L'shana Tovah

I tried really hard this Yom Kippur to confess all my sins, but although the list is incredibly comprehensive and includes many things I did not do and for that matter will never do, there are some serious omissions. There is the sin of inpatience which is more a way of life than a particular transgression, which might also be lumped in with the sin of the serious attention span deficit (which was particularly true during the Rabbi's sermon when I found myself thinking about preparing for an upcoming party and kept administering the silent verbal equivalent of a slap...stop it...a few seconds of concentrated listening..and then back to the party), the sin of ridiculous self-doubt and the sin of worrying unnecessarily.

The last one might actually be covered in the official listed category of foolish chatter, which in my case could not be stopped even during the Kol Nidre service. I had the opportunity to speak for one minute about a meaningful experience (see text below of my minute) during our recent trip to Israel. But when the Rabbi complemented me after services, I still couldn't help myself from quipping that if I'd known that everyone else was going to speak for 5 minutes I would have as well. Perhaps we should call this the sin of being Larry David. I just can't let go.

I was just thankful that at the end of services the following day the time between last confession and closing the book of reckoning was less than two minutes. I held my breath, and phew, made it, at least for 2007. As for this year, well we're trying harder, but we may have to post the top 10 sins on the desk top as a personal growth reminder.

Yad V’shem, the Holocaust History Museum, was so deeply moving, that I found myself at several points unable to continue, hunched over on a bench or standing in a corner sobbing.

Yad V’shem was different than other Holocaust museums I have been to.

It was the heartbreaking stories told by the survivors themselves that affected me so strongly. What would I have done I kept asking myself, would I have had the courage to take just one more breath? I stood in shock when I saw the same purse as my grandmother’s in a case of valuables confiscated by the Nazi’s. It was no longer just a museum.

It was the story of my family. At the end, I found my great-grandfather, Sandor Vida in the database of those who did not survive, and weighed down with this final piece of information, like a last piece of a puzzle, I climbed on the bus and we were on to our next stop, the Chagall windows at Hadassah Hospital.

In the waiting area, I whispered to Scott “I saw my great-grandfather’s name.” and once again I sobbed for all that we lost, but also all that we will lose if we do not remember.

"And to them will I give in my house and within my walls a memorial and a name (a "yad vashem")... that shall not be cut off."
(Isaiah, chapter 56, verse 5)

Too Much of a Good Thing

If you know me, then you know I love to read, and although partial to New Yorker type fiction (think Richard Ford, Don DeLillo), I have learned from book groups that I can read almost anything. It is hard to remember a time in my life before book groups, when I had to peruse the book store or library shelves and think about what I wanted to read. But now I am in a frantic state of trying to keep up. Of course this is my own fault. First there was just one group, which I always thought of as Miriam's group, because she belonged before me, but never invited me (too much togetherness?) but then it turned out a mutual acquaintance sat next to me on a plane to SF and she invited me and that was years ago. And the concept is not to read what everyone else is reading which means tracking down books at the library although I am usually late and someone has beat me to it. Then came the invite to what I will call the tennis book group, because that is how I know the ladies, but more than 6 months lapsed between the idea was broached and the invite arrived by email. By then I had already started up with NC's group, called that because she is the ringleader and a wonderful ringleader she is. We meet a coffee shop so no one cooks or drinks, but we enjoy our tea and have a diligent discussion of books which are usually what everyone else is reading which is just fine with me and have read some really enjoyable books, Snow Flower's Secret Fan being my favorite. But now I have one or two book groups too many but I love to read and I like everyone so haven't figured out how to balance. Occasionally I get lucky and have a conflict and am off the hook for the month. My latest ploy is to get two of the groups to read the same book which has worked once already and is incredibly convenient. So that is how I became the book group whore (adulteress?) that I am.

I think the real solution would be to combine the tennis and NC group, you know the old strategy where you invite all your boyfriends to a party and see who rises to the top? Am not sure this would work, but in the meantime I better run. I've got lots of reading to do.

I can see clearly now

After more than 10 years of juggling reading glasses like a circus act and wandering my house searching for a pair on almost a daily basis, I finally came to the realization that it was time to join the full-time spec wearing population.

My husband and children all did this effortlessly, putting them on first thing in the morning and laying them on the nightstand to rest in the evening, but I had tried prescription progressives before and I found myself struggling to walk out the front door of my house without looking like a lunch time drunk stumbling out of a dark bar into daylight.

But my eyesight along with a few other body parts continues to deteriorate and this former 20/20 gal realized that it was time for another try at the world of enhanced vision. I was determined to make this work, asking the optician for detailed instructions on when to look up (distance) and when to look down (reading) and wondering how I would ever do this without feeling stupid. So much to my surprise, I put on my new glasses and they are perfect. Just like that. I can see as clear as looking through glass, up, down and all around. I have rejoined the land of the sighted and it is amazing.

Last weekend, people kept giving me that quizzical did you get a hair cut look, because you look different. So I can see and I get a new look. It's a miracle. So for all my vain friends out there doing the reading glasses juggle, get over it. The only downsides are you have to watch out when you swoop in for a kiss and I can now clearly see that I am in desperate need of pedicure.

The Ants go Marching

The thing about a great looking piece of granite with a lot of black specs is that it is the perfect camouflage for ants. Something about the relentless 110 degree heat has caused an invasion by ants on a military scale of my kitchen. I am greeted in the morning by a carpet of moving black spots on the tile floor (is it my vision or are those spots moving?...yikes the dirt is alive), and a grumpy husband who views the ant assault as a personal affront to his morning routine of drink coffee, read paper. I found myself in the car yesterday, picking off ants like lint as each annoying tickle revealed the target. I have always admired ant tenacity, and their homing capability for each crumb left behind (please kids put the plates in the dishwasher) is impressive. But now it was a game of sheer numbers, and a bit like the US military in Iraq, we were getting worn down. The weather has cooled, but the ants were still enjoying the surfaces of the kitchen, adding a unique accent to white window molding. So we did what a proud citizen of their domain must do..we called in reinforcements. The pesticide guy was here with a bright smile and a clean shirt this morning, spraying poison around the perimeter of the house, while we stay inside waiting for the dust to settle. Sort of surprised this nice man works without a mask as I could smell the spray through the windows upstairs, sort of like an uber-raid. And although I must accept responsibility for the death of millions of ants (who can count?) it seems a worthwhile trade-off for a return to the usual domestic peace of mind. Grumpy husband will have to find something else to complain about.