We were sitting at the kitchen table, this evening, and the following conversation ensued:
( I ( Cassia ) am "MOM", Sarah is my beloved daughter who typed this up and put it on her Facebook status.......)
Mom: Hopefully 2013 will be a good year for us.
Sarah: Um.
Mom: Wait, what year will it be?
Sarah: 2012.
Mom: Oh right.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
Story of the Day 12/24/2011
Sometimes, I only find out about things after the fact.
By accident.
Because someone else is told and I happen to be near enough to catch the info.
Apparently, on Thursday, Thursday being the day before Friday, and Friday being the day before today, my daughter had a basketball game.
I knew that.
She is a team manager and she gets to fold and unfold uniforms, hand out water bottles, take video and eat pizza.
She likes the last item best.
On Thursday, the team was getting ready to leave for Terre Haute. Terre Haute is a long , long drive on highway 70. It is about 90 minutes west of Indianapolis. After the school let out and before the team left, one of the mothers had brought food in, so the kids could have something to eat . No, not pizza, that was later.
Since school had let out a little earlier, and since Sarah had asked the interpreter to hang around a bit to make sure that Sarah had her questions answered in something a tad easier to communicate in than pantomime, the mom who had brought the food spotted this lady who was chatting with Sarah. Chatting as in signing.
She asked the woman, " Are you Sarah's wonderful mother?"
The interpreter, without missing beat, replied" No, I am Sarah's wonderful interpreter!"
Fortunately, since this is the regular , full time interpreter, the interpreter was right!
By accident.
Because someone else is told and I happen to be near enough to catch the info.
Apparently, on Thursday, Thursday being the day before Friday, and Friday being the day before today, my daughter had a basketball game.
I knew that.
She is a team manager and she gets to fold and unfold uniforms, hand out water bottles, take video and eat pizza.
She likes the last item best.
On Thursday, the team was getting ready to leave for Terre Haute. Terre Haute is a long , long drive on highway 70. It is about 90 minutes west of Indianapolis. After the school let out and before the team left, one of the mothers had brought food in, so the kids could have something to eat . No, not pizza, that was later.
Since school had let out a little earlier, and since Sarah had asked the interpreter to hang around a bit to make sure that Sarah had her questions answered in something a tad easier to communicate in than pantomime, the mom who had brought the food spotted this lady who was chatting with Sarah. Chatting as in signing.
She asked the woman, " Are you Sarah's wonderful mother?"
The interpreter, without missing beat, replied" No, I am Sarah's wonderful interpreter!"
Fortunately, since this is the regular , full time interpreter, the interpreter was right!
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Story of the Day 12/ 22/ 2011
This evening is the third night of Hanukkah.
We lit the candles, and then, as we do in our family, we exchange gifts.
We are cheap.
That is the nice way to say it. Certain children of ours have used much less flattering terms to describe how we do gifts.
Years ago, we set the $40 limit. The kids could pick out whatever they wanted for a total of $40. They could get a few smaller gifts, one large and one small, or one that cost the entire $40. But that was it.
Ely, in particular , didn’t like this.
It didn’t match up with how his friends’ families did things. There were no IPODS, the year they came out, or the year after that, which fell into the $40 or less category, and yet, many of his friends got one, as just one present of a slew.
Of course, we also managed to be the family that did not go to Hawaii, Disneyland or Europe for any of our vacations. That was another major disappointment in having us as parents.
And that $40 limit was for the kids.
Our limit for ourselves used to be $10.
When the kids got older, and the decade changed, we raised it, slightly. Nowadays, if one of the kids chooses a book that cost $43 before tax, we will usually say yes. Usually.
And , my husband and I decided that we would do better just buying what we want for ourselves and handing it to our spouse to wrap and give to us, and forget about that $10 limit.
As a result, we have started spending more and more, every year. This year, for example, my husband bought 3 CDs and a calendar for me to give to him. Can you imagine? Oh yes, and a book. I forgot about that.
I bought a jacket ( used) a brooch and a really nicely scented bar for soap from Trader Joes that I was being too cheap to buy for myself sans this good excuse. And I gave them to him to wrap for me, although, I told him he has to clean the jacket first, since the person who last owned it smoked. It is a dry clean only jacket, also, so that adds $1.99 to the cost…..
We also add a little bit- a few small surprises. This year, to add to what he handed me to wrap for him , I got him a $10 gift certificate for Half Price Books. Then I went back and got another one and put them in an envelope together and said “ for a hot date!” , so now he has to share it with me! And no, I am not worried he will read this before I give it to him because he doesn’t usually read my stories.
Tonight, it was just the two of us. Ely has not yet arrived from New York, Aaron is off in Israel, and Sarah went with the girls’ basketball team to Terre Haute. Terre Haute is a long drive west on route 70 , and she is not expected back until 11 PM.
So the two of us were lighting candles and exchanging gifts, and he hands me a small box , nicely wrapped. This is different from what I hand him, because I do not …well, I used to tell people, like teachers, when I gave them their gifts, that my kids had helped me to wrap the gifts. To prevent this from being a lie, I would have my kid hand me some tape. The problem is that the kids got older, and no self respecting ten year old would admit to doing anything that looked like something I have wrapped.
So, Larry hands me a nicely wrapped small box. Smaller than bread box, larger than a piece of jewelry. And light in weight.
And he says to me, “I was saving this for tonight, because Sarah isn’t home.”
And I thought, “ Is this a sex-toy? Edible underwear? A negligée?”
Well, the last time he got me something to wear to bed, it was flannel pajamas, and this didn’t weigh enough or take up enough room to be that. And I think that the image of me in a scant negligée or something like that might dampen any ardor, not increase it….so let’s forget about that.
And I couldn’t’ think of any sex toys that weighed this little, and ………
I opened it.
And it was what you see in the picture at the start of this story.
Of course, the first thing I saw were the large letters saying “First Check”. And I thought, “Does he think I am pregnant? I really do need to lose weight!”
Then I read the smaller print and realized it was a drug test.
And I thought, “Does he want to check Ely when Ely comes home?” I mean Ely occasionally has a drink, but not even his overly neurotic mother has suspected him of doing drugs. I mean, without a prescription.
I voiced my confusion.
“Open it,” replied my hubby.
He had reused the box, thinking it was a very funny package , for a bracelet.
It was.
And I will now save it and reuse it.
Although, maybe for something for one of the kids.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Story of the Day 12/17/2011
On occasion, you realize that you have fallen in with the correct crowd. During services, this morning, sitting in the pew at synagogue with a friend on either side, we realized that we were all reading different magazines, and not the Chumash ( bible)…………although, at least they were all Jewish magazines from the lobby.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Story of the Day 12/ 06/ 2011
Our son wrote is to let us know he was going to buy a pair of shoes. We had sent him off to Israel with two pairs, a pair of nice shoes, good enough to wear to synagogue on Shabbat , and a pair of sneakers.
The sneakers were forced upon him, by me. He thought he would be just fine with the one pair, but his evil mother thought that he might actually want to go somewhere and see something, like up to Masada or down to the ocean; and the nice dress shoes might be…wrong.
So, my husband and I were a bit surprised, but we thought that perhaps he wanted a pair of sandals, because while it is winter, and coat weather in Jerusalem, there are still warm beaches. Or perhaps he wanted some shoes appropriate for hiking, as there are several nice areas of Israel where those could be useful.
We didn’t hear anymore about it for a few days.
And then there was a phone call.
Not a phone call. The phone call.
He was upset.
Upset being too mild of a term.
He told me he would cut up his charge card.
He would starve himself, I mean stop buying brownies from the kiosk in the yeshivah, he would…..
“What is wrong?”
“He told me that he had spent about $260 on two pairs of shoes.
“What?!?!?”
This is the kid who doesn’t like to go clothes shopping, and who thinks we are being extravagant because we bought him 3 new white shirts at $10 each, before he left for Israel.
Is he on drugs?
I told him not to cut up the card and that we would talk with him on Sunday.
On Sunday, he called.
This interval had given my husband and me some time to prepare a whole list of questions, and to worry. I mean really worry.
This was obviously a sudden personality change…was it something serious?
Aaron has never even been willing to buy new shoes when the old ones looked like …shit.
My husband and I have this thing we refer to as PR- price resistance. It cuts in before $40, at least with shoes.
Personally, I have broken my $40 ceiling twice. Once, I spent $50 on a pair of shoes that my doctor recommended to help lessen the pain in my right knee. Thankfully, he was right, and the shoes have been worth that excessive amount. The other time was about 3 years ago, when I fell in love with a pair of fringed suede boots at Macy’s. I salivated over them for about 5 weeks. Finally, with a combination of a sale and a coupon I got them for $53.
I then gave them to Larry to give to me for Hanukkah.
My husband, who has similar PR when it comes to footwear, was as worried as I was.
So, with trepidation and a list of questions, we had anxiously awaited Aaron’s Sunday phone call.
“Why did you need new shoes?” was the first thing my husband asked.
And we were both surprised by the answer.
“My shoes didn’t fit. I think my feet grew.”
We can’t argue with that.
“Well, why did you buy such expensive shoes?”
“ I had already been to 4 other shoes stores. None of them carried shoes that were big enough for me. They have European shoes sizes here, 44 and 45, and they didn’t’ go up high enough to fit me; and this was the only store that had the extra large size.”
Aaron added, “And I didn’t know I was supposed to haggle.”
Well, he should have haggled, but the general rule is that you will get between 5 and 10%, sometimes a bit more if you are determined off from doing that, not a huge dent in an already huge bill - at least that si what my friend told me ….and his feet grew, and he was…big before he left
6’ 2”, we think.
And while you can get sandals and flip flops made in Israel, closed shoes are mostly imported and have VAT ( Vale Added Tax), so, all of the sudden the shoes didn’t seem so hideously expensive, considering the size of our little boy’s feet.
And if his feet grew, are growing , the rest of him is probably…
Which led me to ask another important question.
“Aaron, are your pants getting too short?”
The sneakers were forced upon him, by me. He thought he would be just fine with the one pair, but his evil mother thought that he might actually want to go somewhere and see something, like up to Masada or down to the ocean; and the nice dress shoes might be…wrong.
So, my husband and I were a bit surprised, but we thought that perhaps he wanted a pair of sandals, because while it is winter, and coat weather in Jerusalem, there are still warm beaches. Or perhaps he wanted some shoes appropriate for hiking, as there are several nice areas of Israel where those could be useful.
We didn’t hear anymore about it for a few days.
And then there was a phone call.
Not a phone call. The phone call.
He was upset.
Upset being too mild of a term.
He told me he would cut up his charge card.
He would starve himself, I mean stop buying brownies from the kiosk in the yeshivah, he would…..
“What is wrong?”
“He told me that he had spent about $260 on two pairs of shoes.
“What?!?!?”
This is the kid who doesn’t like to go clothes shopping, and who thinks we are being extravagant because we bought him 3 new white shirts at $10 each, before he left for Israel.
Is he on drugs?
I told him not to cut up the card and that we would talk with him on Sunday.
On Sunday, he called.
This interval had given my husband and me some time to prepare a whole list of questions, and to worry. I mean really worry.
This was obviously a sudden personality change…was it something serious?
Aaron has never even been willing to buy new shoes when the old ones looked like …shit.
My husband and I have this thing we refer to as PR- price resistance. It cuts in before $40, at least with shoes.
Personally, I have broken my $40 ceiling twice. Once, I spent $50 on a pair of shoes that my doctor recommended to help lessen the pain in my right knee. Thankfully, he was right, and the shoes have been worth that excessive amount. The other time was about 3 years ago, when I fell in love with a pair of fringed suede boots at Macy’s. I salivated over them for about 5 weeks. Finally, with a combination of a sale and a coupon I got them for $53.
I then gave them to Larry to give to me for Hanukkah.
My husband, who has similar PR when it comes to footwear, was as worried as I was.
So, with trepidation and a list of questions, we had anxiously awaited Aaron’s Sunday phone call.
“Why did you need new shoes?” was the first thing my husband asked.
And we were both surprised by the answer.
“My shoes didn’t fit. I think my feet grew.”
We can’t argue with that.
“Well, why did you buy such expensive shoes?”
“ I had already been to 4 other shoes stores. None of them carried shoes that were big enough for me. They have European shoes sizes here, 44 and 45, and they didn’t’ go up high enough to fit me; and this was the only store that had the extra large size.”
Aaron added, “And I didn’t know I was supposed to haggle.”
Well, he should have haggled, but the general rule is that you will get between 5 and 10%, sometimes a bit more if you are determined off from doing that, not a huge dent in an already huge bill - at least that si what my friend told me ….and his feet grew, and he was…big before he left
6’ 2”, we think.
And while you can get sandals and flip flops made in Israel, closed shoes are mostly imported and have VAT ( Vale Added Tax), so, all of the sudden the shoes didn’t seem so hideously expensive, considering the size of our little boy’s feet.
And if his feet grew, are growing , the rest of him is probably…
Which led me to ask another important question.
“Aaron, are your pants getting too short?”
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Story of the Day 12/ 13/ 2011 #2
My husband has been trying to poison us.
Okay. That isn't true. He hasn't been trying. On Purpose.
But he has been feeding us a steady died of dissolved toxins or whatever it is that is in black plastic.
On Shabbat and Yom Tov ( Sabbaths and holidays) we have a hot water tank- a coffee urn in which we have a lot of hot water to use for making cups of coffee, or tea, or instant oatmeal.
During the summer months, it is not such a big deal, but Indiana has cold, wet winters, when the sun isn't around and that cup of coffee starts becoming a bit of necessity.
So, every week, on Friday, or every day before the start of a holiday, my husband drags the hot water urn out of the closet under the stairs and fills it up and sets it out. And after the Sabbath or holiday is over, he empties what is left in it, and puts it away for another week.
Week after week, holiday after holiday.
I clean the bathrooms, and I bake the challahs ( bread) and I do a lot of the other things, but this is his job.
This is his job because the coffee urn holds 42 cups of hot water, and that makes it heavy to lift and move, and I happen to have arthritis in my hands.
So, week after week he does this. And then two weeks ago, for some reason, I was standing there when he emptied it, and I realized that the top of the hot water tank, which is plastic, is not "intact".
By this I mean that whole sections of plastic are missing- and what is there flakes off , if you touch it. And, apparently, it has been in this condition for a while,for months or maybe even a few years; and so, every Shabbat and holiday, while we are drinking our coffee and our tea we also happen to be drinking the plastic from the lid.
Forget about all of those BPA thingies that might be dissolving, unseen by you, from your water bottle, or your soup can and poisoning our family- this is a rather larger bit of plastic that we have been steadily imbibing for....
"Why in the fuck didn't' you tell me!" I said as I grabbed the now empty ( and therefore light in weight) urn from his hands and carried it to the back door, to be tossed.
Okay, he didn't notice.
Maybe.
And I spent much of the week, two weeks ago checking ads and reviews for hot water tanks.
And, last Friday, he set the damn thing up again.
"What are you doing?"
Well, he just couldn't' make it through Shabbat without that plastic poison-laced coffee....and I thought I was addicted to the stuff.
After Shabbat, I again took it and stuck it by the back door.
And I located a coffee urn that was a less than a 100 cup size and that did not have a plastic lid... but it was out of stock in all 4 of the stores that I called.
So, I kept looking.
On Thursday, I went to a store that had them in stock... but , not by the time I got into the store....... So, last week, come Shabbat,my husband filed up the canister of poison and...oh, no, he actually did listen to me, and left it by the back door, and had cold coffee on Saturday morning.
Meanwhile, my hunt for a stainless steel poison-less urn continued, until, at last, I realized that Sam's Club had them. In town, local.
Only , there was one problem, we don't belong to Sam's club.
But we have friends that do!
I sent an email to one, and she offered to have her husband pick it up for me, since he is the frequent Sam's Club shopper in their family.
And, today, at 3:20 PM, he dropped off a magnificent, new-in-the-box coffee urn that does not had a carcinogenic top, I mean a plastic top.
But it was, in another way, dangerous.
You see, he had gone to Sam's Club on 86th street to shop, and he had walked down the aisle where the coffee urns are. All the way down the aisle.
And there on the aisle was one last coffee urn in its nice new box.
He took the box and put it into his shopping cart and started to take to the check out.
Only, before he even got halfway down the aisle, he was accosted by an enraged shopper who must still be on her Black Friday high ,or maybe low, since, apparently, she had not yet had an opportunity to use her pepper spray .
"What are you doing taking my coffee urn?"
Just because you got to it before I did does not mean it was yours!"
Luckily, he was bigger and stronger than she was, although not heavier, and he won the tussle.
Well, actually, the tussle was only verbal and it was one sided, as in she was the one tussling.
As I explained to his daughter, "Her daughter must have forgotten to sprinkle the woman's prozac on her breakfast cereal , this morning!"
And, this coming Shabbat, I can be grateful that we will be drinking coffee that was made with hot water and not plastic and is therefore not shortening our lifespans.
And I will also be grateful that the lady left both her pepper spray and her handgun at home and didn't' shoot my friend.
Ah, so many things to be grateful for!
My friend added that, at least," I wasn't worried about her having a gun because, thank God, I had mine. "
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Story of the Day 12/13/2011
Today was an excellent day.
I was able to say that before noon.
Of course, it was largely because I got to spend the morning with Cindie.
Cindie is the person my children refer to alternately as my partner in crime and my wife. Well, only Ely says that and he says that because he doesn't yet realize that we do not fight enough to be married. We just like to fight battles against the same creepy people and institutions.
I learned something, today, however, that may alter our relationship a bit.
All of these years , I have viewed Cidnie as the savvy one, the alert one in the relationship.
I am the one who is good at remembering the exact page number for a special ed regulation, and the date that something happened, and Cindie will be able to tell me who is lying, sleeping with the other teacher, doing drugs, or has just sexted someone from their desk, which is 4 rooms away and behind Cindie's back.
And I am the one who is always clueless about why people are doing things.
So after our morning conference, we went to the Indian restaurant- our fallback place that has vegetarian fare when Yatz doesn't have it's spinach mushroom étouffée. And when they do not have it, we view that situation as a personal attack on us.....sigh.
So, we arrived at the restaurant, which is in the village of Broad Ripple, a place on the northside of Indy that is filled with quaint hemp clotting , blue hair and body piercings, and health food stores , and which has a lot of annoying one way streets, people who like to jaywalk and people in SUVS that do not fit the lanes.
Cindie asked me if there was something wrong with how the "No Turn on Red" signs were posted, because people just don't' seem to notice them.
Now,I am the person who drives 25 miles per hour in the school zones, because the sign says "Speed limit" not " suggestion" or " approximation", and I was the one who had to let her in on the deep dark secret.
" Cindie, the signs are visible, they are just ignoring them."
Obviously, the stars must be misaligned, she should be the one explaining this to me....
I was able to say that before noon.
Of course, it was largely because I got to spend the morning with Cindie.
Cindie is the person my children refer to alternately as my partner in crime and my wife. Well, only Ely says that and he says that because he doesn't yet realize that we do not fight enough to be married. We just like to fight battles against the same creepy people and institutions.
I learned something, today, however, that may alter our relationship a bit.
All of these years , I have viewed Cidnie as the savvy one, the alert one in the relationship.
I am the one who is good at remembering the exact page number for a special ed regulation, and the date that something happened, and Cindie will be able to tell me who is lying, sleeping with the other teacher, doing drugs, or has just sexted someone from their desk, which is 4 rooms away and behind Cindie's back.
And I am the one who is always clueless about why people are doing things.
So after our morning conference, we went to the Indian restaurant- our fallback place that has vegetarian fare when Yatz doesn't have it's spinach mushroom étouffée. And when they do not have it, we view that situation as a personal attack on us.....sigh.
So, we arrived at the restaurant, which is in the village of Broad Ripple, a place on the northside of Indy that is filled with quaint hemp clotting , blue hair and body piercings, and health food stores , and which has a lot of annoying one way streets, people who like to jaywalk and people in SUVS that do not fit the lanes.
Cindie asked me if there was something wrong with how the "No Turn on Red" signs were posted, because people just don't' seem to notice them.
Now,I am the person who drives 25 miles per hour in the school zones, because the sign says "Speed limit" not " suggestion" or " approximation", and I was the one who had to let her in on the deep dark secret.
" Cindie, the signs are visible, they are just ignoring them."
Obviously, the stars must be misaligned, she should be the one explaining this to me....
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Story of the Day 11/30/2011
Aaron called , a few minutes ago.
He has used some of that wonderful Margolis-Greenbaum ingenuity.
Not the kind that Ely used when he totally destroy my food processor because he refused to look at the instructions nor even the picture on the box before assembling it to use it and managed to assemble it in such a way that it broke.
Nor the kind that Aaron's mother uses when she cooks dinner, which is why she doesn't' think to set the timer, even though we all know that she is an airhead and , as a result, dinner is often burnt.
No, the kind that actually accomplishes something.
Aaron has in his possession two mouse traps. He has the Nike shoe box trap that belongs to Rabbi S, the head of the dorm. And he has the sticky trap he bought from wherever it was he bought it.
I have to apologize, now, for the fact that the homemade trap from Rabbi S. is actually NOT made from a Nike shoebox. Aaron told me it was, but he somehow misread the logo or label or print. It is a Reebok shoe box.
You know, the words Reebok and Nike look lot alike.
Okay , okay, I will make him an eye doctor appointment, when he gets home.
Well, Aaron combined the two traps.
He has put the sticky trap inside the Reebox shoe box trap and he has discovered that the mouse, in it's attempts to free itself from the sticky trap, manages to move around enough to actually set off the Reebox trap.
And, it was at this moment that Aaron clarified for me something I had been suspicious of, but unwilling to ask. Rabbi S.'s kind and gentler mouse trap is a catch and release trap.
So, now Aaron has caught a mouse.
He went outside and downstairs to the trash cans and let it loose.
And then, he caught another mouse, and he did the same.
I have now figured out that both Rabbi S and my son are retarded.
Excuse me, that wasn't nice.....intellectually disadvantaged. Apparently it has never occurred to either of them that the mice are enjoying the nice peanut butter snacks and the little wriggling exercise and then wandering back home to make more little mice to inhabit the dorm.
I tried to explain this to my son.
Of course, since he didn't' realize that R-E-E-B-O-K spelled something other than Nike, I am not sure my words made an impact.
I decided it was better to pray that he traps I mailed to him arrive soon. Very soon.
In the moments after I hung up the phone from my son, I emailed my husband and suggested that we mail Aaron a $150 worth of real mouse traps. You know, the kind that work and that kill the mice.
You see, Aaron's mother is not one of those Kinder and Gentler mothers.
Not to mice.
He has used some of that wonderful Margolis-Greenbaum ingenuity.
Not the kind that Ely used when he totally destroy my food processor because he refused to look at the instructions nor even the picture on the box before assembling it to use it and managed to assemble it in such a way that it broke.
Nor the kind that Aaron's mother uses when she cooks dinner, which is why she doesn't' think to set the timer, even though we all know that she is an airhead and , as a result, dinner is often burnt.
No, the kind that actually accomplishes something.
Aaron has in his possession two mouse traps. He has the Nike shoe box trap that belongs to Rabbi S, the head of the dorm. And he has the sticky trap he bought from wherever it was he bought it.
I have to apologize, now, for the fact that the homemade trap from Rabbi S. is actually NOT made from a Nike shoebox. Aaron told me it was, but he somehow misread the logo or label or print. It is a Reebok shoe box.
You know, the words Reebok and Nike look lot alike.
Okay , okay, I will make him an eye doctor appointment, when he gets home.
Well, Aaron combined the two traps.
He has put the sticky trap inside the Reebox shoe box trap and he has discovered that the mouse, in it's attempts to free itself from the sticky trap, manages to move around enough to actually set off the Reebox trap.
And, it was at this moment that Aaron clarified for me something I had been suspicious of, but unwilling to ask. Rabbi S.'s kind and gentler mouse trap is a catch and release trap.
So, now Aaron has caught a mouse.
He went outside and downstairs to the trash cans and let it loose.
And then, he caught another mouse, and he did the same.
I have now figured out that both Rabbi S and my son are retarded.
Excuse me, that wasn't nice.....intellectually disadvantaged. Apparently it has never occurred to either of them that the mice are enjoying the nice peanut butter snacks and the little wriggling exercise and then wandering back home to make more little mice to inhabit the dorm.
I tried to explain this to my son.
Of course, since he didn't' realize that R-E-E-B-O-K spelled something other than Nike, I am not sure my words made an impact.
I decided it was better to pray that he traps I mailed to him arrive soon. Very soon.
In the moments after I hung up the phone from my son, I emailed my husband and suggested that we mail Aaron a $150 worth of real mouse traps. You know, the kind that work and that kill the mice.
You see, Aaron's mother is not one of those Kinder and Gentler mothers.
Not to mice.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Story of the Day 12/ 08/ 2011
My son likes to daven with kavanah.
That means he likes to pray with feeling.
That is normally good and fine....even though, being a certified, pure-bred cynic, I find it had not to make wise cracks about it in front of him, or I would, except that I can always do it in a soft voice and he won't hear me.
The advantage, to me, of his being deaf.
Jewish people have a special prayer that is said at the end of a meal that included bread. Saying that prayer is referred to as benching. Yep, like the thing you sit on.
You bench.
It is a long prayer. Not long like three paragraphs, try more like 20 or 25.
If you do it correctly, it takes several minutes. This is a reason that kids who grow up in religious homes often will say, "I don't want any bread" at meal times, so they can get away with a a really short after meal prayer.
Of course, if you are pure-bred not cynical, like my son, you jump at the chance to eat bread so you have the opportunity to recite it.
Well, that and if you are 6' 2" and still a growing boy, you happen to jump at the chance to eat almost anything.....
As for the prayer ?
If you are a non-cynic, like my son, you also recite it slowly, or , at least, not in a hurry.
In fact, if you are " sincere", which Aaron ,is , you " get into it."
So , with fervor, Aaron benches.
At home, this has led to several instance s of my yelling to him from a different room, " Can you be quieter!"
Especially when I have a headache.
And if you want to know what i mean about fervor, you need to understand that I am hard of hearing, so the decibel level , from a couple of rooms away doesn't' usually get my attention......
And that is just one "problem" .
The other one is that he is deaf.
I might have mentioned that previously.
And this prayer is sung. Sung, like you know, to a tune. Or , in Aarons' case, to the approximation of a tune by a deaf kid who is benching with fervor.
I am getting a headache just thinking about it.
Today, Aaron sent me an email about how he spent last Shabbat.:
I ate very well this Shabbos. It was a very fun Shabbaton with lots of dancing and merriment.
All of this led me to ask him, today, via email,how well his benching has gone over at the yeshivah, since they eat and bench in the cafeteria.
He responded:
Remember when you told me not to Bench so loud after eating? Well I bench even louder when I'm here because Kavannah is fun. I haven't gotten any complaints but I'm pretty sure no one likes my singing because the cafeteria clears up really fast when I start benching.
my next email said:
HAHHAAHHAHA !! i love u! maybe the cafeteria crew missed out on the kavanah genes. u cd always ask someone u sit near if it is an issue. do u usually sit next to the same people???-love, fat mama
And Aaron replied:
No the cafeteria workers have to suffer as they listen to me while they clean up as everyone else runs for the exits. I don't usually sit next to the same people...everyone here is a nice Torah scholar. They aren't going to tell me that I have a bad singing voice...
I suggested he make a video of this , for me, or for YouTube. Although,not onShabbat.
That means he likes to pray with feeling.
That is normally good and fine....even though, being a certified, pure-bred cynic, I find it had not to make wise cracks about it in front of him, or I would, except that I can always do it in a soft voice and he won't hear me.
The advantage, to me, of his being deaf.
Jewish people have a special prayer that is said at the end of a meal that included bread. Saying that prayer is referred to as benching. Yep, like the thing you sit on.
You bench.
It is a long prayer. Not long like three paragraphs, try more like 20 or 25.
If you do it correctly, it takes several minutes. This is a reason that kids who grow up in religious homes often will say, "I don't want any bread" at meal times, so they can get away with a a really short after meal prayer.
Of course, if you are pure-bred not cynical, like my son, you jump at the chance to eat bread so you have the opportunity to recite it.
Well, that and if you are 6' 2" and still a growing boy, you happen to jump at the chance to eat almost anything.....
As for the prayer ?
If you are a non-cynic, like my son, you also recite it slowly, or , at least, not in a hurry.
In fact, if you are " sincere", which Aaron ,is , you " get into it."
So , with fervor, Aaron benches.
At home, this has led to several instance s of my yelling to him from a different room, " Can you be quieter!"
Especially when I have a headache.
And if you want to know what i mean about fervor, you need to understand that I am hard of hearing, so the decibel level , from a couple of rooms away doesn't' usually get my attention......
And that is just one "problem" .
The other one is that he is deaf.
I might have mentioned that previously.
And this prayer is sung. Sung, like you know, to a tune. Or , in Aarons' case, to the approximation of a tune by a deaf kid who is benching with fervor.
I am getting a headache just thinking about it.
Today, Aaron sent me an email about how he spent last Shabbat.:
I ate very well this Shabbos. It was a very fun Shabbaton with lots of dancing and merriment.
All of this led me to ask him, today, via email,how well his benching has gone over at the yeshivah, since they eat and bench in the cafeteria.
He responded:
Remember when you told me not to Bench so loud after eating? Well I bench even louder when I'm here because Kavannah is fun. I haven't gotten any complaints but I'm pretty sure no one likes my singing because the cafeteria clears up really fast when I start benching.
my next email said:
HAHHAAHHAHA !! i love u! maybe the cafeteria crew missed out on the kavanah genes. u cd always ask someone u sit near if it is an issue. do u usually sit next to the same people???-love, fat mama
And Aaron replied:
No the cafeteria workers have to suffer as they listen to me while they clean up as everyone else runs for the exits. I don't usually sit next to the same people...everyone here is a nice Torah scholar. They aren't going to tell me that I have a bad singing voice...
I suggested he make a video of this , for me, or for YouTube. Although,not onShabbat.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Story of the Day 12/ 11/ 2011
So back to the IRS.
Except that, of course, they never went away.
It turns out, after our wonderful lawyer, Bill, sent my ex-employer a second letter- a letter that said, “Ahem, I wrote to you a month ago and…..” only in much more eloquent and threatening language, that someone still does work for First Steps who is capable of responding.
Even if only inadequately.
First Steps says that they did indeed send a corrected W2. And they have attached a copy- only they have attached a copy with the important payer and payee numbers blacked out. This is the corrected W2 that the IRS says they have not received, and which they will not accept from me in this blackened out Xeroxed state.
I asked the lady on the other end of the phone if they would accept it. This was lady number three, and there was a guy in there, also, from this particular hour-long attempt to speak with someone. The last attempt was much longer, so I consider this to have been a small miracle.
“We do not usually accept forms without the numbers on them, but I will not say that we absolutely would not. It would depend on the other documents.”
The other documents are an email from First Steps, and copies of the two letters our lawyer wrote to them.
First Steps, along with the information on the corrected W2 (actually a 1099-misc) with the identifying numbers blacked out , has informed me that the two checks that they sent to me, only they were most certainly not sent to me, were unsuccessfully deposited.
Gee, that really makes me feel better.
Not.
Except that, of course, they never went away.
It turns out, after our wonderful lawyer, Bill, sent my ex-employer a second letter- a letter that said, “Ahem, I wrote to you a month ago and…..” only in much more eloquent and threatening language, that someone still does work for First Steps who is capable of responding.
Even if only inadequately.
First Steps says that they did indeed send a corrected W2. And they have attached a copy- only they have attached a copy with the important payer and payee numbers blacked out. This is the corrected W2 that the IRS says they have not received, and which they will not accept from me in this blackened out Xeroxed state.
I asked the lady on the other end of the phone if they would accept it. This was lady number three, and there was a guy in there, also, from this particular hour-long attempt to speak with someone. The last attempt was much longer, so I consider this to have been a small miracle.
“We do not usually accept forms without the numbers on them, but I will not say that we absolutely would not. It would depend on the other documents.”
The other documents are an email from First Steps, and copies of the two letters our lawyer wrote to them.
First Steps, along with the information on the corrected W2 (actually a 1099-misc) with the identifying numbers blacked out , has informed me that the two checks that they sent to me, only they were most certainly not sent to me, were unsuccessfully deposited.
Gee, that really makes me feel better.
Not.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Story of the Day 12/ 03/ 2011
The stars are misaligned.
I have been saying that line to various people for over a week, now, although, the start of this episode stretches back before that.
When I say this, about the stars, I get odd looks from most people.
But not from all.
One woman corrected me, "the planets are out of line." Apparently a specific planet.
Regardless, I am blaming the stars and the planets for the series of upsets I am currently living through.
One of these is the IRS.
I explained to a student of mine who is in high school and too young to really understand what I meat, " The IRS induces this feeling of nausea in even honest people. I have done nothing wrong ,and I am sweating thinking about dealing with them. Just ask your parents!"
Last spring, we received a notice from the IRS.
All right, it wasn't really last spring, it was late winter which may be more thematically appropriate.
We were in arrears.
We had somehow managed to not declare a bit over $9,000 of income for medical services.
Initially, we assumed it was just another W2 error.
My husband has worked for the same business for 18 years.
In those 18 years, there have been a few occasions when the business has filed a W2 that was inaccurate. So far, they have always let us know fairly promptly. But one, year, they did not let us know until after we had actually finished filing our tax return, and I had to refile it with the corrected W2.
So, I initially thought this was the problem. But from 2009? That didn't make sense.
Then, after reading the hefty batch of papers the IRS had sent us, I realized that the error was in my not reporting a bit over $9,000 I had earned from my job with First Steps.
First Steps is the agency I subcontracted with
for a few years. But I did not subcontract with them during 209, and received absolutely no money from them, that year.
Medical payment? I worked doing parent education for families with children with disabilities. I did this for children who were too young to attend school- babies. My medical equipment consisted of a lot of toys and doing a developmental evaluation on most of the kids every 3 months.
And I quit the job ( although I loved the families and the babies) because I hated working for the State. The State was absolutely inhumane in the way it treated some of the families, and I would write and call and email to try to help a family and get nowhere because no one in the First Steps’ administration would accept any responsibility.
The straw that broke my back - and caused me to quit was the fact that worker in another county managed to not file a form and a baby was cut from services- no physical therapy, no occupational therapy, no speech therapy, nothing for many ,many months. this was a baby who had been born crack addicted and had all sorts of needs that were only going to worsen without any intervention, but no one would accept responsibility to file that dad-blasted form, and I wasn't authorized to do it.
I spent 7 months driving out to visit with the family every week as an unpaid, unauthorized provider. I did this because I couldn't live with them having no access to help from our agency. I did this knowing I would never be paid, and that my skills were far too limited to provide the level of help they needed, but it was all I could do. Well, that and make regular calls and send letters and emails to people who should have done something to help.
My resignation from the agency was because of that child and how she was mistreated.
So, now I have a statement from the IRS that I have been paid money that I wasn't paid during a year I did not work for the agency.
I waited until a weekday morning, and I called the agency. I explained the situation to the young woman on the other end of the telephone. She checked her records and stated that they had paid me two checks in 2009. One in November and one in December, each for a little more than $4.500. I told her that they had most certainly not paid me ( and , in fact, I had never received a monthly payment for such a high amount from them ) . She insisted that they had. She also insisted that I had been sent a W2 form for that money. Another thing I had not received.
So, I did what I always do in such an odd situation, I emailed our friendly neighborhood lawyer for help.
Not everyone has such a fallback guy, especially not one like ours. He is intelligent and nice. Heck , he is even a dapper dresser. If he were single, we would have to fix him up with relative, but he is happily married.
I also knew to call him because I had called him for help the last time I had to deal with this same agency.
That was a couple of years ago, when they were in arrears in terms of paying me. Several thousands of dollars in arrears that were a result of a huge number of really stupid people who kept saying it was the computer. But since it takes people to run computers and computers only work as well as the people running them.....
After 18 months of stress, Bill was able to get the missing money from their pocket into my pocket.
It only cost him about 200 hours of stress and a lot of antacids, but he did it!
This, of course, was after the more than 12 months and 600 hours of stress and prescription antacids I had suffered in trying to get paid before I contacted him, so you can see that he is incredibly more efficient than I am.
I emailed Bill and explained the problem, and he asked me some intelligent questions and told me to drop off the papers.
Then he wrote a truly brilliant letter and we sat back and waited for First Steps to respond.
And waited.
And waited.
And I think, in the end, he did something like contact the attorney general's office and was assured that the agency would correct the information that the IRS had, because, lo and behold, they had not paid me anything during 2009. So I was not imagining it.
What relief.
Then, 8 months later, in late October, I receive another huge packet in the mail, from the IRS, stating that the interest and fees are now accumulating, that I am still in disregard of their notice to pay them, and , of course, no corrected W2 indformation was sent to them.
So, I again emailed Bill.
Who sent a letter off to First Steps.
And did not get response.
And he sent another letter off, about a month after the first.
In the meanwhile, as the calendar days get ripped from the desk calendar, I start sweating a bit, since I have about a month and a half left to file for a hearing to contest the delinquent taxes and fines on money I was never paid.
There are a couple of punch lines to this.
The first one, which is totally accurate, is that, in synagogue today, I turned around in my seat and told the lady sitting behind me that when I grow up, I want to be Bill.
She gave me a raised eyebrow look ( she actually does that quite well.) And I explained that he is both intelligent and nice. She didn't' fully appreciate the comment because she hasn't read the letters that he sent to First Steps.
If I was the lady at First Steps who was receiving them, I would be peeing my pants.
And he really is nice.
If you have ever watched the movie Harvey, you will be familiar with one of James Stewart's lines, late in the film, "Years ago, my mother used to say to me, she'd say: 'In this world, Elwood,' she always used to call me Elwood. 'In this world, Elwood, you must be oh, so smart or oh, so pleasant.' Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. And you can quote me." - Elwood P. Dowd (James Stewart)
But Bill has managed to be both.
The second punch line, is that I actually suspect that I have been victim of identity theft.
In order for a bill to be paid to me by First Steps, they would have to receive an invoice with three numbers for approval. The two numbers would by my provider number and my agency ID number ( neither of which are my social security number) and the number of a service coordinator approving the service. Then, if they made a payment, I should have received the checks, and the W2 form would have been sent at the start of the next year and I should have received that.
I received no checks and no W2 form for that year.
The checks were cashed ( I was told that when I insisted they had paid me nothing that year). And this was during year I did no work for them. If it had been an excess payment during year I worked for the, I would have received the W2 form and immediately contacted them about the error. If I did not work for them, and they sent W2 form, I would know something was wrong. So this implies that someone had access to the numbers, both of mine and that of a device coordinator, and also changed my address, so no W2 form was not mailed here to give away the deception.
Or it could just have been a mistake. But if it was a mistake, why were two checks made out to me, but , obviously, given to someone else, cashed and ....?
And if they, after Bill's initial contacts with them, agreed to correct it but then didn't......
At any rate, I have the guy in the white hat on my side, so I am feeling a bit stressed, but only a bit.
I have been saying that line to various people for over a week, now, although, the start of this episode stretches back before that.
When I say this, about the stars, I get odd looks from most people.
But not from all.
One woman corrected me, "the planets are out of line." Apparently a specific planet.
Regardless, I am blaming the stars and the planets for the series of upsets I am currently living through.
One of these is the IRS.
I explained to a student of mine who is in high school and too young to really understand what I meat, " The IRS induces this feeling of nausea in even honest people. I have done nothing wrong ,and I am sweating thinking about dealing with them. Just ask your parents!"
Last spring, we received a notice from the IRS.
All right, it wasn't really last spring, it was late winter which may be more thematically appropriate.
We were in arrears.
We had somehow managed to not declare a bit over $9,000 of income for medical services.
Initially, we assumed it was just another W2 error.
My husband has worked for the same business for 18 years.
In those 18 years, there have been a few occasions when the business has filed a W2 that was inaccurate. So far, they have always let us know fairly promptly. But one, year, they did not let us know until after we had actually finished filing our tax return, and I had to refile it with the corrected W2.
So, I initially thought this was the problem. But from 2009? That didn't make sense.
Then, after reading the hefty batch of papers the IRS had sent us, I realized that the error was in my not reporting a bit over $9,000 I had earned from my job with First Steps.
First Steps is the agency I subcontracted with
for a few years. But I did not subcontract with them during 209, and received absolutely no money from them, that year.
Medical payment? I worked doing parent education for families with children with disabilities. I did this for children who were too young to attend school- babies. My medical equipment consisted of a lot of toys and doing a developmental evaluation on most of the kids every 3 months.
And I quit the job ( although I loved the families and the babies) because I hated working for the State. The State was absolutely inhumane in the way it treated some of the families, and I would write and call and email to try to help a family and get nowhere because no one in the First Steps’ administration would accept any responsibility.
The straw that broke my back - and caused me to quit was the fact that worker in another county managed to not file a form and a baby was cut from services- no physical therapy, no occupational therapy, no speech therapy, nothing for many ,many months. this was a baby who had been born crack addicted and had all sorts of needs that were only going to worsen without any intervention, but no one would accept responsibility to file that dad-blasted form, and I wasn't authorized to do it.
I spent 7 months driving out to visit with the family every week as an unpaid, unauthorized provider. I did this because I couldn't live with them having no access to help from our agency. I did this knowing I would never be paid, and that my skills were far too limited to provide the level of help they needed, but it was all I could do. Well, that and make regular calls and send letters and emails to people who should have done something to help.
My resignation from the agency was because of that child and how she was mistreated.
So, now I have a statement from the IRS that I have been paid money that I wasn't paid during a year I did not work for the agency.
I waited until a weekday morning, and I called the agency. I explained the situation to the young woman on the other end of the telephone. She checked her records and stated that they had paid me two checks in 2009. One in November and one in December, each for a little more than $4.500. I told her that they had most certainly not paid me ( and , in fact, I had never received a monthly payment for such a high amount from them ) . She insisted that they had. She also insisted that I had been sent a W2 form for that money. Another thing I had not received.
So, I did what I always do in such an odd situation, I emailed our friendly neighborhood lawyer for help.
Not everyone has such a fallback guy, especially not one like ours. He is intelligent and nice. Heck , he is even a dapper dresser. If he were single, we would have to fix him up with relative, but he is happily married.
I also knew to call him because I had called him for help the last time I had to deal with this same agency.
That was a couple of years ago, when they were in arrears in terms of paying me. Several thousands of dollars in arrears that were a result of a huge number of really stupid people who kept saying it was the computer. But since it takes people to run computers and computers only work as well as the people running them.....
After 18 months of stress, Bill was able to get the missing money from their pocket into my pocket.
It only cost him about 200 hours of stress and a lot of antacids, but he did it!
This, of course, was after the more than 12 months and 600 hours of stress and prescription antacids I had suffered in trying to get paid before I contacted him, so you can see that he is incredibly more efficient than I am.
I emailed Bill and explained the problem, and he asked me some intelligent questions and told me to drop off the papers.
Then he wrote a truly brilliant letter and we sat back and waited for First Steps to respond.
And waited.
And waited.
And I think, in the end, he did something like contact the attorney general's office and was assured that the agency would correct the information that the IRS had, because, lo and behold, they had not paid me anything during 2009. So I was not imagining it.
What relief.
Then, 8 months later, in late October, I receive another huge packet in the mail, from the IRS, stating that the interest and fees are now accumulating, that I am still in disregard of their notice to pay them, and , of course, no corrected W2 indformation was sent to them.
So, I again emailed Bill.
Who sent a letter off to First Steps.
And did not get response.
And he sent another letter off, about a month after the first.
In the meanwhile, as the calendar days get ripped from the desk calendar, I start sweating a bit, since I have about a month and a half left to file for a hearing to contest the delinquent taxes and fines on money I was never paid.
There are a couple of punch lines to this.
The first one, which is totally accurate, is that, in synagogue today, I turned around in my seat and told the lady sitting behind me that when I grow up, I want to be Bill.
She gave me a raised eyebrow look ( she actually does that quite well.) And I explained that he is both intelligent and nice. She didn't' fully appreciate the comment because she hasn't read the letters that he sent to First Steps.
If I was the lady at First Steps who was receiving them, I would be peeing my pants.
And he really is nice.
If you have ever watched the movie Harvey, you will be familiar with one of James Stewart's lines, late in the film, "Years ago, my mother used to say to me, she'd say: 'In this world, Elwood,' she always used to call me Elwood. 'In this world, Elwood, you must be oh, so smart or oh, so pleasant.' Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. And you can quote me." - Elwood P. Dowd (James Stewart)
But Bill has managed to be both.
The second punch line, is that I actually suspect that I have been victim of identity theft.
In order for a bill to be paid to me by First Steps, they would have to receive an invoice with three numbers for approval. The two numbers would by my provider number and my agency ID number ( neither of which are my social security number) and the number of a service coordinator approving the service. Then, if they made a payment, I should have received the checks, and the W2 form would have been sent at the start of the next year and I should have received that.
I received no checks and no W2 form for that year.
The checks were cashed ( I was told that when I insisted they had paid me nothing that year). And this was during year I did no work for them. If it had been an excess payment during year I worked for the, I would have received the W2 form and immediately contacted them about the error. If I did not work for them, and they sent W2 form, I would know something was wrong. So this implies that someone had access to the numbers, both of mine and that of a device coordinator, and also changed my address, so no W2 form was not mailed here to give away the deception.
Or it could just have been a mistake. But if it was a mistake, why were two checks made out to me, but , obviously, given to someone else, cashed and ....?
And if they, after Bill's initial contacts with them, agreed to correct it but then didn't......
At any rate, I have the guy in the white hat on my side, so I am feeling a bit stressed, but only a bit.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Story of the Day 11/29/2011 #2
My son emailed me that he had caught another mouse.
I sent my son an email. I asked him :
" I hope the mouse did not escape, this time."
My son responded:
" i let him out on a sidewalk. and yesterday morning I caught a small lizard in my room. i also let him outside. i think i might be living in a zoo."
I let him know that i was not worried about the lizard, and that a mouse infested dorm didn't qualify as a zoo, no matter how many odd and poorly behaved students there were.
I sent my son an email. I asked him :
" I hope the mouse did not escape, this time."
My son responded:
" i let him out on a sidewalk. and yesterday morning I caught a small lizard in my room. i also let him outside. i think i might be living in a zoo."
I let him know that i was not worried about the lizard, and that a mouse infested dorm didn't qualify as a zoo, no matter how many odd and poorly behaved students there were.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Story of the Day 11/28/2011.
Aaron caught a mouse.
Please note, I did not say that the mouse trap that the rabbi provided him with or the one that he bought caught the mouse, although both were involved.
Aaron was in the room when the dear little rodent became stuck in the sticky trap.
Aaron may be a slow learner, but he already knows that it was going to be just a minute or two before the creepy little rodent, I mean" dear little mouse" unstuck itself, so he threw the trap, with the mouse still attached, into the Nike box trap that belongs to the rabbi who is in charge of the dorm.
Then, he carefully carried the entire thing downstairs and outside and set the mouse free.
When he finished, Aaron walked back upstairs to his room.
I have ascertained from this description that this entire exercise has been arranged by the rabbi., the rabbi of the kinder and gentler mouse trap, to keep the creepy little rodents, I mean the "dear little mice" well fed by the students, and to provide the students with exercise , keeping them jumping up and running downstairs to "free' the mice, instead of spending their time just sitting at their desks studying.
I gently explained to Aaron, in my response to the email in which he told me how he had brilliantly caught and released the rodent, that the rodent was going to immediately make it's way back to it's nest, only that now it was a well-fed rodent and had the energy to make more little rodents.
Sigh.
I hope the package of mouse traps I sent him gets there soon.
Please note, I did not say that the mouse trap that the rabbi provided him with or the one that he bought caught the mouse, although both were involved.
Aaron was in the room when the dear little rodent became stuck in the sticky trap.
Aaron may be a slow learner, but he already knows that it was going to be just a minute or two before the creepy little rodent, I mean" dear little mouse" unstuck itself, so he threw the trap, with the mouse still attached, into the Nike box trap that belongs to the rabbi who is in charge of the dorm.
Then, he carefully carried the entire thing downstairs and outside and set the mouse free.
When he finished, Aaron walked back upstairs to his room.
I have ascertained from this description that this entire exercise has been arranged by the rabbi., the rabbi of the kinder and gentler mouse trap, to keep the creepy little rodents, I mean the "dear little mice" well fed by the students, and to provide the students with exercise , keeping them jumping up and running downstairs to "free' the mice, instead of spending their time just sitting at their desks studying.
I gently explained to Aaron, in my response to the email in which he told me how he had brilliantly caught and released the rodent, that the rodent was going to immediately make it's way back to it's nest, only that now it was a well-fed rodent and had the energy to make more little rodents.
Sigh.
I hope the package of mouse traps I sent him gets there soon.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Story of the Day 11/ 23/ 2011
I had just finished my shopping at Trader Joe's.
Trader Joe's is the home of many good things, including breakfast cereal and organic chocolate bars.
They also, every year have these very special Xmas trees, and every year, I look at them with longing, but do not buy them because there are Xmas trees .
And I am Jewish.
My longing has nothing to do with a lust for Xmas decorations or for the scent of pine- to which I happen to be allergic.
It has to do with food.
You see, the trees that Trader Joe's carries are rosemary trees. They are rosemary plants that have been trimmed to Christmas tree shape and have been decorated with Xmas wrap and decorations. and I love the taste of Rosemary in different dishes.
And the smell of it!
Every year for the past 4 years, I have looked longingly at the small rosemary Xmas trees, and have not bought one.
So, today, when I was checking out , and I saw them ( they were on the other side of the door where one walks out to one's car- and very visible, because the area is walled by clear glass,) I looked and sighed, and looked again as I walked out the door, and then turned around, with my grocery sack filled with breakfast cereal and chocolate bars and walked back into the store, and started to look over the trees.
A young lady was standing right beside them, and when I took a momentary look up and away from the trees, I realized that it was someone I know, Talia. Talia and her family attend the same synagogue that my family attends, and she is in the same hebrew class as my daughter Sarah , at North Central High School. After discussing some of the things that one can do with rosemary ( apparently , Talia is a cook), I also said hello to her mother, and I explained that I was going to give into temptation and buy ...an Xmas tree.
I explained, rather sheepishly, that I was back in Trader Joe's after having checked out and left, because I had been enticed by the Xmas trees. i mean by the rosemary. I also explained that the huge number of organic chocolate bars that were visible in my grocery bag were for Aaron.
I was sending a box with heavy duty mouse traps, and since it was going to be $9 to send just the traps, I was going to spring for the small flat-rate box and throw in some chocolate. chocolate for Aaron, not for the mouse.Or mice. Or meeces.
"You are sending him mouse traps?"
Apparently, most people do not pay to airmail mouse traps to their children who live overseas.
I explained how the room was overrun with mice, and how the yeshivah had this one old trap that didn't' seem to do a very good job.
Poor Talia, her face scrunched up in a look of disgust and she exclaimed" Oh no, I am planning ongoing there for a semester of college!"
"Wait," I cried, " Hebrew University is not overrun by mice. Aaron is at a very odd yeshivah that has one mouse trap for the whole darned place and the rabbi in charge of the dorms has some sort of strange " kinder and gentler " attitude about the mice, so they have multiplied in a very Biblical sense. I am sure Hebrew University is not at all like that. You can ask..." and I named a girl who recently spent an entire school year there.
The color returned to Talia's face.
I asked what they were doing for the imminent Thanksgiving holiday, and Talia's mother told me that they were headed up to South Bend.
"South Bend, I didn't realize that you were from SouthBend!" I explained. "Aaron's' roommate at the yeshivah in Israel is also from Southbend. Maybe you know the family!"
Okay, I am grasping at straws in the game called "Jewish geography". This is a game that is several generations old, say, about 100 or so, at least. It is played by trying to figure out if someone knows someone that your cousin knows because they were roommates with your cousin's husbands's 4th cousin twice removed, who also is from the same continent.
On the other hand, South Bend is not all that huge (108,000 residents ,give or take a few thousand- this is according to Google) and has less than 4,000 Jews.
I know it has less than 4,000 Jews because Indiana has about 14,000 Jews ( give or take a thousand) and 9,500- 10,000 live in Indianapolis, and there are some scattered in various other pars of the state, like Evansville, where my cousins live, and Richmond, where my other cousins live, and I can't think of the place that my other cousin's kid lives, but you've got the idea. There are simply not enough Jews left in the state for it to have a full 4,000. So, it is possible they know this guy or his family....which is exactly how Jewish geography works.
"His name is Aaron," I said, " and his mother works for a Dr. Birnbam."
Talia's eyes grew wide and she said something like, "Oh Mom, it's got to be him!"
To which her mother, Sharon , said, "Oh no, it isn't."
"But , Mom, who else could it be?"
"But he isn't the same age."
"Well, Aaron's' roommate, Aaron is a bit older, he was at Hebrew University." I replied.
"And the army?" said Sharon.
Bingo.
5 points! I was now ahead by 5 points in the game!
" He is my nephew!" Sharon exclaimed.
Okay, now she was ahead by about 90 points. Or maybe an even hundred.
"Your nephew?"
"Well, my cousin's son, but we are very close and he is like a nephew to me!" No, only 90 points.
Wow. This is such a small world that my knees felt a bit weak. And all of this over buying an Xmas tree at Trader Joe's.
I then shared with them the story of their cousin's son's face to face encounter with one of the mice. And assured them that I was mailing the mouse traps out as soon as possible.
In the meanwhile, they can share the mouse stories with their cousin in SouthBend, and pretend they have some sort of karmic cosmic connection that enabled them to have this inside knowledge.
Which, after all, is what Jewish geography is all about!
Trader Joe's is the home of many good things, including breakfast cereal and organic chocolate bars.
They also, every year have these very special Xmas trees, and every year, I look at them with longing, but do not buy them because there are Xmas trees .
And I am Jewish.
My longing has nothing to do with a lust for Xmas decorations or for the scent of pine- to which I happen to be allergic.
It has to do with food.
You see, the trees that Trader Joe's carries are rosemary trees. They are rosemary plants that have been trimmed to Christmas tree shape and have been decorated with Xmas wrap and decorations. and I love the taste of Rosemary in different dishes.
And the smell of it!
Every year for the past 4 years, I have looked longingly at the small rosemary Xmas trees, and have not bought one.
So, today, when I was checking out , and I saw them ( they were on the other side of the door where one walks out to one's car- and very visible, because the area is walled by clear glass,) I looked and sighed, and looked again as I walked out the door, and then turned around, with my grocery sack filled with breakfast cereal and chocolate bars and walked back into the store, and started to look over the trees.
A young lady was standing right beside them, and when I took a momentary look up and away from the trees, I realized that it was someone I know, Talia. Talia and her family attend the same synagogue that my family attends, and she is in the same hebrew class as my daughter Sarah , at North Central High School. After discussing some of the things that one can do with rosemary ( apparently , Talia is a cook), I also said hello to her mother, and I explained that I was going to give into temptation and buy ...an Xmas tree.
I explained, rather sheepishly, that I was back in Trader Joe's after having checked out and left, because I had been enticed by the Xmas trees. i mean by the rosemary. I also explained that the huge number of organic chocolate bars that were visible in my grocery bag were for Aaron.
I was sending a box with heavy duty mouse traps, and since it was going to be $9 to send just the traps, I was going to spring for the small flat-rate box and throw in some chocolate. chocolate for Aaron, not for the mouse.Or mice. Or meeces.
"You are sending him mouse traps?"
Apparently, most people do not pay to airmail mouse traps to their children who live overseas.
I explained how the room was overrun with mice, and how the yeshivah had this one old trap that didn't' seem to do a very good job.
Poor Talia, her face scrunched up in a look of disgust and she exclaimed" Oh no, I am planning ongoing there for a semester of college!"
"Wait," I cried, " Hebrew University is not overrun by mice. Aaron is at a very odd yeshivah that has one mouse trap for the whole darned place and the rabbi in charge of the dorms has some sort of strange " kinder and gentler " attitude about the mice, so they have multiplied in a very Biblical sense. I am sure Hebrew University is not at all like that. You can ask..." and I named a girl who recently spent an entire school year there.
The color returned to Talia's face.
I asked what they were doing for the imminent Thanksgiving holiday, and Talia's mother told me that they were headed up to South Bend.
"South Bend, I didn't realize that you were from SouthBend!" I explained. "Aaron's' roommate at the yeshivah in Israel is also from Southbend. Maybe you know the family!"
Okay, I am grasping at straws in the game called "Jewish geography". This is a game that is several generations old, say, about 100 or so, at least. It is played by trying to figure out if someone knows someone that your cousin knows because they were roommates with your cousin's husbands's 4th cousin twice removed, who also is from the same continent.
On the other hand, South Bend is not all that huge (108,000 residents ,give or take a few thousand- this is according to Google) and has less than 4,000 Jews.
I know it has less than 4,000 Jews because Indiana has about 14,000 Jews ( give or take a thousand) and 9,500- 10,000 live in Indianapolis, and there are some scattered in various other pars of the state, like Evansville, where my cousins live, and Richmond, where my other cousins live, and I can't think of the place that my other cousin's kid lives, but you've got the idea. There are simply not enough Jews left in the state for it to have a full 4,000. So, it is possible they know this guy or his family....which is exactly how Jewish geography works.
"His name is Aaron," I said, " and his mother works for a Dr. Birnbam."
Talia's eyes grew wide and she said something like, "Oh Mom, it's got to be him!"
To which her mother, Sharon , said, "Oh no, it isn't."
"But , Mom, who else could it be?"
"But he isn't the same age."
"Well, Aaron's' roommate, Aaron is a bit older, he was at Hebrew University." I replied.
"And the army?" said Sharon.
Bingo.
5 points! I was now ahead by 5 points in the game!
" He is my nephew!" Sharon exclaimed.
Okay, now she was ahead by about 90 points. Or maybe an even hundred.
"Your nephew?"
"Well, my cousin's son, but we are very close and he is like a nephew to me!" No, only 90 points.
Wow. This is such a small world that my knees felt a bit weak. And all of this over buying an Xmas tree at Trader Joe's.
I then shared with them the story of their cousin's son's face to face encounter with one of the mice. And assured them that I was mailing the mouse traps out as soon as possible.
In the meanwhile, they can share the mouse stories with their cousin in SouthBend, and pretend they have some sort of karmic cosmic connection that enabled them to have this inside knowledge.
Which, after all, is what Jewish geography is all about!
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