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.