Category Archives: BEING DIFFERENT

Blogger’s code of silence

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A note to readers:

My sister’s friend, in visiting from a not-to-be-revealed other place, feared speaking to me because I write a blog and she thought that I would reveal too much detail about her life and people would figure out her identity.  I told her that I protect my sources and use my powers for good not evil.  Her fears were unassuaged and she conversed very little with me although by the end of the evening I was able to discern many, many things about her and her life.

But, true to my word, I can’t tell you.  Mystery friend of my sister, I hope you are reading this.

~Blogger

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Good ol’ Rudolph

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Ok, so I had a revelation at my son’s school’s winter celebration. He was great and all the kids were adorable but that was not eureka moment.

We were given song sheets so that the audience could participate. Printed were the lyrics to Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. I am Jewish and native Manhattanite and have never attended a Christmas celebration (even though my Christian friends KNOW I am free that eve and day) so I have never heard the carol up close and personal — only in stores.

To be honest, I never understood the Rudolph song.  I couldn’t get why the red nose mattered — that is until I read that Santa asks Rudolph to GUIDE his sleigh. As a New Yorker (with a New York accent) I always thought Santa wanted Rudolph to GUARD his sleigh because how could Santa leave a sleigh with presents unattended, especially in New York?

I told you it was a revelation — a pure Eureka moment.

And what’s the difference between a sleigh and a sled, anyway?

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Chanukah Party

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We had a family Chanukah party at our synagogue this afternoon.  The kids had activities; the parents were just hanging out with only coffee and tea as refreshments.  Someone suggested that we get a bottle of wine.  The rabbi overheard and went into the kitchen and brought out red and white wine and iced vodka.  The senior rabbi produced three kinds of single malt scotch.  We had only Dixie cups and were crowded around a card table with a paper table cloth with dreidels on it.  It was a little like smoking dope in the bathroom while the high school dance is going on downstairs.

Apparently, the wine was for a party later on tonight and the man in charge got into a distemper over our poaching some of the wine, and had a bitchy, chastising tone as he grabbed the wine and said, “I am going to talk to the rabbi about this!”  Ok, so the hall monitor is ratting us out to the principal who gave us the wine in the first place.  NOW, who was going to be in trouble??  Mister Officious-Avec-Attitude came over and said, “the rabbi will go out and buy more wine so HERE.”  Ok, now I was pissed.  I say, “the wine is awful anyway, so don’t have anyone buy more of this vinegar.”  Ok, we were going to have it out, the lesbian mom and the gay man c-list event coordinator.  In the nick of time, the senior rabbi came over wearing a velvet Menorah hat and asked if anyone liked the scotch.  That diffused the brewing cat fight.  Phew.

Ok, the kids never knew what was happening, except the parents were laughing a whole lot more than any Sukkot and Tu B’Shevat parties at the synagogue.

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Imagine Peace — Part 2

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I know my mother sounded a little saintly and we like a family of do-gooders in a prior entry, Imagine Peace, so we need to set the record straight.  We have our moments of community service but we are Seinfeldian in the usual ways.

First, the email from a friend of MOB [mother of blogger) and a co-founder of New Yorkers Against Gun Violence from FOBM (friend of blogger’s mom) to SOB (sister of blogger).

“Dear SOB:

Thank you for coming on Tuesday and for helping to make the event a great success.  I still miss MOB and would love to have her see how the organization has progressed from its fledgling days when she did so much to nurture it.

Also, would you send me blogger’s email address – she was quite a bidder at the Silent Auction and won a Fire Island week as well as French lessons.  Many thanks again for your continued support.

Fondly, FOBM”

Very lovely note, indeed.  So glad that Mom is remembered. SOB follows up with this email to me:

“Blogger:

I am forwarding an email from FOBM. That’s great that you won that Fire Island week.  (Have you heard there is a recession going on?  What else did you bid on?  What if you won everything you bid on?  Are you CRAZY?)
Actually, I was looking at that myself and considering bidding but then got distracted and didn’t return. When are we going?!! I hope it’s not a dump. You don’t have to invite us.

I feel very good that our family supports this organization – a way to honor Mom and her vision.

Kumbaya, babe.

Love, SOB“


It is important to be honest that we are riding our mother’s coattails.

Yep, Kumbaya, SOB, Kumbaya.
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The Blogger in my midst

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So, after the funeral, I decide to work from home since most banks are closed (and my clients are banks).  I return the rental car and make the mistake of hearkening back — with no one else in room — to the earlier conversation about menopause that I had with the same rental car sales assistant.   She was not pleased.  She had mentioned earlier that she has mood swings.  I notice as I stand over the counter that she still hadn’t taken her vitamins.  I decided not to mention that the name of the GPS NeverLost is a misnomer.  And, I assume I am going to get a schmuck tax on top of the usual rental car costs.  I am fine with all of it because, well, it is what it is.

I go to grab lunch and there is a woman sitting opposite me at the communal table in Le Pain Quotidienne.  She looks at me as if she recognizes me.  We hold a gaze for an extra second. I know that I don’t know her so I assume that she asked me a question and is waiting for a response.  So, I say, “excuse me?” as if she said something.  She didn’t.  I apologize.  I go back to my various devices of connectivity.

She types furiously on her laptop.  I think she is a blogger.  I wanted to say, “Hi, I’m 40andoverblog.  Who are you?” But that would have sounded like the ookiest come-on line and that was not my intention.

I surreptitiously glance over at her from time to time, trying to see what she is typing.  She catches me a few times.  I have to leave now lest she think I have any interest other than uncovering a blogger and responds with interest or revulsion, neither of which I could handle.

I inhale my food and pay my bill.

I imagine that she is thinking, “wow, she reminds me of my mother”.  I catch a cab and take to my bed.

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Imagine Peace

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Imagine peace.

That was Yoko Ono’s ad in the journal for last night’s benefit supporting New Yorkers Against Gun Violence (NYAGV).

My mother helped found the organization.  I remember vaguely that she would go up to Albany to lobby for tighter gun laws, coordinate the silent marches (the sea of empty shoes for those killed by gun violence) and generally be a nudge for the public welfare.  She was unassuming about her efforts for this cause.

I sat at the benefit and I was both stunned and brimming with pride at the flourishing my mother’s “seed” work, about which she was very quiet and very determined.  A young woman spoke about her work for the organization, doing outreach to youths at risk.  She spoke from the heart.  My eyes welled up.  I went over to her afterward to tell her how I was so taken with her words and her work.  I mentioned that my mother helped found this organization and she looked at my name tag, and then hugged me, saying “I have heard stories about your mother.”  Then a board member came over and said, “I knew your mother and we still talk about her and use her catch phrases.”

My mother has been dead for nearly seven years.  And she is remembered by both colleagues and people who never actually met her. A life well lived.

My sister is standard bearer for our generation.  Her wedding registry was composed of two charities, one of which was NYAGV.  When same-sex marriage is legal in NY, I am going to follow my mother’s and sister’s examples and make it part of my registry.

My mother’s legacy is a challenge to me to leave this world a better place than it was when I was born.  Not fix everything, just fix or enhance something.

Imagine peace. I hear her saying, “now go and make it happen”.  Mom is a tough lady in death as in life.  And an inspiration.  May she rest in peace.  Her memory is always a blessing.

Imagine peace.

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The tragedy at Fort Hood

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Brave men and women lost their lives at the hands of one of our own. 

Yes, Major Nidal Malik Hasan is one of our own. 

Just as much as Timothy McVeigh, the Oklahoma City bomber, is one of our own. 

We can make all the shallow distinctions but radicalism creeps person by person, as it did with McVeigh and, as we are told, with Hasan.  The horror and the responsibility begin and end with the person.

There are always signs in retrospect.  And, they allow for a useless free-for-all for Monday quarterbacking pundits.

Yes, let’s look closely at this tragedy and learn its lessons.  But, first, let us bury our dead with honor and with thanks of a grateful nation. 

Just a few days ago, President Obama stood ramrod straight with a crisp salute as the fallen soldiers were carried off an army transport to be buried by their families. 

It is tragic that he must do so again so soon and under these circumstances.

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Taking Candy from Your Baby

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So, here I am at 7:25pm on Thursday after Halloween and I am eating candy that my son gathered on his trick-or-treating extravaganza.  I am feeling guilty, but only a little.  My son is 7 years old so it isn’t exactly like taking candy from a baby (she writes defiantly).

Halloween was its usual hell-ish experience.  As I have written before, I don’t like the holiday because of, among other things, the ghoulish costumes and behaviors, and I didn’t know what to do with the carved pumpkin except put it in the refrigerator where one would normally put ripened or cut fruit.  Leave it out for the bugs and the vermin?  Now, that’s not a plan for an urban dweller who likes to keep both nature’s jungle and the urban jungle at bay.

A major issue was my son’s costume.  He did not want to dress up and wanted a general pass on the occasion (that’s my son!!).  POB (partner of blogger) had long ago convinced me that Halloween was important (as were scooters and other toys of potential death and dismemberment) because we should stress social inclusion (but not assimilation or group think).

As you can tell POB is the intellectual in the family because I am still trying to apply these principles to daily life and parenting.  Realizing that I was still struggling, she recently restated her position in words I can understand: having two moms will be tough enough when he is a teenager, do you want to add the deficit of Halloween?  Because we are two women, our son’s societal acceptance depends on celebrating Halloween.   Ok, I get that thinking. Sort of.  My straight parents were dismissive of some societal norms and my college friends thought I was a Soviet spy.  It was lovingly meant as weird and kooky, I think.

So, Halloween it is.  It took some cajoling for our son to agree to a costume: “why can’t I be ME?” he asked. As part of the inclusion model, I did not say that a transitive verb takes a subjective pronoun and the question is “why can’t I be I?” which, while non-sensical, is grammatically correct.  But I digress.

He loves the Natural History Museum which was founded by early 20th century President Teddy Roosevelt.  So, he decided that he would be Teddy Roosevelt in the age of the Rough Riders.  We got a rough rider hat, bandana, round spectacles and I taught him to say, “bully, bully!!” just like Roosevelt.  But it was a little — how shall I say — cerebral for a 7 year-old.

Mindful of inclusion model, I tried to get him to think more commercially — work with me on the inclusion part here — and I asked, wouldn’t you like to be a Power Ranger or an X-Man?  Nah, not so much.  Teddy Roosevelt it was.

My parents would have beamed with pride and joy if I wanted to dress up as Eleanor Roosevelt for Halloween.  One generation later, I am begging my son to be an X-Man.  There is a PhD thesis in here somewhere but not now.

Needless to say, in No-Where-istan, there is no Halloween.

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Finally, a Hate Crime Bill Goes to the White House

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http://voices.washingtonpost.com/capitol-briefing/2009/10/senate_approves_hate_crimes_me.html?referrer=email

It is great that there is a federal hate crimes bill that will protect gays and lesbians.  Unfortunately, it had to appended to a bill authorizing pay increases for our troops in order to pass.  And, there is some pork barrel spending that Obama opposes in the bill and he will get tagged with perpetuating wasteful spending.

It is sad that there couldn’t be three separate bills:  “clean” appropriations bill for our troops, a clean hate crimes bill, and a clean bill on the controversial spending item.  They have nothing in common.

It is uncomfortable sometimes to look too closely into how we are governed.  But look, we must.

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President Obama, I am here, I am queer and I am “over” your speech

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You gave a campaign speech.

You re-told the story of the LGBT fight for equality.

Mr. President, how will you add to our collective story line?

I know that you need to get the economy, health care and two wars under control and then, if you still have enough political capital, you can make good on your promises to our community.  That is the way it should be. 

We are Americans, after all, and jobs and economic recovery and health care come first.  

But, please don’t keep promising.  What is the status of the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?  In your speech, you essentially said that a national hate crimes bill is effectively a done deal.  I sure hope you are right.

By the way, Mr. President, you could have carried off a lavender or rainbow tie.

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