My Sister, My Hero, Part II

For you were strangers in the land of Egypt . . .  Every Passover, Jews are reminded to be kind to the stranger because we were strangers in the land of Egypt and, well, you know what happened and how Charleton Heston had to lead us out with a mighty hand. . .  The quintessential Jewish mother’s Midrash on this principle is “be kind to strangers; just don’t TALK to them”.

My sister is not a religious person.  She is a spiritual person and that is in my view the important quality.  My sister took into her home a very sick former colleague who had no family nearby and is trying to get this person help.  Not because of a religious admonishment or directive but because of a spiritual imperative to lend a hand to those in need.  She is like my mother (of blessed memory) in that way.  She shrugs a silent “whatever” when anyone talks about religion.  She, like my mother, does what others only talk about doing.  And I only know because my sister had to miss a family dinner to help her former colleague.  Otherwise, I might have never known.  Because she does what needs to be done because it should be done and not for bragging rights.

Lest you think she is the Flying Nun or Mother Teresa with the glow of G-d upon her, my sister is definitely a real person with bad hair days (less so now that she colors her gray, oops, that shouldn’t appear in print I guess) and a limited attention span for most people. So, a saint she is not. 

And still, she heals the world by her very presence among us.  My sister, my hero.

Kiss today goodbye

Today:

in 1935, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed the Social Security Act.  This was a day of celebration for my grandfather who grew up in Czarist Russia and came of age during the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917.

In 1945, Japan surrendered unconditionally to the Allies, ending World War II.

In 1980, Lech Walesa led workers on a strike at the Lenin Shipyard in Gdansk, Poland, leading to the creation of the Solidarity labor movement.

In 2009, Barack Obama, our President, goes to Montana to fight for affordable health care.

Kym Kardashian?

Ok, I am a little behind on the latest Reality (which is, as Lily Tomlin said, for people who can’t deal with drugs).  I thought the Kardashians were an alien species on Star Trek: The Next Generation.  Since there was a Star Trek craze this summer (spring?), it seemed on-the-edge of reasonable.

So, now I know they have nothing to do with Star Trek, although the little I have read about them suggests that they are IN FACT an alien species.

I don’t need to watch someone else’s reality.  Mine is hard enough to follow.

If Mom were alive, would this be her comment?

I’m guessing this is what my mother (of blessed memory) would comment on my blog.

Hi, darling!  [said with a thrill that only a mother could have in corresponding with her child]:

Please be careful. There are crazies out there who might be reading your blog. So, I called the Secret Service. They are so efficient; the person who answered knew exactly who I was. Technology is SO marvelous. I asked for protection for you. The agent wasn’t sure, so I called the White House and they said that I looked marvelous at the last march on the Mall. Who knew? I wasn’t feeling great that day, chemo and all, so it must have been my new wig. Thank Goodness your father was there. He takes such good care of me. When I went over to talk to anti-abortion people, they were very nasty and your father stepped in. My ovaries haven’t worked in decades, so why couldn’t they have a civil conversation on a theoretical level? Which proves my point about protection for you.

Your sister came along on the march as my physician. (Isn’t it a MUST to have a health care professional in the family?  Don’t worry, I remember how you helped get me a $200 rebate so paying for law school was worth it.)  Having a travelling doctor IS the new accessory for us old people. I have Dad and your sister. Let the Secret Service top that for Obama. By the way, isn’t he handsome? So smart, so funny, such a leader. If only he were Jewish and not married, he would be perfect for your sister if she weren’t already happily married to a wonderful man (I am not schlepping in Central Park to look at birds).  After all of these years of keeping an eye out for eligible men, it is hard to remember to stop looking now that she is married.  I forget things at my age, but I am always thrilled when I remember that she is, in fact, married.

You looked thin last week. Is there enough protein in your diet?

Well, off to chemo, then a gallery and then there’s a protest at One Police Plaza. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get arrested. I have your card in case I need a lawyer. One should get arrested for a good cause once in one’s life. But only for peaceful protests.

So, all right, Tootsie. See you for Sunday night dinner.

Love, Mom

Disagreement

My dear young cousin does not like President Obama and does not trust him. 

She was concerned that I would not want her to comment on my blog.  (I did publish one of her negative comments on Obama, but after a certain number of days comments go to the foggy bottom of cyberspace.)

I welcome different opinions because we learn from each other.  We can love each other and respectfully disagree.

So, dear cousin (you know who you are), I love you and I disagree and comment away!!!  I will comment right back!

The simple pleasures

Today, I got to play with my son before work.  Tonight, a former colleague is coming to dinner on a week night.  In the go-go days, these things would never have happened.

On Saturday night, my partner and I have a dinner date with another couple.  It is hard (and expensive) to find a Saturday night babysitter in August.  So, my sister, brother-in-law and father are coming over to have pizza with our son and hang with him and put him to bed.  Our son is so excited, and so is Grandpa.  We save money on a babysitter and our son gets to play with his favorite aunt and uncle, and his grandpa.

Forget the green shoots in the economy.  Look at the silver lining of the down turn.

Repeat after me

I ran into my sister at the gym.  She and I spoke during the day, so she asked, “how was the rest of your afternoon?” I started to tell her about my son’s day at camp (see other blog entry) and she said, “Yeah, I know, I read your blog.”  I am repeating myself before I open my mouth.  Then, I looked around the locker room and she asked, “are you feeling a bloggable moment?” She was reading my mind.  I didn’t have to utter a word.  Hmmm, eerie.

She  finished her work-out and I was just starting, so we kissed good-bye and I left the locker room.  After one second outside, I ran back in and caught her as she was about to go into the shower.  She said, “the guy in the midriff and the nylon short running shorts who smells?  Yeah, I smelled him on my way in.” I opened my mouth. I closed my mouth.  I opened my mouth.  I closed it.  Struck dumb.

I decided not to blog about this.  Nope I am not blogging about my slow metamorphosis into a bloggy-eyed, crazed, typing, mute.

Wait.  What am I doing?  Uh oh.  Uh oh.  Uh oh.

Sigh.

Growing Pains

You are only as happy as your child is on any given day.  And your child’s fears and sadnesses are like daggers in your heart.  My mother would say things like this and I totally get it. 

My son is now 7 and he has to manage social interactions and other activities which are not his strengths.  And he has to do so beyond our reach and ability to facilitate the situations.  And he needs to do this without us because he has to learn and grow and all that.  I know, I know, I know, I know.  I also know that I want to protect my little boy from all of life’s hurts from little boo-boos to real bona fide problems.  I totally get why his imaginary worlds are way easier.  If I were the least bit creative, I would really have grooved on imaginary worlds.

Last night he was so sad about having to do a performance at camp today.  It was the entirety of his world and it was heartbreaking.  I could tell him and tell him again that he should trust me that everything was going to be ok, that I know these things, that I am not letting anything bad happen.  I could just hear his dread and feel his sadness and self-doubt.  Finally, after a story, he fell asleep.

My partner and I internalized all his sadness, were grumpy until we went to sleep and both slept fitfully.  At drop-off this morning, she promised him french fries with dinner.  She called the camp today and spoke with the director.  She checked on him and he was doing fine.  We are tired, over-wrought, wrecks. He gets french fries tonight for being a trooper.  I need a quart of Cherry Garcia.  And a quart of New York Super Chunk Fudge.  And maybe a french fry or six. 

The good news is that we all survived the day at camp.  I think my partner and I are more the worse for wear.  My son — he’s fine.

Happy birthday, Mr. President

May all your wishes come true.   And let me help you itemize them:

  1.  a little GOP cooperation.
  2. a country back on track within two years.
  3. a visit from my family at the White House (we would like NOT to stay in the Lincoln Bedroom because it has gotten too much use over the years, a little like a Motel 6).  Let’s pick some dates and firm up with our wives.
  4. a tattoo that says “Made in the USA” so that the conspiracy theorists might go away.
  5. a situation room that looks like Wolf Blitzer’s
  6. getting a free pass once a month on something you say in front of the press.
  7. a date with your wife that isn’t a political free-for-all on the 24-hour news re-cycle.
  8. one day without a full-blown crisis at the office.

And many, many more returns of the day, Mr. President.

Sen. Paul Stanley, R-Tennessee, Mr. Family Values

Ok, ok, ok, ok, ok.  Lemme get this straight.

Sen. David Vitter, Louisiana, Sen. John Ensign, Nevada, Gov. Mark Sanford, S. Carolina — what do these gentlemen and Sen. Stanley have in common?  They are sanctimonious, self-satisfied “family-values” politicians who were hoisted on their own petards. 

Worse, Sen. Stanley, who took lewd pictures of his 22-year old intern during the time of their affair, blames her.  He is 47 and she is 22.  He has a family and presumably of suitable age, discretion and intelligence to represent the State of Tennessee. 

He isn’t hiding behind a 22 year-old, is he?  Nah.  Can’t be.  Only someone gutless and unprincipled would do that.   So, it can’t be.  WAIT.  I think Pauly IS a gutless, unprincipled loser.  And he is angry that he has to resign.  As if he did nothing to bring about this morality play. 

I get it: she let herself into his apartment.  She put the camera in his hand.  She put his . . . .  Wow, now I get it.  It is a lily-livered lefty lemming conspiracy (thank you, Lou Dobbs for that phrase) to expose GOP hypocrisy.

Where is the outrage?  Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?  Bueller?