An Addiction is Born

Gather round children. I'm about to let you in on a secret pleasure of mine...bordering on an obsession. It's not quite there yet, but it's brewing, so to speak.

It all started off innocently enough back in the wintertime when two parents at Tali's violin school were drinking a foreign beverage. "What's that?" I ask. They explain in far too much detail for me to recall, words sticking out such as taro, cassava root, black tea, tapioca balls - the last bit I remember, "bubble tea". They boasted of its energizing quality and smiled enthusiastically about its taste. They then pointed me in the direction - a certain Chinese Bakery on Main Street in Flushing, Queens where I could procure the drink.

Off we went in search of. The first stop landed us in a Chinese Bakery but when I asked what type of tea they served - they offered up a Lipton. No thanks, says I but lean in a bit conspiratorially and ask "Say, where can I get a bubble tea?"

"Oh bubba tea!" they say enthusiastically and point me in the direction of a Tea Shop on the opposite side, corner. Off I go and sure enough go into what seems to be the mecca of Bubble Tea .


After I place my order and wait, my very own Bubble Tea arrives. The first sip goes down a little hard, with a tapioca ball catching in my throat. With each sip, the flavor becomes less foreign, the chewy tapioca balls less...chewy. I enjoyed the drink but was not abandoning Starbucks any time soon.

Springtime comes and I stop by to get another Bubble tea which Tali and I laugh sounds like it's being pronounced "bubba tea" which actually isn't far off I've come to learn. I'm really enjoying this - just the refreshment the afternoon calls for.

I find myself thinking of bubble tea and wondering when the next time is I'll be in the neighborhood. Last weekend seemed to be a good time. I hit the spot at around 11:30 am, get out of my car, feed the meter and walk up - what's this? Closed? It's almost noon! Back into my car. I decide to check out another possible purveyor of bubble tea, closer to home. Park, get out - what's this? Relocated to 80-02 Roosevelt Avenue!? That's out of my way! I feel a bead of sweat forming and tell myself I could go home now without a bubble tea and be just fine. Instead I walk around the block to the last possible location that I know of. Score! There in all its lovely Asian minimalist aesthetic is a new Bubble tea shop! I go in and order, trying not to appear too anxious, casually asking about how long they've been here as they begin to make my tea (all the while muttering under my breath..."come on, you're not going to Taiwan for the bubbles, let's go man"). On the surface I am cool as I get handed the tea and good wishes for my day. I turn for the straw the size of a garden hose and head for my car.

I sip, it's not as good as the original bubble tea place from which I originally scored. Not bad - just not as good.

It's a little out of my way, but I'll drop by tomorrow on my way home to see if the original tea shop is open for business again. My worst nightmare is that the Board of Health has shuttered the place, although there seems no evidence of that.

Just the same, I'll ask around the neighborhood to see what I can find out.

Do yourselves a favor - don't have a bubble tea. No good can come of it.

Rummaging...

...something funny, light, amusing.

She rushes around straightening up the couch cushions, shoving piles of clothing underneath. Oops, "Sorry Julian, come on out" They'll be here any moment, must have the place in order. Should I put out drinks? No! Don't want anybody getting tipsy and finding the mess I've stashed. How about coffee? "Scissors - lattes on the round!" I cry. "We're expecting company - the doors are going to be beaten down by visitors from The Mattress Police! I told you not to cut that damn tag off!"

I became an adjutant inspector today over at The Mattress Police blog. When I wiped the tears from my eyes, I wasn't really sure what an adjutant inspector did...or does or should do. It sounds terribly important though and I will try my best to live up to the irresponsibilities that such a post requires.

The truth is I can trace the genesis of Diesel's arrival on Central Snark. He seemed to appear like an alien from a space ship out of nowhere. Naturally, we all (Neva and I) dropped everything and surrounded his ship - looking in at him quizzically and then laughing at his audacity. And months later, we haven't stopped looking - and laughing. He's a funny guy. The kind of guy that you wished occupied the next office over so when that 3:00 lull hits, he could make you laugh and then you'd go home. Something like that. Instead I hit his blog at the 3:00 lull, he makes me laugh...and I go home. Give or take an hour time elapse.

Okay, I'm off to really clean up the place so that I can go to bed and dream sweet dreams...I wonder - will I have to wear a uniform in this new roll? It could make mornings getting out of the house that much easier.

G'night.

Marilee, we hardly knew ye.

A big news item this past week was the resignation of the Dean of Admissions at MIT, Marilee Jones. It seems Ms. Jones overstated her academic qualifications when she first accepted a job in 1979 and never bothered to correct this as the career carrot was repeatedly dangled and she was promoted to higher level positions of increasing responsibility, topping out as the Dean of Admissions. Not shabby at all. As if that weren't enough, she drew the neon arrow to herself by publishing a book on navigating the college admissions maze.

Forbes.com just had a little article on AOL about the percentage of resume padders and academic falsifiers - it's a pretty high number. Shame does strange things to people. I know, I have lived with it in my life.

Many of you know that I come from a large family - I was the seventh of ten children born to a charismatic dad who comes from a long line of alcoholism and a large family himself. He was forced out of school in or around 8th grade to help work and earn money for his family. He was one of the older boys and so the responsibility fell squarely upon their shoulders. Their father was out busy drinking apparently. My mother also from a large Irish family - did well by most standards and graduated high school and got an office job in New York City...until she got married I believe.

My father was not illiterate by any stretch of the imagination, he read and was often showing his prowess in those word games in the Readers Digest and the daily puzzles. But of course this does not an education make. He was however, pretty clever with the turn of phrase and would often win the slogan contests at work - a precursor to today's caption contests if you will.

Anyway, I digress. The topic is shame and growing up in a blue collar town whose entrance was dotted with oil tanks bordering the New Jersey Turnpike can make one acutely aware of that gnawing sense that you just don't measure up somehow. Of course being set adrift into the world without benefit of a formal education can present some interesting choices - earn a living or earn a living? I guess put that way, I'll earn a living. You see college was never even mentioned. There were certainly no institutions of higher learning in town and I didn't have any sort of mentor from my high school days. High School ended up being a turbulent time for me and try as I might, fond memories are few. Oddly I remember being in the top percentile when taking those standardized tests yet nobody bothered to figure out why I just wasn't applying myself in school. The reasons might have been too difficult to deal with I suppose.

But I survived and soldiered on and moved in with my older sister who had an apartment and set about the business of earning a living. Oy vay. I mean it was all legit, but nothing glamorous I can assure you. A job was arranged for me by my aunt in a certain hospital affiliated with The University of Pennsylvania. So close, but you see I was 19 or so and spent lunch hours "enjoying nature" with the doctors' kids, who were themselves working as they went to school. Everyone was so educated, I burrowed deeper into the shame that seemed my only birthright as I continued "to earn a living".

So fast forward to Ms. Jones' living a lie. Shame can be a debilitating thing to live with. I understand the misstep she made to secure a foot on the ladder upward. I do believe that she should have confronted this issue earlier and spoken to someone. But I also believe shame can become a sickness in and of itself, not unlike alcoholism in that you can be made powerless by it.

It takes work to see accomplishments that aren't on a parchment degree, yet they are there for me and they are not inconsiderable. I am extremely proud of the person I've become and my humble start in life has made me rich in many ways.

I did, however, have a conversation with my nine year old daughter recently in which she was herself mulling college:

"Mommy, what college did you go to?"

"Tali, that's an interesting question. You see..." I felt myself flubbing and faltered on "I didn't exactly graduate from college".

Her eyes went wide. I went on to explain that I didn't have a college degree and she said in her very pragmatic way, "You know, Julian and I are getting a little older and pretty soon you'll have more time for yourself. Maybe you could go to college then".

You know something Tali, you just may be onto something.

On Science Projects and Plants

So Tali has a project for Science class which is to use a simple machine to improve upon another machine. The children had to submit their ideas to the teacher and her first invention was rejected because it was similar to another invention already submitted. Greeeaaat.

So any suggestions would be welcome in the comment box. Actually, she came up with another for which we are working up a model. In the meantime, we went to the nursery for some plants for the planters in the front of the house because nothing says project avoidance like a little spruce up of the outdoors.

Going anywhere with Tali and Julian together is a trip. Do I love these kids? Do they make me laugh - every time. But by the end of the outing, I'm moving them swiftly and steadily towards the car. Now why does the nursery do something like put a candy machine before the checkout? Julian kept getting drawn back to it. "I don't have change Julian, just my debit card." I said.

"Just a quarter" he pleads. "No, no change".

I herd them back to the register where invariably they take one more walk. I am preoccupied with checking out when the Momdar zones in on a foreign sound in the nursery (insert Psycho shower scene music here). My card has gone through and the workers are packing up my cart when I skip over an aisle and see my darling children rocking the candy machine. I call out their names and give them the incredulous stare which goes something like one eye closes and one eye bugs out. I get them and the plants out of the nursery as Tali explains "We just shook the machine a little and a chocolate covered raisin came out". That's the point that I had looked down the aisle to see Julian popping it in his mouth.

"I see" I say "so you risk knocking over a $250 machine for a penny candy? Let's have a little talk about consequences."

"I wanted an M&M" Julian chimes in. So much for consequences.

We stop to pet a basset hound outside the nursery. As we walk to the car, I tell the kids that we once had a basset hound growing up and her name was Banjo. We also had another dog named Groucho. What happened to her, the kids want to know.

So I tell the truth - "She got very sick".
"What was the matter with her?" Tali asks.

"She had cancer" I say.
"Dogs can get cancer?" Tali asks.

"Why did she get cancelled?" Julian chimes in.

"Not cancelled Julian - CANCER" Tali corrects.

With that, we headed on to our next stop with the music playing and the kids already onto the next conversation. Me? I'm just smiling at these little people that make my life so very rich.

Scenes from a Childhood

Thanks everyone for your kind support of Shannon's Relay for Life efforts. My family is indeed touched by all your kindnesses.

The following is a little vignette from my childhood - as simple and as complicated as it was.

I found a kitten on the "side road" and brought it home (the side road was thus named as only the sides of houses bordered it - no fronts...and it was the side road). At least I think that's how it got there. I was a little girl and I put it in a box in the garage with a blanket. It looked a little sick to me - runny eyes, that I remember. The garage was not a place you could really play in. You would ride your bike in from playing and quick, put the kickstand down and run out. Sometimes you would just do a hop off as it was moving and run out without bothering with the kickstand. Anyway, I went and got the kitten a little bowl of milk. A day later (or whatever the time elapse was) when I went back out to check on the poor thing, it had died. I think I recall one of my brothers out there checking on it, something about distemper.

So when I think of such stories from my childhood and juxtapose it to my children's - imagine Tali bringing home a sick kitten, roaming the neighborhood alone. The freedom with which I traveled my landscape - don't get me wrong, there were plenty of dangers out there but somehow they never befell us. The truth is we were already hardened to dangers from living with an alcoholic. Yes sure, my father stopped drinking when I was around nine or ten, can't be sure. The dye was cast. I had lost the ability to be carefree.

Instead I developed a sense of humor that was more the armour required for survival in a large loud Irish family. Why do I share this with you? I'm not sure. Something made me think of summer days, dirt floors in garages, short haircuts with bangs, the haves...the have-nots, running in the house and drinking tap water on a hot summer day, the woebegone, the disenfranchised. Although to look at us, you would never know it. My mother worked so hard to keep our house in order and neat and clean. Our clothes never bore a wrinkle.

Sometimes the externals aren't so important, as it turns out.

ON BEHALF OF SHANNON

Dear Family and Friends,
It's that time of year again- this will be my third year with Relay for Life, my fourth anniversary of being cancer free! If you would like to support my efforts in raising money for the American Cancer Society, please follow the link below. I would also love to see you at the event- it will be at the Amherst College Football field on April 20th and 21st... Drop by and do a lap with me if you can!

Hope everyone is healthy and happy. Enjoy the coming spring and drop me a line to say hello.

Love-
Shannon


MAKE YOUR TAX FREE DONATION TO THE AMERICAN CANCER SOCIETY IN SUPPORT OF SHANNON'S EFFORTS HERE

I will let the above letter from my niece Shannon speak for itself. I received this along with a lovely email from my brother (her Dad) today. I would love to print it here, but it would take too much space (sorry Pat) and I want to get to the main part - helping Shannon raise money for a very worthy cause. I will, however, excerpt a bit from his email here:

"The great news is that we will be celebrating 4 years of Shannon being in remission this June. So many positive things have happened in her life that I am grateful for. She will be graduating with honors from Amherst College in about 6 weeks. She has been involved in a few internships that have sent her to India, and NYC for summer studies. She just had her first job interview yesterday, for a research assistant with a firm in CT. All of those accomplishments pale in comparison to the gratitude I have for her recovery."

The photo above is of Shannon which my brother sent with his email. He said that he liked this particular one as it looked like Shannon was looking to the heavens thanking G-d for another day of life. With your generous support, other children will too be able to smile.

Thank you all for sharing this with my family. If you can lend your support in a monetary fashion, we appreciate it beyond words - and thanks to anybody who has already given, your generosity is quite touching.

I realize that not everyone is in a position to show their support financially. You could also just leave a comment in support of Shannon's efforts - I'll be sure she sees them which will also be inspiring to her.

And to Shannon, a young woman special beyond words - L'chaim baby - to life!

Baby baby baby you're out of time...

"I say, baby baby baby you're out of time..."

Sometimes I feel as though I'm in a step aerobics class - only I'm not. Well I'm not because a) I'm not in the gym and b) it's just how life feels sometimes - as if I'm facing the front of the class when everyone else is facing the back. No wonder I ended up with a stress fracture that time, all that keeping up - in the step class that is.

It's hard keeping up with everyone's lives, it's hard keeping up with mine. Truth is I don't do such a bang up job at it. When we went to Tali's violin lesson tonight, she handed over an outline of a Recital that we are getting together to perform at Grandpa's nursing home to her teacher, Margaret. I say "we" as I just came up with the idea and presented it to Margaret who thought it would be a wonderful thing to do. Actually, she said in her lovely Icelandic accent "Tali this would be great, it would be a real mitzvah" (love when Margaret sprinkles in a little Jewishness with her Icelandic accent). From there, Tali has created an outline of proposed pieces to play, who will get a solo and so on and so forth. Margaret sort of beamed at me. I smiled back and said "in a year or so, I'll turn the household over to her".

Anyway, that's all I've got for now, come dance - I'm the one in need of a support bra, sporting bad pigtails. Can you find me?

And then what happened?

It is the last day of Julian's Spring vacation and tomorrow we can finally answer in the affirmative when he runs to our bedside and asks "Is it over?". He is, of course, referring to Passover. He's been a real trooper, foregoing waffles and other breakfast delectables that seem to be the most troublesome aspect of the holiday for him. In fact, on one particularly bad day (about Day 6) I found him sobbing in the kitchen with Daddy comforting him. I hope this won't be fodder for the shrink in his young adults years.

In any event, if it's the last day of vacation, that must mean there is unfinished homework to tackle. Now doing homework with Julian can require quite a bit of creativity and patience and the amounts vary on any given day but the requirement for both always exists. I imagine Julian feels the same.

Today we find ourselves looking out the window at the next door neighbor's dogs. We start the homework.

Julian (scratching at a mark on my thumb) "What's that - a booboo?"
Me: "Yeah"
Julian: "How did you get that?"

Me seizing this as the diversion opportunity it is start telling an outlandish tale and engage him in the homework at the same time.

Me: "Well, funny you should ask. I was walking down the street..."
Julian: "Go on"
Me: "And there was a broken sidewalk and I slipped and fell down and down and down into a big hole"
Julian: "and then what happened?"
Me: "Well you were operating a digger and you picked me up and flew out and saved me"
Julian: "I'm a superhero"
Me: "That's right, you're a superhero"

We have finished two pages of the homework and then,

Julian: "What happened next"
Me: "Well I got out and continued walking, but a bird swooped down...
Julian: "And what did he do?"
Me: "He pecked at my finger."

During this time we have also managed a few discussions on 2 being more or less than 3, which included his going to get a second opinion on the topic; refusal to count certain items; observations on the dogs next door and a growing sense that this homework is poppycock and suppressing the temptation to write a note to the teacher saying so.

It is at this point that the reinforcement steps in. Scissors sits down and finishes the homework with Julian. His tack is to give hugs in between finished tasks. Oh does this boy play us like a fiddle.

Tali get out your rosin.

The Battle of the Biscuits

There are certain things my mother-in-law does not take lightly, food being one - more specifically home baked goods.

I picked her up from the nursing home the other day where she was visiting her husband who has split "the friendship" with his girlfriend. I saw the girlfriend all neatly coiffed fresh from the home's beauty parlor napping right across from his room. They'll be back together, I mean how far can you go to get away from each other when you're a resident on the same floor? I recently shared with Tali why Grandpa was in the home to begin with which included in no small part his nocturnal wandering of the streets of the city, leaving the door wide open at home all because he insisted he needed to get to his job as manager of the nearby 7-11. Never mind that he was not in their employ, he spent hours there anyway. Once I shared this with her, I said "why did I tell you that?" to which Tali replied with a bemused smile on her face "I don't know. I mean it's sad and funny all at the same time". "I think that's why I shared it" I said. Please understand we are very sad that Grandpa is in a nursing home, but I recognize that Tali has inherited her ability to look at the humorous side of life, in all its absurdity from her Mama.

Back to the baked goods. My mother-in-law had asked me to stop at KeyFood on the way home for her to buy flour which is on sale. More reverse price gouging as technically Jews cannot buy flour during Passover as our homes should be free of such items or a ritual sale of said should have occurred. Sales trump all religious law and my MIL marches in to claim her savings.

You see this is all brought about because Tali has mentioned to my MIL that she likes her sister's biscuits better. "Maybe because she makes them with that special cookie shooter and they come out thinner" I offer. "No, no - the last time I made them, I ran out of vanilla and used vanilla pudding instead. And instead of butter, I had to add a little oil. Miss America notices everything. Julian will eat them anyway, not Tali. " She is right about that.

Miss America is the name she teasingly but lovingly calls Tali, sometimes to Tali's chagrin but that's lost on Grandma as she calls her it anyway. I laugh inside because I know the reason she favors her great-Aunt's biscuits is as I've stated but I figure let Grandma give it her best shot with the finest ingredients lined up. Not like they won't get eaten.

Passover ends Tuesday night - expect the call by Wednesday noon that the biscuits are ready.


End Note: I realize by the comments, biscuits are construed as the normal association of a biscuit. In our world of things not really being what they're called, i.e., chocolate cake which is neither chocolate nor cake; biscuits are actually a little hard lady finger sort of cookie - quite delicious, substitute ingredients notwithstanding.

A Day in the Park

Just when you think your kids are growing up so fast, you see their innocence shining through and it makes you smile.

I took Julian and Tali to the park yesterday, the local playground adjacent to Tali's old school. It's got a great layout and we usually have a grand old time there. Plus I get a goodly amount of exercise chasing Julian, so everybody's happy.

There was a group of kids who were being slightly obnoxious, though nothing terrible. I looked at one and recognized her to be a child from Tali's old school. I said, "aren't you M, from Tali's class?" She just nodded her head "ahumm". "Oh" I smiled and that was that. She seemed older than Tali in some way, more street savvy. When she was in Tali's class which was one or two of her grades in the public school, my recollection of her was not of a nice child, in fact, she was a bit forward and rude.

I mentioned to Tali when she came back over from her bike ride, that I had just seen M and she just shrugged. She went up the slide where the group was playing at the bottom, observed them, and moved on. She ended up making friends with a little girl and led the little girl and Julian on a dig in the dirt, complete with gathering sticks to make a campfire, all the while looking for just the right type of shiney rocks on an archaeological dig.

In many ways, Tali's behavior is more naive than M, the old classmate. But mostly, she is wise beyond their years. Later she remarked, none of her circle of friends had liked M in the old school because she was mean. M was joined by Victoria in the park who, Tali recalled, cared more for her looks than her IQ.

Mostly I felt grateful that I have two children who are still happy to come with Mommy to the park; who don't try to be "cool" and who know how to just let the unbridled joy of childhood lead the path for a day well played...I have the dirty laundry to prove it.


We are busy preparing the house to celebrate Passover and will be doing so over the next few days. To all my Jewish friends and family, a Zissin Pesach.

Boy Do I Suck...

...at keeping in touch.

It was inevitable. I am a terrible penpal. I mean to keep up with what's going on in loved one's lives. I mean to send class pictures. Sometimes I find whole sets that I haven't sent or shared. I mean to let people know that I am thinking of them. I know they mean to do the same for me.

Yet I haven't sent all those cards that I keep thinking of sending, nor emails and now the last bastion of civility (heh) - my blog. Well now you know me. Now I've fallen out of touch with you too. Does it mean I love you less? Nay, not a chance. It's this brick of inertia that doesn't let me respond on my keyboard or leave a comment. Work gets me bogged down by being bogged down by work that I am not so excited to be doing. Then I flip around and daydream out the window.

You were all there, sort of like the Wizard of Oz, each playing different parts.

What can I say, sometimes my inertia kicks in, and then well, work, life, family and there's not much left over. But it's been a dismal spell and now I will once again attempt to shake the cobwebs off.

But the good news of this is that part of the reason for my inattention is the attention in real life to meeting up with some Blogger Buddies.

Firstly The Penguin Queen, Monika flew in from Iceland and boy were her flippers tired! Then before you could say - "Holy don't exit the Airport Batman" - Sar arrived on her red stilettos. I picked her up after some bad airport layout (that's my story and it's sticking) tried to prevent me from doing so. Once in my car, off I whisked her to Connecticut. We got together and met up with Neva and Joel and our dear Penguin. The next day, we all met up again as you can see in this picture (Scissors the token non-blogger):


The following days the high continued with a get together with the most lovely Mo'a! I am sure we would still be on her couch if flights and life didn't get in our way. Oh and if we weren't asked to leave. That is so not true, Mo'a kept tempting us with coffee and delicacies to lull us into comfort. And we were lulled. Her nicer than nice hubby, Ken or Heinken as he's come to be affectionately known (Neva's take on Icelandic terms of endearment) generously let us take over their lovely home.

We were still riding high as we met with Al downtown the following day. He and the lovely and fun Mrs. Al hosted us for lunch. We were once again treated like queens (hey if they're not asking, I'm not telling) and then on to a downtown tour as only Al could have given.

So here we are back in reality. You know my NBFF and I don't get together nearly enough and to get to spend time with her and all of these great blogger buds, well I have to tell you, it's been special.

So officially, Monika and Sar - it was so great to spend whatever time that I spent with you. Neva and Joel, DITTO and thank you for all your generosities! Mo'a, HeineKen, Al, and Mrs. Al - thank you so much for your warm hospitality, they were great days for my scrapbook.

And the rest of my blogger buds - you were all there too! I hope I don't forget to send the pictures.

A Breath of Fresh Air

Sometimes you open your window and Spring is in the air. It is still cool, but the skies are a bit bluer, vapor doesn't form in little puffs and rings out of your mouth. Somehow it just feels crisp with possibility.

Sometimes you open your heart for new friendships to be made, it gets warmer still, the skies are even bluer.

Sometimes you lie in bed next to your children and listen to their breath become more shallow as sleep relaxes their body. In the warmth of their weight next to you lies the magic of the universe.

Sometimes you are truly grateful for a wonderful day and you lay down and smile.

And it's that simple.

It's Normal

When something breaks and it falls to the floor, how do you spell that kind of break?

Shattered.

How do you spell it?

S-h - NO! Oooh, b-r-e-a-k.

That was an exchange between Tali and I as she did her homework this evening. There's my brain jumping to conclusions again.

"Did anybody ask me another word for break?" I muttered.

To which she replied (our new tagline): "It's normal".

So where is this post going or what is it about? Well, it could be a recurring G Jumps to Conclusions (you remember the turquoise flowered lunchbox!). That's right Diesel, I have taken to just blurting that out when I do jump to conclusions and isn't it amazing the time saved on no further discussion of the matter at hand.

What matter? What post? Oh nothing. Yeah a post about nothing...it worked for some television show.

It's normal.

Don't buy the chopped meat

I know that I've written of my mother-in-law's shopping skills previously. She has mentioned to us before about buying ground meat for hamburgers. "Why should you - I have the attachment for the Kitchen Aid to ground meat". Who has the time, I wonder. It's not like we buy it often.

She must have worked on Scissors pretty hard as he said when I got home the other day, "I bought some meat at the butcher's, my mother's grinding it up for us". No arguments from me, but I smile. We had the burgers that night and boy, they were pretty good I must say.

Tali visited Grandma a day later and at dinner at home that night she mentions that Grandma has said not to buy ground meat. "She's weakening the fortress from all angles" I mutter under my breath. "She asked me if I had hamburgers last night. She also asked how big they were and how many I had" Tali offers, her smile getting broader as she recounts each of Grandma's breaches. "Did she ask what plate you ate it from" I muse.

You see, this is the beauty of children - she can sit at Grandma's table having honey cake, being peppered with questions. She'll typically answer in one word responses, all the while seeing the absurdity of the situation and being amused by it. I'd just get annoyed. In this scenario, everybody's a winner - we get the ground meat knowing (more or less) what's in it, Tali gets honey cake and Grandma is happy in her knowledge that she has saved us a few dollars.

Oy, makes you want to become a vegetarian.

I Think I Felt Inspired...

...for about ten minutes today. A thought for a post flashed into my head and ideas swirled in layers one on top of another...and then I awoke with a start drooling at my desk.

The Music Stand

It was a warm July day, but not the oppressively hot ones. No, this was no humidity and it was lucky to be 80 degrees. They had gone upstate for the weekend just to get away from the hustle and bustle of every day life. They would spend some time by the lake and meander about in different antique stores. In one such place, that was more hodgepodge than true antiques, she found a brass music stand. She bought it. Over the years it held books or a picture, but was never used for its true calling because well, she did not play an instrument.

Winters and summers passed. The music stand always survived the edits of households. Finally one Springtime, they discovered they were going to have a baby. She was born late in the Fall. Spring times and autumns passed and she would learn to play the violin.

The music stand would finally hold music for a musician. It was happy.

Central Park by Bill Miller

Seems my muse is sleeping so in the meantime, I'll just cast my light hither and yon.

The above piece of art is by a Maryland based artist named Bill Miller. If above were a watercolor, it would catch my eye. But it is not a watercolor, rather it is made of vinyl and/or linoleum so the first time I saw his work in an article, I was so drawn to it. The artist reclaims discarded flooring for his collage-like landscapes and portraits (homemag.com May 2005).

So if you feel like strolling through a gallery during a little down time, go to BILL MILLER ART.COM and take a look around. There are some beautiful works and you can learn a little more about him there.

And Bill, if you read this, hope you don't mind the profile without your permission. If you do, please contact the blog writer. Thank you.

MEET MY MUSE

Main Entry: 3muse
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French, from Latin Musa, from Greek Mousa
1 capitalized : any of the nine sister goddesses in Greek mythology presiding over song and poetry and the arts and sciences
2 : a source of inspiration; especially : a guiding genius
3 : POET


My muse is part of my recent acquisition of little art pieces and I found her on eBay. She is a collage made by a woman named Raquel in France.

I think her arrival is rather timely.

Good night.

PS: If you feel inspired, ala Waking Ambrose, please feel free to leave your own definition of muse. As you can see, I'm not very inspired right now so I let Merriam Webster do the talking for me.

February 25, 1996

So the story goes - they met at a NY Rangers/NJ Devils Hockey game.
They fell in love. I don't know if you so much fall as slide.

It was eleven years ago today
Scissors and I hired a band to play...

It was a VERY warm sunny February day, I remember all the details so clearly. But VERY windy, so much so that I really had to run into the hall still dressed in my jeans and a shirt but with my hair, make-up all done and my veil being held down by my sister so I wouldn't take off like a kite. I was a little late-ish, Scissors was customarily punctual.

The wedding was a blast - a traditional Jewish wedding. While hoisted above the revelers heads on a chair, I slid (there's my sliding theory again) gracefully off to the floor - my wedding gown cushioning my fall. It was a joyful fun filled day and we took off the next day for our Honeymoon - first stop, San Francisco for a few days then onto Hawaii. That's the way to do it - escape after the wedding for 2 1/2 weeks and then get down to the business of reality.

So join us for our simcha (celebration) as we toast to another year - L'chaim.

But first as we cut the cake on that day eleven years ago, the band played this song:

.

While I Drove

...I worried about my mother driving.

...I wonder how Scissors and I can be good parents and a good couple with the bad examples that led us up to this point...

which is Alcoholism in both fathers...

...Divorce

...yada yada yada.

Then I came home...

and he had made dinner - any of you out there make homemade french fries? The kids love them.

And Julian was in the bathtub yelling "I'm drowning"...

...and Tali was doing her Math homework.

Afterwards we were all together in the kitchen, except for Scissors who was watching some Copa or another (sorry Scissors, I never do get them straight). We were into our usual evening routine which includes lots of silliness, such as the following interchange:

Tali: (speaking of a teacher in school) "Yes Ms. Direezi"
Me: "Must be nice having a teacher named Mister Easy"
Tali: "Not Mister Easy - Ms. Direezi!"
Julian: "Mister Easy, Mister Easy!"
Me: "Won't be hard with Mister Easy!"

I worry a lot. Maybe everyone does or maybe I am just the worrying kind. Maybe that's why I use so much humor in life. It sure passes the time in a pleasant way. Read the newspaper - isn't there enough unpleasantness in the world?

Growing up was a bit of a hard scrabble life for me in many ways, but the most useful tool that I brought from that is the ability to laugh at almost anything. You know, of course, within reason. But humor isn't about reason, it's about pushing the limits.

When I visited my Mom for her birthday this past weekend at some point, it was just she and I sitting at her dining room table next to each other. And I said, "this may be a convenient time for you to think about your will. You know like who is here with you on your birthday, sitting here with you on your birthday - not the day before, not the day after..." We had a good chuckle. I think I'm out of the will.

Next vignette finds Scissors and I sitting at the same table next to each other. Ring ring. My Mother answers the phone:

Mom: Hello?
Caller: weewah blee blee blah
Mom: Oh thanks. Yes Patrick and Dawn came yesterday. We went out to brunch. Yes Billy and Ruthie are coming tomorrow.
Me to Scissors sort of mouthing into the air(as I've just sat through a similar exchange): And G?
Mom: Yes, it was lovely
Me: And G and A and the kids?
Mom: Yes, Peter and Tommy called and will be visiting...
Me: What am I chopped liver?
Mom: Oh yes and G is here with the kids!
Me: Mazal tov.
Scissors "See, she mentioned you - happy?"

If you only had, say one other sibling, you might find this concerning. The truth is I find this infinitely funny.



Shabbat Shalom and have a good weekend. If you are so inclined, stop over to CENTRAL SNARKwhere Monday-Friday, it's just plain fun provided by Neva a/k/a Puppytoes and Saturday I'm featuring a new or old musical artist that has caught my ear.

Take care now.

A DAY IN THE SNOW

When I'm home from work, I have no time to blog.
When I'm in work, it's surreptitiously done with guilt.
When the weekends roll around, we cram it all in.
This past one, we visited my mom who just turned 82.
The kids went a little crazy - candy out in candy dishes.
Luca Brazi sleeps with the swedish fishes.

Before we went a callin'
We went sledding in a park so picturesque.
It seemed it was the only place to be if you were stuck in the city.
We came home to hot cocoa and black and white cookies.
Life is good indeed.

This is not a poem, this is not verse, it's just some blog rambling strung together like a quilted purse. Stream of consciousness.


I'm on a mini art buying kick. This artist is an Etsy artist that I found through DESIGN*SPONGE'S GUEST BLOG. His name is Harry Stooshinoff and he's from Canada. His paintings are little vignettes from life there. The first painting in the beginning of the post is called Winter Side Street and the one directly above is called At The Forest Homestead. Take a look.

Wow, I haven't posted in a week. Wasn't for lack of trying. Okay, work tomorrow so time to get some beauty rest.

Nice to be back, the place was getting a bit dusty.

A Valentine Short

He waited for this day each year.

He waited for it because he would walk the 87 steps to the corner of Arthur Avenue and make a right and cross the street, taking 347 steps to the newsstand. He would buy 14 quick picks and a pack of caramel swirl candies. He would buy the New York Post, The Times and El Diario (he didn't read Spanish but liked to think that he might at some point) and a Valentine's Day card.

He would go to the grocery store and buy the fixings for a Valentine's Dinner. Steak, potatoes, and asparagus. Something about asparagus said love to him. He would also get a Venetto cake for dessert.

He would walk the 51 steps from the frozen food aisle to the express checkout. The checkout girl had chipped black nail polish. That did not say love to him. She would abruptly take the $20 bill offered and put the change into his hand. He felt the scrape of her chipped polish nails and cringed inwardly.

He would walk the 434 steps back to his building and push for the elevator, making sure to cross the lobby twice while waiting, right foot over left, tapping his foot heel to toe seven times before entering the elevator.

Once on the 4th floor, he'd fumble for his keys and remember. His medication. He really should be more regular about taking it. He didn't want to end up back in the hospital. Nobody visited him there. Actually nobody visited him here. At least here, he'd have his Valentine's dinner and read the Valentines in the papers. He wasn't a desperado putting his love for all to see in a classified, he thought.

His love was gone forever - too bad they'd never met. He opened the card and wrote, Dear Maria...

Happy Valentine's Day to All!

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart".Helen Keller

Apparently my blogroll falls into this category.

I know that I am a technotard, yet I forge ahead with impunity mucking about with a new template. I don't have time to actually figure out anything more than - "oh, that looks nice". Beyond that, trouble ensues. So if any gallant or gal out there has switched and can give me the crib notes on reclaiming my blogroll, I'll give you some Valentine's chocolates. I could do without them, although come to think of it - why should I?

I'm not really into the whole schmaltzy kissy coo-coo commercialism of Valentine's Day - but if you are, do enjoy.

The Flowered Lunchbox

I wish I understood more about the mind. For instance, how that camera captures certain snapshots from your life and burnishes them into your memory. I have this one that I just smiled about today because I did something as an adult that reminded me of being that 6 year old all over again.

The scene is thus set:

A very noisy playground with children running hither and yon - jumping rope, playing tag, screaming. It is a parochial school and we are all dressed in uniform.

I am in first grade and we are at recess after lunch. I have placed my coveted floral light turquoise tin lunchbox by the curb while I proceeded to join in the mayhem. All of the sudden in my peripheral vision I spy a girl walking away with MY TURQUOISE LUNCHBOX! I rush over to her and say something to the effect of "Hey, that's my lunchbox", whereby she insists that it's hers. Sure enough I look to the curb and there is my beautiful lunchbox. I don't remember how the tale ended, whether or not I muttered "don't let it happen again" or smiled meekly. That much detail I can't recall.

I thought of it today as I jumped to conclusion about something at work. Nothing terrible and thankfully I didn't accost somebody and falsely accuse them of taking my lunchbox. It was rather a reaction that I had in my head and let myself get annoyed about until further investigation revealed it was something that I had actually done myself. (Insert meek smile here).

My how I've evolved.

Friday didn't come fast enough. Shabbat Shalom friends. Have a great weekend.

Just because you can...

...doesn't mean that you should.

We can be so blind as parents.
Blind to the way in which we spoil our children.
Dear friends of mine celebrated their child's 6th birthday recently.
They picked her up from school in a limo.
Toured the city.
Went to a special Big Name City restaurant.
Six year old.
I'm not judging them, really I'm not, I'm just wondering -

Just because you can, does it mean that you should?

She had a knitting party.
It was very sweet.
When she told one of her friends where the party was.
The little girl said "that's lame"
She's in first grade -
Should this child not just be excited to be going to a classmate's party?
Of course this little girl lives in a penthouse and to her -
it is lame.

Just because you can, does it mean that you should?

Some of the older kids at the party splintered off into their own group.
They played with "DS's" and "PSS's" and I don't know what.
Before we left, Tali's friend begged me to buy one for Tali.
Later when Tali was giving me a difficult time with her homework
I reminded her of one thing I would not be considering for her.
She said "I don't even want it, S wanted it for me."

Maybe I can, but I'm sure I won't.

In some ways my kids are spoiled, but I won't tolerate being disrespectful or mean and they have grown up (so far) to be decent kids in my humble unbiased opinion. But there is a real distinction between spoiling and nurturing. So I am a nurturer, what can I say? They save the worst for us. Tonight I told them that spoiled children are more distasteful than spoiled milk. They seemed amused and were going around miming spitting out spoiled milk.

Doesn't take much to amuse us.

The View From the Backseat

As seen through the eyes of a schoolgirl being chauffeured over the 59th Street Bridge.

This Shabbos I feel markedly more relaxed and rested. For one thing, it's another week further away from the events of last week and that can't be bad. It's the start of a new month. No violin for daughter this weekend and she's spending Shabbat with our very dear friends. Which leaves Scissors, Julian and I to celebrate a quiet Shabbat. Don't get me wrong, we miss Tali and will see her tomorrow; but it's nice being able to have quiet time with just Julian. As I type, he is zonked out from a week well lived. We've put a couple of matters behind us (including "The Sonny Affair" - new readers that does not refer to marital infidelity but rather Contractor Betrayal which may be worse) and we're moving forward. Keep on keepin' on!

Shabbat Shalom and have a great weekend.

RABBIT RABBIT!!!

Starting off the month with a little luck couldn't hurt. Starting it off with Wallace & Grommit, well is just fun. Rabbit Rabbit all.

Read on to the next post if you find yourself in the midst of a personality crisis.

PERSONALITY CRISIS

Now for something a little lighthearted hmmm? How about a personality quiz? I know they're all poppycock, but it's fun to see the results, below are mine. And Tali who hasn't posted in some time, even posted her results over at muffin-land. For those new to this turf, Tali is my nine year old daughter/random blogger.

Your Personality Cluster is Introverted Thinking

You are: Objective, honest, and credible Intellectually curious, with many diverse interests More inclined toward ideas than people Fiercely independent and unapologetically unconventional

What's Your Personality Cluster?

Before you take the quiz, you may want to listen to The New York Dolls from back in the day. Yes, when I used to sneak upstairs with my sister to raid my older brother's records and put on The New York Dolls and look at the album cover of them all glammed up half dressed in women's clothing with lipstick shmeared on the cover. Ah yes, the good ole days. Don't let them influence your results though. For instance, don't just say that you like spontaneous vacations best because David Johanssen has you feeling so carefree with his preening and prancing. Was there a section for control freak I wonder? Now go on, start your own personality crisis.

Anybody up for a Tragicomedy?

I am still spooked, disturbed, distraught and otherwise sick in my heart by something that occurred this past week. It occurred mainly because we live in times when people are afraid, strike that, have lost the ability to use good judgement. So children slip through the cracks and get beaten and starved to death in this fine city of New York and the caseworkers come a knockin' at my door.

I'll give you the very quick version. Julian had bumped his head playing in our home two weeks ago. The school was alerted so that they could keep a special eye on him the following day. Fast forward to 6 days later when Julian had a tantrum because Daddy had taken something from him that he shouldn't have at bedtime. He hit his head in - the very same spot. It of course, opened the wound and it bled anew. My heart breaks with each drop of blood this child has spilled. He has fallen more than a five year old should as he has balance issues. He's gotten much better, really; but they still happen. So much so that his IEP (Individualized Education Plan) has a safety para (assistant) assigned to shadow him in school.

The following day in school, we let the teacher know and she said "don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him." But Julian sees various therapists throughout the day and the communication doesn't always flow to all the people. As the physical therapist was working with him, she felt the bump and asked Julian about it, to which he responded "My Daddy pushed me". He got taken to the nurse whereby a conference of adults gather round and Julian reaffirms yes indeed his "daddy pushed me and I bled". What did Mommy do? "Mommy screamed at Daddy". Well I wouldn't say I screamed, but you know if my child gets hurt, I'm yelling at someone, sometimes even G-d. I only know this part after the fact when I finally spoke to Julian's teacher. What I do know is that Tuesday evening two caseworkers from Children's Services knock at our door with a complaint against my husband, which essentially means they come in, interview us, and take a look around.

It is at this point in the story that I almost passed out from the shock and fear of what was occurring in my home. My knees buckled and I had to sit down. I cried like I haven't cried since I had gotten a mistaken amnio result for Julian before his birth. I'm still crying over it, but I'm getting a bit less frantic and paranoid about it. Julian's teacher apologized as she knows us and sees us daily with Julian. She sees Julian as a happy outgoing sweet child in school.

Essentially the caseworkers after not too long got a sense of Julian's story as they didn't have the benefit of any of his background before they'd arrived and can see our family, our home, a fresh dinner just about ready to be served. It was even nicer than usual as my niece is in town for a work-study program through her college, Amherst and is staying in Manhattan but visiting us for the night. It should be noted that she was there for the initial bloodletting. But in any event, she's here for dinner and we aim to feed the girl.

They told us not to worry and to not lose sleep. It was all protocol and that they just had to go through the process once they receive a complaint. Not lose sleep? Don't worry? Are they insane? How can I not? How can this not be in my every waking worry and thought and fear - a parent's worst, losing their child. They tried to reassure me but I wasn't buying. The point they told me is that since a sweet little 7 year old girl faced a gruesome abuse death at the hand's of her stepfather last year in our fair city, things have changed. Everything is reported and investigated. Yet I still read of tragic children's deaths in the paper and the caseworkers are at my home.

Well they've gone and everybody is trying to reassure us.

In the meantime everything takes on a new meaning. For instance, I open the refrigerator to give Julian milk yesterday and I say absently, "we don't have any more milk?" and Julian says "No milk, just water to drink". Then I realize we have milk in our fridge downstairs. You see it's not enough to have one fridge, we have one downstairs for backup. But I realize how an innocent thing like that could be twisted. "Julian tells me he has no milk, just water to drink". He asked my niece after the caseworkers left the other night "Do we drink blood?" It's then in my tears and my fears that we both burst out laughing and I said "What next? We'll be accused of being Vampires." Scissors is from Transylvania originally after all.

Intellectually I understand how this happened. Really, I wish I could believe that this heightened awareness saved the children in despair. But emotionally, I'm wrecked. I sit here worrying how I need to document everything and what if Julian falls again? Not like the odds aren't good.

I pray that common sense will prevail. I also know I wouldn't think twice about relocating to another country if push comes to shove.

Stop stomping on my parental rights city of New York and go out and find the real abusers. Please.

A Box of Rain

This week tried to chew me up and spit me out. That didn't happen.

Now something we all could use when life gets a little tough, a Box of Rain - "believe it if you need it or need it if you dare..."

The Grateful Dead, Madison Square Garden, NYC 1988 (maybe you were there - Mutha?):



Shabbat Shalom and have a great weekend.

A few of my favorite things

If you don't know Mo'a, it's high time that you meet her. She is an artist/dollmaker who can be found here at LEIKUR OG LIST (which is Icelandic for something and I do hope Mo'a comes by and clears that up - it's something playful) showcasing some of her own lovely work or more recently, that of her fellow artists. She can also be found here at TO LIVE A CREATIVE LIFE.

In this post called White Mosaique, Mo'a talked about being inspired by some French blogs and she posted a collage of white items found in her home. That is what I do love about blogs - many are a source of inspiration in various ways. Mo'a just inspired me to look at things differently and to step back and do my own collage.

I'm not a serious photographer, but last weekend freshly inspired, I picked up the camera and set about shooting my white or light inspired "things".

HERE THEY ARE IN COLOR:




AND IN BLACK AND WHITE.




Thanks Mo'a for the inspiration.

It was a Sunny Day

Now that is a winter sky the way one is supposed to look - cold, crisp, fresh. From the wilds of New York City baby.

Well, the boro of Queens which is not "the city" proper, but is still the city. With me so far? Good. But what I like about it is that we're not surrounded by "skyscrapers and everythang" just our own little slice of heaven. And if we were so inclined, we could hop into the car or onto the subway and be in the city in 20 minutes (on the weekend that is). Actually my daughter commutes to the city for school Monday to Friday. The school bus picks her up bright and early. Sometimes I feel badly for her having to get up and out so early. But I think I'd feel worse if she didn't get a quality education. Considering she won a scholarship to a private school, we all put in an effort to get her out the door with a minimum amount of stress for all.

So on any given day, we can choose to be either the city mice or the country mice. I think I am a city mouse for the diversity inspired creativity but a country mouse for the solitude. It seems I need both in my life to thrive.

Ah, don't we all?

The G-Dance

In the words of Monty Python - "And now for something completely different"!

It seems as if my timing is off this week. No, not my dancing avatar timing - she's one grooving chick, my post timing. Any time I've had a window of opportunity to post, Blogger's maintaining that they're maintaining and that's a lot of maintenance! Grrrr.

I'm nothing if not patient and well distractable, so I'm sure I then wandered off and never got back to the business of posting. And so it goes. Now about my groovy dancing avatar - Tom of Tom&Icy made this funky dancing avatar and I'm even featured in one of their posts right HERE! Isn't that fun?

Well, it's late and I just wanted to share this with you. And to let you know about Tom&Icy, although I suspect a lot of the crowd that traipses through here knows them, some of you don't. So go poke around a bit and see what Icy is up to. Tom is very talented with his doctoring up photos (photoshop?) and they're usually pretty funny as an added benefit. He has several blogs featuring people who may be real or composites, but the dogs are real. I know this because they write columns for newspapers, such as The Asinine News, one of their prestigious papers.

Which brings me full circle - what song do you think I'm dancing to?

The Soup Kitchen

These were cold damp winter days - not cold enough to snow, but cold enough to chill you right through to the bone, with a damp mist in the air. She gathered her children up closely and braved the weather for she knew if she did not, they would not eat that day. They trudged down Greenpoint Avenue in hopes of soup that actually had a taste of stock to it, but if not at the very least let it be warm. Yes, let it be warm.

She didn't recall exactly when life had become a search for warmth, she did remember when the cold had settled in permanently though. It was the end of August, when the bottle had taken the last of life that Arles had to give. From that point, the struggle became part of their daily routine. A routine whose only comfort was held in its predictability.

Life had once been kind to them. They had been young and in love. They had traveled the country and played music together. They had thought that to invest in a future was to not live in the present. So live they did. When this country seemed to confine them, they headed to Amsterdam and fanned out across Europe from there. They ended up their romp in Paris. And that's when she found out that she was pregnant - with Lola their sweet girl.

She knew that people would not believe the songs they once sung, but she also knew if they didn't get to the soup kitchen by noon, there'd be slim pickins.

She folded her head down resolutely against the cold and pulled her children in each close by her side and pressed forward.



NOTE: In case you hadn't noticed, the above little blurb was a fiction piece. The only truth to it was the bitter damp cold day that greeeted us in our various dances in and out of the mist today. The background on the picture above can be found HERE.

DAISY SEEKS HER FORTUNE

Well going away parties are usually given for a reason and it was with mixed emotions and a Metro Card that we sent DAISY packing. For one last trip with the average joes, Daisy and I boarded the E train to Manhattan. With such a crowd in one place, it was all I could do to restrain Daisy from performing right there on the subway. I assured her the spotlight was not far off (even if it was the light of the oncoming train). Once there we met NEVA and oh, look who happened to be in the neighborhood with gun and camera - AL!

Here is a picture of Daisy with the clock in Grand Central - the center of all activity, as a backdrop:



And although she seemed to think she'd be driven everywhere by a limo, Neva nonetheless encouraged her to acquaint herself with the train schedules:



Well, with one husband, two children and now four dolls to share my life, I am sure it will be quite full.

Stay tuned.

DAISY WE HARDLY KNEW YE!

Well, much as we enjoyed having Daisy with us for this short time, it was time for her to move on. Her diva-ish behavior was working on all of our nerves now that she knew she would be both going to NEVA's "Greenwich estate" and being a spokeswoman on CENTRAL SNARK. As they say in Queens, "she thinks who she is". Indeed.

For those of you new to my blog or unfamiliar with the cast of characters appearing here today, I refer you to the ExPansi Files, once home of the cast and crew of Naked Gymnastics for Jesus. Long story short - MRS. WEIRSDO pretty much leveled the show and sought to place the dolls in appropriate homes. We had five of them come to us whom I will introduce in due course.

That said, it would not be fitting to send her off without a goodbye party and here are a couple of pictures from the gathering:

Our own Naked Poseurs for Warhol mannequin developed an affection for Daisy and presented her with his wood-en heart at the soiree. They promised to keep in touch.

The gang got together and partied with Mr. Banana keeping a watchful eye over Sissy. That's what he called it. I call it lurking. Now that I look at the picture, it seems he's keeping a watchful eye over Daisy! Hmmmm...

Well it did get a bit raucous and kept us up, so I think I'm going to turn in. Stay tuned for more on the dolls.

Enough of the tawdry...

...onto the pretty things.

It's right there in my profile - I love to pore over home design mags, articles, now blogs. If I keep going, my kids will raise themselves. Now, now, they're in bed and I'm stealing a little time for myself. Scissors has his Sunday night tv going so this is my time to veg a bit.

So now that we've discussed the upside of anger and the downside of home renovations, it's time to just appreciate the aesthetics - decorating and design. I could get lost in these sites as I do my magazines which then have nifty places for me to check out. One thing usually leads to the next and before you can say toile, I'm browsing little sugar spoons in Denmark that I must have.

We all have our soft spots or obsessions and so it is with a nifty blog that I have found called DESIGN SPONGE. They sort of find the best things in design and bring them to us everyday folks to drool over. I just found this site a couple of weeks ago, but coincidentally today (that's what they said last week, not up yet) they are unveiling a new design/layout and we all get to go browsing together!

Meet me for coffee first. Oh, and don't forget your tape measure.

UPDATE: Here's a picture above of the lovely spoon that I was pining away for. Did I say Denmark? Well, it was actually Holland, but another home of fine designs. Click on the link below to check it out for yourselves.

SILVER SPOONS

"Revenge is best served with no sugar"...G

"Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge." Paul Gaugin


My dreams of revenge for Sonny are really over. I mean my daydreams, perhaps it creeps into my subconscious. But when I found myself strangling the waiter at a Malaysian restaurant in Queens, I knew it was time to let go. Well, to the waiter's neck of course but also to the sickening feeling of being had. And so I have. I really feel pity for the man as he has to wake up and look at himself in the mirror each day.

So just to update you all on The Meeting. We met with the "Kitchen Guys" yesterday who were very nice and only slightly intimidated by Mr. Banana whom we'd brought along for the intimidation factor. Mr. Banana came to live with us from THE EX PANSI FILES right before Christmas and he's been itching to get back to the life he's once known. This was close enough for him, he jumped at the chance.

Our guy with whom we'd worked on the plans couldn't be nicer really, and his manager even more so. So what does nice get you at the end of the day? "We have to speak to our lawyer since it's right now with him". Whatever happened to making a decision?

Bottom line is I really have learned to just go with the flow in life. I mean it's not like I can hasten their actions (and Mr. Banana did not have the desired effect because after all he is only nine inches tall). So we wait and go from there.

The truth is we've already dealt with our emotions (well I should say I have) regarding Sonny.

Now it's all over but the amount on the check.

Tree Sugars Eddie?

In my head, this is very funny - join me there.

In June 2005, we undertook a renovation of our home. We got the contractor from a neighbor whose home he was just completing. We met with "Sonny", the price was right, his work was good, so we shook on it. He said it would take, hahahaha - 7 weeks. Seven weeks stretched into seven months.

Seven months of being upstairs while they worked downstairs and downstairs while they worked upstairs. Seven months of plotting things out, having them be wrong, having them do it over again. They usually waited pensively for me to return home after a tricky part of a job was completed and when I smiled, they all clapped. They clapped not only because they were happy to have gotten it right with minimal sweat, but because most of the workers spoke little if no English.

They spoke Malaysian and I would sometimes find Mr. Lim, the one with the best command of English teaching Tali phrases in Malaysian by writing them on the wall prior to painting. Phrases like "Good morning", "How are you", "Sonny hasn't paid us in three weeks" - common everyday Malaysian.

People working in your home become like family, I mean they were here with us for seven months! We all knew each other's rhythms - the Chinese food they ordered for lunch every day, Painter Boy's wife was home in Malaysia, Tile Guy (dubbed Smiley by Scissors) enjoyed the ponies. This last bit we found out through sign language by Scissors. Seems Smiley wasn't the only one.

As time went on, we saw less of Sonny - partly because the workers had it under control but mostly because he began to evade us. We found out why when it was too late. One of the subcontractors who provided our kitchen cabinets hadn't been fully paid, although we had paid Sonny for them months ago. Obtaining receipts became a slippery situation. Neither we, nor the cabient guys were the only ones effected by Sonny's thievery. Long story short, Sonny disappeared and a mechanics lien appeared. This has all been ongoing since last year. We have moved to resolve it by having a meeting outside of the "lawyer" of the cabinet guys in the hopes of settling the whole messy affair between us and moving forward. Said meeting will take place tomorrow morning and I can't get out of my head a scene from the movie, The Pope of Greenwich Village (1984).

The Pope of Greenwich Village is one of those movies that is not a great movie but in many ways a perfect one. Perfect in capturing the characters' nuances and they are very watchable. The flick fails on many levels, but the music brings it back up - that and New York City as one of the characters. The main characters are Charlie (Mickey Rourke before plastic surgery) and his ne'er-do-well cousin Paulie (Eric Roberts) as small time wannabe wiseguys. I watched it again a year or so back and it didn't hold up so well as when I first had seen it, but I still enjoyed it.

The scene I'm talking about is a pivotal scene near the end of the movie in which Charlie goes into the social club of Bedbug Eddie (the mob boss) to confront him about a certain heist of $150 large that Charlie and Paulie are fingered as being behind. In it, Charlie strides with confidence into the club and sits down at the table intently staring at Bedbug while Paulie serves them espresso (which is where the "Tree sugars Eddie" line comes from). Charlie says: "Mister, I am the Pope, this is your church. But right now I'm the Pope of Greenwich Village cause I got the tape alright?" thus establishing his upper hand and totally sealing the deal.


Why did I think of this you ask? Because tomorrow I'm the Pope.

MOVIE TRAILER HERE

A bottle of red...

The Setting: A nursing home in Queens/very late afternoon, early evening New Year's Eve.

The day had been a nice one, as December days go gorgeous. The weather somewhere in the high 40's so we took to the yard for some last pre-winter outdoor work. I had mentioned to Scissors that I wanted to visit Grandpa, his stepdad, who since this past April resides in a nursing home.

The circumstances that led up to his incarceration included his roaming the streets in the wee hours leaving the front door wide open. Actually he had taken to hanging out at a nearby 7-11 convenience store as an unpaid employee on their overnight shift. According to him, he was the store manager. He would give their home telephone number out and my mother-in-law would field subsequent calls about apartments for rent that did not exist. He has Parkinsons with Alzheimer's symptoms. While at home, he refused medication and by the time of his first mini-stroke which started his real downfall and hospitalization, he would walk in a completely stooped posture. It was sad to see. Scissors had gotten more than one phone call to come quickly as he had fallen and was unable to get himself back up. Considering Scissors is 5'9" on a tall day and Grandpa is 6'0" on a short one, this was not always an easy task.

He didn't go down easily and was not at all happy about being placed in the facility. Honestly - who would? But he had gotten so bad at home with the roaming and refusal to take medicine that his health was on a downward spiral. Months later, he still talks of coming home although not quite as vociferously, and has made friends, especially a new friend - Sally.

As my MIL announced in the car one day, "Sam (not the name we know him by but his "American" name) has a girlfriend". She said this with a wry look on her face, quickly followed up with "not that I care about that, just that it makes a fool of me". Theirs was always a marriage of convenience, or judging by the way she yelled at Sam, inconvenience. But still, it's sad. They do love each other in their own way. I offered gently, "well you can't really hold him accountable, he's not really in his normal frame of mind" (normal being a relative term as Grandpa always sort of reminded me of Chauncey Gardner in Being There).

So in we came last night, my little family to visit Grandpa. We found him in the dining room with Sally and another woman at their table. Sally seemed sweet and in true Jewish Grandmother form, tried to figure out what of their non-eaten dinner they could give the kids. Tali would have no part of it, but Julian happily complied and was lapping up chocolate pudding faster than you could say "medication time".

The dining room slowly cleared and we were the last ones along with another gentleman introduced only as "an opera singer" as he joined us, left in the room. When Julian heard opera singer, he took center stage and began singing in operatic fine form "I sing OP-E-RAAAA" to the delight of Sam, Sally and Opera Man. Then he began a dance to go along with it. Grandpa (still in fine voice) took to singing his repertoire of Jewish songs capped of with Those Were the Days. Sally smiled and Opera Man even sang along a bit. We joked about having our own New Year's Eve party and we were actually having a nice time. Julian took to speaking in a clipped Cary Grantesque voice (which Tali refers to as his Jewish Santa voice - inside joke) peppering his speech with "Yess darling's" which amused them to no end.

Opera Man excused himself wishing us a Happy and Healthy New Year as he was retiring for the night. We decided to take the elevator downstairs to a sitting room with a huge aquarium and aviary with finches flitting about. Sally seemed to regress into a childlike behavior when the nurse scolded her for standing as she had fallen recently and was not allowed to be out of her wheelchair just yet. When we went back by the Nurse's Station, and pressed for the elevator I asked if Sally could join us and the nurses said yes. Her face lit up as I wheeled her along with us. The party continued and then it was getting a little late so we wheeled them back to the elevator with Tali and Julian "helping" Grandpa with his walker.

On the loudspeaker some piped in music played Billy Joel's "a bottle of red, a bottle of white...I'll meet you any time you want in our Italian Restaurant".

The elevator doors shut and we headed for the car.

Best of '06

This is just a quick little toss off post which ties into the one that I'm doing in Central Snark today - sort of a best of 2006 in Music, for my little weekly Saturday Spin. I mean it's all a matter of taste, I just love combing these lists for artists that I don't know and checking them out.

This link is to a non-commercial radio station that I have mentioned here before - WFUV.org and it is the listeners' polled favorites. I think some of mine are missing, let me go take umbrage with this list while you get us a cup of coffee and we'll meet back here.

Anyway, the link is HERE

Enjoy your day and Happy Almost New Years ~ WooHoo!

Who Am I?

I've been mulling lately. What exactly am I writing about? Should I be more edgy, more direct? Blog about something. But what? Change my style. Did I have a style to begin with? It's sort of barraging me at every turn. As I look at my profile I see "a blog about simplicity and the maddening search therein". That's it! That's what I'm talking about, did I mean that when I wrote it? Maybe. Is that what my blog is about...or is that what I'm about? Do I convey that in my writing? Oh I'm rambling - maybe my blog should be called Rantings of a Loon.

You know, I've heard my absolutely most favorite lyrics in a song that I've heard in I don't know how long and they are "Maybe it's not that you burn out, but that you finally just endure". I won't give away by whom just yet as I may use him on one of my Saturday Spins on CENTRAL SNARK. So do we just endure and keep doing something? Whether it's blogging on the most superficial level or to work, or on the deepest human levels, to marriage or to parenting. I don't mean this in a depressed way, but sometimes we just endure something and we sail along into the everyday rhythm of it and that's not terrible. Anyway those lyrics just killed. Absolutely great.

So this is my...drumroll please - 100th post! Maybe that's what has me all milestonistically introspectively looking through the blogoscope. I want to have something worth sharing, I'd like to get back to what that is. It's just hard to define sometimes. Do you really want another funny smart ass 30something, okay, okay 40something year old blogger dishing about their life? There's a lot of them or us out there.

Maybe I'll just keep it simple or go mad trying.

Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas
and this family of four
had baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies
and were eyeing one more.

The Christmas Story marathon
played on the tv all night
and served as the backdrop for the
brother and sister to fight.

The brother finally collapsed
in a heap on the floor
when they heard the jingling
of bells outside of their door.

The Dad cracked the door
as the Mom felt fluish
and there sat Santa looking puzzled
"you know with Christmas story playing,
you don't sound Jewish".

The Dad pointed up to
the mezuzah on the door
and to the dreidl still spinning
from Chanukah on the floor.

They gave him a plate of soufganiyot
or jelly donuts to you
The mom wrapped a blanket tighter
did we mention she had the flu?

Then we heard Santa exclaim as
he drove out of sight
Never mind those cookies and milk
It's these donuts I like!

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Strolling down Third Avenue

There was a Youth Group get together at Tali's school last night and she wanted to go. So I managed to rouse myself and drive her into the city. It was two hours of basketball/soccer fun capped off with ice cream sundae making. So with two hours to kill and a veteran at wasting time, I hit the streets.

First stop - Starbucks. Now the Sunday Times staring me in the face was tempting and for a brief moment I went into a daydream mode in which I was sitting for two hours of undisturbed latte sipping and paper reading. Then I thought, you know walking would be better exercise and so latte in hand, I hit the streets. The other thing was that I didn't have my little reading magnifiers and would have spent the whole time looking for big pictures.

But it was in Starbucks that the overhearing of conversations started. When you are alone, you can't help but listen or well, hear what's being said. It started with the poor barista not knowing what hit him when he attempted to fill the highly specialized order of Mr. and Mrs. Truman Snooty. Overheard of their conversation:

Mr. Snooty: "Is that okay now darling?"
Mrs. Snooty: "Well it could be warmer. I'm not going to be a brat". This after two go-rounds with her drink.

They then went on to dish about some annoying contractors or people "in the trade" and "trade discounts" and blah blah blah. The whole time looking down their little upturned noses which is difficult when neither of the Snootys exceeded 5'2" in height but they were real pros at it.

Onto Third Avenue and stroll along hearing snippets of conversation of the passers-by:

"Just got back from Monaco"...next

"the kid bought her Gucci boots, they're not even best friends"...next

"the prenup is golden"...

Well such is life on the guilded coast of Manhattan's Upper East Side. Certainly a different set of concerns and outlook on life than little ole me has. Could I be happier to just be me after that stroll?!

Reeling from the pretensions that threatened my ears at every crosswalk, I dropped into Urban Outfitters to begin the waste of time. Lots of cute shirts priced at about $40 bucks. Don't get me wrong that's not expensive per se, but for something that would be a schmatta after one wash, I don't think so. Up another level for some more browsing nonetheless - like to see what "the kids" are wearing. As I make the descent and stop to look at some tee shirts, a couple is having a discussion - the repurcussions of which will haunt the poor sod all weekend:

She: "What do you think of this?"
He: "Nice, listen why don't I just meet you at the Martini Bar"
Slightly annoyed She: "Where?"
Flirtatiously coy He: "You know the one that we just passed. I'll be right there. I want to catch the game" This last part pleadingly.
Annoyed but Resigned: "Okay, bu..." something in her tone said "you'll pay for this"
But he had already planted a kiss on her cheek and was taking the stairs two at a time for the nearest exit.

They'll learn, you're better off not forcing each other into these no-win situations. Kids.

I really could go on and on, the vignettes played out one after the other. I mean even the more common than dirt Bed Bitch and Beyond wasn't safe from the assault of the attitudes of entitlement. But look at that, only moments to spare - two hours gone like that!

I flew back uptown in time for the alotted pickup and found Tali blissfully enjoying her night out. Some of her classmates are from the entitlment that I mentioned. None of the kids seem to care. Tali finished off her sundae and we headed to the car.

Heading over the 59th Street Bridge, I have never been so glad to live in Queens.

HAPPY CHANUKAH

Or as we say during such holidays "Chag Sameach"!

Here's a little spiritual message to start the Holiday with because, well, it's not for sale at Macy's. This is Rabbi Yehuda Sarna, spiritual leader at NYU Center for Jewish Life, discussing this week's parsha, which is the portion of the Torah (Bible) which gets read in synagogue services on Shabbat. The rest is fairly easy to follow.

Although not specific to the celebration of Chanukah, it is a nice message. It makes me feel peaceful listening - couldn't we all use just a little of that right about now? I thought so. And because of my own day going haywire and in the interest of time, I am just posting this YouTube message in the link below:

CLICK HERE FOR CHANUKAH PARSHA MESSAGE


To my fellow observers of the Miracle of Lights - Shabbat Shalom, Chag Sameach and a Happy Chanukah!

For a little light humor, head on over to CentralSnark for our own little Chanukah Party and a different take on the game of dreidl.

LOVE TEST

I came across a hint of this quiz at PIA'S - I believe she may be the party girl type...or something. I followed the trail to one of her friend's and what the heck, I took the quiz. Who writes these? So below are "my results". I didn't know how to live or love until now. My responses or commentary are in bold mixed in. Now excuse me whilst I go randomly master gently loving - or actually get ready to pack up my kids' backpacks for school.

Playful, kind, and well-loved, you are The Peach.
The Peach Responds: Why thank ya kindly.
For such a warm-hearted, generous person, you're surprisingly experienced in both love and sex. The Peach Responds: Ooh I'm blusing. We credit your spontaneous side; you tend to live in the moment, and you don't get bogged down by inhibitions like most women your age. The Peach Responds: Living in the moment also helps when you hate to plan. If you see something wonderful, you confidently embrace it. Responds: Is that debit or credit?

You are a fun flirt and an instant sweetheart, but our guess is you're becoming more selective about long-term love. REPLY: Why yes, the longer I'm married. It's getting tougher for you to become permanently attached REPLY: Wait til I mention that over breakfast to my husband of 11 years; and a guy who's in a different place emotionally might misunderstand your early enthusiasm. Ugh, pass the milk. You can wreck someone simply by enjoying him. REPLY: Am I using him as a trampoline?

Your ideal mate is adventurous and giving, like you. But not overly intense. Your intensity is causing a glare on the computer screen, do you mind?


DREAD: The False Messiah

CONSIDER: The Loverboy, The Playboy, or The Boy Next Door REPLY: Now you tell me!

Link: The 32-Type Dating Test