It makes me wonder

People always say that two people can view the same set of events from the almost identical vantage points and have three different versions.

I posted earlier on Facebook that I was walking by a group of men outside a neighborhood bodega, “chewing the fat” about Osama Bin Laden.  “How did the man manage three wives holed up in the same house for five years?” Clearly, proof positive that he was a worthy adversary of the United States of America.

I did not take that away from the unfolding events.  (I will say that I was happy that his kids were able to go out and play.  Judaism teaches that the sins of the fathers are not inherited by their children.)

I didn’t immediately think the wives were complicit or victims.  Those kind of knee-jerk conclusions simply marginalize them as cardboard cut-outs to fit our view of women in the fringes of a culture, religion and world view we have not even begun to understand.

I also did not take away, as Herman Cain did, that President Obama may have “dithered” before making the decision.  On what basis does Mr. Godfather’s Pizza say this?

Here is what I took away from this:

  • The president made a decision that would make him a hero if it worked, or a pariah like Jimmy Carter, if it didn’t.
  • The decision rocked an unsteady alliance with Pakistan, an unstable country with lots of nuclear warheads.
  • The killing will incite retaliation.
  • If Osama Bin Laden was a continuing terror mastermind, then this is what had to be done.
  • If he was the isolated, broken man that some videos suggest, then this was a vengeful and stupid mission with untold consequences dripping in blood.

 

Being 51

Being 51 isn’t as hard as I expected.  (Ok, I am really only 47, but you would understand this all from prior blog entries.)

I can do things that any 47 year-old can do, only I look GREAT at it.  I was doing some unassisted pull ups at the gym and one guy came up to me and said he was impressed and that he doesn’t even see young women do that.

What do you think gave it away?  The gray hair, some wrinkles, that way my body imperceptibly (at least to me) changed with time and gravity?

I asked him, “What tipped you off that I wasn’t young any more?”

He was embarrassed — poor guy — and took out his wallet and showed me his fat pictures.  I guess he felt he owed me.  Here is this young guy with a sculpted body who was a candidate for the “Biggest Loser” about 6 months ago.  Up close, I could see the faint stretch marks around his outrageously toned biceps and triceps.

I told the guy he could even call me old lady.  Of course, I didn’t say that I would smack him if he actually did.  Then again, with his new body, he wouldn’t feel it if I tried.

Being Mom on Mother’s Day

POB (partner of blogger) and I don’t exchange mother’s day cards, although TLP (our son, the little prince) must make two — one for each of us.

I still have a vague feeling that I have forgotten something on Mother’s Day, as if I should be sending a card to someone.

But, when we gathered for the obligatory lunch, I went through the mental catalogue:

  • Dad’s mother: May 1973;
  • Mom’s mother: June 1988;
  • Mom: January 2003; and
  • POB’s mother: April 2006.

Nope, no one to whom to send a mother’s day card.  Anyway, the postage for four cards from here to Heaven would probably break the bank.

Now, POB and I are the honorees.  We get the handmade cards that we will treasure for a lifetime even if the ungluing pink glitter is all over the house.

Even my brother called to wish us a happy mother’s day.  He must have that same sense of forgetting to do something — like sending a card to Mom.

I know SOB (sister of blogger) is having a good cry going through the family pictures in her photo album which we reverentially call “The Shrine”.

It just doesn’t feel right.  Mom, it is still your day. Always will be.

I love you.

 

 

Another year, another synagogue retreat

This year’s synagogue retreat didn’t provide as much blogging material as last year’s.  But I have a gift of missing the whole point of a spiritual retreat.  But someone said that G-d is in the details.  That can’t be correct; see below.

The retreat started the same as last year, with the welcome sign that dared me to wreak such havoc that the sign would be revised to read “Maybe we are blessed by your arrival”.

Next year, I hope to report back that my efforts were successful.

The theme of the retreat was “transitions”.  Actually, throughout the retreat, there were some really poignant and insightful observations as to certain life cycle and relationship transitions.  Even I have to admit (grudgingly) that the discussions and religious services did strike chords in me.

There was a specific emphasis on inclusion of members of the transgender community and their stories and issues.  Accordingly, our name tags listed our preferred pronouns, such as “she/her” “ze/hir” “he/his” “they/their”.   My selections were so ordinary:

We got an upgrade from our accommodations last year.  As you may remember, we stayed in a bungalow that the forest was in process of reclaiming.  Apparently, nature correctly recognized it as a compost before the retreat management did.  This year, our accommodations ranked a few levels above girl scout camp:

Ok, maybe just one level above girl scout camp.  But we did have a mini-fridge.

The camp keeps the Sabbath and maintains a kosher kitchen.  So, no coffee on the Sabbath.  A riot almost breaks out each year.  I heard someone offer anyone $1,000 for a latte.  That night, the same person was offering even more for a shot of tequila, right after everyone found out there was no wine with dinner.  Ok, the camp maybe “shomer shabbos” (Sabbath observant) but us visitors, well, not so much.

Also, the food was not so kid-friendly (cholent, quinoa with fruit and string beans, etc.), so one family broke the Sabbath and drove their kids to McDonald’s because the kids could find nothing to eat.  Hey, living by Torah means that you can’t let your kids starve.  (We packed enough snacks, yogurt and fruit so that TLP (our son, the little prince) would have enough to eat.  We also had to rely on this stash.)

But there are helpful reminders to everyone about religiosity, especially in one’s most private moments:

(Same sign as last year, but good material is good material.)

The camp is also a working farm, so we saw Hasidic Jews tending to the goats.  There was goatyurt for sale, “blessed” goat cheese, and other kumbaya stuff. In fact, the gift shop offered bottles of essence of peace of mind and women’s cycles.

Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya. Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

I don’t know if POB (partner of blogger) can convince me to go for a third time.