Cousin Inspired Poem

I remember the smells, of so long ago
some with longing and some not so...

strange cooking smells of cabbage or fish
and the loving smells of lokshen and knish...

summer nights on the boulevard front lawn
with multiple cousins all who were drawn
to mingle and gossip and chase one another
introductions a plenty to neighbors and others...

the smell of newly cut grass and evening crickets
catching fireflies and ice cream delicious....

laughing as louie did sarah's bidding of course
yelling for the phillies til all our voices were hoarse
and out of the shadows came Beadie and Honey
to remind us that family was better than money.

cousins and family the moveable feast
time and space won't diminish it in the least.

another chapter opens and our reunions are few
we are older, and sadly a much smaller crew

But cousins first and second and further apart
those that live close and those just in my heart

lets toast the ones who gave us such a glorious past
and the brodies left to whom we can clasp.

The truth behind why the D.A.R. doesn't want Jewish members.

The thought for this Blog came on my way to work today. I was ruminating on my most recent blog about weaving. I decided this weaving / craft ineptitude goes far deeper than my own klutziness. It starts with the search for Divine Shiksahood. This is not possible.

Just like Dr. Laura could not get into the inner sanctum of the “tribe” when she tried to convert; we recognized not only was she not smart enough, but she couldn’t acquire the needed DNA “J gene.” And there you have it. The “J gene.”

This gene renders it impossible for the pure Jewish girl to be built like Anita Ekburg, have the sensuality of Elizabeth Taylor in “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” or the naivete of a Marilyn Monroe. She will never be a track star; Run?! Are you kidding me? And then it comes to crafts. How can she sit still and embroider for 6 months – no spas, no shoe sales, and all those divine lunches out.

Do Jewish girls win the Pillsbury Bake Off? Climb the Grand Canyon without the aide of something approaching an East Indian palanquin? NO! and they certainly wouldn’t have been there sewing away with Betsy and the girls to make a flag that would be continually evolving – meaning more sewing.

So while we can wail and moan at our exclusion; we must come to realize it isn’t our religion, but our culture. There is no such thing as a kosher tea party. Let them eat matzoh!

Weaving does not loom in my future!

So today we tried to turn back time - not so far back as Rapunzel and the spinning wheel but slightly more current. We went to the Yarn store for a try at Weaving.
This looks fairly simple - especially if you remember the small potholders you made in Girl Scouts or the knitting badges that required yarn and patience and feeling very Betsy Ross.

The easy part I thought would be picking out the yarn but there were a lot of choices and wool was suggested, but Spring in Tucson is like Hell in the afterlife; so wool sounded all wrong. Then we were told some was for the warp and some for the weave. There were lots of specialty words to identify weird tools and math problems to figure out if you wanted something this long and this wide multiply it by yards (in inches) and be sure to add 24 inches for wastage (especially for a shawl). Like beading, I am told this is addictive; but only if you catch on without breaking things, shredding your yarn, or collapsing the loom.

I fell behind during the preparatory part where you were just getting the warp started. The teacher was patient and kind but I required my own personal aide to get through the initial stage. I couldn't get my yarn through the small hole with this tool (and I wasn't even sure I was choosing the correct strand). The teacher kept saying "this isn't right, but it probably won't matter in the end."

So I did work for a little while on the loom, which was fairly small but then got terribly hungry - so I left. I know it will be waiting there, and I will go back, after all I paid for the yarn. I'm sure I can't be the only one that sees this as a new form of self-abuse (where you get to fail in the company of others - doing something that requires little or no intelligence) all the while feeling like a clumsy oaf. To make matters worse I think I forgot to use my discount card.

My Girl

I don't know when she was born - but I think she came into my life in November of 1995. Half Chow - Half Sharpei, a little black puppy who looked rather like a potbelly piglet. She was on the carpet and as was my want I tried different names on her to see what would fit. I finally said "are you a Stinky Girl?" and with that she came right over and licked my face or hand in acknowledgment. It wasn't a pretty girlish name but that was who she became. Totally "Alpha" totally confident and in charge.

She would scare the unknowing with an incredibly fierce growl meant to keep all the other puppies in line. She had a side that only I saw. I think she wanted the grooming the tiny miniature puppies got and the attention, and the feeling of being oh so cute. So one time in her fifteen years I sent her for grooming and she came back with a bow and she was "oh so pleased!" I knew that as gruff as she seemed she still wanted the world to see her as an attractive female.

As she got older she came to trust me to take care of her. She no longer struggled when I took her in the car. She knew it would be something good. A romp in the doggy park or more often making her feel better by going to the vet.

She was a trooper and had been suffering for a long time with arthritis - I didn't know how bad it actually was. She hadn't been able to jump on my bed for awhile -
or the sofa. Last week it was bad and she had trouble sitting and getting comfortable - it was awkward. I saw her pain which she tried to hide with a growl every now and then. When I saw the other dogs try to dominate her and her last valiant attempts to keep them at bay - wasn't working - I knew I had to protect her dignity and respect and pride. Because she trusted me to take care of her and make her comfortable and ease her pain.

I took her to the veterinarian on Monday March 8th for the last time. I lifted her into my car. I held her face when they gave her the injection and I walked away in tears. I did this for you Stinky Girl because you trusted me to make things better.

I know you would have liked to spare me the pain of your loss but that is impossible.
Here's to "My Stinky Girl" a very special dog.

Myth Memory and Friendship

This blog is about the Myth that memories are just that; and that friendships that end are lost forever.

If truth be known. We are not helpless victims of what life hands us. Though our paths may go in directions we can't control, the technology that is part of our lives allows us the ability that other generations never had. We can be our own detectives and researchers. We cannot only find the pieces of our DNA scattered across continents; we can find childhood friends who seemed to vanish in the night. The darkened parts of our brain that were shut up like a safe are now susceptible to a word, or whisper that evokes an event and a time long past.

Yes, Carol. Remember the table in the cafeteria. The 6 of us always together. Eileen preparing for her wedding, Melissa who really belonged in Haight Ashbury selling beads, and Mary Ellen, who had the secret of her life and love sealed off from the rest of us. It has become so real to me at this moment. Like Rip Van Winkle or Snow White...the sleep that was the years of separation - is over. We can begin anew. Grab your coat. Grab your hat.