In Need of a New Lap

I got it into my head that I wanted a new lap top computer.  You now, something that works and has a big screen. Something completely unlike my old laptop, which is the size of a postage stamp and barely runs at all.

I did what any unknowledgeable person does who knows squat about computers - I asked my brother and my brother-in-law.  They both agreed I should get a Lenovo.  So I did.  Now I just want to cry.

First, it keeps jumping between screens, even if I didn't open them.  I keep getting messages that I have viruses and to purchases the virus protection, which is, no doubt, a virus itself.  I will be typing away and all of a sudden, I'm in another row, typing over something else.  I mean, what am I touching on the keyboard that all of a sudden I'm retyping the beginning of this paragraph?

I keep telling myself to calm down.  There are people dying in Syria.  My Obamacare insurance doesn't kick in for another month. My 89-year old mother-in-law isn't feeling so well.  Snap out of it.  This freaky computer isn't the real problem.

I am grateful for all the wonderful people in my life.  I'm grateful to have a computer that works.  I'm grateful that I can see the big picture, every once and a while.  I guess I should be grateful for these fleeing moments of clarity.  I guess you could say I'm having a fleeting moment right now.

Getting Even

I used to think that even years were the best ever.  I was born in an even year, graduated college in an even year, married in an even year.  But then nearly all my kids were born in odd years, so bye-bye the even year prejudice.

But I can't help but feel that even years truly rock, and am really looking forward to 2014.  So I decided to tie up some loose ends today, in anticipation of tomorrow.

Got the oil changed in my car (even year 2012); drank coffee and shared ideas with a dear friend, ate lunch with my son, and then paid a visit to the doctor (there's Obamacare in my future - which means my medical coverage, as we speak, is literally an unknown).  Ate dinner with the family, did carpool, and now I'm ready to kick back, relax, and wake up to a new beginning.

Here's hoping it's a great one.  Love and kisses to everyone.

If Van Gogh Painted With His Eyes Closed

Last night I attended a company holiday party out in the middle of nowhere - okay, this nowhere has a name.  Rancho Cucamonga.  I literally thought I was falling off the end of the earth.  But it was worth it.

The party consisted of food, of course, but also a chance to become an artist for an evening.  That's right.  The place is called Purple Easel and my company rented out the place for the evening.  Each one of us was set up with an easel, paints, brushes, and an artist leading up through the evening's design.  Wouldn't you know it - a winter landscape.

Oh please.  All I wanted was a cup of coffee (it took over an hour to get there!) and a choice place on the couch in the hall.  But the painter's assistant insisted I participate (I'm not proud of the fact that I offered her money to finish the canvas for me).  I'm just not an artist.

Truth is, it was a lot of fun, and I really feel that if I did this maybe 100 times, I could actually be an artist.  And just one more truth: I made so many mistakes and had such a pitiful look on my face that the painter's assistant really did finish the canvas for me.  Not that I told my family.  They think I'm a genius!

Where The Wild Things Are

My son asked me to stop by the library the other day on my way home from work to pick up a book.  I'm usually tired after a long day, but what the heck.  It was a quick in-and-out trip and I was on my way to putting my feet up.

Found the book fast enough, but waiting on line to check it out seemed to drag on.  In front of me stood a young woman with her two sons.  Assumed they were her sons, all three of them blond.  The boys were aged maybe 6 and 4 years respectively, the younger one still in diapers and sucking on a pacifier.

The problem wasn't just the wait.  The boys were wild, screaming, running around, tearing up the flooring and just acting awful.  As if that wasn't enough, their mother did absolutely nothing, outside of the occasional "hey guys, stand by me."  There was quite a bit of rumbling in line behind me, and I tried hard not to say something.

Because as I was standing there watching this spectacle, I remembered a letter to the editor I read some time back from a mother of an autistic child who asked people not to be judgmental if they saw her child acting out.  Why that popped into my mind I'll never know but I heeded her plea.  When the elder of the two boys asked what the printer payment box was for, I very calming, slowly and precisely explained how it worked.

The child stared at me wide-eyed.  It seemed to me that no one, not even his mother, had ever explained something so clearly to him before. He actually stopped moving for a good three minutes, and then went right back to pushing buttons.

Why the mother didn't intercede and try to explain library etiquette still confuses me.  This particular library is popular with children and is always crowded with them.  Yet I don't recall any of these children behaving this way.

G-d put thoughts in our minds when the need arises.  That's the only way I can explain remembering the letter, and the only reason I didn't take this young mother to task.

Offering A Helping Hand

Today I did what I enjoy doing most - volunteering to help people out.  As a Registered Dietitian, I joined several other Dietitians to work alongside other clinicians to offer my expertise in terms of weight loss, healthy eating tips, low salt and diabetic diet adherence.  My team and I must have seen 20 people in 4 hours.

What was even better was reaching out and meeting other clinicians (nurses, doctors, optometrists) who gave their time to make life better for complete strangers.  I learned much from the patients, and even more from my fellow RDs.

Did I have a few favorite patients?  Of course,  Like the skinny young man who had been diagnosed as Gluten sensitive, and just wanted to talk.  Or the sweet, young woman who didn't know how she was going fit in eating breakfast after taking care of her 4 year old niece, for whom she prepared breakfast.  When I suggested she eat breakfast with her niece, she thought it was the best idea ever!

Nothing like having the occasional good idea.

Happy Birthday Chava

There's nothing like a good old fashioned birthday fabregen (chasidic party).  It means women sitting around a table full of food, giving each other blessings and sipping red wine.  Before long, we're all getting heated up about one thing or another.

This time, the topic was cremation.  Every single one of us had a relative or friend who was cremated.  Jews are not permitted to cremate themselves or relatives, and before long, we were all worked up.  It's not just the cremation, but the price of burial.  People choose cremation when they can't afford to be buried, which can cost upwards to $15,000.

We didn't come up with any solutions, but it was food for thought.  That, along with intermarriage.  America is always a blessing, but on the issue of Jewish continuity, a bit of a curse.

When Going Out To Wars

It's been a week since I read the book, "My Mother's Wars," by Lillian Faderman, and I still can't get it out of my head.  I like to think that when we feel that way about an experience, it's because it means something.

I have often wondered what Jews in America were thinking and doing in the years leading up to the Holocaust in Europe.  My father, first generation American, fought with the American army in North Africa.  But most of his family was here, having arrived before World War I after G-d only knows how many years of pogroms in their years in Bessarabia.

My mother was a different story.  She, like my father, was the first generation to be born here, but her parents' families were still in Poland.  My grandfather saved his half-brother by securing a visa for him to Shanghai, only because there were no visas to America.  The rest of the her parents' families disappeared or perished.

Faderman's mother, who came to America in 1914, also left behind the majority of her family.  Uneducated, she worked in the garment industry as a draper, barely making enough money to survive.  Even though she wanted to, she couldn't scrap enough money to sponsor any additional family members.  Burning bridges with a wealthier half-sister, and passing up opportunities to help that would have required a love-less marriage, Faderman's maternal family perished.

What struck me was how pervasive anti-semitism was in America then, and how every avenue to save the Jews of Europe was closed.  No one, no where, was willing to help.  I couldn't help but get caught up in the near-hysteria Faderman's mother finds herself in when she realizes there is nothing she can do to save her loved ones.

To think that today there are people calling for the destruction of Israel, just like Hitler called for the destruction of the Jews.  We Jews are taught that in every generation the evil ones rise against us, and only Hashem will protect us.  If there was an Israel in 1939, we wouldn't be having this discussion.  No, not all the Jews of Europe would have survived, but history would have written that chapter differently.

To any out there who read this and question why the Jews should have their own country, read the history of the world from 1939-1945.  We will never allow anyone to determine our fate again.  If the question is asked, why that country, then read the history of the world over the last 3500 years.  We Jews are indigenous to Israel, it's where we come from.  It's where we get our strength.  And we are not going anywhere any time soon.