any G-d I could imagine would be too small. I was like an ant trying to explain the Milky Way - it was enough that I prayed. It seemed to serve me to just be there, to sing, to say the prayers. To sing and sing - how I loved what that music could do for me. How I seemed to know that music in my genes.

There is no other explanation.

I don’t know if I would have been able to make this journey without this temple; without our Rabbi George. There is just so much heart, and love and spirituality here if you reach out for it.

So I signed up for the Adult class. 10 women - me being the oldest committed to study and learn Hebrew - to read Torah - to learn the prayers - to attend services. And to lead a service on a Saturday morning - sometime in the distant - at what seemed then a very distant future.

I can’t say it was easy. Learning to read from right to left in a different shape of letters with vowels popping up like fly specks here and there.

It takes time and lots of practice. But doing it together made it easier.

Then I had to learn my parsha. My portion of the Torah complete with trope (or singing patterns). I didn’t know if my brain could do it - but not only did I learn it, but I loved it. I love the sound of the words and music - I love the feelings that grip me when I read from the Torah.

And I have to mention my husband and myself writing our letter in our new Torah. I stepped up under the chuppah after saying all the prayers and washing my hands - And at that moment felt as though my brain whirled out into the cosmos eager to join with the stars. It was that kind of a moment. Transfiguring, transforming - certainly unexpected. And another step on my journey.

And all through this 18 month period, I kept getting messages that this was a journey I needed to do.

I heard from Germany about reparation for my Father’s business - this was 17 years after my Mother had instituted a case in our name. Finally, it all came together and I got my “inheritance” from my Father. It forced me to face being German, from Germany and deal with what it meant in my history.

Then I got a letter from the Red Cross giving me particulars about the time and place of my uncle, aunt and cousin’s death in Auschwitz. This was a search I instituted at least 10 years ago. The universe said “deal with it”.

Face it and let go.

I “shared” my Bat Mitzvah with my cousin who was only four when he was killed at Auschwitz.

Then I heard from an organization in Berlin that sponsors people like me - Berlin born but forced out by the Nazis - and provided a “free” trip for my husband and myself to visit the town of my birth for one week. That happened in June of this year.

I went reluctantly, and fearfully but found it lanced a psychic boil and I was free. The past would be the past - not forgotten, but not festering either.

So all these things happening made me realize that it was time….

The Bat Mitzvah was a transfiguring event for me. Many of the people who had changed my life and influenced my growth as a Jew were there. I saw their faces in the congregation as though shining out at me. I have spoken to audiences before, and they were always a blur in front of my eyes. At the Bat Mitzvah, I saw each individual face, glowing and shining with love and caring. It was a beautiful and remarkable experience.

My fears of failure to remember how to read or sing my parsha were not realized. My anxieties that we would bump into each other or fall off the beema didn’t happen - I can always think of something to worry about - I AM Jewish, after all. It all came together in a way that felt like a piece of my puzzle had finally found it’s niche.

So my Jewish journey is not at an end. I intend to study, grow, learn, increase my practice and teach my grandchildren what I can - if nothing else, model that growth is possible after 60 (or even 70).

I come to the High Holy Days with new insights, resolutions, and sense of spiritual completion.

I am among my people and I am home

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh my

This morning I got to thinking about how hurt I was when my daughter didn't tell me about her breast cancer. Not only that, but she told my granddaughter not to tell me!

When she finally did tell me a year later, I was devastated. It hurt me so much that my daughter, in this time of great need and stress, couldn't come to me and allow me to hold her hand and be there for her.

She went through the entire lumpectomy and radiation therapy alone. Her husband was in Texas starting a new job. She probably told him to go. She managed the entire packing up and moving the household to Texas while going through all of this too. Pretty incredible.

But the truth is complex. My daughter has always been stoic and avoided emotions. She does not like to be the center of attention. She believes in naturotherapy and holistic principles.
All of the above lends itself to the situation as it developed.

I'm pretty sure she didn't want to upset me; probably didn't want me to get all emotional and tearful (which I would have). Dealing with my emotions is part of why she represses hers (or am I delusional placing myself at the center of her reality?)

I'm an Oncology nurse - I would definitely have been against the possibility of NOT treating the cancer - or treating it holistically. I've seen too many women die of "treating it holistically".
It would have been very hard, if not impossible for her to make up her own mind about how she wanted to go about it with me huffing and puffing in the wings.

But even knowing all that, I was hurt. Hurt that she didn't trust me enough to think I could or would rein in my own emotions - let her make up her own mind and did not want my support, love, care or help in any way. She relied on her friend or friends (I don't know how many).
She told my granddaughter to confide or talk to one of her friends if she needed help - not Nana.
So my granddaughter got the message too - don't trust Nana.

Truthfully, I don't know if I could have done all those things - gracefully - or not. Could I have told her what my opinion was and then shut up? Could I have not wept over my fear for her?
Could I not worry about what the future holds for her? - G-d knows I worry now! I've seen plenty of people show up with advanced breast cancer years after their lumpectomy or radical mastectomy. I've had friends die before my eyes, slowly and painfully. How could I not worry about my daughter? My first born baby?

But I have held the hands of strangers, hugged family members struggling to deal with death and dying; wiped away tears for people I've cared for for many months; gone to funerals for some who we cared for for years. Could I not have cared for my daughter?

Well, it boils down to what she thought - not what I could or could not do. Perhaps we aren't so different. I know that when I was in labor with her, I told my husband not to let my Mom know because I knew she'd come to my bedside and weep and wring her hands over me - she'd tell me how she would rather take on my pain than let me suffer - and all the time I'd be trying to get through labor and deliver this child and I didn't want to worry about her needs for a change.
How different am I then?

How we hurt the people who love us - sometimes because of the bond between us we try to protect them, protect ourselves, save everyone pain and cause more. Complex human beings that we are. We can't read each other's minds to know how much we love or hate what they are doing - we can only imagine from our own point of view what's going on and that can be dead wrong!!

My daughter was dead wrong...........I think..........

Something shifted in me when she finally told me about her cancer. I asked her then if she would tell me if she had a reoccurrance and she said "yes" - but I don't trust her. Awful thought
I don't trust her to tell me what is happening in her life - good or bad (OK, probably good stuff would get told)...........but didn't I just say "we can't read each other's minds"? I think something shifted in me because I don't want to get hurt like that again - so I detached myself a little teeny bit from her. Maybe that's a good thing. It doesn't feel that way but maybe it is good.
She has her life - I have mine and my delusion was that we were in sync but even I know that's a delusion - I just forget.

This business of having children doesn't end with their adulthood. You love them just as much, worry about them and feel even less useful to them - sometimes feel you have NOTHING in common with them except the memory of childhood. But the bond of love holds you fast.

Can you protect them from the lions, tigers and bears? Probably not, but it would help if we could hold hands and sing together as we march along. Who knows, after all, what life has in store for any of us.

High Anxiety

I don't know what it is about me. Maybe it's my childhood. Maybe it's an overactive imagination but I get crazed when my kids don't call me. There is a certain time span when things are OK. I tell myself "Oh, they are busy." or "Oh, they are busy." but very shortly it becomes "Oh, they are dead."

Every headline I've ever read about people running off the road into a ditch and lying there for days before they are found. Or are never found ....run through my head and, late at night, and become ever so believable. Or freeze to death in the snow when their car runs out of gas.
Or flip upside down into an innocuous pond that just happens to be right there...............

Or axe murders....who knows, some berserk landlady with an axe just hacked her way through my entire family.

I used to call it my 2am insanity. For some reason, at 2 am every disaster becomes real. Is there a disease running rampant through the city killing people in hours? Could be. Is there a Moslem riot in Paris and they've begun attacking Americans here in the U.S.A? Well, it's possible. Did I just read about an earthquake in - you name the city? Maybe they were there and buried under the rubble.

I don't remember being this way years ago - well, years ago, they were all safe under my roof where I could protect them from the vicissitudes of life - or so I thought. Once they took off on their own, I became a victim of every headline, every Cold Case File, every rotting body discovered in a suitcase, every crocodile attack in the Deep South, every shark attack on the West coast.

Never mind that these are rare events. Just ask the grieving parents of some victim or other whether it's rare. In my fevered imagination, I'm not exempt from life's disasters - no matter how rare. I empathize with every grieving parent. I weep with every raped child, every kidnap victim and every war widow. I swear if any of my kids had joined the military during an active war, I would have committed suicide rather than live with the stress and anxiety for however many years it took.

I think it's the childhood thing again. For most of my early years disaster loomed on the horizon. Unnamed villains chased me through forests and fields. Nameless dread hid behind the door of my closet - only it wasn't nameless. It was "They" are going to get me. It was "It" knows where I live. In the dark of the night, every flicker or shadow was one of those out to get me. Maybe I listened to "Inner Sanctum" once too often. I remember nightmares for years from some of those shows.

Is it wise to let children watch those things? Is it a good idea to even read books like that? Well not if you are like me. I can name you books that the name of which will give me willies today - forget back then when I was a kid. There are movies I've never seen - just the trailer was enough to keep me awake. Maybe if I had watched things like that I would have developed a thicker skin - or maybe I'd NEVER get any sleep.

Not for me the "Texas Chainsaw Massacres" or what was that movie that scared the bejeebers out of everyone as it purported to be a hand held camera some teenagers had taken out on a camping trip............just reading about it made my stomach hurt.

As I grow older, I seem to be more vulnerable - not less, to these fevered imaginations. On some level I think how lucky can I be that nothing has happened so far. How much longer can I go on counting my blessings?

I used to say that it was a good thing I didn't become a nurse until my kids were grown. And it was true. Every cold would have been pneumonia. Every allergy attack would have been leukemia. Every stomach ache would have been appendicitis....etc. ad nauseum.

We nurses used to joke about it. But it was no joke. I know nurses who went to neurologists FIRST because they were sure their headaches were brain tumors. Every freckle was skin cancer. Every ache or pain was metastases. One of the oncologists I used to work with made jokes. Do you have hip pain? Must be bone mets. Is that a lump on your chin? Must be melanoma. Until, one day it was true. Our Social Worker complained about bone pain and he made the usual joke, but it turned out to be a kidney cancer that ultimately killed her. I don't think he cracked that joke again as long as I worked with him.

So living and working every day with death and the dying didn't make me less sensitive. It made me more so as I saw every day people who had ignored signs and symptoms. Every day I saw families in shock as the unbelievable happened to their loved ones. I saw perfectly sane people do perfectly insane things - like leave a coconut under the hospital bed because someone had told them it might forestall the inevitable - it didn't.

Aha, I've been reading Holocaust materials again. A book recommended to me about the origins of Evil. Where does it come from this insane behaviour from what are apparently normal every day people. I looked at them in Germany and wondered - is that kind and calm face hiding a killer? Is that attractive young woman capable of killing babies? That's what you read about in these books. Ordinary people who killed off 80,000 Jews in one city - Kiev - in a matter of weeks. Very specific information on how they did it too.

No wonder my hyper is hyperventilating. Why read this stuff? Still looking for answers....still hoping I'll find a "reason" in an unreasonable world.

So how sane am I when I leave messages or send emails and get no answer. At first it's like I said. "Oh, they are just busy." "Oh, they are just too busy." and then finally "If that axe murderer didn't get them, I will."

Will Wonders Never Cease

Last night was the get together of my Bnai Mitzvah class to wrap up the loose ends and pay off anyone who had paid out money and needed reimbursement.

I had dreaded it. One more dose of Madame X - I thought.

Instead it was a pleasant evening - a pot luck dinner. We chatted and talked - we ate well.
I learned things I hadn't known about some of them and noticed that the things that drove me nuts were still there - although Madame X was strangely silent.

For one thing most of these women are the age of my daughters. They have young families and at least half of them know each other and their children from Hebrew school. So there is lots of talk about the kids, what they are doing or not doing, how the teachers are, what changes are occurring in the school, etc. etc.

Most of them work as well - many in demanding careers. A chiropractor; a lawyer who teaches law; a couple of teachers; a professor at the university. ..I am the ONLY retiree.

They also are very rude - as many younger people are today (and maybe always were). They cut each other off; finish each others sentances; over-ride a speaker; chatter endlessly about subject that SOME of us know nothing about (and so cut us out altogether); they also don't respect age! What a blow since I'm the oldest. They also exist in a world I'm no longer much of a participant in. I don't care what the latest clothes are; I don't know the latest music; I buy wine that's on sale and care little or nothing about labels; my house is as good as it's ever going to be and I have no plans to remodel, buy new furniture, re-landscape or move up.

I do care about politics - but that never came up - EVER. Which tells you something about them, because my daughter and I love to talk politics and worry about what's going to happen next politically.

They were this way from the beginning and I wanted to drop out because of it. But, the teacher told me I had to tell the class why - if I did and me, being a good little girl, bought it. When I told them about this last night, one of them said - aghast - But that's blackmail and she had no right to do that to you. (Never occured to me - she was the TEACHER). Another who had dropped out of the class said "She tried that on me and I just said NO." (Never occurred to me either).

Park of what we had to do was write an evaluation of the instructor and we were merciless.
She is a therapist - NOT an instructor - but she has been teaching this class for several years - and indeed, started the program. When I spoke to other people in her earlier classes, they said she had always been this way. Totally, disorganized; changing her mind from week to week as to what the plan of study should be; "forgetting" from week to week what she had decided. Making assignments and not following up. Not making sure each person KNEW each prayer in the service, and not just the ones they were responsible for. And on and on.

When I was in Berlin, there had been a substitute teacher and they raved about how SHE was a good teacher and none of the problems we had would have occurred with her. Maybe they were right.

Some people had no idea how frustrated the others were with the teacher. I had been having people come to me and ask me to go to the temple administrators, or confront the teacher about the problems. And I had done both. Which is why, for the first time, the temple is asking for an evaluation from the students. But, it seems, they have known for some time about her ineptitude but took pity on her and didn't want to hurt her feelings but............it was OK to take our money and let us hang out to dry with her. But some people in the class had not realized that others felt the same way they did - until now.

I'm sure the temple administration will be hearing more about that NOW.

I'm sure that most of the problems with Madame X occurred because everyone was waiting for the teacher to rein her in and set limits and it never happened - at least not until the very last few weeks when it had gone on waaaay too long and I was about to lose my mind. I was one of three people who spoke up - and I kept speaking up about the abuses Madame X tried to inflict on us. Not that they were bad - they were just her megalomania.

Anyway, bottom line - SHE AND I HUGGED AT THE END....I told her I was sorry about the conflict that had occurred (but I'm not sorry I stopped her whenever I could)....she said "it's all water under the bridge" or some such thing. Which is fine. As long as we aren't on any committee or project together, I'm sure we can be civil from now on. And she can sing as much as she wants as long as I have ear plugs to protect me.

And, I'm glad I hung in there. Definitely a milestone for me.

Marriage and Mayhem

Tell me again what is so wonderful about marriage.

I've been married a long time, and to the same man but periodically we go through seasons of hate.

He can't do anything right for me - and I can't do anything right for him.

Of course, h e's always right. I'm the one who is totally confused and unsympathetic to his point of view.

He is, I'm quite sure, becoming senile. Conveniently forgetting what doesn't suit h is view of the world and strangely enough, I'm usually the villain.

Sometimes it's hard to remember why I got into this and why I've stayed for years and years and years.

Sex was part of it, but that's long since a memory.

Compatability? Were we ever compatible? Did we ever share interests, have similar points of view? Agree on bloody anything?

We are as diffierent as day and night. People look at us in bewilderment because we are so different. Maybe that was the appeal. I used to explain it by complimentarity. He completes me, I'd say in my best Freudian voice. I complete him, I'd say hopefully. Whatever.

Another day, another fight, another "misunderstanding" based on completely different views of events. I'm considering planting a camera someplace so we can play back events because I truly become bewildered by his view of "what happened". Did I really do that? Did I ever say that?
It doesn't even sound like me. I'm sure he views things the same way - probably the only thing we do agree on - that the other person is totally nuts.

I do know I deluded myself for years that he would change. I also know that I DID change. I've done a ton of self work. Any sanity I have (and it's not much if you listen to him) comes from years of therapy, self analysis, self help books, and introspection. None of which is his metier.

Never, and I repeat, NEVER marry an engineer. They may be good at fixing things, but they have little clue as to any layer deeper than sex. Socially they are not only disastrous but they don't improve. Emotionally, they are not only dense, but they think they are right.

My husband wears hearing aids which help but do not improve his hearing significantly. Yet, he will fight to the death over a nuance of my speech, or my choice of words - most of which he didn't hear, and none of which he comprehended. And don't get me started on meta messages.
He doesn't hear or "get" overt messages - or worse, totally misinterprets them according to his very limited understanding of human relations, let alone the nuances of meta messages.

Can you tell I'm mad?

Best to blow off steam in an innocuous blog, which few people read, rather than sizzle in his direction. Not likely to induce understanding, or comprehension.

I'm inclined to think that men and women should just get together to fornicate and then move on. Finding your soul mate is an illusion of fiction - and damn those writers for promulgating that illusion. If my soul mate exists out there, he's probably reading the baseball scores, or fly fishing in the Andes.

Moslem mania

I realized today that I am anti-Moslem and I don't like that about myself.

Actually, I realized that I'm paranoid about many religions. Christians as well as Moslems have a bleak history of anti-semitism and since I'm Jewish I feel vulnerable and frightened.

Of course, I've always felt that way - but I've read a lot of history and there is a lot of justification for how I feel.

It's just that I also have values of ethical and moral behaviour and that includes NOT treating other people badly because they are different from me; not supporting programs, laws or attitudes that ostracize or punish people by group, rather than individual transgressors and not using the bad behaviour of some people (however bad it is) to condemn everyone of that race, religion or nationality.

Fine words - but, I do. I'm angry at Christians and Catholics (I know, I know, they are all Christians) for their violence in word and action against Jews since the Middle Ages and probably before. The Catholic Church came out - under Pope John - with some rules that stated that anti-semitism was a sin, that blaming the Jews for the death of Jesus was a sin etc. etc.
But I don't think that cut any ice with a large segment of the Catholic community. Certainly the Orthodox segment of Christianity doesn't feel any obligation to support a liberal attitude toward the Jews.

Protestant/Lutheran ministers railed against the Jews from the pulpit long before Hitler became Chancellor. They certainly didn't stop when his program to annihilate the Jews was set into motion and many today add Moslems to their litany and continue to preach violence, hate and
isolation - if not death for all not of their ilk.

The Moslems, if anything, were the most liberal of the major religions for many years and lived in relative harmony with other groups when they were in power ( I say relative harmony because it wasn't all peaches and cream) - but that wasn't the modern fundamentalist. That group doesn't live in harmony with anyone - not even other Moslems.
One only has to look at the infighting between the Sunni and Shiite to see Moslems killing other Moslems although there is a strong political flavor to it in Iraq. Still, one has to wonder just how strong are these fundamentalists? They certainly grab the headlines with their violence and intransigence - and I'm not even talking about the Middle East , which in my opinion is a disaster area whether it's Afghanistan or Iran, Iraq or Syria.

There is a rising tide of anti-Moslem sentiment in this country since 9/11 and I find myself riding on that tide. I found myself thinking of all the reasons NOT to build a mosque in New York City near the site of the twin towers. Most of those reasons were not in line with the freedom of religion which I so proudly waved from the beema during my Bat Mitzvah. I love this country with it's history of assimilation, or at least tolerance. But there has always been a strain of those who hate - hate the Jews, hate the Mormons, hate black people, and now hate the Moslems and I don't want to be in that herd.

It would be helpful if the Moslems met us half way. Do they respect the customs of other countries in which they have taken refuge? I'm thinking of France here with the fight over wearing headscarves...........or England, with the insistance of not teaching Holocaust material because it offends them (the Moslems) - although I'm not sure that is a fact or a rumour circulating through the Internet. Certainly France and the Netherlands have had trouble with Moslem youth - and are being overwhelmed by this minority which is becoming a huge segment of the population.

Some of the slack being cut the Moslems in these countries is a reaction to the restrictions for the Jews that fed them to the concentration camps. Not that they like the Jews but guilt makes them more tolerant of minorities in their midst now - until the minorities push too hard. And their minorities are pushing hard.

I wouldn't like it either - I was offended by the flocks of black shrouded women in the streets of London. I dislike the pictures of veiled - to the point of blindness - of chador shrouded women in the Middle East. I HATE the restrictions against women and the mistreatment of women in many Moslem countries. I guess that's part of the reason I'm so uncomfortable with Moslems
- the fact that I know how they treat their own people in many countries - and how they treat their women in many countries.

Are there parallels with fundamentalist Jews - you betcha. And I hate them too.

So here I am - not as I think I am, a tolerant, accepting person. But a radical anti - a lot of things
I don't agree with.

I studied anthropology - in fact have a degree in it - and some of the basic rules are not to judge other people's customs or behaviour by your own. To respect the individuality of cultures and peoples and to try and understand their customs and religion. So where did all that go?

Oh I guess it's still there - in theory - but, in fact ----it's hard to live with other cultures side by side. Attitudes harden with age - even good ones (see I can't let go of the fact that MY attitudes are good ones). It's hard to look at female circumcision, for example, and be neutral about it.
It's a custom, convention of another society and in theory, they are entitled to do it. Male circumcision is still practiced by Jews and others and that's OK - right? But female circumcision
is vile, detestable and immoral (according to MY morality).

Oh what a tangled mess is my cultural, religious and ethnic bigotry. My way IS the best way.
Can't they see that? Why won't they come into the 21st century and be like me? And why do they have to build a mosque so close to the 9/11 site? Freedom of religion doesn't preclude sensitivity to the feelings of others - does it?

Is freedom of religion only good as long as it doesn't butt up against my feelings?