Repetition is the Mother of Mastery; And sometimes it’s not

Yoga guru Baron Baptiste always says (at least when I did his DVD over and over again, that  “Repetition is the Mother of Mastery.”

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“Repetition is the Mother of Mastery.”

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“Repetition is the Mother of Mastery.”

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“Repetition is the Mother of Mastery.”

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“Repetition is the Mother of Mastery.”

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“Repetition is the Mother of Mastery.”

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“Repetition is the Mother of Mastery.”

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“Repetition is the Mother of Mastery.”

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“Repetition is the Mother of Mastery.”

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“Repetition is the Mother of Mastery.”

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“Repetition is the Mother of Mastery.”

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And sometimes it’s just not.

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And sometimes it’s just not.

And sometimes it’s just not. We have to change it up. We have to stop it.

We just have to stop this horrible behavior.

 

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Why is there so much hate in the world?

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My heart, it hurts, a lot.

Help me; I feel a bit discouraged today. I’m not my usual sunny self.

My kinder, Little and Big, are growing up in a culture that is so riddled in hate. And it is growing overwhelmingly, and at warp speeds.

Me, I’m out looking for the fairies tossing pixie dust, playing harps (really cool ones), planting trees and lighting the path to eternal sunshine, love, peace and happiness? Others, they put on vests voluntarily and enter crowded airports and tourist hot spots, or purchase firearms and forever change what safety means.

Such brokkh (disaster and misfortune) I refuse to get used to!

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Hate, the worst of the four letter words, is learned and it spreads like a contagion.

I have a friend whose family came here to visit, leaving from the very same Turkish Airport that the terrorists blew up, less than 24 hours later. Someone was shot in our parking lot just a few weeks back, and just minutes before, he killed another human being.

I’m sorry, but moments of silence and prayer are bullshit not cutting it for me. I do not mean to offend those who believe, but there cannot be a God whose plan is that we strategically pick each other off the planet to see who wins; most often, one by one — and too often, en masse. Poo, poo, may they all rest in peace…

Why the hell can’t we find a way to all live in peace? Is that so farshlugineh (crazy, irrational, mixed up)?

Did we just throw away our moral compass?

How did the bar get so low?

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This post is filled with questions that I do not have the answers to. What I do know is that:

  • I’m all for gun control, background checks and mental health checks
  • I don’t think my neighbor, or yours for that matter, should have the right to bear arms. I have shpilkes (panic) when I consider that he or she may – what if my shana madelahs (sweet little darling girls) are there for a play date?
  • Color me crazy, but mental health is and should be valued as highly as physical health, whether you want a gun or not
  • I think we all should feel safe going to school, the movies, a dance club, the airport, at work and anywhere else the fuck we want to go
  • I think everyone should be able to pee without showing a birth certificate
  • I want to love out loud, fearlessly

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Do we have the chutzpah (balls, yes balls) to make change out of this unconscionable tsuris (troubled, mayhem) of a world?

Won’t you help me? Please? My kishkas (intestines) are in knots at the thought of us not joining together with empathy in our hearts. Don’t we all deserve so much better than this? For the kinder (children), we make it better?

Alevai (It should only happen)!

Das hartz hat mir gezoght (My heart told me) it would.

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We need some ‘Law and Order’ at the Manor

This was not what I intended by having a room with a view
This was not what I intended by ‘A room with a View’

Who needs cable? We have our own excitement around here. Vey iz mere (heaven forbid) some normalcy we should have. Our evening started off so tranquilly. As a family, we noshed (ate dinner) on a nice meal. We streamed a delightful documentary, ‘First Position,’ about young ballet dancers, hard work, determination and the joy of the dance. It was magnificent. Little and Big were kind to each other, wore their listening ears well, and we were all assembled in a family-style, sofa-sized snuggle. Bouts of ballet broke out before us as Little and Big sensed the genius they were watching and tested their own moxie as dancers took to the stage. We watched through the credits, kinder leaping and twirling.

It was Friday night, my turn to cuddle my kinder (kids) to schluffy (sleep). We kissed the Mrs. and Gatsby, our pooch, good night, and pranced into the bedroom for dreamland. I had a shana madelah (little innocent daughter) curled in each arm. What could be bad? Nu? Big, she fell first, as witnessed by the cutest little purr of a snore. My Little, always the challenge, dared dreamland and the imaginings ahead in the dark. Yet even she soon surrendered sweetly. I felt her soft breath on my cheek. The toil of the ‘short-long week’ took its toll, and I soon drifted off too, smile on my punim (face).

Mittendrinnen (in the middle of everything), the Mrs., she comes running in, out of breath, shaking my feet, trembling, and saying, “Someone’s been shot in the parking lot!” Not two minutes before, she was outside with Gatsby for the last walk of the night. I pray, no I don’t hope I’m dreaming? No such luck. I pinched myself; it hurt. Kaynahorah (without the evil eye), I looked around and my family was okay.

I stumbled out of the bedroom to the frightening scene that played out downstairs, just below our kitchen window. Police cars, marked and unmarked, flew in, lights blazing as it neared midnight. A man stumbled and fell out of a white car, blood pooling around him as he lay in agony on the macadam. Neighbors were trying to stop the blood that poured from his groin. Everyone called 911. I even called NBC 10 news-as if they would cover such a story.

“We’ll be right over, said the women at the news desk.” Have you seen them?

Where in the hell was the ambulance. At least six cop cars had arrived. Two cops dragged the poor screaming man by his legs, across the pavement, to their car. A trail of blood followed him. His girlfriend cried out in terror; he shouted, clearly suffering. The cops, they insisted they were helping him to get to the hospital. I can still hear his screams. My heart still thumps uncomfortably in my chest. Was this brutality? The Mrs. and I, we couldn’t help but wonder if a white man on a better street in a better section of Philly would have been schlepped (pulled) like that. #BlackLivesMatter

So began the investigation. No sign of a gun. No sign of a struggle. No shattered windows. No bullet holes from outside of the vehicle. A bloodied drivers seat and blood along the parking lot. What’ happened? The police turned to the girlfriend, arms bloodied as she tried to help her boyfriend, to stop the flow of his blood into the street.

“Where is the gun? Where are the cell phones? Do you have his SIM cards? Did you give them to your daughter to take inside?”

“I didn’t know he had a gun! He has lots of cell phones. I didn’t know he had a gun!”

This, it makes me like mice
This, it makes me like mice (well, they are better than this)

We were two white moms witnessing the horrors of the #BlackLivesMatter movement. The fear and the tension for everyone outside, painfully clear. The detectives started to pressure, to criminalize the girlfriend, who lives two flights below. The police wanted to take her in, didn’t trust her innocence in the events. The Mrs., she ran down 3 flights of steps to tell the detectives, “She’s telling you the truth! I was there, with my dog. Everything she said is what happened.”

The cops took the young, bloodied woman to the station. Her mother said to her, “Go along. We don’t want any trouble here.” The woman walked confidently to the car. The grandmother stayed home with the 9-year-old granddaughter, a witness to too much too soon, and perhaps too often.

The remaining cops and detectives placed yellow police tape around the area in question. The pool of blood shimmered in the night. The evidence bags came out, the flashlights. The Mrs. and me sat on the sofa, holding each other, crying. We were so grateful our girls slept through it all. We talked about what happened. Were we safe living here? What about the kinder (children)? Moving forward, we will refer to this horrible event as ‘pasta salad’ because Little and Big are too damned smart for their own good, figuring out everything we talk about in front of them. Listening only when we don’t want them to.

The next day, the Mrs., she ran in to the family, three generations of black women. They hugged her. They told her they loved her and that she really saved them that night. The daughter was released from the police safely, without incident. They said they let her go because the Mrs., she vouched for her.

We can only surmise how the gunshot transpired. Said boyfriend called moments before arriving to tell his girlfriend he was picking her up. Somewhere in the two minutes between, “I’m coming to get you” and pulling into the lot, he was shot. With no visible distress to the vehicle, he quite possibly, accidentally shot himself in the groin as he removed the gun from his pants before he picked up his girlfriend. He very likely shot his own nuts private parts off and ditched the gun along the way.

A few things I do know:

  1. #BlackLivesMatter
  2. Black people are and have been deprived of basic human rights and dignity in our country and it’s got to stop
  3. I despise guns
  4. My kids do not know about this event at the Manor, so please refer to this as ‘pasta salad’ if you discuss it in front of your kids, their friends
  5. My kinder, they know #BlackLivesMatter

This has got to stop.

A bei gezunt (we should all live and be well) together.

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I found real Truffula Trees!

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I walked during lunch and what did I see?

The rarest of rare — some Truffula trees!

Happy and kvelling (oozing with joy) the Lorax must be

Just knowing there still are some Truffula Trees

Those Once-lers have lost, the battle is done!

Thneeds aren’t needed. The Lorax has won. 💜

 

Priceless.

 

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Empathy. How in the world can we all embrace it?

For Little and for Big, I wish for more empathy in the world
For Little and for Big, I wish for more empathy in the world

A prompt that has been floating around the blogosphere this week really left me pensive. Thanks to Laura at The View from My Window and Gary from Dream Big, Dream Often for allowing me to stumble upon it, and, well, brood! Here it is:

If you could change one thing about the world in which we live, what would it be?

I would empower all people, every single one of us that inhabit the globe, to be equipped with empathy.

And why?

What a wonderful world we could be if we were all equipped with the capacity to comprehend and hold compassion for the thoughts, feeling, and opinions of others. If we mirrored the eyes and hearts of others in ourselves, envision the endless possibilities for our planet? We could really walk a mile or spend a day in one another’s shoes, and get it – really get it. If we held the depth of honor, respect, and benevolence in our hearts and minds for our fellow beings, how then would we treat each other?

The Buddha said, “See yourself in others, then who can you hurt? What harm can you do?”

If we had more empathy, would we:

  • Still battle wars over religion, oil, territory, greed and power
  • Be kinder to those less able, dis-abled, unable
  • Understand that #BlackLivesMatter, that #HumanityMatters
  • Have such high crime rates, deaths by senseless violence, sexual assault
  • Beep the horn, shoot the bird and kill over traffic disputes and parking spots
  • Bully, hate and disrespect the views of others
  • Deliberately hurt others with our words, our actions, our power
  • Have long lists of endangered species and an ailing earth
  • Assist the homeless, hungry and addicted instead of walking over / past them
  • Grasp the laid off worker, the struggling family, the plight of others
What would you wish for?
What would you wish for?

What if we didn’t jump to do something, and just stood there.

Felt first. Listened. Heard.

Were open to other points of view with respect.

Understood the pain and suffering of others; understood the joy through our own lens, our    imagination.

Then, and only then, reacted.

I think we need some more empathy — for each other, for the kinder (children). What a mitzvah (good and caring deed, act of kindness) this would be for us all.

Nu? What do you think?

 

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John Lennon had it right

John Lennon had it right a long time ago...
John Lennon had it right a long time ago…
Laughter, friendship and outdoor play - what's not to love?
Laughter, friendship and outdoor play – what’s not to love?
Laughter, fun and indoor play - what's not to love?
Laughter, fun and indoor play – what’s not to love?
Laughter, friendship, and outdoor play with coffee - what's not to love?
Laughter, friendship, and outdoor play, with coffee – what’s not to love?

So, nu? Let’s give peace a chance.

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Is catastrophe the new us? I’m for a better truth!

Don't my shana madaleh's deserve a better place, a safer place?
Don’t my shana madaleh’s (little girls) deserve a better place, a safer place?

Yes, I’m ranting. Why have we lowered the bar on civility?

Does it really matter where one pees? This Yiddisher momma will tell you that in the many times nature has called when I have been out and about, and the line at W went around the corner, I walked into the empty M without causing an international threat to gender. And haven’t all Euro-pee-ans been sharing a WC without worry for, well, ever?

And should whether one pees standing up or sitting down really dictate the gender pay gap?

If November 8th declares a victory for Hillary, will she only receive $316,000 per year / $0.79 per dollar of all her male predecessors?

Why do so many people care only for the unborn child while in utero, and not give a flying fu, well hoot, once the kid has left its amniotic apartment?

Why so much racism, hate, injustice and senseless violence?

#Black Lives Matter
#Black Lives Matter

How is Monsanto allowed to devastate our food system and spoon feed us garbage and chemicals? Don’t they deserve a squirt or two of RoundUp?

Fracking is the new F-word in the world of fossil fuels, foreign oil, future and further damage to water, health, our environment, and the planet. Pope, can you pipe in here please?

Climate change is real. Even the Pope, head macher (big deal, boss man) of the Catholic Church, says human beings are the cause of this major catastrophe. Why can’t the ‘collective we,’ countries and corporations, that share this planet all own that progress and evolution does not always make for a revolution.

#Climate Matters
#Climate Matters

With the bar so low, can we ever raise it again? How long will it take? I worry about all of our kinder (children) growing up in a world so careless, unkind, racist, bigoted and focused on the wrong green.

Oy vey doesn’t even begin to cover this shpilkas (intestinal terror!) folks.

Please, I am open to suggestions. Wallet activism and voting alone won’t change where we are headed.

We need a mindset shift, Yes? Any ideas? I’m askin’ from my heart.

Nu?

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Thank You so much Su, from EthanEvelyn.com! #FabFridayPost
Thank You so much Su, from EthanEvelyn.com! #FabFridayPost