Modern dinosaurs

violent winds swirling
roots torn, spines fractured, broken
history in ruins

fallen, decaying
casualties of climate
in a world, denying

I speak for the trees
cadavers among the flock
modern dinosaurs

Yiddish phrase:

A young tree bends, an old tree breaks. A yung baimeleh baigt zikh, an alter brecht zich.

As we near the end of earth month, please, can I ask you, speak for the trees. Plant one, or many, for momma earth. She needs our help. Trees, they are like the chicken soup for the air.

 

 

The puzzle that is time

Where does the time go… 24/7 is our new normal? Oy, fraig nisht (don’t ask). Eighty-one years is the average age of life on this planet in the U.S. its probably much less with mrt at the helm to live. If you’re a man, you get an average of 78.7 years. How many heartbeats? How do we spend our time? What makes us happy? What constitutes a life well lived? These answers change from person to person, and I have been doing a lot of mulling this over of late. So much so, my head hurts (se tit meer vay der kop).

Everyone’s road is different. Life, it is filled with zillions of invisible tugs of war, pulling and tugging at us — some good, some not so much. Sometimes we fly through tsuris (trouble) with ease, other times, we need more agility — extra adeptness, newfound compassion, empathy.

Can we get balance among the commotion? When do we know what feels good and what hurts, pains us? What about ethics, morals, values, pain, conflict, money, love, empathy, gratitude, compassion…is there a pattern? There is no manual, I do know that…

If our time is finite, we probably should handle it with care. Even when our email is full and voicemail is no longer accepting messages If our energy is fixed, we should do our best to expend it wisely. If we crave healing, we should actively seek restoration. If we desire love, let the heart sing. Can we afford to bargain at this table? I don’t think so… and yet I know I have danced along the ledge. I was young, pained, not yet so wise… So what? (Iz nu?) 

Tseitn derlaibt! Oh, the times we have lived to see! 

May there be many more tomorrows for us all…

Shvesters

My recipe (note, I’m no cook!):

  • Do work that is meaningful
  • Follow your heart
  • Always, always, always, be kind to others
  • Live out loud

 

Are you living your life well?  It’s never too late to change things up a bit. Tell me how you do it?

 

Random views from the past couple of weeks

Yiddish quote:

When children are young; their parents talk about how smart they are; when parents are old, their children talk about how stupid they are. Ven di kinder zaynen yung, dertselyn di eltern zeyere khokhmes; ven di eltern zaynen alt dertselyn di kinder zeyere narishkaytn.

Oy vey iz mir, may they stay young! May we all stay young(ish).

And another one for all:

Time is more precious than money. Di tsayt iz tayerer fun gelt.

The week that was… different

Spring break and we have been counting the days to our trip to see my mishpocheh (family). We’ve had four Nor’easters in 3 weeks, snow up to my tuchas (tush, derriere) and all too much tsuris (troubles, stress, woe) filling our minds. The thought of 80-degree weather, sunshine, swimming, and laughing my ass off with my shvester (sister) until we literally wet ourselves was naturally the stuff of dreams… like unicorns, L.O.L surprise dolls, and glitter falling from the sky. And the kinder (my girls), they love seeing their Aunt, Uncle, and Cousins more than anything!

A blast from the past! From the top, schvoger, shvester, me, little, big

T minus two days, and the fever, she burns through my Little. A temperature of almost 104She had complained of a tummy ache, and like all good Jewish-atheist momma’s, I told her to sit on the potty. She has had so much junk food of late, a good poo would be a relief like it would for all of us. She tried, my madelah (sweet girl). We watch The Greatest Showman on the telly.

This is my magical cocktail, keeping me safe. TY Ilaria! Notice how my cup is marked — no sharing with the sickies — my glass, half-full

T minus one day, fever sticking around like gum underneath the table in a diner. Lethargy and skin as pale as fine porcelain said porcelain will play a role very soon. We plan, we pack, we share the news of germs and we try to stay positive. We watch The Greatest Showman, then we snuggle off to bed, my Little wrapped tightly in my arms. A few tired hours pass and we all awaken to a fountain of vomit. Nothing really says love more than getting thrown up on, and only worrying about the helpless, unhappy, scared little patient in your arms. We clean her up. Big, she helps us to change the sheets and blankets. The Mrs. presses the ‘sanitize’ button on the wash cycle.

There is a strange calm in the air, with a scent none too pleasant. Little, she fell fast and hard to sleep, again tucked close by my side. I could hear the soft crying moans from Big, realizing that we wouldn’t be taking that big ol’ jet airliner in a few hours time. Tears roll down my cheeks, silently. At 4 am I text my shvester, our friend who was to stay with Gatsby. We are a no go. Ix-nay on this oliday-hay.

Has the world ended? No. Are we grateful that we only have a petite passing pathogen that will eventually vanish? Of course. Are we all desperately disappointed? Big time.

Day of. I let all three of my girls sleep. I promise my Big that we will find a way to make it fun. That we will take turns taking her out of the sickly house and have some well-earned fun. I speak several times with my mishpocheh. My schvoger (bro-in-law), he punches frantically in the keyboard to see if we can squeeze out different dates of travel, salvage our trip. We have teary-eyed FaceTime calls. So many plans they had in store for us! Vey iz mir. (oh my effing G). 

Gatsby, so happy

Little, she cries for my Mrs. to stay with her, so Big and I make our way into the world. We have a nice nosh (little something to eat) at Starbucks. And head to the movies in a gray, teary day. We see A Wrinkle In Time. The woman at the ticket sales booth is 803 years old if she is a minute. In the past, she has given me the senior rate, to my dismay. Today, she again rings us up, 1 senior, 1 child. I feel the dark cloud above, rather than reveling in the 8 dollar savings. f*ck it and enjoy the show with your daughter

We had a lovely afternoon and decided Little, she would have been afraid in this movie. We bring home a vast array of popsicles (they used to call them poppa-sicles) for the sick one, in hopes of getting her to eat/drink. We learn of the day spent in (and close to) the porcelain seat, now the excrement exodus from the southern region. Oy. This reaffirms our tough decision. We watch The Greatest Showman. 

Little finally wakes up with no fever and no symptoms. We convince her of just one more day indoors. The 24 hour, fever free rule — to keep the rest of humanity safe.

photo by my Mrs., hair by my Little

Her hair has begun to form dreadlocks. We all fear the brushing of that mop. The Mrs., she starts round one, and Big, me and Gatsby head out the door to explore our new ‘hood. We walk for an hour, in hopes of better hair days. We have such a good time! Gatsby is loving the spring and leaving pee-mail messaging around for all his new friends.

We open the front door to a geshrei (shriek, loud, unearthly Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween cry). At least another hour goes by, and I am summoned so Big can get out’a dodge with the Mrs. Armed with a brush, conditioner, and really bad TV, I sit with my muse. It will be 4:45pm before I claim victory. Her head, like a BP oil spill, finally combs through. We did it.

Later that night, we watch The Greatest Showman. Who knew our spring break, our circus, would also be our groundhog day. Aud-o, Steve-o, Max, Vic, we love and miss you all so much.

Yiddish Proverb:

A mensch tracht un Got lacht. Man plans and God laughs.

 

From The Greatest Showman:

‘Cause we’re dreaming with our eyes wide open.

So come alive!

And of course, a bei gesunt. As long as you’re healthy! Stop by tonight! The Greatest Showman, 8pm.

Notorious R.B.G: HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Today is a day of infamy! My hero, the Notorious R.B.G turns 85 today! Happy Birthday, Ruthie! RBG, you make this world a better place every day, and for that, I am very grateful.

In your honor, I happily re-run this post of mine, where I salute you, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, as my hero! I am certain I am not alone.

This is me, doing my best RBG. Perhaps we could be shvesters?

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.

The Cleveland Museum of Natural History gave a species of praying mantis the name llomantis ginsburgae, after RBG. They say this species has a neckplate similar to the fancy neckwear Ginsburg wears at the outcome of a verdict. It is also based on how the insect was identified by her female genitalia – a nod to RBG’s lifetime fight for gender equality and women’s rights. Please note, this is a praying mantis I happily found on my car, not the newly, super cool RBG version.

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.

Guess who you think I wish would resign?

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.

A wonderful read for all ages!

What a gutte neshumah, she is. What a good person with a big heart, she is.

 

      

      

 

How to set each other up for success!

Vey iz mir. (OMG.) I am in the midst of what can only be a true epic mom-fail. I need your help. You see, I believe, no matter what you are doing, how big or how small the act, you must always set up the next person for success? Nu? Is this so hard?

Let me get to the point. No matter which bathroom, loo, water closet I enter, I am often always left high and dry. You know, you rush in for a tinkle, hope that maybe, just maybe, you can pass water in peace. Alone. The door won’t fly open with a concern, a to-do needing arbitration, a question like, “What are you doing, mommy?” Just trying to pee alone, just this once. And you reach across to the toilet paper holder, usually placed convenient to the action at hand, only to find… 

All too often, this is my room with a view…

Am I the only one capable, culpable, hell-bent hung up on hanging up a new roll of toilet paper when I reach the cardboard holder which is effing recyclable people? The other day, in the course of just a few hours (I have the bladder of a flea) I was left as dry as the Sierra Desert at high noon in all three technically 2.5 of our bathrooms.

Some facts for you: We are four women. Two moms, two shana maideleh’s (sweet little girls). That’s a lot of estrogens well, it used to be more…  coursing through this home. No one leaves the seats up. No one can technically, er, um, drip dry (Gatsby, our man of the house, uses the outdoors mostly).

Not two weeks ago, I had that alone moment every parent craves and snuck into the kinder’s (kids) bathroom. I went, I turned, I reached…  NO! I stayed seated. I took a deep breath. I called for my kinder. They came joyfully running. The entered without abandon. “Hi mommy, what’ryou doing?” I asked, “What is wrong with this picture, my kinder?” They both cocked their heads, like when I ask Gatsby if he wants to go in the car or have a treat. “What do you mean, Mommy?”

I pointed to the sad scrap of paper attached to the TP holder. I said, “Have you girls ever changed the toilet paper roll before? Let me show you how, so this can stop happening to Mommy? Nu?” Since I was, well, indisposed, I asked Little to reach for a new roll. She handed it to me with her playful, almost spritely smile. I said to them both, “Watch this.” I held the new, plush roll in my lap still seated on the throne as I lifted the cardboard insert and the metal bar that holds it in place. I showed them how to emancipate remove the empty roll and did a shtick (shpiel, speech) about recycling. Then I gently placed the lovely, fresh roll onto the metal bar and lowered it into place. Thus securing the new roll, with a clean top-over pull, ready for those in need me

Still sitting atop said porcelain, I explained a bit about setting each other up for success in big ways, in small ways, in all ways. They nodded as if they understood. Giggling at my vulnerable state, I’m sure. Then, they scurried off to play. I completed my transaction and went about my day, thinking, “I made a difference today.” 

… Later that same day, the commode conundrum reared its ugly head yet again. This time, upstairs, in the bathroom I share with my Mrs. (and kinder too) I didn’t even try to shut the door.  I went, I reached, NO! Gatsby was curled on the mat near the shower. I looked at him and his tail wagged, making a lovely noise as it smacked the floor. He knew nothing of the tsuris (trouble) I was facing. I looked up, and across the room which felt a million miles away, atop the sink, sat a brand-new scroll. I laughed cried. I waited for eons. I stood and walked over like Elvis, with my pants around my ankles and seized my prize. Oy!

So my friends, If as a human being, living and sharing space on this precious planet we call home, you are looking to bring solace to your fellow dwellers, simply follow these easy steps.

You will need some basics.
1 new roll of (whatever ply suits your system) TP
A free hand put down the smartphone
Recycling bin (YES! It’s recyclable should not be sent to the landfill)

It’s simple really.
Remove empty roll.
Replace with new roll, paper coming over top.
Place empty roll in the recycling bin, or save for reuse as beautiful junk in a craft project with your kinder. 

Beautiful. Now watch Helen Hunt do it… you won’t be sorry for these 25 seconds, I promise.

Voila!

Anyone having these same issues? Do tell!

Yiddish Proverb:

If the Student is successful, the teacher gets the praise. Az der talmid iz a voiler, iz der rebbi oich a voiler.

     

     

      

  

The Recurring American Nightmare

How is this even a toy? Vey iz mir…

Mr. President, members of Congress, legislators, and elected officials,  f*ck your thoughts, prayers, flags at half-staff, and hollow condolences. Your inertia is astounding and I am angry. Columbine. Marshall High. Sandy Hook. Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. Our kinder (children) are dying. What is it going to take to get you to make change?

The constant misinterpretation of the Second Amendment is reprehensible. Bloated white men in high offices are allowing young white males to steal childhood, eternally changing families before our eyes.

How is it that anyone outside of a highly trained militia, can purchase a gun meant for nothing less than mass destruction and terror?

In these United States: you must be 18 years of age to vote in an election assuming you have the wherewithal to register to vote and muster up the energy to actually show up at your place of polling.

You must be 21 years of age to legally by alcohol. Most states, including Florida, have zero-tolerance alcohol laws when it comes to alcohol purchase and consumption. ZERO TOLERANCE. As a kid growing up in sunny south Florida, we, all of us, had fake ID’s that made alcohol purchase easy.

In many states, just like Florida, at the tender age of 18, you can purchase a rifle, shotgun or, say, for example, a militaristic style, long-gun, like the AK-47 or the AR-15. In many other states, in full support of American gun culture and hunting, you can be as young as 14. Fourteen.

You can be hormonally challenged by a newly-formed pimple, bullied or rejected, and/or filled with normal teenage angst, and still legally purchase a long gun for hunting. This is not the 1800’s, and most of us are no longer ‘Pa’ from Little House on the Prairie, desperately trying to track and kill a bison for the winters’ feeding of one’s family.

In most states, including Florida, you must be 21 years of age to buy a handgun the kind that shoots only 1 bullet at a time.

I am in full support of gun safety background checks, like the majority of this country. However, now is the time that we all must come together, parties aside, and ban all semi-automatic weapons sales. Ban all assault weapons. They are not the fabric of our rich American history. Yet history, they are certainly making.

We cannot dare become numb or normalize these massacres. Nor will banning all semi-automatic weapons stop these horrific acts of terror. But it is clear that we cannot and must not sit back and watch.

If change cannot come from the top down, then we all must rise from the bottom, up. As adults, moms, dads, caregivers, it is our job to protect our kinder (children).  This #MomDemandsAction

Yiddish Proverb:

What will become of the sheep if the wolf is the judge? Vos vet vern fun di sheps aoyb di volf iz di rikhter?