Sunday, December 27, 2009

Story of the Day 12/25/2009

My son received a text message that he is loved.
It really bothered him.
It was from a student who lives down the hall from him.
Apparently, the student had a little too much eggnog and has sent my son a message about how blessed he is to live on the same floor as Aaron.
According to Aaron, this is almost as spooky as when I tell him that he is absolutely adorable.
Only almost.

Story of The Day 12/20/2009

My son asked me if he could buy a bong.

My response was , “okay? Do you know where to buy them?” And I recommended a shop in Broad Ripple that has very lovely ones.
This totally appalled my eldest daughter. Esther wasn’t’ appalled that I knew where to buy one, she was appalled that her brother would ask my permission.
“Aaron, you are 19!”
He is? Yeah, he just had his birthday.
I thought about it some more, and then I decided to tell Aaron that he shouldn’t buy the bong.
I mean, his friends at college would ask to use it.
He admitted as much.
And it would end up having , at the very least, traces of illegal substances in it.
He admitted this was likely.
And he could be arrested for that.
“Oh.” So, Aaron who had really just wanted to own the bong for the “prestige” of owning a bong, has decided he will pass on this opportunity.
But Esther is still peeved.

However, it reminds me of the story about a friend of hers, who threw a sex party.
Esther was invited.
She threw a dinner party, so she had an excuse not to go.
No, they don’t
Have sex at sex parties.

I actually know this because a friend of mines mother threw one, and she described it to me in a bit of detail.

They sell sex “toys”. All sorts of things you have heard of and some you haven’t.
Unless you have been to one of those parties.
My friend described a couple of things that none of the rest of us at coffee had ever heard of. Or at least would admit to having heard of.

Anyhow, my daughter’s friend threw the party for a good reason.
It was to raise money for leukemia. Research .
It was one of several fund raisers she held, during the year.
But it created its own unique set of problems.
Like her driving.
She had to drive very carefully and very slowly.
After picking up the ordered items from the supplier.
She didn’t’ want to get stopped by a traffic cop and have to explain why she had $150 worth of vibrators on her front passenger seat.

But it was all in the name of charity.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Story of The Day 12/18/2009

At dinner, this evening, Aaron was telling about an occasion, recently, when he returned to his dorm.
Late.
And the RA ( resident advisor) accused him of being drunk.
Which is bad enough, but worse, since my son is underage for any kind of drinking.
My son denied it.
But the RA persisted.
He told Aaron he could tell that he was drunk because of his lisp.
Aaron pointed to his hearing aids and said, "I have a lisp, because I am Deaf".

Story of the Day 12/13/2009

It is not that I am becoming more religious, G-d forbid.
But this is my second story in a very short while to be about God.
It is not that God is ever absent from services at our synagogue She isn’t. It is just that she rarely gives me anything to write about in a story.
But, this Shabbat, there was a bit of a tussle in one of the back pews.
Of course, God sits in one of the front pews.
So do I, although, I do it to be able to see the interpreter.
Well, in order for Sarah to be able to see the interpreter. Not because I am especially deserving of sitting in one of the front pews. Yes, I know that you already knew that.
Anyhow, there was a bit of a todo, and she looked back and there was some sort of argument about which relatives should be standing to say Mourner’s Kaddish. The widow? Of course. The daughter? Yes, but not the granddaughter?
And God said, “If she wants to stand, let her stand.”
You should be impressed, I both did not fall our of my seat, nor did I forget to breathe.

Story of the Day 12/11/2009

I called Larry from work. I had a strange but important piece of non-sense to tell him.
And he had something to share with me. Something new at work. But the only work I could clearly make out was “skeletal”. Of course, I never hear well on my cell phone. It has some odd thing to do with hearing aids. But, at least, I try.
I told him I couldn’t’ hear him or , at least, I couldn’t’ decipher whatever it was he was trying to tell me, and to tell me when we both get home.
He said, “I can’t hear you either, it sounds like you are standing in Grand Central Station.”
A moment of silence. On my end.
“Oh, I am standing near the donuts.” Which is, truthfully, a bit like being at Grand Central Station.
Although, there are slightly fewer pickpockets.

Story of the Day 12/10/2009

I had coffee with my friend, Cindie, yesterday.
Somewhere in the vast middle stretches of our disjointed conversation the topic of my stories came up.
It really started with a birthday, although, not a birthday of anyone that either of us knows.
On occasion- the occasion being a birthday- parents will pay to have a sign set up outside of their child’s school proclaiming “ Happy Birthday Kyle!” or “Happy sweet 16, Amy!”
This week, outside of her son’s middle school was a sign proclaiming “Happy Birthday poo-poo!” And then, to some student’s absolute mortification, it also gave his real name.
This prompted my fried Cindie to threaten her middle son with “I am going to have them put up a sign for your birthday , next fall, that says “Happy Birthday, Tushy!”
I talked about using that as the basis of a Story- to which Cindie remarked that I must have a hard time coming up with topics for stories- not because this wasn’t just right for one, but because both Esther and Aaron, my older two children, are away at college- and not home to entertain me with their adventures. And mis-adventures.
I told Cindie to read the blog.
I really told her that because she has apparently missed the recent series of Aaron stories, and I am sure she would feel pleased to see that even an hour and a half away , he is providing me with amusement.
I must say, however, that the amusement that he has provided pales in comparison to what Esther provides. And Esther, 15 hours away in the wilds of upstate New York, is certainly not expected to be providing us with constant entertainment. But, you can take the child out of the household, but after all of those years living with her demented parents, she has been fully warped.
I don’t’ just mean that she has retained the family penchant for hanging around thrift stores and used book stores, or for eating cabbage and tofu stir fry for breakfast. I am not even referring to the more than occasional non-sequiturs that are part of ordinary life. I am referring to her unique take on ….everything.
Esther had an assignment. She had to write some sort of a family history. A paper about the history of her family. Of course, coming from our family, it is imperative that she lie. This is because there is no way to write a history of our family in a paper, when it already requires several volumes to just do one branch. Hey, it is not my fault that we have an extensive family tree of quirky relatives that goes back to 1040. Well, actually, it goes back farther, but I am unwilling to ask the relative who has the rest of it for a copy. You see, a number of years ago, I was a bad influence on her daughter. This was before I knew we were related. And, I am sure she has not forgotten. You see, it is largely my fault that her daughter not only went to college, but got a college degree.
It may be another couple of decades before she forgives me.
So, every time the topic of who might have a copy of that part of the tree comes up, I tell the inquiring cousin to ask her, but not to mention me.
And her daughter didn’t even draw any naked people in college. I don’t’ think .
At any rate, Esther had this assignment. And I started emailing her bits and pieces of family lore, articles from books and the like. Of course, because she is not totally crackers, she asked me to stop. If she hadn’t, by now her entire apartment would be filled up with family crap. I mean information.
Besides which, there is no way she could have possibly ever used all of that crap. Whoops, information.
There was way too much and most of it was rather unbelievable. Including the historically authenticated parts. Maybe, especially those.
So she created a new family history.
It is really quite wonderful. And detailed, and even includes bits of pieces of the truth, but not too much to make it totally unbelievable.
She sent me an email about it:

remember that family history paper i was going to write?
turns out it was optional
so i made up most of the details
and got an A.
professor henry says we have a fascinating family, and how fortunate we are to have letters from Godaliva (my great great grandmother).
Love,
e


I can’t wait to read it.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Story of the Day 12/6/2009

God attends my synagogue.
I know that because her voice is heard often, during services.
Correcting the rabbi, correcting the reader, correcting the service, correcting the other congregants.
She isn’t’ my god, but due to some secret ballot she has been appointed as God to someone or something or at least as his representative.
But last Shabbat, God overstepped her bounds.
A woman got up to say Kaddish- the mourner’s prayer.
God told her to sit down.
She said- she being the woman, not God, “It’s my mother’s yarzheit.” (anniversary of her death.)
God told her, again, to sit down.
The woman replied, “I know when my fucking mother’s yarzheit is!”
As a friend said, “Sometimes you just have to shut up.” Even if you are God.
She ( being God) didn’t’ take it well., though, so it was a good time to stay out of her way for the rest of services.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Story of the Day 11/27/2009

We pulled into Indianapolis with less than three hours until Shabbat started.
No time to clean.
Ummm, mind you, I am not complaining about that part of it.
No time to make challah- so I send Aaron and Sarah off to Trader Joes to buy two loaves.
Two? We need two to make motzi on erev Shabbat- Friday evening. We don’t’ need a third, because they will make motzi at synagogue on Saturday.
As they are heading out the door, I tell him to get pita bread , if there is nothing else.
Aaron wants to know why he can’t just go to Marsh to get the challah.
Marsh is closer, less than half the distance, and involves driving on no major roads- especially on the is day of heavy traffic- Black Friday- when the call of the after-Thanksgiving sales draws people out on the roads to the stores in droves.
“No can do.” I tell him “They have challah, but it isn’t kosher.”
Don’t’ ask me why they do a good bus9iness selling challah that isn’t’ kosher. Do non-Jews like it? Do droves of Jews who don’t’ keep kosher go there especially to buy it to eat on Shabbat? I don’t’ know- but they sell a lot.
About 45 minutes later, they return home. The quiche is in eth oven, the rice is on eth stove, and I have located a couple of boxes of chocolate and cookies from the depths of the pantry.
Aaron tells me, “When we got there , we looked for the challah, but the shelves were empty.”
Nice to know that droves of people also buy the kosher challahs.
Then he continued, “But I asked a guy who worked there if they were all gone. He got down on his knees and reached back where you can’t see on the lowest shelf and pulled out this last loaf of challah.”
Obviously, we had arrived back in Indianapolis , just in time for him to get the last loaf. Oh, and a package of whole wheat pitas.