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.