Kvelling. It’s a verb. It means to be extraordinarily pleased or happy! We have our ups, we have our downs, but this week has been filled with a lot of, much appreciated, extraordinary happiness! I hope the same is true for all of you!
And the Yiddish proverb I leave you with this week is:
Love your neighbor, even if he plays the trombone! Libh deyn khbr, afilu aiob er fyeses di trambone.
Normally, I say to my Gatsby, “Ess a bissel eppis, tatelleh,” (eat a little something, my darling boy. Then I feed him his 5,6,7 times a day nosh (meal).I always thought nothing is too good for my boy, until this happened! Oy vey…
Camille and Willa, American Girl Wellie Wishers, arrived from dear friends for Channukah for Big and Little. Nachas! (Joy!) Clearly, they love them! They take them everywhere and play with them non-stop. As a review, 10 stars out of 5! These dolls are a perfect size, easy to play with, less fear about ruining their well-coifed hairdo’s, and a lot lighter on the ‘wallet inflicted pain’ than their taller cohorts command. (This review is my own. I am not paid for my opinion. I should only, one day, be so lucky! Pooh, pooh)
One minute we are playing ‘Simon-says’, and the next minute, Camille (nick-named Millie) goes from 10-fingers-perfect to nine-OMG! One furry bruder (brother), guilty with his ‘jaws in the finger jar!’ Chicken bones are very nice, but the fresh, full-flavored fingers of a new Wellie doll, dee-lish! I look, I run, I scream, “DROP IT!” Out pops a very little, doll finger.
We recovered the damaged doll digit and somehow managed to save the injured soul of my Big, who did everything possible to successfully keep her emotions in check. I promised her I would soon perform a much-needed fingerectomy on dear Millie. I would reattach the pummeled pointer with the very best of my Jewish-doctor abilities. She knows I am a well-trained tinkerer, I fix things. I will make Millie whole.
When I am eating, everyone can go to hell! Ven ich ess, ch’ ob ich alles in dread.
Gatsby, he thinks, his only crime is getting caught! Lucky for him, he is so darned cute.
Wishing everyone all the best the holiday season has to offer! Health, happiness, and prosperity! ❤
My kinder (Big and Little) and me, we went for a nice walk in the ‘hood with our boychik (little boy), Gatsby. It was a gorgeous autumn day, not too cold and filled bright with sunshine. They were hesitant. A bit groggy from the previous nights’ festivities. Yes, I did the dreaded mom-fail move: I bribed them.
“Come with me to walk Gatsby and I’ll get you both vanilla steamers at High Point!”
Before I could say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, shoes, socks, coats and a, “We’re ready to go, Mommy! Aren’t you coming?” Here are a few snaps for our jaunt. What a lucky momma I am!
Never promise something to a child and not give it to them, because in that way they learn to lie.
Keynmol onzog epes tsu a kind aun nisht gebn es tsu zey, vayl in dem veg zey lernen tsu lign.
It has become even more evident in our immediate vicinity, chickens are being slaughtered at a pace that far exceeds anything resembling normalcy. It’s cuckoo. Bones are strewn about the pavement, the grass, the bushes. Those that leave these skeletal remains behind are becoming cavalier; downright cocky. Gatsby’s nose knows a nice nosh (snack) exactly where to find the latest crime scene. No ruffled feather goes unturned while he is patrolling the roost.
As his sniffer snarfs, the clucked remains are quickly unearthed, exposed. We pace the pavement, seeking answers. Where before he found entire grilled chicken breasts, wings, a sprig of celery, dare I say, special sauce; now only blanched bones, clean cartilage lay before his paws.
The unlawful cockerel crooks have upped their game. Their hunger shows and they are getting sloppy. Gatsby, my lone detective dog, is determined to stop this flock of felons if our neck of the woods is ever to be free from dreck (litter) vindicated. It is his passion unless you are a passing squirrel or a fleeting feline and he forgets his mission to chase you and fits his penchant poultry palate.
Nary a strut about the ‘hood goes by without a need for his deputy sidekick (me or the Mrs.), to extract the nasty osseous matter from his tight-lipped lips. I’ve explained about the proper protocol in bagging evidence. How he needs to be clean and methodical or we’ll have another OJ Simpson on the loose, despite the power of DNA. He prefers his way. Every thigh, neck, breast, leg, and wing carefully clenched in his canines. He will eat his way through thick and thin, unrelenting and stoic until the pecking peccant perps are reduced to jail-bird status. He knows why the caged bird sings, and he is waiting for the music. He was not born to kvetch (complain), but to serve.
Perhaps as the season turns, the sun lies low in the sky and the dark of night comes about earlier and earlier, Detective G will get to the bottom of the bucket this constant putrid poultry perversion lurking and littering our residential roads and pathways. Wish him luck as he continues his beat in search of truth, justice, and the American way, well, that means nothing anymore with our government a peaceable kingdom. He will make the streets safe again for all fine feathered friends, for his eyes see beauty in all things fowl.
Appropriate Yiddish phrases for this Post:
The eggs, they think they are smarter than the chickens. Di eyer viln zayn kliger fun di hiner.
May your bones be broken as often as the ten commandments. Zolne dayne beyner zich brechn azoy oft vi di Aseres-Hadibres.
Now, my dear neighbors and friends, we all share this world. Please stop littering! Oy vey iz mir!
You have got to be kidding me. I stayed here, the entire meal. Quiet. Waiting. Under Little’s chair. I mean we all know she is not the neatest of eaters. I’d starve to death under Big’schair… The kid eats macaroni like it’s popcorn? She holds a fork in her left hand and picks up the food with her right. That kid has the style that I admire! Surely something is gonna drop. Wait! They can’t be clearing the dishes already? Say it ain’t so? Wait! Wait! What about me?
The food is cooked in a pot and the plate gets the honor? Shpeiz kocht men in top un koved krigt der teller?
Spring is here and it’s beautiful dog walking weather. I love being outside with the family, proudly walking our crazy, loud, barking, pulling, misbehaved, and foragingboychik (little boy) and grabbing some extra vitamin D. Something I’ve noticed since Gatsby arrived to rescue our family, we constantly come across what seems to me, to be a gratuitous amount of chicken bones. Legs, wings, breasts, thighs… you name it and Gatsby will find them. One can only begin to understand my love for this furry family member, as I extract his foul, fowl finds from deep within the clenches of his canines. Disgusterous, as the BFG would say.
I would not be surprised at all, to find that our building and the surrounding homes, were built atop what was once, some sort of chicken cemetery. If you just go by the gross numbers of very gross bones per walk, per day — something just doesn’t add up. Storms, wind, digging, and these bones surface. It’s haunting in a ‘Carol Ann, don’t go near the light’ kind of way. Often we, and by we, I mean Gatsby, finds grilled chicken breasts. There is often an assortment of accompanying sauces. And dare I say it, side dishes. WTF? Has Colonel Sanders gone AWOL? Has Frank Perdue gone cuckoo?
What if there is a chicken serial killer on the loose? And my Gatsby, with a nose for a nice nosh (little something to snack on), can’t help but uncover truth and justice for all. Law and Order: Poultry, live, right here in my neighborhood. The Capon Capers. Benson and Stabler, I need you here at Johnson and Greene, and bring that trained squad of detectives that focus primarily on putrid poultry misconduct.
Keeping my glass half-full, it is possible that we are constantly on the same frigging, filthy path as some unfortunate young travelers, who leave behind banty, barnyard fowl bones and scraps to find their way back home, like Hansel and Gretel. My Gatsby, sweet little man, is probably just doing his best sleuthing in an effort to help these lost kinder (children)?
It is possible that while wearing my pollyanna, rose-tinted sunglasses, someone is leaving behind the cock-a-doodle-doo trail until we find themagicwishbone? Gatsby’s mania for mystery may be a search the answers to our dreams? My lanky, long-legged, detective dog, is just trying his best to look out for our family. What a good boy!
You see, in my heart of hearts, I don’t want to believe that my neighborhood has gone afoul in dreck (trash, litter). Thankfully, after a year now, I can sternly let out a geshrei (scream) for Gatsby, “Drop it!” and he does. So does everyone else around me… maybe that’s why there are so many bones? Oy vey! (OMG!)
And this Yiddish Proverb, words to live by, if you are Gatsby:
A chicken dinner is best shared by two people. Me and the chicken. A hindl mitog iz bester sherd durkh tsvey mentshn. Mir aun di hindl.
No dear friends, this is not the one by Fitzgerald. Not a cast of characters living in lavish mansions in the fictional town of West Egg, Long Island. No prosperity, debutantes, elaborate parties, or even idealism.
Our Great Gatsby, he does have many parallels. He is quixotic as his namesake, contains obsessions by us humans of our furry, four-legged boychik (little boy) and his unconditional love of us, decadence, after all, he is the boy king in our little apartment castle, and he holds the American Dream of finding love. And as for the cast of Characters, you have me, the Mrs., Big and Little, living life in the Manor and working our asses off to reclaim our slice of the pie.
Handle every stressful situation like a therapist. If you can’t eat or play with it, pee on it and walk away. Shepn yeder stressful situatsye vi a terapist. Aoyb ir kenen nisht esn oder shpiln mit im, nor pi aoyf es aun geyn avek.
Injury prevention in cars is a big deal. Seat belts really do safe lives. People on the roadways are especially meshuggeneh (nuts) and have too many reasons to take their eyes off the road. They are texting, shaving, applying make-up, taking conference calls, checking their noses forschmutz (dirt, like bears in the cave) and managing to find the teeny, tiny toy the kinder (children) have dropped to the floor with the one free arm that isn’t holding a scalding hot, freshly brewed latte. It’s a nightmare, or day-mare, depending on your driving routine.
By law, kids today will be in rear facing car seats until we take them for their driver’s permit. Then, and only then, will they be front facing and in a belt-positioning booster. As we drop them off at college or university, they will hopefully meet the height and weight criteria to be properly belted in as an adult. Oy!
Thinking further about car safety for Fido (or in my case, Gatsby), this Yiddisher Momma believes that kinder (sweet children) of all kinds need protection too. Enter the K9CarFence.
A hunt iz a mol getrei’er fun a kind. A dog is sometimes more faithful than a child.
I had the pleasure of meeting Ira Stahl, owner and inventorof this harness-free, crash-tested, made in the USA, pooch protection when he was making a service call as an electrician at my work. Who knew this mild-mannered mensch (good guy) was electrician by day, and K9 superhero by night! We all got to schmoozing (talking) as people do, and this electrical maven (expert) mentioned his groundbreaking invention to help the doggies of the world travel safely in cars. My eyes lit-up! Gutinue (OMG)! I must have one for my Gatsby! After much nachas (joy and pleasure) shared over my 4-legged boychik (little boy) and Ira’s two little loves, it was agreed Ira would give my Gatsby the safety and security of his own K9CarFence TLC-2X in return for a product review.
I said, Ira, “I gotta be honest to my readers.” He was confident, and came within the next few days to install a brand new K9 CarFence in my car. Five minutes, he was done! He explained every step of the easy installation, and off he went.
We have now had this gem for some 3+ weeks and I have only great things to say. In fact, I’m kvelling(bursting with pride) over this safety fence. The first time in my car, Gatsby was not a happy camper and tried desperately to escape. He was used to laptop sitting (dangerous!) and snuggling. By the second ride in his enclosure, he was much more at ease. He could see us through the mesh and look out the window. By the third time, it was his throne! He owned it and walked in with pride. I lowered the window a bissel (bit) — he happily sniffed outside, and then settled into his ‘circle pose’ of rest. Canine shavasana! I added a blanket that he nuzzles, settles and snuggles, safe and sound. My Gatsby hound.
Canine babies need their own place in the car too. Who would dare let their tiny human flop about in the back seat like I did as a kid? MyBig andLittle, shana maidelahs (beautiful girls) that they are, have been restrained by the very best. Now, they are bubbellahs (sweeties) in boosters. We strap in and click. What, the Gatsby’s of the world don’t need such protection? Of course they do! Dogs are good people!
The benefits of enclosing your pooch in the car with a K9 CarFenceis very much like that of your kinder (children) in their car seats:
Holds them in one secure place as you drive
Confining comfortably protects them from acting as a projectile in case of a collision
Prevents them from climbing into your lap and stealing your sanitynudjing (pestering) you
One less thing to be distracted about while driving
Safeguards them from the impact of sudden or unexpected stops
In the case of an accident, kaynahorah, pthui, pthui, pthui(it shouldn’t happen), they stay confined, preventing further catastrophic incidents like running into traffic and possibly causing another crash pthui, pthui, pthui
Traffic violations for driving with a dog that is not properly restrained/confined range in price from $25 to $1000. Ouch!
The K9 CarFence is like a comfy den for your dog. Have a bigger dog? They have optionsmy lovers of furry friends. The TLC-2X fits both front and back seat. As an added bonus, its durable and lightweight construction protects your car interior as it comforts your fur-baby.
I heartily recommend the K9 CarFence for the safe ride and peace of mind you have while driving alongside everyone’s best friend. My Gatsby, he gives a hearty 4 paws up! And the Mrs. and the kinder, they love it too! In dog we trust.
Please know, as in all of my writing, all opinions are my own. If you should agree with me, we are all the better! Either way, I’d love to hear read your comments! Nu? I can take it!
Ven dos mazel kumt, shtel im a shtul. If fortune calls, offer him a seat.
Anyone who knows me knows that I despise guns. I believe the right to bare arms has been totally misconstrued from a constitutional amendment that stands for a well-armed militia, hundreds of years ago, vs. ‘I’m scared of you and your pack of skittles,’ or, ‘your tail light is out; get me your license and registration.’ ‘Nuf said. You can read many of my other posts pontificating on the excessive violence, racism and hate in our world.
I feel quite the hypocrite. I have a puppy. His name is Gatsby. Yes, after the Great Gatsby. He is the first real dog we have had. He chews on the wood trim and doors. He buries and hides his bones throughout the apartment. He digs holes outside in the common areas. He climbs the sofa and leaps to the kitchen counter (really) to eat the scraps of a peanut butter sandwiches left over from Big. He puppy-nips at Little for, well, being Little. He scavenges for food as we walk around the neighborhood.
Enter this pistol packing, gun-toting, and charlatan of a Yiddisher Momma. To clarify, the arms I carry is a water pistol / squirt gun. It is used purely for correctional puppy purposes. It shoots sprays a stream of water from afar, alerting my dear, loveable mutt that he is acting less than the stellar boychik (little boy) we need him to become.
A happy puppy is a well-exercised puppy. This also fits in with the lifestyle of this Yiddisher Momma. As we gad about the ‘hood, Gatsby is an incessant barker when he spies another pup. He is fantastically friendly, yet simply desperate to meet a new buddy. The yapping, more like a geshrei (quite loud and piercing), ceases the moment he is nose to nose with a new canine comrade. Where their noses go after, they should live and be well. But until that point, vey iz mer (OMG!)…
I hadn’t yet mentioned that he is a rescue. Here, the term is dual in nature. We rescued him because he was in need of a loving family and a home, and he rescued us, as our family was in dire need of an affectionate and playful pooch. We all make a nice family.
As a rescue, he rummages for food, no matter how many times we fill his bowl with healthy, raw, canine cuisine. If left to his own devices, he will eat pure dreck (trash, poo, bugs, vomit, grass, and dead things), along with anything else in reach. Just last week, I pulled from his mouth, a small dead bird, 4 chicken (oh my, I hope so at least) bones, many wood chips, and did I mention the deceased fowl?
After much reading, and searching our memories of pugs past (Atticus and Elijah), we remembered the squirt tactic. I searched high and low for an affordable ‘squirter’ that did not resemble a G-U-N. Fifteen years ago we had an alligator and a snail, or a flower… that delivered the same watery lesson. But the lifeless, leathery bird was too much mishegas (craziness) for me to bear. This frugalista had to do something fast and furious. I entered the Family Dollar, and found 3 shiny, colorful water guns: red, green and yellow. They were small enough to carry, big enough to do the job. All for one dollar.
We can now walk for an hour or more, and have maybe, 2 squirts, mostly related to over-barking. We can walk right past that mummified mouse, covered in ants. Newfound wisdom allows him to dodge the remains from the Colonel’s chicken bucket. It’s a remarkable transformation for which we are all kvelling (bursting with joy)!
But I am still packing. So if any of you are aware of some affordable arms that hold no resemblance to those ghastly items I loathe, do tell! Gatsby and me, we are a work in progress.