At dinner, on Rosh Hashanah, and I am very sorry that I do not remember what led to this part of the conversation, but Sarah decided to tell us that when Aaron gets engaged, she is going to pull the young lady aside and tell her two very important things:
1. If you ever hurt my brother, I will kill you.
and
2. We did not teach him that it is okay to eat scrambled eggs with his fingers.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Story of the Day 9/ 18/ 2009
We are having a problem.
With our checking account.
Nothing has bounced, but our balance ( and I like to think we haven’t made some horrid mathematical addition or subtraction errors, my husband and I with our math/science backgrounds) doesn’t seem to match up with what the bank says we have.
Now, as you can imagine, a number of times I have ….um, been a bit tardy in deducting from the checkbook, when I have used the debit card at Costco. A bit tardy sometimes extending to around 2 months, if I haven’t changed ( and, therefore cleaned out ) my purse, in a while.
There is just this slight tendency I have to totally forget to do it, by the time I have put the milk in the fridge.
So this isn’t just a possibility, it is a probability- that I have managed to mess up the account.
Except, that the bank thinks that we have more money than we think we do.
And I don’t’ think that my forgetting to deduct a couple of Costco receipts could have done that….speaking of which, I have to admit there actually are a couple in my purse from earlier this week that I haven’t yet deducted…..
The other possibility is that someone is using our account to launder money.
You know, drugs, prostitution, counterfeit purses.
But I can’t believe that anyone laundering money would choose our account.
And to be very real about it, the amount in question wouldn’t even be pocket change for an operation like that.
That leaves the possibility that Larry forgot to write down a deposit.
Is that actually a possibility?
I think we had better assume that someone is laundering money in our account.
With our checking account.
Nothing has bounced, but our balance ( and I like to think we haven’t made some horrid mathematical addition or subtraction errors, my husband and I with our math/science backgrounds) doesn’t seem to match up with what the bank says we have.
Now, as you can imagine, a number of times I have ….um, been a bit tardy in deducting from the checkbook, when I have used the debit card at Costco. A bit tardy sometimes extending to around 2 months, if I haven’t changed ( and, therefore cleaned out ) my purse, in a while.
There is just this slight tendency I have to totally forget to do it, by the time I have put the milk in the fridge.
So this isn’t just a possibility, it is a probability- that I have managed to mess up the account.
Except, that the bank thinks that we have more money than we think we do.
And I don’t’ think that my forgetting to deduct a couple of Costco receipts could have done that….speaking of which, I have to admit there actually are a couple in my purse from earlier this week that I haven’t yet deducted…..
The other possibility is that someone is using our account to launder money.
You know, drugs, prostitution, counterfeit purses.
But I can’t believe that anyone laundering money would choose our account.
And to be very real about it, the amount in question wouldn’t even be pocket change for an operation like that.
That leaves the possibility that Larry forgot to write down a deposit.
Is that actually a possibility?
I think we had better assume that someone is laundering money in our account.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Story of the Day 9/ 17/ 2009
I got a phone call from Cindie.
She was doing a mitzvah.
Of course, inherent in doing a mitzvah is that it is going to be a pain in the ass.
Isn’t that always attached to doing something good?
But this pain in the ass had gotten her lost- and she was calling me for help.
“Where is…….? That street doesn’t’ have that number on it. Have you ever been to their house?”
And I thought Cindie knew me. There was no way this particular family was going to invite me , in my thrift store clothes , for a casual social gathering at their poshy home on its private street.
Certainly, no way I could direct her to it, so that she could deliver the roses that had been ordered delivered to them as a fund raiser.
And she had been driving in circles for 20 minutes trying to find an address that might or might not even be current.
You see, I knew from general gossip that they had upgraded from their previous custom home, and wasn’t sure if she had the old or the new address. I opened up whitepages.com and found the address- then I mapquested it.
“Where are you?”
“Just past 65th Street.”
“Okay, then…..” and I gave her directions.
” Left there , then right, the a little farther, then left.
“No, not at that street, the next one, turn around and go back and make a right and then a left at the next street.”
With fatigue and frustration showing in her voice, Cindie said, “Do you think I should just go up there and say, ‘Here are your fucking flowers?’ ”
A few moments later, “I don’t’ see it.”
Then, finally, she did.
She was doing a mitzvah.
Of course, inherent in doing a mitzvah is that it is going to be a pain in the ass.
Isn’t that always attached to doing something good?
But this pain in the ass had gotten her lost- and she was calling me for help.
“Where is…….? That street doesn’t’ have that number on it. Have you ever been to their house?”
And I thought Cindie knew me. There was no way this particular family was going to invite me , in my thrift store clothes , for a casual social gathering at their poshy home on its private street.
Certainly, no way I could direct her to it, so that she could deliver the roses that had been ordered delivered to them as a fund raiser.
And she had been driving in circles for 20 minutes trying to find an address that might or might not even be current.
You see, I knew from general gossip that they had upgraded from their previous custom home, and wasn’t sure if she had the old or the new address. I opened up whitepages.com and found the address- then I mapquested it.
“Where are you?”
“Just past 65th Street.”
“Okay, then…..” and I gave her directions.
” Left there , then right, the a little farther, then left.
“No, not at that street, the next one, turn around and go back and make a right and then a left at the next street.”
With fatigue and frustration showing in her voice, Cindie said, “Do you think I should just go up there and say, ‘Here are your fucking flowers?’ ”
A few moments later, “I don’t’ see it.”
Then, finally, she did.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Story of teh Day 9/ 12/ 2009
I spoke with my son, this evening.
Somehow, he came to the attention of a girl , on campus. I am certain he was thinking she had read one of the Stories of the Day- and knew many embarrassing facts about him.
But that wasn’t it.
She told him, “ I work doing mail sorting for the dorm.”
A time –honored work-study job, even in the Dark Ages , when I was a student.
“I am jealous because you get so much mail!”
So, after this happened, my son is appreciating the postcards and notes from home.
Somehow, he came to the attention of a girl , on campus. I am certain he was thinking she had read one of the Stories of the Day- and knew many embarrassing facts about him.
But that wasn’t it.
She told him, “ I work doing mail sorting for the dorm.”
A time –honored work-study job, even in the Dark Ages , when I was a student.
“I am jealous because you get so much mail!”
So, after this happened, my son is appreciating the postcards and notes from home.
Story of teh Day 9/ 9/ 2009
I was at the post office, today.
I had to mail a few packages and buy some stamps.
My family sends a lot of mail.
Not the electronic email, although we send that, too, but the stuff that is on paper and needs a stamp.
I have been reading articles where schools are no longer teaching handwriting because today’s students will need such a thing only to make a signature.
They are only teaching the kids how to print and then how to type. Or maybe they actually learn to type, first.
Meanwhile, back at the Margolis-Greenbaum house, I have been cruelly insisting that my children write. Letters, notes, postcards, thank you notes. Write. Okay, so my daughters do only print, but with ink on paper.
When Esther and Kara left for college, a little over 3 years ago, we started a tradition of sending them a postcard every week. Not one postcard per girl, but one from each of us- from their siblings/cousins and me , per week.
We would sit at the kitchen table and write a postcard to each girl, and then, during the week, I would mail them at intervals, so the girls wouldn’t’ get all three pieces of mail on one day, but would have it spread out.
I went to college back in the Dark Ages.
There were no cell phones.
Phone calls cost a lot. $3 for 10 minutes on Sunday and much more on a weekday. And you had to have the good luck to “catch” someone at home, since not only did they not always have a phone on their person, but there were no answering machines.
I wasn’t one of the rich kids- I had two roommates who casually made long long-distance calls home to mom every evening. I relied on the mail- the snail mail- as it is now called, to keep in touch with my nearest and dearest – my sister, Kim.
When I got my paycheck, every two weeks, I would hoard a small amount of cash and , every second paycheck ( meaning once a month) , buy some nice writing paper or cards- to make it more enjoyable.
I doubt there even exist stationary stores like the one I used to go to…..
Time passed, and I think that the girls started to take the postcards for granted. I would get, from Esther, at least, little hints like, “you don’t’ have to write to me.”
“You don’t’ have to make Aaron and Sarah write to me.”
But we also started getting mail back.
From both Esther and Kara.
I meal, snail mail, the stuff on paper with ink.
When Aaron went to OLAB, a one week pre-college program , during eth summer between his junior and senior years of high school, we wrote to him.
A few days into the program, they called the students up to get their mail.
They called up 4 students. Aaron was the first two of them. Then a girl, then, Aaron, again. He has repeated to me, several times, how embarrassing that was.
So, off he goes to college, this fall- which is really late summer in disguise. And he gives me instructions that he has copied from Esther, “You don’t’ have to write to me!”
And the weeks go by, and we write to him. Although, there are only 2 of us , now, sitting at the kitchen table- Sara and I- so the volume of mail the girls and Aaron are getting is reduced for them, although, more for us to write.
And we notice that every week, so far, Aaron has sent a postcard home to us.
Which either means that I actually did train him well enough that he has integrated letter writing as a life skill, or that it is just another display of his genetically programmed Jewish guilt manifesting itself.
So, today I went to the post office, and bought stamps.
And the mail-lady- which is more fun to say than the postal worker- who often helps me when I buy stamps, said to me, with great earnestness, “We really appreciate your business!”
Like I was the big spender at the casino.
And I thought, “Boy, the postal service is really hurting, that the couple of sheets of first class and of postcard stamps is considered a big purchase!”
Which, can be seen by the fact that the blue drop off boxes I grew up with are fading out of existence, just like pay phones have been doing , for a while.
I had to mail a few packages and buy some stamps.
My family sends a lot of mail.
Not the electronic email, although we send that, too, but the stuff that is on paper and needs a stamp.
I have been reading articles where schools are no longer teaching handwriting because today’s students will need such a thing only to make a signature.
They are only teaching the kids how to print and then how to type. Or maybe they actually learn to type, first.
Meanwhile, back at the Margolis-Greenbaum house, I have been cruelly insisting that my children write. Letters, notes, postcards, thank you notes. Write. Okay, so my daughters do only print, but with ink on paper.
When Esther and Kara left for college, a little over 3 years ago, we started a tradition of sending them a postcard every week. Not one postcard per girl, but one from each of us- from their siblings/cousins and me , per week.
We would sit at the kitchen table and write a postcard to each girl, and then, during the week, I would mail them at intervals, so the girls wouldn’t’ get all three pieces of mail on one day, but would have it spread out.
I went to college back in the Dark Ages.
There were no cell phones.
Phone calls cost a lot. $3 for 10 minutes on Sunday and much more on a weekday. And you had to have the good luck to “catch” someone at home, since not only did they not always have a phone on their person, but there were no answering machines.
I wasn’t one of the rich kids- I had two roommates who casually made long long-distance calls home to mom every evening. I relied on the mail- the snail mail- as it is now called, to keep in touch with my nearest and dearest – my sister, Kim.
When I got my paycheck, every two weeks, I would hoard a small amount of cash and , every second paycheck ( meaning once a month) , buy some nice writing paper or cards- to make it more enjoyable.
I doubt there even exist stationary stores like the one I used to go to…..
Time passed, and I think that the girls started to take the postcards for granted. I would get, from Esther, at least, little hints like, “you don’t’ have to write to me.”
“You don’t’ have to make Aaron and Sarah write to me.”
But we also started getting mail back.
From both Esther and Kara.
I meal, snail mail, the stuff on paper with ink.
When Aaron went to OLAB, a one week pre-college program , during eth summer between his junior and senior years of high school, we wrote to him.
A few days into the program, they called the students up to get their mail.
They called up 4 students. Aaron was the first two of them. Then a girl, then, Aaron, again. He has repeated to me, several times, how embarrassing that was.
So, off he goes to college, this fall- which is really late summer in disguise. And he gives me instructions that he has copied from Esther, “You don’t’ have to write to me!”
And the weeks go by, and we write to him. Although, there are only 2 of us , now, sitting at the kitchen table- Sara and I- so the volume of mail the girls and Aaron are getting is reduced for them, although, more for us to write.
And we notice that every week, so far, Aaron has sent a postcard home to us.
Which either means that I actually did train him well enough that he has integrated letter writing as a life skill, or that it is just another display of his genetically programmed Jewish guilt manifesting itself.
So, today I went to the post office, and bought stamps.
And the mail-lady- which is more fun to say than the postal worker- who often helps me when I buy stamps, said to me, with great earnestness, “We really appreciate your business!”
Like I was the big spender at the casino.
And I thought, “Boy, the postal service is really hurting, that the couple of sheets of first class and of postcard stamps is considered a big purchase!”
Which, can be seen by the fact that the blue drop off boxes I grew up with are fading out of existence, just like pay phones have been doing , for a while.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Story of the Day 9/ 6/ 2009
We received an invitation to a BarMitzvah at one of the fancy synagogues. You know, one of the big ones with the fancy front driveways and the “entrances” and one that even has secretary there who answers the phone during the week. The sort of a synagogue that [publishes a weekly bulletin and where you are expected to behave decorously.., and not loudly announce that you bought your new suit at Goodwill.
A few years ago, our synagogue “moved up” to a new , fancy building. So, we have the appearance of being one of the fancy synagogues, although on a smaller scale- but it is an appearance that s deceiving.
Many weeks, I walk into shul for services and I feel like I have walked into the wrong place. It is too nice. A place like this would never have me as member.
But then I am made comfortable when my friend who comes in ten minutes after Sarah and I arrive and slid into the seat on the pew next to me, excitedly shares the news that her new skirt is not just from Goodwill , but from Goodwill by the pound. And I admire her taste.
Yes, this is much more like it!
But then, one week, about 7 weeks ago, something otherworldly happened. I found a holder in the sanctuary ( and a matching one in the lobby) with a weekly bulletin. Complete with the time that Shabbat begins and ends this week, a short summary of the parsha ( section of the Torah being read this week) and who is sponsoring the Kiddush ( food after services). All printed out nicely, complete with some clip art.
I had a real moment of panic, that I had somehow walked to the wrong synagogue. Or the right synagogue, but in an alternate universe.
After the shock wore off, I even read the bulletin.
It was nice.
It was …..authentic.
Oh my gosh, I am now attending real synagogue!
Seven weeks later, I am still slightly taken by surprised when I find a new bulletin ready when I walk in.
The bulletin is the work of Parisa. Which is why I brought the invitation we were sent for the Bar Mitzvah at the fancy synagogue in for her to see, on Shabbat.
Well, not really the invitation, even though it was very nice, but the blue “enclosure “ that came with it.
You see, apparently, the fancy synagogues require their congregants to enclose a list of “rules” when they send out Bar and Bat Mitzvah invitations.
The things I never knew! Of course, with the crowd I hand out with, how would I?
After a two paragraph introduction, the card has this list of rules:
1. The Sabbath Morning Services begin promptly at 10 AM and conclude at noon.
2. Your child will be expected to remain in the Sanctuary and display proper behavior and respect during the sevice.
3. Please do not allow your child to bring pagers, cellular phones, hand-held electronic games or alarm watches to the synagogue. There is a telephone in the lobby for emergencies or special needs.
4. Gum is not allowed in the building at any time.
5. Please see to it that your child dresses respectfully for Religious Services. Jeans or T-shirts, spaghetti straps, tank tops or crop tops are not appropriate.
I showed this to Parisa and explained that, of course, this set of rules wouldn’t’ fit our synagogue, but maybe we should also make up some sort of a card for people to enclose when sending out invitations for celebrations at our shul. A list of rules for everyone, because, as we concurred, it is really more often the problems stem from adults than from children.
We had a short discussion of what might be a list of appropriate rules, of curse, I had also had a discussion, before even bringing this in to show Parisa, with my hubby.
Some possibilities were:
1. Services start at 9 AM. We really don’t’ expect you to show up that early. 9:30 is nice. 10 is okay. 11? Well, 11 is too late- it looks like you only came for the food. And we have absolutely no idea what time services will be over, so stop bothering us by asking. However, if you think the rabbi’s sermon is going a little too long- you can tell him so, while he is speaking. Just make sure you say it loudly enough for him to hear. If you are too embarrassed to do that, don’t worry, some of the men are checking their watches and will let him know if he drags on for more than 10 minutes.
2. When you or your child get up to go out to the bathroom ofr for a break- try not to run. And , especially, please do not trip over any walkers. Also, if you are a parent, please run in and out often to check on your children.
3. For G-d’s sake, turn off the damn ringer on your cell phone! We know you have it with you, since you drove here and are carrying purse- but could you at least put it on vibrate?
4. Don’t’ bring food into shul with you! What , you think we wont’ feed you? This is Etz, not that place around back or across the street! If we aren’t feeding you, it is because it is Yom Kippur and you are NOT to supposed to be eating! And if you bring gum, please be polite and share it with the people sitting next to you. And keep your hands off the food table until services are over, or Anne will come after you!
5. Kids look very cute in sundresses and tank tops. Adults do not. If we can tell what color bra you are wearing, or that you aren’t wearing bra, and that you do or do not have a tattoo right above your butt or a pierced belly button- that is just too much information! We really didn’t want to know that. And we REALLY don’t’ want to know what color you underwear is, if it is a thong or if you are not wearing any! You are not as cute as you think you are. Believe me, a T-shirt and jeans would be better!
Of course, this list will need a lot of going over. I am sure her are many things I haven’t thought of.
And Alan will have to approve it. He is the person responsible for changing the light bulbs when they burn out. At our synagogue, the title of that position , which is an elected one , is “president”.
A few years ago, our synagogue “moved up” to a new , fancy building. So, we have the appearance of being one of the fancy synagogues, although on a smaller scale- but it is an appearance that s deceiving.
Many weeks, I walk into shul for services and I feel like I have walked into the wrong place. It is too nice. A place like this would never have me as member.
But then I am made comfortable when my friend who comes in ten minutes after Sarah and I arrive and slid into the seat on the pew next to me, excitedly shares the news that her new skirt is not just from Goodwill , but from Goodwill by the pound. And I admire her taste.
Yes, this is much more like it!
But then, one week, about 7 weeks ago, something otherworldly happened. I found a holder in the sanctuary ( and a matching one in the lobby) with a weekly bulletin. Complete with the time that Shabbat begins and ends this week, a short summary of the parsha ( section of the Torah being read this week) and who is sponsoring the Kiddush ( food after services). All printed out nicely, complete with some clip art.
I had a real moment of panic, that I had somehow walked to the wrong synagogue. Or the right synagogue, but in an alternate universe.
After the shock wore off, I even read the bulletin.
It was nice.
It was …..authentic.
Oh my gosh, I am now attending real synagogue!
Seven weeks later, I am still slightly taken by surprised when I find a new bulletin ready when I walk in.
The bulletin is the work of Parisa. Which is why I brought the invitation we were sent for the Bar Mitzvah at the fancy synagogue in for her to see, on Shabbat.
Well, not really the invitation, even though it was very nice, but the blue “enclosure “ that came with it.
You see, apparently, the fancy synagogues require their congregants to enclose a list of “rules” when they send out Bar and Bat Mitzvah invitations.
The things I never knew! Of course, with the crowd I hand out with, how would I?
After a two paragraph introduction, the card has this list of rules:
1. The Sabbath Morning Services begin promptly at 10 AM and conclude at noon.
2. Your child will be expected to remain in the Sanctuary and display proper behavior and respect during the sevice.
3. Please do not allow your child to bring pagers, cellular phones, hand-held electronic games or alarm watches to the synagogue. There is a telephone in the lobby for emergencies or special needs.
4. Gum is not allowed in the building at any time.
5. Please see to it that your child dresses respectfully for Religious Services. Jeans or T-shirts, spaghetti straps, tank tops or crop tops are not appropriate.
I showed this to Parisa and explained that, of course, this set of rules wouldn’t’ fit our synagogue, but maybe we should also make up some sort of a card for people to enclose when sending out invitations for celebrations at our shul. A list of rules for everyone, because, as we concurred, it is really more often the problems stem from adults than from children.
We had a short discussion of what might be a list of appropriate rules, of curse, I had also had a discussion, before even bringing this in to show Parisa, with my hubby.
Some possibilities were:
1. Services start at 9 AM. We really don’t’ expect you to show up that early. 9:30 is nice. 10 is okay. 11? Well, 11 is too late- it looks like you only came for the food. And we have absolutely no idea what time services will be over, so stop bothering us by asking. However, if you think the rabbi’s sermon is going a little too long- you can tell him so, while he is speaking. Just make sure you say it loudly enough for him to hear. If you are too embarrassed to do that, don’t worry, some of the men are checking their watches and will let him know if he drags on for more than 10 minutes.
2. When you or your child get up to go out to the bathroom ofr for a break- try not to run. And , especially, please do not trip over any walkers. Also, if you are a parent, please run in and out often to check on your children.
3. For G-d’s sake, turn off the damn ringer on your cell phone! We know you have it with you, since you drove here and are carrying purse- but could you at least put it on vibrate?
4. Don’t’ bring food into shul with you! What , you think we wont’ feed you? This is Etz, not that place around back or across the street! If we aren’t feeding you, it is because it is Yom Kippur and you are NOT to supposed to be eating! And if you bring gum, please be polite and share it with the people sitting next to you. And keep your hands off the food table until services are over, or Anne will come after you!
5. Kids look very cute in sundresses and tank tops. Adults do not. If we can tell what color bra you are wearing, or that you aren’t wearing bra, and that you do or do not have a tattoo right above your butt or a pierced belly button- that is just too much information! We really didn’t want to know that. And we REALLY don’t’ want to know what color you underwear is, if it is a thong or if you are not wearing any! You are not as cute as you think you are. Believe me, a T-shirt and jeans would be better!
Of course, this list will need a lot of going over. I am sure her are many things I haven’t thought of.
And Alan will have to approve it. He is the person responsible for changing the light bulbs when they burn out. At our synagogue, the title of that position , which is an elected one , is “president”.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Story of teh Day #2 9/ 4/ 2009
For Hanukah, my husband received a CD of Jewish music from Lynne.
He not only liked it, he really liked it.
He liked it so much that he located the company, on-line, and ordered two – so that he can give them to friends as gifts.
But they never came.
He waited.
And he waited.
And he waited.
Then, he looked up his invoice from PayPal, and sent them a note.
They were terribly sorry for the delay and have mailed the CDs out to him.
They also have a sense of….well, let us say that both Larry and I would really like to meet this company’s contact person- because this is the email he rec’d from them:
Your CDs have been gently taken from our CD Baby shelves with sterilized contamination-free gloves and placed onto a satin pillow.
A team of 50 employees inspected your CDs and polished them to make sure they were in the best possible condition before mailing.
Our packing specialist from Japan lit a candle and a hush fell over the crowd as he put your CDs into the finest gold-lined box that money can buy.
We all had a wonderful celebration afterwards and the whole party marched down the street to the post office where the entire town of Portland waved "Bon Voyage!" to your package, on its way to you, in our private CD Baby jet on this day, September 3, 2009.
We hope you had a wonderful time shopping at CD Baby. In commemoration, we have placed your picture on our wall as "Customer of the Year." We're all exhausted but can't wait for you to come back to CDBABY.COM!!
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Sigh...
We miss you already. We'll be right here at http://cdbaby.com/, patiently awaiting your return.
--
CD Baby
The little store with the best new independent music.
Story of the Day 9/ 4/ 2009
I was cooking , this morning.
If you call boiling eggs, cooking.
Of course, I can’t even do that right. I forgot to turn on the burner. Fortunately, someone else noticed this omission, about 15 minutes later.
It was at Etz, our synagogue, helping Susan get things ready for her daughter’s Bat Mitzvah. Susan has 4 children, but only one of them is a daughter. However, she is such a tall, beautiful, funny and sometimes exasperating young woman that I think Susan figures one daughter is enough. Of course, I don’t’ find her exasperating, but Susan does.
Susan’s friends, or at least, the friends that weren’t’ stuck working on Friday morning, were there cooking. Most of them, luckily, were displaying slightly more advanced cooking skills than I was.
One friend , who trudged in a little later than expected had…well, news to share.
This friend is also the mother of Aaron’s best friend, Ethan. Yeah, the cool guy with the earring and the Volvo.
Except, he no longer has a Volvo.
Yesterday, Ethan was involved in a major accident with a car filled with girls. I mean, the other car was filled with girls. Teenage girls. Filled as in there were 6 of them in a small car that has 5 seat belts.
And they were not just dumb enough to overcrowd the car and ride around with at least one of them unbelted; they were dumb enough to pull out into the multilane street from an apartment complex . Without looking.
Ethan, fortunately, was in Volvo with an airbag. And, of course, he does what any intelligent macho teenage guy does in that situation, he pulled out his cell phone and called his mom. Who told him to call 911 and then she headed out to where he was- getting there only after a slew of emergency vehicles, including the firemen who had to cut the girls out of their car.
Okay, so that is not exactly what happened. He called his mother and announced to her that his car had been totaled. Of course, his mother asked him the only important question, “Are you hurt.”
“No.”
Then she asked him the second most important question, “Where are you?”
And THEN she told him to call 911.
The end result was a nasty “rug burn” on Ethan’s arm from the air bag, less closet space ( Ethan had been using his car as a portable closet- with at least 6 pairs of shoes and numerous snazzy outfits- because you never know when you will need to change to fit the moment), and the order from his mom that he is going to show up at synagogue, this Shabbat and bench Gomel- that is the prayer we are grateful for surviving a disaster.
Oh yes, and Susan, I think, finding her daughter to be less exasperating than usual (despite the pressures of the Bat Mitzvah preparations.)
As a matter of fact, I went home and hugged my kid, too- well, the only one in Indianapolis…and I warned Stacie that I will be hugging Ethan, when I see him tomorrow.
Oh yes, and Ethan’s mom has also given him strict instructions that he is to start searching Craigslist for another Volvo. With an airbag.
Ethan’s mother has this to add:
(At the scene of the accident ) Ethan turned to me after saying "Wow, I didn't even know I had an airbag!" and told me that if he hadn't been wearing his seatbelt he would have gone through the windshield. Now that was a "teachable" moment - not the kind you hope for, but one that has more impact than your Mother just telling you to wear your seatbelt!
If you call boiling eggs, cooking.
Of course, I can’t even do that right. I forgot to turn on the burner. Fortunately, someone else noticed this omission, about 15 minutes later.
It was at Etz, our synagogue, helping Susan get things ready for her daughter’s Bat Mitzvah. Susan has 4 children, but only one of them is a daughter. However, she is such a tall, beautiful, funny and sometimes exasperating young woman that I think Susan figures one daughter is enough. Of course, I don’t’ find her exasperating, but Susan does.
Susan’s friends, or at least, the friends that weren’t’ stuck working on Friday morning, were there cooking. Most of them, luckily, were displaying slightly more advanced cooking skills than I was.
One friend , who trudged in a little later than expected had…well, news to share.
This friend is also the mother of Aaron’s best friend, Ethan. Yeah, the cool guy with the earring and the Volvo.
Except, he no longer has a Volvo.
Yesterday, Ethan was involved in a major accident with a car filled with girls. I mean, the other car was filled with girls. Teenage girls. Filled as in there were 6 of them in a small car that has 5 seat belts.
And they were not just dumb enough to overcrowd the car and ride around with at least one of them unbelted; they were dumb enough to pull out into the multilane street from an apartment complex . Without looking.
Ethan, fortunately, was in Volvo with an airbag. And, of course, he does what any intelligent macho teenage guy does in that situation, he pulled out his cell phone and called his mom. Who told him to call 911 and then she headed out to where he was- getting there only after a slew of emergency vehicles, including the firemen who had to cut the girls out of their car.
Okay, so that is not exactly what happened. He called his mother and announced to her that his car had been totaled. Of course, his mother asked him the only important question, “Are you hurt.”
“No.”
Then she asked him the second most important question, “Where are you?”
And THEN she told him to call 911.
The end result was a nasty “rug burn” on Ethan’s arm from the air bag, less closet space ( Ethan had been using his car as a portable closet- with at least 6 pairs of shoes and numerous snazzy outfits- because you never know when you will need to change to fit the moment), and the order from his mom that he is going to show up at synagogue, this Shabbat and bench Gomel- that is the prayer we are grateful for surviving a disaster.
Oh yes, and Susan, I think, finding her daughter to be less exasperating than usual (despite the pressures of the Bat Mitzvah preparations.)
As a matter of fact, I went home and hugged my kid, too- well, the only one in Indianapolis…and I warned Stacie that I will be hugging Ethan, when I see him tomorrow.
Oh yes, and Ethan’s mom has also given him strict instructions that he is to start searching Craigslist for another Volvo. With an airbag.
Ethan’s mother has this to add:
(At the scene of the accident ) Ethan turned to me after saying "Wow, I didn't even know I had an airbag!" and told me that if he hadn't been wearing his seatbelt he would have gone through the windshield. Now that was a "teachable" moment - not the kind you hope for, but one that has more impact than your Mother just telling you to wear your seatbelt!
Story of the Day 9/ 3/ 2009
Story of the Day 9/3/2009
I can’t complain that he isn’t’ eager.
Aaron is a very positive person, and eager, and outgoing, and sociable.
Kind of odd that Larry and I produced one of those.
It isn’t’ that we are opposed to people like that. Not exactly. Leery might be a better way of putting it.
Anyhow, Aaron is starting out his college career in a way that is very diametrically opposed to how Larry and I did. He is signing up for things. I mean right away.
No approaching things cautiously.
Seeing what people are like,
refusing to give your name and making sure no one follows you back to your dorm….
I mean none of that normal stuff.
So far, if I have counted correctly, he has signed up to go try 11 different clubs.
One every evening, and sometimes two.
There is Hillel. That one was a bit of a disappointment. More than a bit. I got a semi-hysterical call after that event.
Seems that a somewhat “difficult” person from Indianapolis , whom Aaron knows all too well, attended-and at the Activity Fair, later that evening, harassed Aaron.
Since this same young man was kicked out of two middle schools- one for taking a baseball bat into the school and hitting another student with it, I am not arguing with Aaron’s description of being both verbally and physically harassed by him.
See why we refused to give out names and make sure we weren’t’ followed home?
Hopefully, however, Aaron will recover in short enough time that he might attend another Hillel event before he graduates.
Then there was the fraternity.
In all honesty, you mention the word fraternity and I get goose bumps. Okay, not goose bumps. Hives.
It is just that I remember all too well the fraternities – two of them- from my years at Penn who harassed us Jewish students.
But, Aaron went in there with his kippah on his head….unless this was right after the Hillel program, and he was still recovering – and had a good time. ( Aaron did tell me , when I sent this story to him that he was wearing his kippah.)
Next, there was the Asian Student’s association. Since my grandfather was Oriental ( the old fashioned classification- nowadays that is only a classification for rugs, and people are known as Asians) and one of his favorite cousins is Asian ( Kara, of course), this seemed like a logical fit. Anyhow, I am waiting to hear how it went.
Then, there is the Black Student’s Union. That was Parisa’s favorite, from when she was at Ball State.
Parisa, in case you don’t know, is a friend from synagogue who makes, according to Sarah, the world’s best soup.
Of course this was in her previous life- before she became a respectable mother – and the reason it was her favorite was that the parties were the best.
Lots of alcohol.
Last night was the Gay /Straight alliance meeting . Also a good fit, since his favorite clothes all have rainbows.
Although, he might have a hard time finding a girlfriend there.
I am waiting for the reports on the rest of them…largely, because I can no longer keep the rest of the list straight…….
He did tell me , though, that his big concern is that , once he starts having more homework, he might have to cut down on some of these activities.
If he didn’t’ have Larry’s family’s eyebrows and my family’s deafness, I would swear he was switched at birth.
I can’t complain that he isn’t’ eager.
Aaron is a very positive person, and eager, and outgoing, and sociable.
Kind of odd that Larry and I produced one of those.
It isn’t’ that we are opposed to people like that. Not exactly. Leery might be a better way of putting it.
Anyhow, Aaron is starting out his college career in a way that is very diametrically opposed to how Larry and I did. He is signing up for things. I mean right away.
No approaching things cautiously.
Seeing what people are like,
refusing to give your name and making sure no one follows you back to your dorm….
I mean none of that normal stuff.
So far, if I have counted correctly, he has signed up to go try 11 different clubs.
One every evening, and sometimes two.
There is Hillel. That one was a bit of a disappointment. More than a bit. I got a semi-hysterical call after that event.
Seems that a somewhat “difficult” person from Indianapolis , whom Aaron knows all too well, attended-and at the Activity Fair, later that evening, harassed Aaron.
Since this same young man was kicked out of two middle schools- one for taking a baseball bat into the school and hitting another student with it, I am not arguing with Aaron’s description of being both verbally and physically harassed by him.
See why we refused to give out names and make sure we weren’t’ followed home?
Hopefully, however, Aaron will recover in short enough time that he might attend another Hillel event before he graduates.
Then there was the fraternity.
In all honesty, you mention the word fraternity and I get goose bumps. Okay, not goose bumps. Hives.
It is just that I remember all too well the fraternities – two of them- from my years at Penn who harassed us Jewish students.
But, Aaron went in there with his kippah on his head….unless this was right after the Hillel program, and he was still recovering – and had a good time. ( Aaron did tell me , when I sent this story to him that he was wearing his kippah.)
Next, there was the Asian Student’s association. Since my grandfather was Oriental ( the old fashioned classification- nowadays that is only a classification for rugs, and people are known as Asians) and one of his favorite cousins is Asian ( Kara, of course), this seemed like a logical fit. Anyhow, I am waiting to hear how it went.
Then, there is the Black Student’s Union. That was Parisa’s favorite, from when she was at Ball State.
Parisa, in case you don’t know, is a friend from synagogue who makes, according to Sarah, the world’s best soup.
Of course this was in her previous life- before she became a respectable mother – and the reason it was her favorite was that the parties were the best.
Lots of alcohol.
Last night was the Gay /Straight alliance meeting . Also a good fit, since his favorite clothes all have rainbows.
Although, he might have a hard time finding a girlfriend there.
I am waiting for the reports on the rest of them…largely, because I can no longer keep the rest of the list straight…….
He did tell me , though, that his big concern is that , once he starts having more homework, he might have to cut down on some of these activities.
If he didn’t’ have Larry’s family’s eyebrows and my family’s deafness, I would swear he was switched at birth.
Story of teh Day 8/ 28/ 2009
Harriet came for Shabbat dinner.
She is used to us.
That is good, because it saves us strange looks when we are just being ourselves; and she expects a lot of non-sequiturs.
Harriet also signs some, which means that Sarah is not left out of the entire evening’s conversations.
And signing became a topic during dinner. Practicing signing. Like practicing any foreign language.
With most foreign languages, maybe with all of them, if you are Hearing, you can play tapes or CDs or whatever the newest technology is, of the language and practice speaking it while driving.
This is not something that is readily available to you, with sign language.
You can’t watch a video of someone signing and respond to them, while driving, or you will most certainly be ion your way to the hospital or the morgue in a very short time.
You can , however, practice your fingerspelling by signing all the street signs and billboards. And you can practice your interpreting with the songs on eth radio or the news bits from NPR. Of course, since I don’t’ hear very well, I am probably misinterpreting anything I think I am hearing from them….
And, as Sarah was pleased to inform Harriet, I also sign “CVS,CVS,CVS” while I am driving- hoping I don’t’ forget to stop there to buy toilet paper or whatever.
Sarah also explained how I am always signing compete conversations to myself and it is very odd.
I told her, “I also speak complete conversations to myself. It is called talking to myself. People do that.”
Although, according to Sarah, they don’t’ do it in sign language.
Of course, I do talk a lot, even if it is not always to myself.
And I also talk in my sleep.
It is a family trait.
My husband says that most of the time he can’t make out what I have said. Except, a week ago, I clearly said “Kleenex.”
And , last night, I clearly said, “I don’t’ like the Deaf School.”
Not that it surprised him.
"Of course," I told Harriet," that is nothing, my sister Maggie talks in her sleep- sitting up with her eyes open. "
That is spooky.
And Harriet, who must, in some way, be a cousin, told a story about her younger daughter , Joanna ,walking in her sleep.
Her sister, Liz, got up and followed her to make sure she didn’t’ hurt herself.
That can be dangerous. Especially if the house has stairs.
Dangerous.
The most dangerous sleep experience I have had came from talking in my sleep. And I wasn’t even sitting up with my eyes open.
When I was in high school in Israel, I had two roommates. One was Debbie, the other….her name escapes me- which is probably good.
I had been studying for a Latin exam, and my focus on this must have carried over into my sleep.
I was jabbering away in Latin- probably some fascinating thing like conjugating verbs.
The 3rd (nameless ) roommate awoke to my jabbering away in Latin and decided I was possessed.
She wasn’t’ the brightest bulb in the box.
Anyhow, she decided that the best thing to do was to stab me.
Fortunately, it was late at night, and she couldn’t’ find a knife- or she didn’t’ have one, or whatever, so she woke Debbie up to help her find one.
Debbie, who had a lot higher wattage than the other gal, got another person to restrain the stabber.
Anyhow, I got to sleep until morning- when this close call was related to me by several people. (They all got to wake up for it…they must have thought it was amusing to let me sleep through it , or something.)
I am sure there is a moral to this story.
I haven’t found it ,yet, though, and that was 33 years ago.
She is used to us.
That is good, because it saves us strange looks when we are just being ourselves; and she expects a lot of non-sequiturs.
Harriet also signs some, which means that Sarah is not left out of the entire evening’s conversations.
And signing became a topic during dinner. Practicing signing. Like practicing any foreign language.
With most foreign languages, maybe with all of them, if you are Hearing, you can play tapes or CDs or whatever the newest technology is, of the language and practice speaking it while driving.
This is not something that is readily available to you, with sign language.
You can’t watch a video of someone signing and respond to them, while driving, or you will most certainly be ion your way to the hospital or the morgue in a very short time.
You can , however, practice your fingerspelling by signing all the street signs and billboards. And you can practice your interpreting with the songs on eth radio or the news bits from NPR. Of course, since I don’t’ hear very well, I am probably misinterpreting anything I think I am hearing from them….
And, as Sarah was pleased to inform Harriet, I also sign “CVS,CVS,CVS” while I am driving- hoping I don’t’ forget to stop there to buy toilet paper or whatever.
Sarah also explained how I am always signing compete conversations to myself and it is very odd.
I told her, “I also speak complete conversations to myself. It is called talking to myself. People do that.”
Although, according to Sarah, they don’t’ do it in sign language.
Of course, I do talk a lot, even if it is not always to myself.
And I also talk in my sleep.
It is a family trait.
My husband says that most of the time he can’t make out what I have said. Except, a week ago, I clearly said “Kleenex.”
And , last night, I clearly said, “I don’t’ like the Deaf School.”
Not that it surprised him.
"Of course," I told Harriet," that is nothing, my sister Maggie talks in her sleep- sitting up with her eyes open. "
That is spooky.
And Harriet, who must, in some way, be a cousin, told a story about her younger daughter , Joanna ,walking in her sleep.
Her sister, Liz, got up and followed her to make sure she didn’t’ hurt herself.
That can be dangerous. Especially if the house has stairs.
Dangerous.
The most dangerous sleep experience I have had came from talking in my sleep. And I wasn’t even sitting up with my eyes open.
When I was in high school in Israel, I had two roommates. One was Debbie, the other….her name escapes me- which is probably good.
I had been studying for a Latin exam, and my focus on this must have carried over into my sleep.
I was jabbering away in Latin- probably some fascinating thing like conjugating verbs.
The 3rd (nameless ) roommate awoke to my jabbering away in Latin and decided I was possessed.
She wasn’t’ the brightest bulb in the box.
Anyhow, she decided that the best thing to do was to stab me.
Fortunately, it was late at night, and she couldn’t’ find a knife- or she didn’t’ have one, or whatever, so she woke Debbie up to help her find one.
Debbie, who had a lot higher wattage than the other gal, got another person to restrain the stabber.
Anyhow, I got to sleep until morning- when this close call was related to me by several people. (They all got to wake up for it…they must have thought it was amusing to let me sleep through it , or something.)
I am sure there is a moral to this story.
I haven’t found it ,yet, though, and that was 33 years ago.
Story of teh Day 8/26/2009
Sigh- did not get approval from Aaron to post this one. If u want to hear about it, email him.
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