A Stitch In Time

My sister-in-law called me today and asked me to come over to help her thread her sewing machine, a vintage Singer inherited from a relative. Okay, I wasn't too thrilled about that - I mean, I'm kinda busy right now. So I put off calling her back for another hour.

I did go over, and we both couldn't figure out how to get the bobbin to work. The machine is older than dirt, and, you guessed it, no manual. Her neighbor, the seamstress couldn't figure it out either. So I offered my sewing machine.

My machine is inherited from my mother, who worked for New Home Sewing Machine Company in the late 1960s. Using her employee discount, mother bought the machine, and we've all used it (okay, not my dad or my brother). So I promised to go fetch it, thinking, oh my gosh, I haven't used that thing in years, but I remember it being heavy. I prayed a male member of my household was home.

No one was home. I opened the garage and saw the machine sitting in a big wet spot. That's not good. It was filthy, so I wiped it off and tried to pick it up. That's when I saw that the bottom had rotted away and there were termite worms all over it. I ran back into the house and waited for my husband to come home.

Exhausted, he went into the garage to see it. Frankly, it's garbage now, but it was mother's and I hoped there might be a way to salvage it. So I asked my son, the cabinet maker, what to do. He thought, maybe, they could build another box for it, but my husband promised me another machine that I could let sit for years if I discard this.

Too much to think about, too much to worry about. If I opt for another machine (which I won't let my husband store on the garage floor!), I think mother will understand. If I opt to save this machine, I hope my husband understands.

Getting Another Message

I'm not like the Jewish autistics who reveal frightening messages and claim the world is doomed. I just a little autistic, and interpret the things that happen to me. Like today, when I left my house early in order to go to the health center on campus because they allow you to print out all you want for free if you bring your own paper.

For the second day in a row, including today, they closed early. So while I have class at 6:10 pm and managed to get here at 4:30 pm (the health center usually closes at 5:00), I lucked out to find them closing early. Tried not to get mad, but today's it's really hot, my backpack is heavy (a ream of paper, not to mention my laptop) and I'm tired and disappointed I didn't finish cleaning the boys' room.

Depressed, I went to my cubicle, sat down and listened to uplifting Jewish music. Cried, said some Tehillim. Blew my nose, and now, I'm ready for action. Okay world (or Dr. Singh, either one), let's shake it up. As for the printing, well, I think G-d wants me to suck it up and print my stuff out at home. Or, at least, that's what I plan on doing. Just sounds better when it's part of the Master Plan.

Okay, Whatever

I went to teach my girls today, which happened to be a big day for the school as the state-wide accreditation committee was on hand to make it final recommendations. I rode my "new to me" bike (i.e., it's a used beater mountain bike that's easy to ride but kinda squeaky and noisy) there, stopping first at the kosher Persian market (non-Persians friendly) to get lunch.

Ever since the accident (an unfortunate meeting between a car, my bike, and myself), I've been wearing a day glow vest when I ride, the kind emergency workers and public employees wear on the job. So I schlepped my bike into the school (the schlepping part being the front steps), and was standing next to it in my vest when an old friend came up to me and asked if I had been picking up trash on the freeway.

At first, I thought she was joking. She wasn't. She didn't see the bike. Guess it wasn't big enough, or close enough to me. After all, I was just holding onto the handle bars. Who wouldn't have miss it?

School Is In Session

Just in time for Pesach cleaning, school, I mean the big school, has started. Monday, actually. It's kinda weird to start school at 4 pm, but so it went.

I have signed up for 4 classes, 4 days a week. The trick, of course, is to make time for all of them. It's only just begun, but I feel myself slipping. Okay, Master of the Universe, it's up to You. Make me a vessel for your blessings. Make me a vessel for a A in each class.

Don't Rain on My Purim Spiel. . .

Yes, that's right. It may never rain in California, but I guess Purim is different. It poured! Truth be told, I felt like it was pouring down brochas on us.

And while I'm telling the truth, the pouring rain was extremely annoying. Driving my kids around in my old car delivering shloach manos with a constantly fogged up windshield was pretty scary. Kinda pined away from the bright sunshine, automobiles suddenly stopping without warning and kids running out into traffic that are earmarks of Purim past.

The seuda was amazing - my mother-in-law's modern orthodox shul is slowly dying out, and now shares space with a rapidly expanding group of young, modern Chabadniks. They are very respectful of the older crowd, and did everything they could to include my mother-in-laws co-congregants in their festivities, and that's how we ended up there. What a beautiful, meaningful evening filled with costumed children gathered in a drum circle, the adults drinking and eating to our heart's content.

Still, dreaming of Moshiach. No doubt when he gets here, life's gonna be a lot like this.

Taking A Hit

Well, it finally happened. I got hit by a car while riding my bike. Talk about crazy weird.

I was riding down a busy street, on the sidewalk, thinking it was safer, as there are no bike lanes. As I approached an alley, a woman driving a late model silver car pulled in front of me and I hit it.

Down I went with a bang. I picked myself up, found my bike was toast, and tried to feel if anything was broken. But thank G-d, nothing. Bruising, yes, the extent of which I am even now uncertain. The driver of another car pulled over to see if I was alright, and I asked him to phone the police. The driver of the car that I technically hit, was extremely apologetic. We waited, in silence, for the police.

A really sweet motorcycle cop showed up rather quickly, and exchanged our information. We seriously didn't know what to do. I mean, I didn't need the paramedics, and she literally had no damage to her car (courtesy of my rubber front tire, which isn't really round anymore).

After it was all over, we shook hands. My husband came with a bike carrier, and we loaded up for the repair shop. My bike will get a new front tire and a tune up.

Me, I'll be a two-legged pedestrian for the next few days.

Looking For Another Cure

I spent the day at the HIV and Nutrition conference in downtown Los Angeles. What an amazing undertaking by AIDS Project LA, which brought together four amazing lecturers well know in their field of HIV education/medical care/nutrition in a classy non-profit hall.

Add to this a panel of four women currently diagnosed with HIV: a 25-year old, a 73-year old, a 47-year old and one on dialysis, all with stories to tear your heart out.

I'm not sure what G-d has in mind for us, but frankly, with such dedicated people, can a cure be so far off?