Too busy to blog...

but not too busy to pander. What chutzpah!

I'm in the finals of the Caption Contest over at Diesel's Mattrees Police. Just CLICK HERE and cast your vote (for me hopefully). Don't even waste your precious time reading, just click on G's "south by southeast" caption. My NBFF, Neva is also in the finals, but she won last week and she said that you could vote for me. Not in so many words, but she didn't say that you couldn't.

That's all for now.

Scoot!

As soon as work stops expecting me to work, I'll be around for a visit. Miss you, love you, mean it.

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.