A cutie pie showing off her new dress. A maidel mit a klaidel.
A cutie pie showing off her new dress. A maidel mit a klaidel.
Getting over fighting Beelzebub was tough stuff. Losing, maybe
hell, effing yeah a bissel (a little bit) worse. It has already taken up a lot of time, effort, energy and wellness for me, my Mrs., my kinder (kiddo’s) and the wonderful people who were helping me scrimmage. Still, my glass, it stays half-full. If there was an award for, ‘Most Resilient,’ this one would definitely go to me. Knock me down, and I come right back up again. Spunk, integrity, and Energizer Bunny. Pliant, flexible and rebellious. That’s me.
In this latest round of rebound, I am working on being present and mindful. Here are five things that I have noticed in myself
In Yiddish, they say, Bad temper and anger, they shorten the years. Der ka’as un der tsoren farkirtsen di yoren.
So, I must do more tai chi and learn to meditate. Stat! Plus, the anger is just sadness in disguise.
Kirtser geshlofen, lenger gelebt. Translated to, The less you sleep, the more you get out of life.
A nice positive spin on
frickinginsomnia. Nu? Leave it to Yiddish! Oh, how I love this juicy language!
A fool doesn’t age and cold water doesn’t spoil. A nar vert nit elter un kalteh vasser vert nit kalyeh.
Yiddish! Beautiful… a phrase for every life moment!
To fall down, you manage alone but it takes friendly hands to get up. Falen falt men alain, ober oifsuhaiben zikh darf men a hant fun a freind.
Thank you dear friends. ❤
Happy mamas, and an easy upbringing. Freylekhe mames, un a gringe hodevaniye.
And I continue to move onward! Karma will win in the end. It must! As for resilience, I must figure out the lesson to be learned here. It’s a bit tiring to keep reinventing the wheel.
An ounce of luck is worth more than a pound of gold. Besser a loit mazel aider a funt gold.
Hello, my friends. I have been quiet of late — very unlike me, I know. It has been a hell of a couple of
years weeks. First, strep throat knocked us all to our knees. One by one, we fell. Despite hand washing, Lysol wipes and new toothbrushes, we were coated with cooties and all swilling shots of penicillin. Strep is literally, like swallowing a brick. Not fun times as an adult — I can only imagine the pain for my kinder (children). Gatsby was literally, the last man standing. Vey iz mir (OMG, but worse), it was bad.
What followed in the aftermath was tougher to bear than the bacteria-baked bricks… Our, my journey of late has been tough. No harder than the next person mind you… of that I am well aware. Still difficult, nonetheless.
I have been living the plight of the salmon. (Not the delicious kind that ends up atop your shmear (cream cheese) on a toasted everything bagel…) I’m talking about the astounding event where the momma fish
like any other but the mother would do this leaves years of comfort in ocean dwelling, genetically alters its very form to seek out and return, upstream, against the tides, waterfalls, bears, and all odds, to the roots of their birth. Without google maps, these salmon, they locate the exact freshwater stream of their birth, to lay the eggs of a new generation on the gravel river beds. And then they die, knowing the kinder are well-tended and will carry on.
These salmon, they are fighters. They are filled with courage and defiance to do what they must do — to follow their core. They are the definition of #rebelgirls and #strongwomen. They defy all limitations and persevere, despite obstacles, predators and sheer exhaustion. They do this because they have no other choice but to be true to themselves and those they love.
This Yiddisheh momma has been #livingfearlesslyauthentic, much like the salmon. I swam hard and long. I reached my freshwater riverbed, and I spoke my truth. I did so for injustice and all that is unfair. I did so for my Mrs., my Big, and my Little. I did so for ME. And I truly believed that:
If you lie on the ground, you cannot fall. Az mi ligt oif der erd, ken men nit fallen.
What I learned, was that you can still fall. That the truth is not always enough. That there are so many who can easily look away from truths. That so many can label, misrepresent, smear (very different from a nice shmear), and lie. And that the latter group that can win. And that in itself can be mentally and physically crushing.
My silence is over. My quiet has passed. I still grieve the loss, nurture my courage. I will become whole again. After all, I have two shayneh maidelehs (sweet little girls) that must know that despite everything, it is always an obligation, to tell the truth. That we must always stand tall and respectfully fight, not only the injustices that we face, but those of our fellow humans too. I have learned in no uncertain terms that the battles that surround us are much larger than we know. That the work ahead is complex.
And despite my loss, I would stand up again, and risk the same fall. My Mrs. and me, we will raise two mighty girls with voices to engage and take a stand for their sisters and brothers who need them.
Injustice won this time, a shonda (crying shame). But this particular salmon, I am not rolling over and playing dead.
A liar tells his story so often that he gets to believe it himself. A ligner hert zikh zeineh ligen azoi lang ein biz er glaibt zikh alain.
Plus, I know karma is a bitch for all nogudniks (someone on the wrong side of the law).
This Yiddisheh mama has a major confession to make. I’ve been holding this one in, so bear with me. It comes from a lifetime ago. You SAHM’s, like my Mrs., oh how I want to be you. Let me schmear (spread) some broad, sweeping caveats, loudly and clearly, that you, by far, have the single hardest job on the planet.
Dem, ikh visn. This, I know.
You may find me to be the schmegeggy (doofus, idiot). Hours suck. Pay worse. Days are ongoing and relentless. Sleep? Vos iz dos? (What is that?) Tantrums, bickering, and ‘hangry’ (tired and hungry) whining. The driving, the traffic, the geshrei-ing (yelling). There are enough scattered organic food scraps strewn across the car
to easily feed a small city to enrage me. I am aware of the mistreatment and abuse you encounter. Selective deafness. Your voice sounds like the adults on any episode of Charlie Brown — Whaa whaa whaaa whaaaa whaaa… And, like the air they breathe, they take you for granted daily, hurling sweaters, trash, already-chewed gum, back-packs, boogers from their noses that they don’t ever pick, and whatever that was, that was stuck on the bottom of their boots at you on their way to play. Ewww. Disgusterous. The spills, messes, laundry, groceries and constant wardrobe changes. The lack of privacy and ‘me time.’ The lack of adult conversation. I feel your pain when a craft, carefully chosen with thoughtfulness and love, causes utter unhappiness, and you experience the ‘epic mom fail.’ Oy vey iz mir (OMG).
It’s this momma’s mishegas (craziness) for which I yearn. Who’s meshuggah (nuts) here? I know it’s me. I’m in awe of you and your daily sacrifices. I value you in ways society always overlooks. You have the charge of building little human beings that are kind and empathic in a world that is not.
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When one lives, one experiences. Ven eyner lebn, onz ixpiryanzis
It’s a slippery slope my friends and we are headed down the rabbit hole fast. The latest for me, my Mrs. and our shanah maideleh kinder (sweet beautiful girls) is our invisibility in the upcoming Census. It’s been announced that there will not be an LGBTQ count in the 2020 census. To be fair, that’s the way I roll, it’s important that you know that we have never been counted before. But after the stunning momentum from the Obama administration, the proclamation to love out loud with all the legal rights and freedoms from the Supremes, government agencies, lefty liberals, and this Yiddisheh lesbian, we were hopeful that following the next Census, our government would see us. And after they see us, they would work to find ways so that we wouldn’t always be under some threat, be it physical, emotional or legal. They would see us and allocate the resources that are so important to our LGBTQ community. They would see us and help.
Congressional Democrats (much too many for mr t to count on his tiny little hands), along with several government agencies (Health and Human Services, the Justice Department and Housing and Urban Development) have all requested that mr t’s administration counts the LGBTQ population in the next Census (2020). Figuring, ‘Hey, wouldn’t be a swell idea to better understand sexual orientation, marital status, family status, gender identity and the location, size and socioeconomic status of this population? We are out ringing doorbells counting anyway?’
mr t and his slimy swamp mates, they say there’s no need for collecting data on us. A crowd of people, and not one real person among them. A groyse oylem, un nito ein mentsch. Their anti-gay agenda is clear as day, and I feel it as real as those hot flashes, vey iz mir (OMG). Gorsuch, poised for confirmation via the cowardly nuclear option, is an extreme threat to our civil rights for the next 4 to 5 decades. Well, you know what
f*ck that? WE ARE HERE. You cannot erase us.
You may say, Lisala, what’s the big mitziah (problem)? I can’t speak for everyone, but you know how loud I speak for my mishpocha (family). Coming out, ‘being out,’ makes you leave the cloak of invisibility behind.
If you are straight, you don’t know from this tsuris (trouble). Your are counted. You count. You matter.
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M’wah! It’s worth the click!
Imagine the pure joy of being two littles, running free in an ice cream store, scoop in hand… and you can understand how my kinder (children) felt on a trip to beautiful, downtown Cape May, NJ.
If any of you are seeking a nice nosh (little something to eat) in the form of delectable ice cream desserts, milkshakes, freshly made Belgian waffles, and incredible, original sundae concoctions, this shop, Fine Fellows Creamery is your destination at the Jersey shore. Stocked with Bassett’s Original ice cream, vey iz mir (OMG), this is good stuff, they are fast becoming the local destination for all shore points.
Owned by two mensches (really, truly good men, or in this case, Fine Fellows) who are uncles to my shana maidelahs (sweet girls), and their boychik (wonderful son) J, these guys know how to make a dessert, and they will treat you like kings and queens. Shy with the scoop, not these guys! You may need to open your belt buckle a notch or two when you down every spoonful of bliss.
C’mon down to Cape May. Ooh and ahh over the quaint architecture, walk the beaches, stroll the boardwalk, smell the salty air, and ess a bissel (eat a little) at Fine Fellows Creamery.
So I’m sure you’re thinking, well, they are family, of course, you will write a good review. Friends, listen loud and clear. There is a cardinal rule we all must follow in order to get along: You don’t mess with Ice Cream. That would be a shonda (shame) to lead you astray in any way gastronomically, especially when it comes to all things ice cream related.
So tomorrow, go have your kale chip and avocado smoothie. Today, go and eat ice cream at Fine Fellows Creamery. Oh, how happy you will be!