Detective Gatsby is on it, again. Readers of this space, you know very well, that something ‘a-fowl’ has been going on in our community. Long ago, the Great Gatsby uncovered many a capon caper, finding bones, breasts, thighs, and wings, scattered and strewn about on our daily constitutionals. Sometimes, with his mighty schnoz, he would locate bbq sauce or ketchup, even fries to accompany his hidden haul. If you are new here, please stay, have a little nosh (something to eat), enjoy yourself proceed with caution. The paltry poultry that has been uncovered is not for the faint of heart.
Courageous as all-get-out, secure in his forensic anthropology degree, and led by his hunger for justice and all things edible, even the most disgusting and vile things you can imagine while walking outdoors, G has been sinking his teeth happily habitually into brand new evidence. He now knows why all of the chicks want so desperately to cross the road nirvana and why the caged birds sing tweet.
Apparently, right in our own backyard, there has been a major unearthing of evidence. It is all beginning to make sense. The dirt is there yes, that is our mess of a yard from our four-legged boychick (little sweet boy). While uncovering the cadavers of said cockerels is his favorite pastime, G has realized the problem is bigger than (cooked) birds and their petty parts. While focussing primarily on pullet and cock-a-doodle-doo, even Gatsby realizes the real tsuris (trouble) in town is L-I-T-T-E-R.
Philadelphia, in many ways, is and has been ‘Philth-adelphia’. Clean, they are not. Untidiness is all too often a way of life by too many who have seemingly bypassed trash cans mothers and Kindergarten lessons, leaving a trail of drek (trash, detritus), Hansel and Gretl style, in their wake. Litter begets litter. Trash begets trash. What kind of shlemiel (loser) has the chutzpah (balls, nerve) to leave their crap for others?
So my Mrs. and me, we have taken to grabbing an extra bag full of bits and scraps as we saunter about our shtetl (‘hood, village)walking our boychik. With Little and Big in tow, we are furthering the valuable lessons of rubbish removal and how we can be grateful for and feel good about a clean neighborhood. Further research us bloggers thrive on this stuff reveals a movement in Sweden where we may be headed should the midterms turn to sh*te called Plogging. This Nordic influence is as amazing as IKEA and is beginning to take the world by storm (btw: IKEA just opened in India this week), spreading to the UK, Germany, France, Thailand and hopefully here in the US too.
Plogging: Scandinavian word meaning to pick up litter while jogging in groups, making is socially fun and fantastically praise-worthy. This word comes from the fusion of the Swedish words “plocka” (picking [up]), and “jocka” (jogging). See, more than just Yiddish here!
So, for a while now, as we are out an about, walking the boychik, picking up his poop, we also shlep (drag, haul) and bag the drek of others, in hopes of beautifying the community and raising the bar on the ‘dump and run attitude (addy-tude in Philly slang)’ of our brethren. Thank you, Sweden!
Whose with me? Let’s go plogging! Alevei! It should only happen!
In a good apple, you sometimes find a worm. In a shainem epel gefint men a mol a vorem.
Sandy beaches, sunshine, and just a bissel (a little) rain each day. Turtles, alligators, dolphins, fish, frogs, deer, baby gators, seagulls, ibis, lizards, and sandpipers. Spiders the size of my hand, definitely not for the weak hearted. Family, cousins, and even a baby! Five kinder (sweet children), four magnificent mommas, and ice cream beer, wine too! All, in our happy place, Bald Head Island, just off the coast of North Carolina. Together never felt so good!
“No matter what happens, travel gives you a story to tell.” Keyn enin vos khapanz, arumforn git ir a dertseylung.”
My Big, she talks about when she was in the ocean with baby C and his momma. The baby, he fell from the force of the wave riptide and was whisked up in the air, hanging by his hand his arm remarkably stayed in its socket lovingly held firmly in his mom’s grip. Baby C, clearly farshluggeneh (shaken, mixed up), then declared, “It is ag-gwa!”
My Little, she liked it when they all dressed up in the big blue bubbles and ran out on the golf course for pictures and videos. G, a kleineh kinder (small, little sweetie) clad in his blown-up blueberry, and almost lost inside its great girth big, he is not, literally rolled down the steps from the porch to the patio. He got up, blueberry suit as savior, fartootst (confused and bewildered), he looked at my Little and said, “That was so awesome!”
We heard from the Tanta’s (aunts)that ourLittle, she shared bragged, well she boasted, hell, she was kvelling (bursting with pride) her talent of being able to burp on command. She proved it, right then and there, too. The boys all broke into bursts of giggling. Me, and my Mrs., we were just grateful that she didn’t share the curse word she knows that rhymes with ‘truck.’ Oy vey iz mir. (Woe is me.) Our miniature komish (comic) in the making. Big, she read books to them all and tended to all of us the kinder like the mommelah (little mother) she is.
K, nearly 7, doesn’t understand why, if we have Baldhead, and we all can be there together, why is he now waking up in California? And us in Philadelphia? Smart, he is!
G, he told us stories about each animal, fish, insect, bird or reptile we encountered. Between books, school and the Kratt brothers (from the Wild Kratts TV show), this boychik (little boy) absorbs it all!
Baby C, he exudes cuteness. My Mrs., she has plans to kidnap him. But please, do not tell his mommas.
Now the Tanta’s, they are both shitterayn (able to cook delicious food without a recipe)no, I am not calling them bad things! I am complimenting them. Not a bad word at all! Each day, they would potchki (poke around) adding a little bit of this and a little bit of that in the kitchen. Gourmet snacks, meals, and picnics would appear before us, ready to be devoured. I did the laundry to make up for my lack of kitchen capabilities, however, please know that I am inspired!
Kvetching (Complaining): across the board. All five kinder had been varfing (throwing, as in throwing a tantrum) each and every time we slathered their skin with sunscreen. Enter curse word that rhymes with ‘truck’ here, now, as often as you like. Honestly, the geshries (screams) and moans that would come from these kinder, one might have thought we were coating them with alligator food and letting them out to stroll by the lake, alone! It was a painstakingly tough production for us all and anyone in earshot. And don’t you know, their gentle, smooth skin, like a babies tuchas (tushy, bum, butt), has been saved, despite the struggles.
Genug is genug! (Enough is enough!) You HAVE TO WEAR your sun shirt, your hat, your sunglasses, and we MUST re-apply sunscreen every 80 minutes!
“It’s time kids.” They got all broygis (pissed off, angry a real shit-fit).
We heard: “Putting sunscreen on is so boring. What if ___insert cousin name here_________ gets to the pool first? Why is it so thick we did apply it with a putty knife? You just put it on one minute ago! Yes, I did put it on my face already. You did that leg. The sun isn’t even out. Maybe we should only swim at night? Is there moonscreen too? Is it dry yet? Can I PLEASE go back in the pool now?” Imagine me explaining the depleted ozone layer, our dangerous proximity to the sun and its harmful effects to our derma, the largest organ in our entire bodies. Scott Pruitt, climate change…Oh, I went off.Oy!
My Mrs., she loved the shoals and tide pools over by Cape Fear yes, like in the movies. The small, waveless swimming holes were so much fun. It was calm and soothing sitting and swimming in nature-made pools, free from the pull of the full moon, fish swimming around our ankles. We all walked on the beach and collected shells. Big, she made drippy sand castles. Little and K stood atop boogie boards. G, he did too — even though he is slight enough to walk on water. I was bound and determined to find a sand dollar in its entirety – Bubkas (no such luck). Next time…
One of my most cherished times was biking with Big and K to the ice cream shop. The rain had stopped and we wanted to ride bikes. The others took the golf cart. We were rain free and riding through puddles on the way there. I led the way, K was to stay in the middle and on the right side of the path, Big, she rode caboose to help keep K in line. To K’s surprise, we beat the cart-full-o-family through Middle island and to the docks. To our surprise, he arrived in one piece. We all had the most delicious homemade ice cream beer when the clouds burst open. The amount of clean water pouring from the sky was stunning. The three of us rode back to the house, happily drenched in the deluge. We joked about needing soap and shampoo, and not needing any sunscreen. K, electrified by the sugar high, puddles and heavy rains, rode his bike as if he were drunk, swerving right and left. Just as our cart-full-o-family drove up, K pedaled himself straight into a tree on the side of the road. Remarkably, not a scratch on him. No head injury. No flesh wounds. (Knocking wood)
And I think we all enjoyed the pure, carefree, childlike fun and love as the kinder played, frolicked, fought (well they are real kids you know), laughed, and made collective memories. This was priceless.
And the photos and videos we all took made Nonna (Italian for Bubbe, which is Yiddish for grandmother) so happy. This trip to BHI was palpably different for us all because of our very tangible lack of Nonna and PopPop (grandfather, Zaideh). PopPop has, well, he has a farshlepteh krenk (literally, a chronic illness) and was recently moved to a nursing home, a much safer place for him and our Nonna. His decline has been so fast, like a lightning strike or the blink of an eye. His placement made it too soon for Nonna to make the trip. Everyone understood and felt her spirit there with us every moment of our days. We will continue to fill her heart with stories of the nachas (joys) we all experienced. These kinder will help to heal her heart and she does not need to apply sunscreen to take them in and ours too.
Today, I am relieved, ecstatic, joyful, delighted, and kvelling to learn that all 12 boys and their soccer coach are rescued, safe and sound. The collective global sigh of relief is holding me up and getting me through the rough parts of our world. There really are heroes in the world. We need to celebrate them!
Hold your kinderlach (children) closer today, and every day.
Troubles overcome are good to tell. Ibergekumene tsores iz gut tsu derseylin.
Technically, it is July 4th, Independence Day in the states, and I couldn’t be farther from feeling patriotic, proud of my country or the people who are running it. Truth is, our country scares the shit out of me daily frightens me in a way I have never before experienced.
Today, I welcome the day off with my family. I welcomed sleeping in a bit, relaxing. But I am not feeling very red, white or blue — well, blue only in the sense of a deepening sadness. Human dignity and freedoms are now being stolen daily. The immigrant crisis, where children are being separated from their parents and sent to ‘camps’ technically for purposes of law! WTF and the parallels to the atrocities of the Holocaust haunt me. Please, dear friends, we cannot have another global miscarriage of morals, ethics, and values. Please, hear the cries, feel the pain. Act. Scream. Shout at the top of your lungs.
I move forward only by seeing the cries of injustice rallied far and wide. I hold strong and hard in my belief that we, the greater we of like minds, fairness, civility, compassion, and empathy can right this veering ship.
We must hold on this holiday, more than all others, the belief that the people of our world can and will come together and change the confluence of attitudes and events that are swirling together like the perfect storm. We have to raise the bar on just about everything in the world on human rights. We all need to care.
As many of you know, we had a bit of tsuris (trouble) this past spring break, when everyone got sick, save for Gatsby and me. Everything was ferkokt (all fucked effed up) Plans were canceled, tears were spilled along with other bodily fluids … Well, we finally got a re-do on that break, and this time, we headed to Boulder, Colorado to see my shvester (sister)and shvager (brother-in-law). I hope you can see how much fun we had! I am so very lucky…
The fresh smelling air, the sights, the sounds of nature, all were as glorious as this shot which doesn’t even begin to capture what our senses absorbed. We all need to be good to our planet to preserve such a treasure. A shtik naches (A great joy) for us all to revel and relish.
As an important note, I think we only stopped 7 or 403 times to utilize our new unicorn bandaids for various blisters and to add a bissel (little) bling!
Some of us were Terrified of back bear sightings — we stumbled into this tiny rabbit while hiking. A little later we saw a very big deer, resting in the shade. She was unscathed by our presence. Of course, we were then terrified of ticks and Lyme’s Disease and inspected our kinder like Jane Goodall and her gorillas in the mist. On our way down, we spoke to a couple that saw a few baby black bears (Oy vey!) playing, on their hike, higher up. Luckily my kinder won’t likely read this post for many moons, if at all Feelings of shpilkes (fear, pins, and needles) in our group? ‘Spot on!’
Never too tired to swim, and the water is never too cold when you are kinderlech (young children). Besides, there are two hot tubs to choose from to warm up if you need to! The water was actually quite comfortable in temp. Nothing stimulates the soul, activates the appetite and allows for sweet slumbers, like daily swimming. And the scenery, it couldn’t be more beautiful.
If he knew the words, he would have said, “Loz mich tsu ru! (Leave me alone!)” I had to look them up! He is one proud uncle, who gets a kick out of these maideleh’s (sweet little girls), and, he loves his ME time! Nothing wrong with that! ❤ While we swim, he aerobicizes and lifts, solo style.
With the patience of a saint, and an overwhelming need to play, she taught us again how to throw and catch a Frisbee. I really think we have it now! For me, just running freely, throwing, hiking, swimming and playing, without severe or any repercussions, shows the proof in the pudding from living so close to the dispensaries! Medical or recreational, cannabis works for chronic nerve pain (and so much more)! I see why people up and move to feel better. Mrs.?
We all had a blast. It was good to get away from our daily grind and take in new perspectives and sights. Needless to say, I was verklempt (all choked up, emotional) for the entire bus ride to the airport, and even during the frisking, she didn’t even know me! at the airport check-in … and, for a few more hours too. My shvester, she is a bit on the magical side. She is loads of fun for us all, and together, we laugh, and laugh and laugh until we pee ourselves. No joke! And for me, to have a body that can feel so good, priceless.
June is National Gun Violence Prevention Month.Shouldn’t June be, Hello, Summer, Month? Living here in these United Divided States, it’s something I take very seriously. Last year, I wore orange for Hadiya Pendleton. You can read about Hadiya and why #WearOrange became a movement here. I think about Hadiya daily, her stolen childhood and untapped, unfulfilled dreams. My heart breaks when I think about how her parents and friends must feel. And having never met her, I am deeply saddened that her bright light no longer shines in our world.
Hey, hey. Ho, ho. The NRA has got to go! HEY, HEY. HO, HO. THE NRA HAS GOT TO GO!
I look at my kinder (children) and I wonder if/when this epidemic of gun violence will stop. It is a health crisis, as virulent as Ebola. On June 2, I marched again, myMrs., Little, and Big at my side. The crowd was little bigger, but not big enough. Hadiya deserved more people marching in her honor, a sea of orange for a necessary sea change… Gun violence must not be the new normal. We should feel safe going about our days. Our own president ugh publicly addressed the NRA ugh ugh at their annual Convention and said, “I will not let you down. I will not let you down.”
We can END GUN VIOLENCE! We can END GUN VIOLENCE!
Movita Johnson-Harrell. I #WearOrange for her too. This inspiring woman has lost her father, brother, and teen-aged son to homicide by gun violence. Tsuris (devastating pain, grief) does not begin to cover what she has been through in her lifetime. Her speech at our March in Philadelphia left nary a dry eye. My Mrs., she was verklempt (all choked up). Yet Movita, she gets up every day, puts a smile on her face, and works very hard to make sure no other momma will ever feel the pain she feels or experiences what she has experienced. She was even selected by our new D.A. Larry Krasner, a good man, as Interim Supervisor of Victims Services. Who could understand victims and their families more than Movita? Through her broken heart, she helps others. A real mensch (good person, through and through).
Guns down! GUNS DOWN! Guns down! GUNS DOWN!
Tell me what democracy looks like. THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!
Marching and gathering peacefully in protest is my right as a citizen, and I need to do more. Each week, volunteering with Moms Demand Action, I make telephone calls to constituents all over the country, urging them to contact their legislators about concealed carry reciprocity. I often get yelled at, hung-up on, told that the person on the other end of the line is carrying… and I also, often connect, listen, politely inquire, challenge, and charmingly change the thought process with real facts. It is one of the toughest, yet most rewarding 60 minutes during my week. Together with other volunteers, Moms has driven hundreds of thousands of phone calls to elected officials to battle the NRA and the ballot box.
I #WearOrange because I’m a mom who cannot comprehend losing a child, a family member, to gun violence. I #WearOrange to raise awareness. I #WearOrangebecause change will not happen unless we make it happen. I #WearOrange for all of the victims and their families. I #WearOrange because I know that #BlackLivesMatter. I #WearOrange for the #LGBTQ community. I #WearOrange for all the tragic, senseless massacres at schools, concerts, movie theatres… I #WearOrange for all of us who are oppressed, marginalized, hated and victimized. I #WearOrange because I believe we need to drastically reduce access to guns. I #WearOrangebecause we need to treat mental illness without shame or stigma. I #WearOrange for all the families left behind from suicide. I #WearOrangebecause I care about the future. I #WearOrange because our elected officials need to see us and we need to vote. I#WearOrangeand I hope you will too.