Old Friends

I've been thinking about my friend Sharon for a while now. Every now and then I ask myself, I wonder how Sharon is doing? And then I get right back to what I was doing before I asked myself that question. Some friend I am.

Lucky for me, Sharon is a true friend, and I wonder no more how she is because today, she came a calling, knocking on my door at around 5 pm this Shabbat. She knew I would be home because it's my custom to say the entire book of Tehillim each Shabbat in the merit of my brother's recovery.

I didn't mind giving up that custom today. Sharon and I talked for hours, reminiscing about the old days when we exercised together every morning at the local, now defunct women's gym, and caught each other up on current events.

How wonderful to see old friends. It's like we never parted. I went back to saying Tehillim after she left, and got as far as 130. I promised the One Above I would finish tomorrow morning first thing. Funny, I actually made that promise before Sharon came over because I figured I would fall asleep and wake up too late to finish it all.

Kinda weird, but a good idea, when dealing with customs, it give oneself an out up front.

Trying To Stay Positive

No doubt Passover is one of the hardest holidays, financially, mentally, and physically, to adhere to. First, it requires buying lots of food and matzoh for a very short period of time.

Being immersed in the physical world, there's no avoiding the bread, and that's hard on the head. Messes with you. Makes you wish things you shouldn't.

And then last but certainly not least, the physical preparation of the home and all that food. Please G-d, I remember being a slave in Egypt. It was bad. But eight days of this, somehow, seems worse.

I guess I'm missing the big picture. Thank you for sticking by me Martha. Now I don't feel so alone.

A Motorcycle for Me?

As anyone who has been married as long as I have, or longer, knows, at some point you kinda don't pay attention to all the nutty things your spouse says. Like my mother used to say - in one ear and out the other. Especially since my husband is recommending that I get a motorcycle.

Okay, please. I'm on the wrong side of 52, overweight, and not very agile (read previous posts about my attempts to exercise). So the thought of me being on a motorcycle is kinda ludicrous, to say the least. I mean, how long would I last?

Which reminds me of the year 1984. That was the summer the Olympics came to town. Everyone was all excited, and filled with thoughts of how the city would be mired down in one big traffic jam. I once worked for Peterson Publishing Company as a writer for Four Wheel and Off-Road Magazine (didn't even own a car then), so I called one of the other magazines in the stable, Motorcyclist, for a tip on a good motorcycle for myself, figuring it would zip me through traffic.

The editor, no friend of mine, told me frankly after hearing about my lack of motorcycle experience: "Lady, you're gonna die out there." Good enough for me. Haven't given motorcycles another thought since. Until now. And only fleetingly.

After 20 years of marriage, my husband is either trying to get rid of me or is using me as an excuse to get a motorcycle for himself. How charming!

Has It Ever Happened to You. . .

I've spent the last week thinking about two people in particular, old friends I haven't seen in a long time. One is Miriam, and I was thinking about her because I wanted to ask her for about her Pesach cleaning crew, and the other is Petruska, a friend from school who I hadn't seen in quite a while.

As I ride my bike to school at least twice a week (okay, ride to the train station, then to the bus stop, then to my bike locker), I wanted a land route for when class runs long on a weekday night. That means a street route to the Union Station from CSULA. Making a long story short, that meant a trip to the Automobile Club of Southern California, or AAA.

As a member, I get free maps and all kinds of discount services. But they moved, and I didn't know that when I showed up in the parking lot of their last place of resident. Who should be in the parking lot also? Miriam. Got the low down on her cleaning crew, and drove away amazed at how Providence had put us two together in so unlikely a place. And she knew the address of the current AAA office.

Petruksa, on the other hand, is a CSULA student I met riding the bus, and since we saw each other often last year, I was just wondering how she was doing. But I didn't have to wonder very long, because there she was last Wednesday, getting on my bus to campus. I was sure she had forgotten me, but alas, she had not.

Chalk it up to the power of positive thinking, but these two people came into my life again because I wanted them to. Kinda creepy, but very cool. Thank you G-d. You rule. Obviously.

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?