Monday, April 30, 2012

Story of the day 4/ 19/ 2012



I have to deal with Jesus.
Which can be uncomfortable.

So , I made my son handle it.
Which, I know, made Jesus happy, because I am sure he was praying that he would not have to deal directly with me.

You see, last week, Jesus called.

He wanted to know if he could cut our grass, again, this year.


He calls and he says, "This is Jesus."
I had to explain why this was odd, to Sarah.
Sarah cannot hear.

People who are Spanish speaking and who are named "Jesus" pronounce the names first letter with an "h" sound , not a J sound. But someone must have told Jesus that People in the United States , people like me, who do not speak Spanish, pronounce it as a "J" sound. So he calls and tells me that Jesus is calling.

I explained to Sarah that "Jesus" pronounced with the "J" sound was only done in reference to the Christian god, or by people who were sure they were Jesus, and whose current or soon to be address was the stress center at one of the hospitals, or perhaps, a more permanent placement on the street corner, depending on how well they did on their new meds.

So, today, when he showed up to mow the grass, I had to explain to my friend, who had stopped by, that Jesus was mowing our grass, and that I had to pay him.
My friend's eyebrows went up. I am sure she thought that people from small towns in Ohio do not know how to pronounce that name correctly.....so, I had to explain that it really was "Jesus" who was mowing my lawn- and that neither he nor I needed any meds.

At least not because of that.

That was not what was uncomfortable about dealing with Jesus.......
You see, , I have asthma , and when he is mowing, and for a good 30 minutes afterwards, I cannot go outside unless I want to immediately need my inhaler.
But I have to pay him.
When Aaron isn't home, this means taking a huge lung full of air and making dash to wherever Jesus is , and handing over the check, while I turn pink, and then red, and then blue- and then try to get back inside before I need to inhale.

And you thought I never got any exercise.

Of course, I have the money in one hand, and my inhaler in the other, and about 1 time out of 4, I end up needing the inhaler.
Jesus has seen this, and he is fervently praying I am not home alone, in which case, I make my son go take care of Jesus- I mean that I make Aaron give Jesus the cash or the check.

In a sense, his mowing provides both of us with religious experience.
In a very broad sense of the term.

Friday, April 27, 2012

Story of the Day 4/ 11/ 2012 #2



My husband and I have been urging Aaron to look at different career options. Ones that would get him out of our basement.

After he finished his breakfast, this morning, I suggested that he look at some options on the internet.
I had pre-viewed a site I recommended.

Aaron wasn't too keen on this. He let me know that he had already started his own research into career options.
He replied, "I put a couple of books on shepherding on hold at the library."

"Aaron, " I said not too delicately, "Sheep are very smelly."

Aaron smiled at me and said, "I guess it is a good thing I have allergies!"

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Story of the Day 4/ 10/ 2012




Aaron is home from the yeshivah in Israel.
We are concerned about his future.
He is 21.
He is a college dropout.
He sleeps in our basement.

Okay, he sleeps in his bedroom, we dont' have a basement and the crawlspace has spiders.

He had a great time at the yeshivah in Israel, except for the mice, and the city , and the....
and he has been looking for another yeshivah,
But no amopunt of yesivah opportunities is going to keep him from bouncing back to our basement, crawlspace, his bedroom, unless he has some idea what he wants to do. You know a goal, other than sleeping in our basement.

I should probably define this better. A a job. A career, some way to earn enough money to move out of whatever sleeping space his old parents are providing.
hopefully before he is 35.
This is a real concern of ours.

Apparently, the head-honcho rabbi at his yeshivah, or at least of his program at the yeshivah had the same concern.
He was kind enough to give some of his time to Aaron, so that Aaron could discuss his future plans.

Aaron made a list- a list of possible career aspirations before the meeting.
Aaron went down the list of options with the rabbi.

Aaron told him that his first choice would be to marry a nice Jewsh girl... who is rich.
The rabbi told Aaron that he didn't' think this was the right goal to work towards.

Aaron then told him that his second choice would be to earn a living as a stand up comedian.

The rabbi hesitated for a moment.
I am sure he was envisioning my 6'3" baby boy, with the big smile and the white shirt and necktie and the large black velevt yarmulke standing in front of a group of somewhat inebriated, not very modestly dressed men and...women... amidst a smokey haze that was hopefully from cigarettes, and telling...jokes.
Not knock knock jokes, either.

The rabbi then told Aaron that he thought that this goal was also not the right one to be working towards.

Aaron pulled out his list, and recited his third possible goal.
He would like to make movies.
Films.
Videos.
Probably with the same people from the bar.
Of course, when he was in college, before he dropped out, and he was studying filmmaking, the head of that department thought this was a pretty good goal.
But the head-honcho-rabbi-guy is part of a yeshivah that doesn't' allow any videos at all. No Youtube, no DVD Saturday night movies, no.....



So, Aaron, who had come prepared to this meeting, recited the 4th possible career he had written down on his list.
He would like to herd sheep.

The rabbi was...startled.
He had not, in all of his years of being rabbi , heard any of his students express this particular goal.
He was not sure how to respond.
Was this better or worse than being stand-up comedian?
He finally replied, "Most of the people who do that are Arabs."
He thought another moment, then added, "And I am not sure where you would go to learn that."

All of the sudden goal number one was sounding lot more realistic, or ...something.
At least to Aaron's parents.
Either that or buying a lottery ticket.

But Aaron didn't discuss buying a lottery ticket. At least, not with the rabbi.

I also need to add that the idea of meeting with the rabbi to discuss his career options was NOT the rabbi's idea. It was Aaron's.
Yes, Aaron was actually concerned, although, I think that after hearing this list of options, the rabbi was more concerned than Aaron.
This is just feeling, mind you. A very strong feeling.

The rabbi is obviously very thoughtful person, though, and after hearing Aaron's list of ...options, decided that film would be an okay thing to pursue.

But he told Aaron that his BEST option would probably be marrying that nice, rich Jewish girl.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Story of the Day 4/ 1/ 2012 - Addendum

Eventually, I spoke to my son.
The one who is in Israel and who is coming home tomorrow. Only he isn't, and he is.
He isn't' in Israel, he is in New York, but he is coming home tomorrow.

"What happened?"
For some reason, I seemed to think this was a logical question to ask.

" Well, " my husband replied.....
My husband?
It turns out that my son had called and spoken with him while I was en route home from the hardware store....
"When Aaron arrived at the airport, they told him that his flight wasn't until tomorrow.
"The options were to pay $200 and change his flight, or to take a cab back to Jerusalem from the airport in Tel Aviv, and then take another cab back to the Tel Aviv airport, tomorrow."

From Jerusalem to Tel Aviv is about 45 miles.
Aaron doesn't' have an alarm clock and his roommate, who has been waking him up since the alarm clock knocked out the power in the dormitory and self-destructed is already back in the United States. And Aaron's underwear was already packed.
So, Aaron decided to shell out the $200, and worry, after he got to New York, about getting to New York a day too early for his connecting flight.

It still doesn't exactly answer how he managed to think today was Monday, April 2nd, when it isn't. Or Monday, when it is actually Sunday, or....

His sister explained that.
Sarah said, when she learned about what happened, "He is an idiot!"

Since I am his mother , who changed his diapers and stayed awake with him when he was ill, I answered the only way a loving mother can.
"Yes, but he is OUR idiot."

Friday, April 20, 2012

Story of the Day 4/ 1/ 2012

My son is coming home from Israel, tomorrow.

My husband and I have already discuissed who will pick him up, tomorrow evening. He is coming in around 10:30 PM.

It will be avery long day for him.
He will geta taxi. He has arranged for it, very early, and it will drive him from Jerusalem to the airport in Tel Aviv.
I told him to leave a lot of time for seciurity.
He is flying El Al and they will probably open up the seams in his underwear to check for explosives.

Especially because he smiles too much.

He will fly and fly and fly, and land at JFK arond 12:15 or 12:30 PM, and then he will sit in the airport for 5 hours.
Or 6 hours.
Or 7 hours.
The airline has called me three times making changes to his connecting flight. I can no longer remember what time the second plane is, I only know that he leaves Israel early on April2nd, and arrives in Indianapolis late on April 2nd.
I have diligently emailed my son each change, and I know they will give him a print out of the schedule, when he arrives at the airport in Tel Aviv....and since the weak link in al of his travel plans is his tendency to get lost, the extra time that has been added to his layover in new York is advantageous, since it gives him a a couple of extra hours to locate his Delta connecting flight.

In addition to emailing him each time there was a flight change, I emailed him, a few days ago, and told him to pack everything before going to bed. I mean, except for his toothbrush and maybe a pair of clean underwear.


Today has been dedicated to cleaning.
It s Sunday - the very last Sunday before Passover and my home is a wreck.
It is clean, but a wreck.
I have pulled out things from closets, I have sorted through junk drawers, I have washed all of the curtains, and now it is time to start putting everything back.
But, we are also doing the "last minute" kitchen things. Things we couldn't do earlier, because, yes, we did want to have challah (bread) on the last Shabbat before Passover, and cheerios for breakfast, and.....

So, today, my husband has been working on the refrigerators.
I have cleaned one oven , and am scrubbing floors.
And I have decided to paint the bathroom.

We have lived in this house for 14 1/2 years and I haven't' painted it since then.
Of course , I have also not repainted the dining room, living room, our bedroom and bathroom, Aaron's rooms, the study, the stairway walls.....but the bathroom is on my radar.

I take off for Menards, the not quite local hardware store.
There used to be hardware store about 10 minutes from our house, but it closed recently. Now I have a choice, a few that are 15 to 20 minutes away that are so-so, or a good one that is 25 minutes away. I decide to go the distance.

While the paint is being mixed, my cell phone rings.

It is a woman with very strong Israeli accent.
" I am calling from JFK, your son is here and we need his grandmother's phone number."

Which son?

It can't be Aaron.
Aaron is in Israel.
He is leaving israel TOMORROW morning.
I am sure of this. I have checked it and rechecked it and discussed it with him and emailed him, and.....I am sure it is Sunday. I check the date on my cell phone.
April 1st. Okay, I have not lost my mind.
Yet.

It is Sunday.
Aaron is in Israel.

Only he isn't.

I shake my head.
There can only be one son who would be at JFK on the wrong day needing my mother's phone number.
Even if Ely ended up at JFK , today, for some God-ony-knows-what reason, he would take care of whatever it was and not have some lady call me for my mother's telephone number.


The woman continues, "His Delta flight isn't until tomorrow and he wants to go stay with her."

My son has somehow gotten from Jerusalem to New York on the wrong day and found a nice lady at the lost and found who will make sure he gets to hs grandmother's house.
Well, apartment.

Only Aaron.

I give her the phone number. I also give her my mother's cell phone number in case my mother has decided to not spend the entire day in her apartment waiting for her grandson to need her.

"I will call his Bubbie now." The woman says and hangs up.
Like I said, my son found the nice lady at the lost and found and she is..... locating his grandmother to take care of him....she is king this for my little boy, who is 6'3" ....and who is incompetent.
And since the lady calls his grandmother "Bubbie", she will also probably give him lolly pop.

I am a bit confused.
We spent a lot of extra money for the kid to fly El Al. Specifically El AL.
We know ur son. El Al is the safest airline in the world. There is basically no chance he will be hijacked or blown up.
Or get lost.
Or end up on the wrong plane.
My son is so skilled at traveling that the ticket price sounded really cheap.

So why am I getting call from New York on the wrong day.
Did he smile so much that they let him on the wrong flight?

I wait 15 minutes and call my mother. I wait so that the nice lady from the lost and found can call first.

"Hi Mom, thank you for rescuing my son!"
What else could I say?

I tell her that am sure he is also broke and if he needs money to let us know and we will pay her back.

She is heading out to buy food.
You don't' get to be 6'3" by not eating.
And my son is really good at charming grandparents to feed him.

Then I call my husband, and tell him to sit down and to look at the calendar, before I start this story.......

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Story of the Day 4/ 6/ 2012

I am preparing for Passover.
The house is starting to smell like garlic and onions and other fine things.

My son, Aaron, is cleaning his room.

Part of the problem is that he unpacked by dumping.
Two suitcases and a carryon dumped....and not in one nice pile, either.

Part of it is my fault. I have used his room, since he left for his 5 month stay in Israel.
I put two boxes of books in his room.
I put a bin with extra blankets in his room.
But most damaging, I did taxes in his room.

I am still doing them.
They would be done, I only have two small things left to do on the taxes, but preparing for passover has interrupted anything I might have that resembles a normal life.

Before he came home, I had the tax papers spread out on his bed.
A pile for income, a pile for business expenses, a pile for .......and I was working on the computer in his room, the computer that happens to be attached to a printer.

Aaron doesn't' know about taxes.
He is 21.
He has filed income tax papers since he turned 18. But I do the work.
Every year, I fill out his forms and hand them to him to sign and then I mail them.

So, what does he know from taxes?

Before he got home, I made all of the small piles one big pile, and put it on his desk, next to the computer, so that I can refer to them as I finsih up doing the taxes.

Aaron, meanwhile, this morning, is cleaning his room.

He comes to me in the kitchen and holds out a big pile of familiar looking papers and asks me if he can recycle them.

"No, I am still doing the taxes, but i will be down soon!"

"Then can I recycle them."

"NO!"

I explain that we need to hold onto all of those papers for a few years.

He looks at me......

I explain about being audited or being a victim of identity theft, like I was, or , really AM, which is making me deal with tax court, and glad I still have my 4 year old papers.

Aaron looks traumatized, then he says, "This is just another reason we should pray for the Moshiach! (Mesiah)"

He is right.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Story of the Day 3/ 30/ 2012 #2

As part of my son's job, he has created a Facebook page for people to "like" "share" and keep up to date on project he is working for , in his Americorps position.

This is the job focused on helping people to either quit smoking or to discourage them from taking it up.

My son Ely has a friend who recently let him know that he had friended the website on Facebook.
But he wants to know if my son actually believes all of the articles that he posts.

Ely tried not to roll his eyes."Those are news articles from medical journals."

"Oh."

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Story of the Day 3/ 30/ 2012

I have been urging my son to come out of the closet.

Of course, it is my fault he is in the closet.
Everything is always my fault.
If you don't' understand what I mean, then you have never been the mother of teen-aged children, although, I am referring to my son, Ely, who stopped being a teenager a few years ago.

The closet is the one at work. Specifically, the broom closet.

You see, I called Ely at work.

Ely works in a small cubicle in the health department and personal phone calls are frowned upon.
I told Ely to juts say, "Yes, mom.' and "whatever you say, mother" loudly ,a few times, while on the phone with me, and everyone would just smile and think, "What a nice boy , he is talking to his mother !" and no one would mind this personal call.

Ely replied, "Not everyone who works here is a mother."
"I know, but I bet they all have mothers."

Ely was apparently not impressed with my logic, "I think I will stand in the closet."


A few minutes after our all ended, I got a text from my son.

"I don't' think I should feel bad about personal phone calls here. I came out of the closet and found my coworkers giving each other massages."

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Story of the Day 3/ 29/ 2012

Aaron is not happy in his yeshivah.

It is not the yeshivah.
The yeshivah is very nice.
Even the mice like the yeshivah.

Okay, the mice are not very nice. I wish the yeshivah did not have so many mice. I do not wish this as much as Aaron's roommate, the other Aaron.
The other Aaron had a mouse run over his face at 3 AM , one morning, when he was trying to sleep.
While I might cringe at the story, I do not have to cringe at the memory of what that felt like.

But, the yeshivah, except for the mice, is nice.
Aaron's roommate, Aaron, is nice.
But Jerusalem is not nice.
Well, not for Aaron to live in.
Jerusalem is a big city with lot of people who act like it is a big city that has a lot of people and is crowded.
And Aaron is a small town boy.

He is from the small town of Indianapolis, Indiana which has just about a million people.
That is a million as in 1,000,000. But , despite what that number looks like and sounds like, Indianapolis is a very large small town.
We don't push, we don't' shove, we smile at strangers, we even speak to them.

A friend whose husband moved here from Israel was very upset.
He complained to her, "They think I am a thief !" He complained about this because every time he went into a store, the salespeople would come up to him, smile and ask if they could help him.
My friend told him, "they are just trying to help you!' But he didn't' believe that.
They don't' do things like that in Israel.

They also don't do it in New York.

I made a point of taking my sister-in-law to the grocery store, when she was visiting.
Not to buy groceries.
I made her wait in the produce department and watch.
Sure enough, within few minutes, one woman in the produce department walked away from her shopping cart, several feet away, with her back turned to her shopping cart.
This is something that doesn't happen in big cities.
At least not like this.
You see, the woman walked away leaving her purse sitting in the shopping cart, absolutely sure it would be fine until she came back.
As I said, Aaron is from a small town.

I remember when my husband and I first moved back to the midwest. Okay it was back for me , but my husband's first experience living anywhere other than New York.
We went into the grocery store in and asked if they had any packages of balloons. The young lady said , "Wait a minute!" and ran off down an aisle and returned with a package.
Then she said, "We also have another kind', and she ran in the other direction and returned with a different package.
My husband stood there with his mouth hanging open.
She stood there smiling, waiting for us to decide which package we wanted, and then she ran the unwanted package back to its shelf.
Smiling the entire time.

Indiana is a bit like this, except that we we walk. It probably has to do with the level of obesity in Indiana.
We are friendly, but fat.

That is the other problem.
Not the fat part.
The walking part.

Aaron likes to walk.

But he can't walk in Jerusalem.

A friend said, "What do you mean? My mother walks all the time."
I told her that I meant outside in nature, not on a paved street.
"Oh, yeah, he can't do that. Not in Jerusalem."

Aaron is my son who is not an organic farmer. That is Ely.
He is my son who likes to commune with nature.
Once a day, he sticks his fisherman's hat on and heads out to the park.
The park is a ten minute walk from our house.
It has woods. Lots of trails through the woods. And a river.

I should probably take photos because you, if you tare not from here, can probably not visualize what I am describing, since we happen to live in Indianapolis.
The very large town that likes to pretend it is areal city.

So Aaron has decided he is not happy at the yeshivah and that he needed to find a yeshivah that is closer to nature.
Since the local park doesn't have one- a yeshivah, that is- he started thinking about Sfat.

In case you have run off to Google maps to check out where Sfat is, I now need to explain that you might not be able to find Sfat on the map, if you are not Jewish, because you will look for Sfat.
And it might be listed as Safed.
Or as Sephad.
Or as Sefad.
Or as Sefat..
Or as....
Anyhow, it is in the northern part of Israel and is ...in a more rugged setting. Even though it is a city, although, not a big one like Jerusalem.
My son started thinking this would be a good idea.
To go to a yeshivah in Sfat.
To go there after his Passover break, as a new student.

Until I told him that he was not allowed to go to the yeshivah unless he actually got his butt out of Jerusalem and went and looked at it before this Sunday.
That is because he is leaving Israel on Monday to come home. to the United States; and I am not paying for an extra ticket so he can go look, later, or so he can go to it, sight unseen, since, at the moment, he is only 3 or 4 hours from it, by bus.

For some reason, he didn't seem to get what I was telling him about the need to actually go and look at it.
So I made it clear, "YOU WILL GO!"
I screamed so loudly into the phone that even my deaf son in Jerusalem could hear me.

That was a few days ago.

Then, yesterday, he called. He was planning on going to look at it, today, by bus.
"But it seems very far to go just for a look."
He was going to leave early in the day, spend 3 hours on the bus, look at the yeshivah and return to Jerusalem.

I was starting to worry that he was not leaving enough time to really look at the program and speak to people.
I told him to pack his backpack with a clean shirt, socks, underwear, a toothbrush and his tefillin.
Then, if he decided to spend the night, he could.

My son called me, today, from Sfat, or Sephad or Safed or.... at 3:10PM, my time.
That happens to be 9:15 PM Israel time. It would have been 10:15 PM, but they monkeyed with our clocks recently as part of what I have decided is a dirty Commie plot because I have yet to figure out how to change the clock in my car. Or maybe it is a Republican plot. If I were more politically aware, I would know these things.

Back to the phone call.

He is in Sfat.
He looked at the yeshivah.
I was excited. He has gone and looked, and maybe he will like it or he will not like it, but he will have some idea what it is like!

"Did you get to visit any classes?"
"Well, no."
"Did you get to talk to any of the instructors or staff?"
"Well, no."
"Well, what were the students like?"
"I didn't get to talk to any of the students."
But he spoke to someone outside of the school.
"What? Why didn't' you visit the school."
"It was closed."
It was closed because Aaron didn't' leave Jerusalem until after 3 PM.

"I missed the bus. Don't' you want to know why I missed the bus?"
No, I fucking did not want to know why he couldn't wake up in time to take the 12:30 PM bus.

" Find a cheap place to spend the night. Did you pack your toothbrush?"
"No."
"Did you pack clean socks or underwear or a shirt?"
"No, but I brought my backpack."
Yes, he did take his backpack and his teffilin and some books, and......
I told him to ask around and find a cheap place to stay. Not the $250 a night hotel that I have seen advertised on the internet. And that $250 rate was their "special".

"But I don't want to waste your money."

"I am going to kill you if you go back to Jerusalem and don't' look at the yeshivah!"
Okay,I didn't' say that; but I wanted to, with several expletives inserted before each verb.

I did tell him, " You will be wasting our money if you come home and you didn't' look at the program you are telling us you want to go to while you were in the same country!"
I added that if he goes back to Jerusalem without having actually gone into the yeshivah and looked at it while it is open, I am not going to allow him to go back to Israel to study because I will know he is not serious.

I may have actually made an impression on him, at that point.
I think this is possible because he then asked me for a phone number of someone in Sfat or Safed or .....
And he even gave me his email password , so I could get it.
Of course, he is not sure he should call them, at 9:25 PM at night, because I have been yelling at him for over 10 minutes. That is why it is now almost 9:30, and they have children. Children who have underwear and socks and toothbrushes.
He is also not sure he will call because he is afraid to ask someone to use their phone. The phone he is calling me from is only for international calls, and Israelis are rude.

"Yes, I know that, too bad!"

They are rude, but I think something else may be involved.
He is 6'3". or he was when he left. No one has measured him recently.
He smiles too much.
That part is my fault. I live in Indiana , which means that he grew up in Indiana and he thinks you are supposed to smile a lot.
His being 6'3" is not my fault. It is also not my husband's fault.
Although, maybe it is.
Our fault- because we raised him in Indiana and the only explanation I have for the two of us producing this big boy is that the water here must be radioactive.
So, you see, it is my fault.

But back to why they are rude to my 6'3" son who smiles too much for anyone who is not from Indiana, or maybe also Kentucky.....
Of course they are rude. They are scared.
Even though the kid can't even find his way to the right bus stop, to catch the 12:30 bus.
And he thinks I can't figure that one out.
Sigh.

I told him to call me, tomorrow.
Maybe, I shouldn't have done that.
I am a bit scared what he will say, tomorrow.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Story of the Day 3/ 23/ 2012 #4

I speak quickly.

Numerous times , interpreters will tell me they can't follow what I am saying to interpret for me, and can I please slow down.
I've even had school personnel ask me to slow down because they cannot listen as quickly as I speak.
I am sometimes asked if i am from New York.
Apparently, New York is famous for its fast-speaking natives.

As it happens, my daughter has a teacher, this semester, who is also a fast speaker.
The school had to get a different typist, because the ones they had couldn't type fast enough to keep up with her lectures.
Even the one they are now using is struggling mightily.
And the interpreter looks, oft times, like she is struggling to run uphill in a marathon race.

I have wondered if people keep asking this teacher if she is from New York.
They probably do.

But she isn't.

Like me, she grew up in a relatively small city in the midwest.
The same one I am from.......

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Story of the Day 3/ 23/ 2012 #3

Our Friday evening dinners tend to be rather simple.
Many Jewish families go all out on Friday night: soup, salads ( yes, more than one), an appetizer, perhaps some fish, the main course of meat and a vegetable and a potato or rice or both, and then dessert.
This is in addition to fresh challah and wine.
Of course, there are the vegetarians, and the people who are into fancy French cooking or Chinese, but, at any rate, dinner is usually quite a feast.
At our house, there is the reality of me being the cook.

Dinner is challah and grape juice. Okay, my husband usually has wine, while the rest of us have grape juice.
And there is no soup, and no salad, and I have managed to cook wild rice, and salmon and roasted asparagus.
i did cut up some nice organic pears, so we can pretend that was a fruit salad.
And we ate in the dining room on the sort of good china ( dishwasher safe, and we only have dinner plates, because who would really want to wash the rest of that stuff) and cloth napkins and a table cloth, and my husband is still dressed nicely from synagogue, but Sarah and I are in our pajamas.

In other words, it was a typical Margolis-Greenbaum dinner.
Including the fact that I had made dessert, as well as having at least 6 different chocolate options. Organic fair-trade with raisins and almonds, organic not labelled fair trade dark truffle, organic.....
I may not be a good Jew in terms of making a fancy multi-course meal, but i have my priorities straight. There is ALWSY lots of dessert.

And don't' worry, the cookies I had made were also chocolate.

And they were very good.

I knew this before we even got to dessert because I had already snitched three of them when they came out of the oven. okay, maybe 4.

I told my husband," I did something a little different, this week, the cookies are really good. can you guess what i added?"

Larry tasted one.

There was a pause and then he said, "You didn't burn them?"

Apparently, he must think that is what improved the taste.
It took me a moment to respond, I had to process this. He had a point, but it was really not the answer I was looking for.....

"No, I always burn them, I am talking about something different that I added to them."

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Story of the Day 3/ 23/ 2012 #2

My daughter is Deaf.
She currently attend s a public high school and has an interpreter who sits in front of her and interprets what the teacher and the other students say.
This can be difficult, sometimes.

Occasionally, the interpreter has to interpret a foreign phrase or an unfamiliar vocabulary term. Sometimes a student mumbles, or, even if it isn't mumbled a presentation may be in a soft voice, and Sarah's interpreter wears hearing aids that do not pick up quite everything.

And then there are the occasional moments when Sarah has to interpret for her- for the interpreter.

This week, one of Sarah's teacher's held ups stuffed penguin and said, "Look, it is a penguin in our classroom!"
The students responded to her, calling out a response the interpreter couldn't' make out.

Then the teacher then held up a stuffed bear, "Look, it is a polar bear in our classroom!"
And the students again called out a response thatch interpreter couldn't' make out.

Sarah , however, caught it and told the interpreter , "The kids said, "Nope, it is Chuck Testa!"

The interpreter stared at Sarah for a moment or two.
How did Sarah know what the students had said? She wasn't' even facing them.

Then the interpreter realized why Sarah knew what they had said.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJP1DphOWPs