A severe winter storm, defined as a ‘bomb cyclone,’ is hitting the eastern United States with the tenacity and chutzpah (balls, or nerve, for lack of a better term) of mr t’s thumbs in a tweetstorm with lil’ kim. Be warned, the ‘bomb cyclone’ is not fake news. Caused by a portentous plummet in (air) pressure proportionately parallel to mr t’s popularity, millions are now bracing for snow, ice, bone-chilling winds, and record-breaking low temperatures. This is not your momma’s Nor’easter.
The folks residing at the Manors are particularly preparing for calamitous cold conditions. “Last weekend, we saw 2-3 inches of snow in the bedroom alone,” said one resident, declining to be named. He went on to state, “We rescue one or two people a season in the hallways and on the steps, which typify tundra-like temps through March, as a rule.”
Apparently, a jet stream of cold air naturally penetrates the recently remodeled residences. Winter storms gravitate from the upper reaches of the atmosphere to the lower levels of the living quarters. It’s spectacular to observe.
“Perhaps record-breaking is the new normal,” said a young med student, who refers to her apartment as the ‘igloo on 2.’ “No need to worry about the small refrigerators. You can preserve perishables and slides from the lab, just about anywhere there’s a window! You don’t get that everywhere, you know?”
Another resident looks at the positive side of life, saying, “With this level of cold, we need less coffee to stay awake! The early morning wind gusts in the bedrooms have the kids flying out of bed to get dressed and ready for school where it is at least safe and warm each day. Tooth brushing is never as welcomed as it is in the austere conditions of winter.”
One couple quoted said, “We are thankful for the balmy bathrooms as a respite from the bleak bombogenesis that comes naturally with each unit. Most often, we sup in there to prevent our food from freezing up. A nice tablecloth can really dress up the closed lid on the loo. Candles add heat romance and help us to keep the magic of our relationship alive!”
Young kids enjoy the ski-lodge conditions, making extra money shoveling snow indoors. “We charge just a fiver for each apartment. We can really cash in with a storm like Grayson headed our way,” said one teen leading a group meeting of the cleanup crew. “I mean, the apartment folks, they shovel the walk-ups outside and stuff, but no one comes indoors like we do! We’ll have college costs and the new iPhone covered after ‘Gray.'”
Mrs. Rosenblatt, in R4, says, “My bursitis, oy, she will be acting up again with a pressure drop like this. At least I know I won’t have to ice my shoulders. I just put my rocker near the window as I knit and I will be frozeny-fine in no time flat. Who needs 20 minutes on, 20 minutes off. It’s too much to think about. My doc can’t believe how lucky I am!”
Climatologists and rheumatologists alike have begun ascending on the apartments at the Manors, delving deep into the unusual weather pattern methodology and pain treatment analysis. “Rapidly warming oceans cheap as shit insulation and wearied windows are definitely having their way with the people populating this uniquely beautiful Tudor,” said one scientist from the Council on Oceanographic Laboratory Discoveries (COLD).
Climate scientists fervently favor this life-saving acronym when prepping for an arctic anomaly like Grayson: COLD: Clean clothes, Overheating, Layering of clothing and Dry clothing. Mrs. Rosenblatt further states, “On most days you can run into any neighbor schpatziring in our gotkes (running around in our long johns). I recommend this place to all my menopausal friends. A nice hot flash is easily abated with this chill.”
Mr. Rosenblatt says, “For this, we pay rent? Oy vey.”
One family yeah, it’s us is gleefully leaving for warmer climes very soon.
A fool doesn’t age and cold water doesn’t spoil. A nar vert nit elter un kalteh vasser vert nit kalyeh.
December 14, 2017, will mark the 5-year anniversary of one of the most solemn and horrific moments in our unrelenting lack of #GunSense in America. The school shooting at Sandy Hook. To honor those students and teachers, and everyone else we have lost to gun violence, I am reblogging this post.
Those boys and girls of Sandy Hook were in first grade, just like my Little. Please, take a moment, a very uncomfortable moment and think about all of the lives we lose senselessly due to our loose, lax and well-lobbied for laws around out of control gun purchasing in this country. Please also watch this 1 minute video, from the folks at #TheSandyHookPromise. You really need to. After, please share. C’mon moms! We need you.
Thank you. May we be strong enough to make the changes we need to here in America.
Early Saturday morning, I woke up after having climate change nightmares. These were not just hot flashes — I had real nightmares about the life of our planet. Think the Lorax, on crack. I wrote a post,Blog, Shmog: An Interview Today, poking some acerbic wit at mr t, orange-in-chief, and then I left to head over to the Wear Orange March. This march was not about global warming. It was the about senseless gun violence in our country. Yet another topic t won’t touch. After all, the NRA, they own him.
Hadiya Pendleton, 15 years old, was shot in the back. Gunned down while standing inside Harsh Park with her friends in Chicago in 2013. Just one week earlier, she performed live with her school band at President Obama’s (second) inauguration. Her murder occurred less than one mile from the Obama’s Chicago home. Hadiya, an honors student, volleyball player, band member, daughter — her future was bright in so many ways. The cause of death: shot by mistaken gang rivalry. The shooters, gang members, they told police that she was standing with people they thought were from a rival gang. It was a mistake. Michelle Obama attended her funeral. By that January day in Chicago, she was already the 42nd murder by firearm. A real shonda(shame) for her, her family, our world.
The gates of tears are never shut. Di toi’ern fun treren zeinen kain mol nit farshlossen.
Saturday morning was cool, raining. Hadiya would have been 20 years young on June 2 of this year. Her birthday now represents National Gun Violence Awareness Day across our country. Her brightness is now the color orange, the same color worn by hunters, so as to be seen and not shot. It is the color of gun violence prevention. Less than 100 of us gathered. Many moms held laminated photos of the children they lost to gun violence. We all talked. I told them I was there for Hadiya, and for the Sandy Hook Promise. When we failed all of those children and their teachers who gave their lives protecting them, I knew I had to do more. I couldn’t just sign a petition and call Senator Twomey’s office again. I had to enlist in the fight.
In the US, gun violence kills 93 people every single day — almost 34,000 lives per year. That includes murder, suicide, and accidental death. In Philadelphia, last year our number was 278. Almost 1 life per day. These numbers are stunning, but they must not leave us hardened. We must work harder than we ever have before.
Our kinder (sweet children) deserve better. Hadiya dreamt of going to Northwestern University. She wanted to become a pharmacist, a journalist, or a lawyer. She was a good kid. Hadiya, she deserved better.
Guns are a very large problem in this country. I do not think that our founding fathers had gang members, mental illness, violent domestic abuse, accidental death and suicide in mind when they created the second amendment. I believe there is some good legislation out there (SB 501 for stronger gun control rights) that needs enforcing, and I believe there are some horrible laws on the books (SB 383 that arms school staff, teachers, and boards). Vey iz mir (OMG), we need to make some drastic changes.
Last I checked, we were ONE human race. How can we all begin to walk with empathy and love in our hearts? When will we begin to embrace all of our very unique and beautiful differences, instead of fearing them? I will do that for Hadiya. I will do that for all of those families from Sandy Hook. I will do that for everyone affected by senseless gun violence. We need to do that for all the kinder (children). Please join me.
Death doesn’t knock on the door (and warn you of it’s impending arrival). Toyt tut nit klapn aoyf di tir.
It must be wizards… but what is a Yiddisheh muggle like me to know? Every October, Harry Potter and friends land in Chestnut Hill, a stone’s throw from us, where the whole town is magically transformed into Hogwarts. Even the local train station!
Butter Beer, Diagon Alley, Sorting Hat stations, Bertie Bott’s every flavor beans that taste like vomit, grass, and boogers… Quidditch anyone?
“There are all kinds of courage,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.”
It was a day filled with wise wizards, witches and witty bits of Potter wherever you looked! What’s not to love?
Tell me a story about a young girl, born in 1933 during the height of the depression, growing up facing antisemitism, blatant sexism, and inequality, and I’ll know you are talking about Ruth Bader Ginsburg, my hero. Oh, Ruth, you are one powerful Yiddisheh momma that dares to live every day #livingfearlesslyauthentic. Let me tell you about her.
Nothing ever did or will stop her. If she disagreed, you knew about it. If she ever wanted something to change, she stood up and fought for it — and that is still true today. She lives and breathes strength, integrity, and elegance. She stands up for equality when others don’t even recognize the discrimination. She is a graceful heavyweight, a leader among all leaders, and at five feet tall, 84 years old, she heads up the liberal wing of the Supremes. She makes me proud to be a woman, a Jew, a feminist, an activist, a mom, and a human being.
Fight for the things that you care about. But do it in a way that will lead others to join you.
— Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Supreme Court Justice
Joan Ruth Bader was born to Jewish immigrants and grew up in Brooklyn, NY. Her sister died when she was just a toddler. Her mother, Celia, always stressed the importance of education (Celia was a very good student, graduating High School at 15, yet her family chose to send her brother to college. It was a time when sons were valued and daughters were meant to find husbands.). As a mom, she wanted more for her daughter. What momma doesn’t? Celia noticed that many girls in her class were named Joan, so to quickly avoid any tsuris (trouble), she asked her teachers to call her Ruth. She brought her to the public library often, where Ruth consumed Nancy Drew books, realizing that Nancy was a young girl in charge, who thought for herself (perhaps we add this series of books to our collective daughters’ gift lists?Nu?) both in her mystery solving and in her relationships. Ruth’s dream of becoming a lawyer was underway and early signs of Notorious R.B.G had begun.
Ruth was an excellent student (she listened to her momma, like a glikt shana maideleh (good girl)). Sadly, her mom died the day before her high school graduation
She went on to attend Cornell University, where she studied in the bathroom stalls, hiding from parties and social activities — she graduated as the top-ranking female student in her class
At Cornell, she met Marty Ginsburg, whom she would later marry. Ruth was demoted from her job for being pregnant. Marty and Ruth gave birth to a bouncing baby girl. Everyone said she belonged in the kitchen, and at home with her daughter. Marty and Ruth knew better.
Marty ( a successful tax attorney in his own right) was supportive, unlike many men of their generation. He understood Ruth was no balaboosta (organized and efficient home-maker). He handled all of the traditional ‘mommy’ roles. Middle-of-the-night feedings, cooking, cleaning, baking, and tending to the kids… he was proud to do these things so that Ruth can later become the Notorious R.B.G. that we know and love.
She attended Harvard Law school and was often ridiculed by the dean for being a woman, taking up a man’s spot.
Marty took a job in NYC and Ruth transferred to Columbia University, where she graduated tied for top honors in her class.
She had a law degree and top honors, but being a woman, wife, mom, and a Jew made her dreams of becoming a lawyer very difficult. To say she became passionate about women’s rights and gender equality would be an understatement. After co-founding the Women’s Rights Project for the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union), Ruth went on to fight six landmark cases on gender equality before the US Supreme court.
President Jimmy Carter appointed RBG to the US Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia. She served there for thirteen years. President Bill Clinton, looking to increase the diversity on the highest bench in the land, appointed her to the US Supreme Court. She joined the Supremes as only the second female Supreme Court Justice (Sandra Day O’Connor was the first). She refers to the former justice as her “big sister.”
RBG battled colon cancer in 1999. She fought off pancreatic cancer in 2009. In 2014, she had a stent placed in her right coronary artery after feeling uncomfortable while working out with her personal trainer. Yes, she can probably kick a*s and take names in any gym she enters.
As for the name, Notorious R.B.G., that comes for her feisty and fiery dissents. A meme virally toured the social media realm, comparing her rap star Notorious B.I.G.
On retirement, at 84, she is a self-proclaimed flaming feminist litigator and is showing no signs of losing her efficacy or her memory. Take a look at this recent tweet from our own twit-in-chief, and you know she still is a powerful force.
Ruth, I admire you and hold you in the very highest regard. You influence my life and my decisions, and I know this world is a better place because of you. Thank you for all you do.
What a gutte neshumah, she is. What a good person with a big heart, she is.
the sciencebranch of knowledgeprojection of feartsuris (troubles) concerned with the production, distribution, and consumption of goods and services buying the stuff you need today, tomorrow and the next day for your family.
Meshuggah (crazy) behaviors or actions, that oftentimes arise with heart palpitationscreatively as the direct result of the scarcity of means, in order to achieve certain common and normal ends. Huh? ex.: We need to brush our teeth, we still, really!!!have no toothpaste… Achh!
Take a look at this photo. I walked into our bathroom the other day, and this is what I saw, no joke! From our loo to your eyes. I ran for my magical iPhone to snap this baby. And with this, comes a tale. After all, you that is why you are here …
Did you know, that when you run out of toothpaste, you can actually cut the tube in two or three parts, and have enough toothpaste to last a normal family of four at least five more days? Did you also know that when the deodorant thingy-mah-jiggy-holder falls from its container and bounces on the bathroom floor a few times and lands in the corner, a linty, hairy mess, you can remain odor free for about two weeks more, if you pick it up, wipe away the yuck, and rub it under your arms? Two weeks! And, that pump in the shampoo bottle… when that stops pouring out perfect spurts of soapy suds-making, you can lengthen and lusciously lather for days, maybe even a week if you take it off? The little straw itself holds two days worth of ‘do-cleaner! Then, the bottom of the bottle, don’t get me started! It’s robbery! In Yiddish, we call this, aroizgevarfeneh (pronounced ah-royz-geh-varf-ehn-uh). It literally means thrown out, wasted.
Extrapolate this scenario out across your personal purchases: think about the sunscreen, moisturizer, conditioner, make-up (like I would know, Nu?) caulk, paint, glue, … wait, don’t. It’s too upsetting to think of the money we’ve all put in the landfill left at the table. Look at this little Yiddisheh gem:
It is not so good with money, as it is bad without. Es iz nit azoi gut mit gelt es iz schlect on dem.
Living in the frugal lane, we’ve learned some very good money-saving tips and ideas. We’ve all worked to change our anti-penny-pinching ways many years ago. It’s all good. And we’ve argued and cried learned and grown. Vey iz mir (OMG!), it is madness if any of you let the above actions go unnoticed! Think conservation! Teaching the kinder (children) about resources and savings, everyday environmentalism and, well spartanomics!
My glass is always half-full. Now, I think it may be even more full than I ever imagined! What I do know:
To make promises and to love don’t cost any money. Tsuzogn un lib hoben kostn kain gelt nisht.
So try these tips. See if you save. If you have tips for us, please! Do tell! My Mrs. and me, we are trying desperately to save our money for a home. Alevai! (It should only happen!) These small humans we are raising, Little and Big, they cost a fortune! And, yes, these shanah maidels (sweet little girls), they are indeed priceless.
This is one tough world we live in… but who am I to tell you that? I wake up each morning and cautiously look at my smartphone, one eye opens at a time, and already, I get discouraged.
Stuff yourself with hope and you can go crazy. Fun loiter hofenung ver ich noch meshuggah.
Grateful? Mindful? Of course! Every day I remind myself of the good. And yet still, there is so much bad in the news, in the world, in our lives, in the lives of our friends. So what to do? I must find the laughter. Share the laughter, and add to the contagion in the chaos of the smile theory.
Laughter is heard farther than weeping. A gelechter hert men veiter vi a gevain.
So here’s a little story to share:
Right before school started, the Mrs. and me, we needed to get the kinder (kids) leggings and jeans. We went to Old Navy, you know, the cheap version of Gap? We found quite the sale, which better fits our frugal finances of $0 per month on frocks and finery. We found about 8 -10 pair, a shirt or two, and we were only lighter by $30-some dollars (That’s a -$30-some on the master budget spreadsheet). Not bad. Don’t you know, when we got home, the first pair my Big wants to wear has a dime sized hole mittendrinnen (smack dab in the middle of) her tuchas (tushy, butt, derriere)? I dry the tears and promise to sew this slit and salvage the day. After all, I am of the age that literally had to take Home Economics in school (feminism, oy vey). What part of baking brownies and crocheting toilet paper roll covers made that class economics? Oy, a whole other blog post right there. Needless to say, I made a promise.
A needle and thread were tough to find in our little flat, so two weeks later, I finally remember to make a trip to the local pharmacy. For $4.95, I buy a small kit to fix the leggings that were $1.99. Little, not caring a bit about the rip on the rump, had already worn them to school. Big, she has been hock mier chinik (banging on my tea kettle, yammering on and on) for me to make the fix.
It doesn’t cost anything to promise and to love. Tsuzogen un lib hoben kost nit kain gelt.
This morning, it was the first thing I set out to do. These pants, shmata (rags) no more! I make a nice hot coffee and place the new sewing kit, and the lacerated leggings all in arms reach. Gatsby, he is securely settled in my lap in support. Children nestled all snug in their beds our bed. I begin.
Threading a needle is a tad bit more difficult than I recall. Glasses on. Glasses off. Like Karate Kid, I repeat this mantra. At 654 months old, home ec or not, it took me over 25 minutes to put the blue f***ing thread through the teeny, tiny needle. Less than three minutes of sewing said slit, and I’m done. My Big, she is still sleeping. I almost want to wake her to see the joy on her shanah punim (beautiful, radiant face). I know she will wear them immediately.
I get up and proudly look in the mirror who the h*ll is that wrinkly old lady with gray hair?(Glasses on. Glasses off) as I brush my coffee tinted breath. I laugh. Maybe this gray coif is the silver lining of optimism I need.
I hope you all laugh today, and continue to find the laughter. We need it.
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!
Greetings all! I hope you are enjoying the weekend. I am very happy to share with you today, a post from guest blogger, Nicole Gardiner. Nicole, she is very passionate about topics related to home improvement, cleaning, and organizing. All things, we could use help with. As we get ready for school to begin, I thought you all would enjoy and learn from Nicole. Let’s all find our inner “Mary Poppins” and make clean up fun, “Spit-Spot!”
If you are spending your entire weekend doing house cleaning chores, then you might want to consider involving the rest of the family in the housework. Teaching your kids to help with the cleaning chores will not only help you to cut the time it takes for everything to be done in half but it will also teach your kids to be responsible and organized adults. Of course, no one likes cleaning chores and for your kids, there are definitely things which are way more fun. However, there are a few tricks which can motivate your little helpers.
Turn everything into a game
If you want to get the attention of your kids, you must know how to make the cleaning chore more fun. And the most common thing which children think when hearing the word fun are games. If you can turn every chore into a game, you are guaranteed to catch the attention of your young cleaners. Make an effort to come up with different missions for you children to complete and make every chore a competition. This is definitely a fun way to make cleaning more pleasant.
Turn up the music
Have you tried this method? It is guaranteed to make the cleaning chores more fun not only for your children but for you, too. Blasting the radio with the new hits of the station is a fun way to pass the cleaning time faster. If you want to involve your children in the cleaning, you can let them choose some of the songs on your house-cleaning playlist. You can be sure that if your kids are having fun, they don’t care what they are doing in the meantime.
Buy them child-size tools
Often cleaning tools are way too big and uncomfortable for your children. To make everything more personal and fun, you can buy them tools which are smaller and more appropriate for their age. Having their own equipment will definitely make them more excited next time they are tackling the house chores.
Give only age-appropriate tasks
Despite the fact that you can teach your children to be more responsible by having them to help you with the house cleaning, you should choose the chores that suit their age. That doesn’t mean that you should give them a task which they can finish in 1 minute and let them rest but you can’t expect from a toddler to do the job which a 10-year-old does.
One of the most fun ways to motivate any child is to promise a reward. It doesn’t have to be something big but the idea of getting a reward after completing a chore is one of the best tricks to get your children to be interested in cleaning. Rewarding with a favorite snack or a day by the pool is more than enough to motivate your children to help around the house.
Cleaning is not something adults like, so we can’t blame our children when they don’t feel motivated to help us around the house. However, learning how to handle basic house cleaning chores can help them tremendously when they become adults. Helping around the house will not only cut the cleaning time in half but it will also teach them how to be more responsible and organized. Those are qualities which every adult should possess. If you use those simple methods you can make the cleaning chores a bit more fun for your children and get them motivated to help you around the house.
The whole world is on fire, and grandma, she is mopping the floor. Der ganster velt iz aoyf fayer, aun nannalah, zi iz maping di shtik. Nu?
I came home from work, and the pain in my neck was excruciating. On a scale of 1 – 10, it was a 46 (that should only be my age). Ugh! My shana maidelehs (sweet little girls) were so excited to see me; Gatsby, my furry boychik, was jumping and barking at my feet. My Mrs., she could see the pain in my eyes and she gently kissed me on the check. Heroes welcome for certain.
Apparently, a note was left at the front door entrance to our apartment building to my attention. Big, she was very excited to tell me all about it. Someone found something of mine in the parking lot… call a phone number and they will give it to me. I had no idea what that could be and I had no intention of finding out immediately due to my ‘pain in the neck‘ neck pain. My family, they went out to a birthday party for Little’sfriend — I wanted to go, but without full body cooperation, I listened to the siren song of the sofa calling my name. Gatsby and I snuggled in tightly, arranging my head just so, and I asked ‘Alexa’ to play Rachel Maddow as I closed my eyes.
A little bit later, I heard a ping on my phone, so I took a look-see. I noticed a few notes in my Facebook messenger. Delving a little deeper, there was yet another note for me from a person I did not know. It was brilliant! Take a look at this:
Someone found my wallet, and wanted to return it to me! All of the sudden, I remembered Big’s excitement and put 2+2 together… I lost my wallet.
Wait, I lost my wallet? I never lose my wallet? Nu?When did this happen? Where? How? Obviously in the parking lot…
My penchant for the penny-wise is so strong, I only reach cash/card if I really have to make a purchase. I met a friend for coffee today, but that’s a luxury, so no wallet.I didn’t even know I lost it! This could have easily been disastrous!
I dialed up my very kind neighbor right away. She was so sweet and caring. She said she was eagerly waiting to hear from me and she hoped I wasn’t going crazy looking for this missing wallet… Wait, I lost my wallet? I never lose my wallet? She was at work, but her hubby was home and would be happy to deliver my missing property. I insisted that I go to him – It was the least I could do! Gatsby and I ventured across the parking lot. As we made our way, it dawned on me that the previous day, me and this boychik, we walked to the local coop for some dog food and treats. My wallet must have fallen out of my pocket on the way home… I lost my wallet?
I pressed D9 and the most delightful man answered, in a British accent too! He buzzed me in the doorway and came straight away, with my red wallet in hand. As he handed it to me, he reached out his hand and said, “My name is Jim.” I happily took his hand in mine and smiled, gushing gratitude! He bent down and played with Gatsby. These two people who found my wallet, Kristy, and Jim, they are mensches (good people filled with honesty and integrity). And, they like my Gatsby. Dog people are good people! ❤
Today, in a world filled with chaos, hate, divisiveness, terror… I experienced the ultimate in human kindness. I saw proof that people, all people, can choose kindness.
A little bit of light pushes away a lot of darkness. A kleyn bissel fun likht pushiz a vek a plats fun finsternish.
Kristy and Jim, thank you for my light.
I lost my wallet… My Mrs., Liz, Biz, Nona — it’s official. I’m a true part of this family! Expect a lost/stolen iPhone next, and, wait, where did my keys go? Oy vey. (OMG.)
Shalom, Ahava, and Simcha. Peace, Love, and Joy. May you all find some kindness today and every day!
Yes, she did. The ‘F’ word in question is feminist, and she was the first feminist for this alta kocker (old fart) of a baby boomer, to witness and learn from, on TV. She very easily and seamlessly showed the world, and young madelahs (girls) like me yes I was a young kinder, that you can be a woman and do things differently. It was okay.
As a little pisher (kid), I grew up admiring and dreaming of becoming ‘Mary Richards.’ I know, you’re thinking, Mary, she’s a shiksah (non-jew) with a cute little turned up nose… and me, a Yiddisheh momma? Well, at the start of every episode, she tossed that hat up into the air, and knew, she was ‘gonna make it after all.’ She was a smart, single woman in the ’70’s, living alone and carrying a big job at WJM-TV. She demanded respect, and was incredibly kind. A true mensch (good person). Once, she bumped into her desk, and actually said, “excuse me.” I’ve done that. Really! I have channeled Mary Richards and her kindness, and I have brought the Rule of Kind to our home.
I remember the very first episode, when she interviewed for the job of TV producer. Mr. Grant (Ed Asner) was giving her a real tough time and she flat-out stood her ground and stated that he should be asking her about her qualifications, not her personal life. Zing! Ah-ha moment. Click. Save.
Over the seven years her show spanned, she taught me about equal pay (and we are still fighting that fight) for women in the workplace, birth control, being single and having sex, not conforming to society’s view of women — married with children, dressing differently (yes, the very first member of the pantsuit nation), mixing skirts, dresses, and pants in her wardrobe both for work and for play. All the while, I baby sat and ich macht a labent (made a living), as pint-sized pishers did. Click. Save.
As I mourn Mary Tyler Moore, and Mary Richards, I sure hope she meets up with Chuckles the Clown in the big TV studio in the sky. Perhaps one of the funniest episodes ever, Chuckles Bites the Dust, where Mary really lost her sh*t couldn’t contain herself. He worked down the hall from the studio and was killed by a rogue elephant when he was dressed as Peter Peanut. The gang kept relentlessly making jokes and Mary was appalled. Then at the actual funeral, the sermon began it finally hit her and she laughed louder and heartier then ever before. It was comedic genius and showed fear of the ever after simultaneously.
*Video courtesy of You Tube
Mary, wherever you are, I hope you can laugh. For your life looked easy to us, but it was much harder than ever imagined. Go find Chuckles, and laugh, and know that you made a real difference in the world that is so very important today, especially today, in 2017. RIP MTM, and thank you for your wisdom, comedy, and insight.
The only true dead, are tose who have been forgotten. di bloyz ams toyt, zenen di vas hobn shoyn fargesn.
In this space, many a time, I have spoken ill of mykinder (children) and their need to gai schluffy(go to sleep) on their own and in their own room. Last night, the first sleep over of 2017, had our ‘Little and Big’ with their own ‘Little E. and Big M.’ in tow. Sibling birthed besties! Literally, friends ‘in/out of utero,’ ‘of/for a lifetime.’
Let me preface this bubba meisah (a bit of a tall story) with the fact anecdotal evidence that up until now, and for three short months shy of nine years, the Mrs. and me have been a part of some irrational scientific lab experiment on sleep deprivation. I gotta say, our ‘sleep banks’ and our ‘regular banks’ are probably equally underprovided…
Knowing that ourLittle shana madelah was going to be the cause of the majority of any anticipated schluffy tsuris (sleep trouble), we started our adventure with our first hike of 2017. We had two cars, 4 girls 8 and under, and Gatsby (a barking meshuggeneh boychik on a leash) and headed off for the beautiful trails of the Wissahicken. A little fresh air, a new trail and a New Year! Surely we were finding our true north early in the year. We chose to head over to the Tolerance Statue, Mr. William Penn himself, in full-marbleized regalia. 2017 is going to need a lot of ‘tolerance,’ more than usual given the unfortunate circumstances of our hacked democracy. The weather was perfect, the lighting gorgeous and the adventurous state of the girls was scary thrilling!
These ‘explorer kids’ ran, chased, scaled, and reached for the stars as we made our way to the statue. There was a lot of joy on the trail that day, as everyone who passed was filled with smiles and well wishes for a Happy New Year. It felt quite lovely. The maidelahs and the boychik felt the holiday spirit too as they giggled and climbed. Wink. Wink. Nod. Nod. The Mrs. and me thought for certain that we were golden; a promising quiet night with 4 sleeping beauties, nestled snug in their beds.
We filled their tiny bellies with pizza and ice cream, the entrée of all sleepovers. We brought out the trampoline for some additional arduous, aerobic activity, then stoked up the TV with Home Alone, the original. The smell of buttery popcorn wafted through the hallways of the Manor, a nice nosh (nibble) for a movie. It was a night of memory making, a simcha (cause for happiness) over these beautiful friendships.
Hugs, kisses… “Goodnight girls! We love you to the moon and back again!” Oh, how naïve we were.
The Bigs, they had their books to read and set off to our bedroom to quietly read. Our Little, she flipped a switch and began an award-winning melt-down, complete with alarming geshrei’s (screams like Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween), stomping feet and kicky legs too! Totally expected. The Mrs. spent some time in the room with them. I came back from walking boychik and headed for my tour of duty.
Many hours later, I lay motionless in the dark, essence of oils diffusing ‘balance’ into the air, two sleeping Bigs and two wide awake, albeit loud, Littles. It’s time for the Mrs. again. Soon after, I am called back in for a song. The Mrs., she cuts it off at a song. So Little E.requested a ‘lullaby’ that her mom sings her each night. Oy vey…
So, I pull out my very best lullaby. Like a jackrabbit, Little E., she jumps up and says, “That was good, but the one my mommy sings goes like this.” She sang proud and strong, and with the largest, wiggly-jiggly toothed smile shining by the light of the diffuser. It made my very tired, post-tantrum, miserable kinder (child) smile too.
From that moment on, they held hands, smiled, and fell fast asleep. Long night, but completely adorbs all around. Oh how I love these girls!
Gut-yor (A good year) for all!
Yeder kind offers zeyer eygn eyntsik talant fun glik tsu di velt. Every child offers their own unique gift of happiness to the world. – Russian proverb
We the people, of these disenfranchised and divided states of America, lay uncomfortably in wait for the passing of the baton from President Obama to Mr. Orange-elect ( I will not say his name). In thinking of positive ways to come to grips with this most unfortunate outcome, I am seeking solace in my inner ‘glass half-full’ / Mary Poppins approach to life. Please allow me to share with you, some very popular Yiddisheh phrases that coincide with the strangest turn of events in political history, and my lifetime. We’ll turn this into an opportunity to learn some Yiddish!
He that cannot obey cannot command. Er az kenen nit folgn kenen nisht bafel.We are clearly not in Kansas anymore. No disclosure of tax returns. Cancelled announcement of how he plans to divest his global businesses and their inherent flow of green. What ‘conflicts of interest?’ Chats with Vlad, and the Prez of Taiwan, like there is such a thing. Oy gevalt(geeze louise!)!
If we all pulled in one direction, the world would keel over. Ayob mir ale puld in eyn riktung, di velt volt kil iber.White supremacy. Muslim registry. Women. LGBT. Disabled. Jews. Latino’s. Kaynahorah (a saying to ward off the evil eye), may he be all talk, because this is sounding all too familiar my friends.
A chip on the shoulder indicates wood higher up. A shpon aoyf di axl indekeyts holts hekher aroyf.Daily security briefings? So last term. He’s smart, so smart, that this is a waste of time. He needs a security briefing like he needs a loch en kop (hole in the head). Oh, but he does need time to continue to produce the Celebrity Apprentice.
Don’t approach a goat from the front, a horse from the back, or a fool from any side. Du zalst nisht tsugang a tsig fun di front, a ferd fun di tsurik, oder a nar fun keyn zayt. Congratulations to those of you who hired this man.
When you grease palms, you ride. Ven ir shmirn palms, ir for.The US intelligence community has come out in force, before, during and after the election results, to let the American people know that Mr. O’s bro, Vlad has absolutely, positively, and undeniably, hacked our democracy to sway the election in favor of the unfavorable.Nu? (So?) They played us like a violin. Mr. O, he says this is ridiculous, it’s all a bubbeh meisah (an old wives tale). Hacking, shmacking…
Not everyone who sits in the seat of honor is master. Nit alemen vas zitst in di avekzetsn fun kvud iz bel.The electoral college needs to officially vote to make Mr. O-elect the president. And, go-no, before the vote, they are asking to be ‘briefed’ further on this hacking business from the same US Intel community that Mr. O is snubbing. Hmmmm…
Surrounding yourself with dwarfs does not make you a giant. Arumik zikh mit dvarfs tut nisht makhn ir a riz. Look who plays in his sandbox? Vlad, Sarah(did she see this all this spying and hacking from her house?),Bannon, Tex-Rex, David Duke, Jim Crow? Gutinue? (OMG!)
He who praises himself will be humiliated. Er vas shilus zikh vet zayn khiumileyitid.Billy Bush. That’s all I need to say here.
You are smart, smart, smart – but you are not so smart. Klieg, Klieg, Klieg-Du bist a nar. Yup. Yuppers.
L’Chiam! To life! Because we must end on a positive note. And that’s a wrap for today.
In December, on the very day that follows jolly ol’ St. Nick, traipsing (trudging) soot through the Manor, schlepping (hauling) holiday gifts aplenty, the Mrs. and me, we will be legally married for three years. We’ve been together for just shy of 19 years. There was a bit of lag-time before the Supremes sang out to the world that we are in fact, equal. That our love counts too. Hey, that it happened in my lifetime! Pthui, pthui, pthui… So what, our engagement was long (16 years), and we had a couple of kinder (kids) out-of-wedlock. Nu?
Now, like all of you, we live through sickness and health, for richer or poorer… And what I have learned is that ‘poorer’ carries so much more in definition. Oy vey iz mir (Woe is me)… Poorer doesn’t always refer to insufficient bank funds. Sure we are shy of green and becoming quite the frugalista’s. We are actually quite rich in our poverty! Let me tell you three ways how:
Sleep. They say, a nacht on shlof iz di gresteh shtrof(a sleepless night is the worst punishment). Well, how about 3,285 of them! Yes, our kinder (kids), sweet shana madelahs(little girls) that they are, they lack the skillset to gai shluffin (sleep) like normal children without us mommas in tow. Often times, as we try our best to lull them to slumber, you can hear either the Mrs. or me mumble under our breath, “FCKITY F#CK FCK, will you please just go the F%CK to SLEEP!”
This is a far-reaching problem. It means neither sitter, grandparent, family member, sleep doula, nor even Mary Poppins herself, can lay them down for the necessary night’s worth of zzzz’s. Co-sleeping wee-sized infants have grown into co-sleeping small humans. They stand tall as trees, long limbs kicking, elbowing and stealing our snuggly quilt nightly. Our oversize king mattress, well not so much.
Our sleep bank and our cash bank look all too similar. Oy.
Kid-free zone.I’m talking about ‘alone time.’ Adult time. For schmoozing (talking), to catching up, binge watching Grace and Frankie or Orange is the New Black while spooning on the sofa. Even having actual time to talk about our dear kinder with each other. Taking in ‘a nice meal’ together, when we are both showered, dressed like we put in some sort of effort in the game, and totally tantrum free.
Thankfully, the Mrs.and me, we have some truly remarkable friends who have recognized our severe insufficiency in the ‘kinder-free’zone and have started with sleepovers. Big, she loves the sleepover, and Little, well, she is trying the best she can. We are not quite there. Last night’s pick-up (mid- Downton Abbey, season 6, episode 3), and todays screeching fits, outbursts and hysterics are proof.
Time. Not great bits of it mind you, but an occasional late slumber, where my body awakens because it’s met some sort of natural and healthful internal quota. Grabbing a shower without a cutie little punim (face) opening the curtain and asking, ‘do I know where her shoes are,’ or, ‘do you have any money.’ Uninterrupted time to poop, alone. Yes, I said it. That would be f#cking amazing.
So my Mrs., as we tackle the richness of poverty in our lives, please know we are in it together, for now and forever. That alone brings me such nachas (joy, pleasure), no gelt (money) can ever buy. I love you my sweet. And those kinder, kaynahorah (warding off the evil eye), they are happy, healthy, wonderful, meshuggeneh (crazy) girls.
Wow, I am rich.
Hnah lebn. Das iz nit a kleyd repetitsye. Enjoy life. This is not a dress rehearsal.
Hello all. This is a post for a dear blogger friend. She does not live in the US. She did not get to vote in our election. Yet incredibly, she found herself in tears discussing the outcome. I know that the Mrs. and me spent a great deal of time crying. I think we are grieving and in mourning too. It feels like a death has happened. The death of progress, hope, equality. We are left with misogyny, racism, xenophobia, sexual assault, bullying and hate for religious freedom and the disabled.
Without further ado, please read this brave, real, honest post from my friend in the ether-world, Mac at reflectionsfromme.com .
Women all over, please know that together, we are stronger. We have a voice.
I am not American, and I am first to admit I know very little about American politics. I am not going to pretend I am an expert or that I have followed the campaign closely enough to write a highly educated post. Admittedly I know little about Hilary, I know little about Donald and I have even less knowledge on the other candidates.
What I do know though is I found myself in tears last night. Unexplained tears. I was talking to my mother over the phone and I found myself starting to cry, I was shocked. Somehow this vote left me feeling extremely vulnerable and brought feelings out in me that I was surprised by, feelings I thought I had dealt with many years ago. Yet somehow hearing that Donald Trump was to be America’s President tore open old wounds, and left me feeling violated as a woman, and as a mother.
To say it upsets me is an understatement, I, and I am sure many other women and men are in shock! I feel disgusted, and I feel let down. I am not naive enough to believe that women have equality in this world, far from it. I am blessed to have been born in a country, and a point in time where women where I live have it pretty great. I guess in some way though this is what gave me the false sense of security that a person like Donald Trump could not be seen as a leader. Don’t get me wrong I am not in any way saying Hillary was not voted in because she is a woman and I understand that she is not well liked by many Americans, this post is not about her. It is about how let down I feel as a woman, no scrap that not just as a woman, it is about how let down I feel as a human being that anyone would support a man who can be OK with talking about grabbing a woman by her “pussy”, and how they let him do it to them because he has fame, because he is a “star”! He can talk about trying to “fuck” his words not mine, married women as if it is his right to sleep with anyone he pleases. And apparently he doesn’t wait to start kissing someone he just does it!
Oh and here is another Donald Quote, he tweeted,
“26,000 unreported sexual assaults in the military-only 238 convictions. What did these geniuses expect when they put men & women together?”
I mean what is he saying Here? Because it sure sounds to me like he is saying that of course women should expect to be sexually assaulted if they are part of the military? And what is it saying about Men? As a woman this disgusts me, and if I was man I would be so offended!
This is a man who openly insults women, who has even gone as far to say that if his own daughter wasn’t his daughter that he would be dating her! I mean what father says that????? It is sickening! It is fine to acknowledge your child is attractive, but that you would date them is just a weird statement to make in my opinion.
I am not saying that Hillary Clinton is perfect, and I know that people saw Donald Trump as the better of two bad choices, but I just don’t understand how they can justify that thought? As a mother I want my daughters to be respected, not looked upon as sexual objects, as a mother I want my son to know he deserves respect and that he must also respect women and their right to say no to any unwanted advances. I want both my daughters and my son to see everyone as equal and know everyone deserves to be treated with respect regardless of their gender, financial status, colour of their skin, or sexual preferences.
Like I said I am not an American and I don’t live there so who am I to judge anyone who voted for Trump? I know you had your reasons, I know that many Americans are scared and live in fear especially after September Eleven. But still, I just can’t understand voting in Trump. I feel so confused. I don’t feel I could ever vote for someone with such a vulgar opinion of women. I would never want my daughters to think I would vote for a man who speaks about women that way. I would never want my son to look up to the leader of his country as a role model. I feel like voting in Trump is like saying “hey men of the world you can treat women however you want and still lead a great country like America”! “You know what go ahead and insult women, grab them by the pussy, kiss them without permission and you will be rewarded with the presidency”! Is this a joke????
Maybe I am being too sensitive? Because clearly the majority of voters didn’t see it that way. They excused his behaviour, or as a close friend of mine who is an American citizen said that she voted for Trump “despite his many character flaws” because he offers something “different” which she and many others believe America needs. I understand that, but still I struggle to excuse or ignore his character flaws. I can’t justify his character flaws. I know my friend and she has the most beautiful heart, she wouldn’t be my friend otherwise. She is very intelligent and works very high up in the Nursing Industry, but still I feel let down by her. Very few people know this about me, but I was raped and beaten on a regular basis by a boyfriend when I was 19 – 20. Me saying NO made no difference! Me screaming and fighting meant nothing to him. I lived in fear daily, and it was a dangerous situation whether I stayed or left. I left, but it didn’t stop, I was stalked and attacked for a long time after. I have now been safe for 14 years. Although something like that never really leaves you, hence why I use a pseudonym for my blog (something I only revealed a little while ago). Like I said hardly anyone knows, but my friend knows and it blows my mind that she can vote for a man who seems to think sexual attacks on women is expected! I am not mad at her, I am not mad at Americans, I just feel sad. I thought we had come further than that. What scares me is that Americans and many people around the world think he is the only choice. It makes me feel like we are all running scared, that Americans are so in fear of where their country is headed that the feel the only choice is to vote for Trump.
I hope he helps America, I hope that he does amazing things and heals the country. I hope he is the best leader we have seen so far! I truly do! I also hope that he realises upon reflection that he has treated women badly, that he has made men look bad, and woman look weak, and I hope he apologises for his disgusting behaviour. I hope he can become a positive role model, that he can lift men and women up and stop putting them down. Is that possible I don’t know? I honestly am not sure a man like him can ever see himself as wrong. But I hope I am wrong about that!
This man sickens me, but more than that it just breaks my heart that amazing strong women, intelligent people have somehow excused his behaviour, that they believed it was justified to vote for a man who has no moral compass. I am left baffled. We need leaders who stand up for equality, who want to heal our world, is Trump that man? Is Trump the man I would want my children seeing as a role model, someone to set your morality standards upon? NO. I could not vote for him and look my children in the eye and say “Mummy is proud of her vote”.
Last night my daughter who is 12, asked me right before she went to sleep, “Mummy why are women not treated the same as men?” I knew this was an important question. I knew my answer would set a standard for her, yet I didn’t know how to answer. I hadn’t discussed the election with her, but she had heard things at school. It is a topic I really need to talk to her about, but it was late and I needed to really think. I told her we would sit down and have a big chat about it, but in the meantime I told her that
“Women are strong, we are intelligent and amazing, and that we are equal to any and every man.”
I share the sentiment of the quote above, by President Barack Hussein Obama. I can only hope that everyone of voting age here in the US, living abroad, or via absentee ballot, exercises their civic duty and votes on Tuesday, November 8th, if not before. We have a democracy, so dammit, go out and vote!
There are many more of you than I’d like to admit, that I staunchly disagree with in your choice of nominees. That gives me great shpilkis (stomach upset, jittery) as we approach the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November, election day.
What I do know is that I am sick and tired of hearing about the lies of crooked Hillary. I am sick of the Donald getting a free ride in the media, even after the famed, “I grab them by the pussy” tapes and the uprising of victims saying, “uh, Yeah! He does!”
I am so exhausted by the Wikileaks emails from famed ‘nasty woman’ Hillary? Have you read any of them? I hope you are sitting down, because this stuff is hard to take in:
She was eager desperate to help a 10-year old girl from Yemen who managed to get a divorce (she was fucking 10 years old) have a better life, get to the US, attend school and seek counseling
She was finding ways to help dying patients get faster medical care, food and water in Haiti after the terrible earthquakes
She wanted to put a stop to child trafficking in Haiti
She worried about the closing of a home for abused boys in Illinois
She planned her daughter’s wedding
She was checked, examined, poked, prodded and cleared — unable to indict of any wrong doing. FBI case closed.
Now because of yet another misogynistic texting perv, Anthony Weiner (duly named), she comes under fire and examination yet again, causing a spiraling fall in the polls. The emails in question belong to close Clinton staffer of decades, Huma Abedin, and her estranged, very strange hubby. Emails were found on the laptop and iPad of Weiner. I sure hope they washed their hands after picking up those bits of technology! This new FBI action comes with no evidence of any wrongdoing by Hillary, or even a single connection. Comey, the FBI double-naught spy in question said, “They appear to be pertinent.” He said this without ANY examination at all of said emails. With four days until the election, it still remains unclear if these alleged emails found have anything to do with Hillary and if there is enough antibacterial soap to help those who handled them.
Yesterday, Melania Trump stumped in mainline Berwyn, PA. Wearing a very tight, pink blouse, she spoke eloquently to a room filled with Trump supporters, mostly men clad in red Trump hats. She spoke out against bullying. For real! She did. Bullying. Alanis, please add this to your song about irony. This epitomizes irony! Her hubby, the Donald, is the most infamous bully of our time.
Perhaps Melania doesn’t know her hubby very well. Perhaps he has moved on to a younger, more cleavaged immigrant and this has caused her to forget his xenophobic, misogynistic, racist, anti-disabled, anti-LGBT, anti-Muslim, anti-Black, anti-Latino, anti-Mexican, pro-violence, and lying, cheating flip-flopping ways.
And while the world is immersed in the email scandals, lest we forget Trump’s:
Fraud scandal at Trump University
Declaration of bankruptcy 6 times
Rape case of a minor pending in federal court
75 open pending lawsuits against him and his businesses
Trump Foundation activity
Inability to show us his tax returns
Ties to the Kremlin
Those of you dumb enough wasting your vote on the Green Party, did you know they just endorsed Trump? So even before, when we told you a vote for Green was a vote for Trump, now there is direct proof.
Which brings us to Tuesday, one of the single most volatile days for our country. A day that will truly go down in infamy. A day I fear. If you care about women, equal rights, healthcare, marriage equality, global warming, black lives matter, religious freedoms, the Supreme Court, any of the freedoms we have won over the last 8 years, and the generations to follow in our footsteps, please choose Hillary. Even if you don’t like her.
Please don’t fall for that reality show dolt who basically, day in and day out: Du kanst nicht oif meinem fus pishen und mir sagen klass es regen ist. He pees on your foot and tells you it’s raining.
What’s worse? Too many of you believe him.
And my last plea before I enter the polls on Tuesday is this: If you care about my family, The Mrs., me, Little and Big, please vote for Hillary. I am one proud, nasty woman who applauds the pant suit crowd and will happily pull the lever for our first ever, incredibly qualified, woman president.
I’m no quantum physicist maven (expert) by any means. I’m just a Yiddishermomma trying to put some pieces together to better understand this thing called time. Does it always go forward? Does it really flow? My coffee is getting more and more chilled as I type and I like it piping hot, especially in the quiet of the morning, when the Mrs. and the kinder lay keppe a schluffy(are still asleep, heads on pillows). If I could turn back time maybe my cuppa would be hotter, or better yet, alevai (it should come to pass; it should only happen), maybe events would be different.
Nit af alleh mol shlecht, un nit af alleh mol gut. Things can’t be bad all the time, nor good all the time.
What am I trying to get at here? I’m stretching to find meaning in the meshuggeneh (crazy) world we are living in. Remember that commercial, “Time to make the donuts…” with the perpetually exhausted donut maker readying for the early morning rush at Dunkin Donuts? It’s always time to make the donuts… and I’m looking for my epiphany. I started thinking of song lyrics (can you name the artists/songs below?), after all Dylan just one a Nobel in literature. Poets, they have answers.
Let me forget about today until tomorrow…
Get it right the first time, that’s the main thing
Time keeps on ticking, ticking, ticking into the future
Does anybody really know what time it is
If I could save time in a bottle
Time after time
The first time ever I saw your face
Let’s do the time warp
I had the time of my life
This is the time to remember ‘cause it will not last forever
A time to be born, a time to die
It’s closing time
My Big, she is learning about time in school. Taking all those pieces of perspective, theory and momentum and understanding the very things I am struggling with today. It will no longer be, “How many sleeps until we see Audrey and Steve?” I still don’t know if time is an illusion, or if our perceptions, my perceptions are simply flawed.
Some lifetimes are minutes
It was the best of times
Some minutes are eternities
It was the worst of times
The kinder (children), they grow up so fast
This is no cliché
Slow it down
Speed it up
Oy a brokh (Hard times)
The first half of the gas tank goes slowly
and WTF then you are on E
It’s faster than the speed of light
It grinds to a halt
It’s time for a change
Nothing stays the same
Everything stays the same
Past, present, future
Oh, there’s always time
There’s never a good time
Free time, hah!
Time heals all wounds
What to do about my time conundrum? I will try very hard to…
Live in the present, using time wisely
Choose happiness, smiles and nachas (pleasure and joy)
Put the damned phone down and take in new adventures and experiences
Be in nature, making memories, creating more firsts
Love myself, because who gives a flying f*ck cares what people think
Read, explore, learn, and give
Walk in others shoes and be a gutte neshumah (good soul)
Inject novelty and spontaneity
Grab the ones I love and love them well
Live out loud
Vos lenger a blinder lebt, alts mer zet er. The longer a blind man lives, the more he sees.