Cold

If you know me well, you know how I feel about cold weather. I'm always cold anyway--I wore a sweater in my office throughout the summer--so I don't particularly look forward to the All Coldness All the Time months. A year or two ago, I found myself making a mental list of the things I actually do like about autumn and winter, so that when I start shivering and my teeth start chattering, I can refer to this list in an attempt to cheer myself up. Happily, it keeps getting longer. I thought I'd share it.


Pumpkins. I like everything about pumpkins. I like their color. I like how there are all different sizes, from the cute little itty bitty ones to giant award-winning insanely heavy ones. I like taking all that gook out from the inside and extracting the seeds and roasting them. I like Jack-o-Lanterns. I like pumpkin-flavored things, from Starbucks's Pumpkin Spice Latte to pumpkin muffins to pumpkin soup. (If desired I will share recipes for Curried Pumpkin Soup and Pumpkin Chocolate Cheesecake Bars.)

Sweaters. Especially the really soft ones.

My trench coat.

My leather gloves. Also, my velvet gloves.

Boots.


Scalding hot showers. Yeah, I know, they are supposed to fry the skin and waste energy. Remember how much I hate winter. This helps me get through it. It's like those magic mood lights, which I should probably use too.

Wood fires.

Hot beverages of all kinds: coffee, tea, chai, etc.

Chili and soup.

My fleece robe. Actually, this comes out all year round to combat winter cold, air conditioning cold, and ice-cream-consuming cold. Yes, I put a robe on over my clothes in order to eat ice cream. Nothing should take away from the joy of ice cream, I say.

Walking in new snow.

Skiing. (Okay, I have not skied in years. But I loved it when I did it. And since I went WAY north to do it, I was able to prove to myself that even I can survive extreme cold if adequately prepared.)

Sledding.

Thanksgiving.

Halloween. My son Pumpkin was born on Halloween. And on Halloween night, the Great Pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch (if it is sufficiently sincere)....

My birthday.

Chanukah. And Christmas, y'know, for the days off.

New Year's Eve.

Not needing to run groceries inside before they perish. In fact, if it's cold enough, you can run your other errands after that one. One year at Thanksgiving, there wasn't room in my refrigerator for the cider that I use to make my famous secret-recipe hot cider. So I just kept it outside. (That won't work every year though. I think it was something like 65 degrees and sunny last Thanksgiving.)



Curling up next to a warm fuzzy dog under a blanket. Or, if I'm lucky, a snuggly child. Or both.





In early February 1987 there was about a foot of snow on the ground at Kennedy airport in New York. At my eventual destination, hours and hours later, it was 85 degrees, sunny, warm. It was not an island in the Carribean. It was Eilat, on the southern tip of Israel. So to conjure up that same feeling of warmth, I give you Israeli proggers Orphaned Land.

Elucidate

Can anyone tell me what this song from way back in '89 is about? It seems a woman named Elisabeth is trying to get a supposedly innocent person out of jail. But, is this based on something that actually happened? Yep, I'm one of those irritating people that always wants to know what the song means. If you ever want to know what any of my songs are really about, I promise to tell you, and not be cryptic or tell you to figure it out for yourself. (That is, unless the song isn't really about anything, and then I might do those annoying things.)



By the way, since I know you are wondering, Nik Kershaw no longer wears his hair in that style. I think he is still that skinny, however. Still mastering the melodies. And he just might still have those boots.

Teshuvah, Tefillah, and Rock 'n Roll

Blogger's Note: This is is less of an essay, and more of a brain dump. I wanted to get into the whole concept of repentance and what is supposed to happen on these High Holidays as we approach Yom Kippur, but there isn't time. Continued discussion is welcome though.

Foreword:

Prepare to be wowed by the depth and profundity of this:


When you get an itch in the middle of your back, G-d makes it so you can reach back and scratch it.
If you can't do that, G-d gives you a back scratcher to help you reach.
If you can't do that, G-d provides you with a trusted friend to scratch your back for you.
If you don't have that, G-d gives you relief with the notion that the itch will eventually subside.
What's that you say? Didn't G-d give you the itch in the first place?
Shut up.

************

I, and about eleven or twelve hundred other people, went to a Porcupine Tree show. (I promise this post is not really about Porcupine Tree.) It was Friday night, Sabbath eve, or Erev Shabbat. And this wasn't just any Shabbat, it was Shabbat Shuva, the Sabbath of Return or Sabbath of Penitence, which always falls between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

For some time, I have lamented letting go of much of my Jewish observance, but it was only recently I started to do anything about it. When it began, it was like a big file drawer was opened in my mind. I was having lots of religious/spiritual memories. Most notably, I could remember Hebrew songs. I remember songs in their entirety that I have not sung in years. I sing them to my kids at night; they love the sound of them even if they don't know what the words mean.

The opening band was King's X, a guitar-rock band that turned out to be a bit of crunchy fun. During their set I was thinking that although I'm not supposed to be here on the Sabbath, G-d is still here, at least in some capacity. So I started saying all the Friday night prayers I could remember. Then I tried to do a bit of teshuvah.

This is the time of year when we are meant to be seeking forgiveness for the wrongs we've done, but there are a number of chances to get it right. In order to improve yourself in the eyes of G-d and possibly transform the severity of whatever G-d has planned for you in the year to come, it is said that you must do teshuvah, tefillah, and tzedakah; repentance, prayer, and charity or good deeds. So I did what I could there in the midst of screaming guitars and pounding drums. I did feel the presence of G-d.

Recently, I was suffering from an ailment that causes a very uncomfortable symptom. (This is not strictly a female ailment, but I think it is more common in women.) The symptom seemed to continue even after I started the antibiotics, and I worried that maybe I had something more severe. I didn't so much pray, but thought to myself that if this symptom would go away, I could handle any of the usual life crap I typically complain about.

So G-d challenged me. He took the symptom away, but gave me a couple of emotionally challenging situations to deal with instead. The first of these was a bad thing, but one that I had some control and influence over.

Just after Rosh Hashanah, my son Einstein's asthma became exascerbated, and I took him to the emergency room. It turned out he had pneumonia. Of course I would have taken my discomfort over his. But I could comfort him, get him water, tell him how brave he was, advocate for him, make his stuffed animals do goofy things so that he'd laugh, rub his back until he slept. He's better now.

The PT set began. It seemed G-d was still there. I tried to listen and hear everything.

"But after a while
You realize
Time flies
And the best thing that you can do
Is take whatever comes to you...."

The life crap, regular or unusual, can get you down. I am good at pulling myself out of a funk, but lately I feel myself getting pretty low. It has made "proper" teshuvah difficult. But you do what you can. There are methods, and rituals to follow, but it really all comes down to finding a way to have the presence of mind, and the desire.

"Silence is another way/To say the things I want to say." Maybe G-d is hearing me even when I'm not doing it right. Help me do it right, I thought. The next morning I could not get to synagogue, but I said the Sabbath morning prayers, with the Shabbat Shuvah bits added in, in my pajamas.

"Down in my soul you are..."
My left hand held on firmly to my right arm. I may have been in a crowd, but I was keeping myself company. Maybe forgiving myself.

A little teshuvah and a little tefillah in an unlikely place. I have the hand-stamp to prove it.

A Little Waste of Space

I'd planned on rounding up and riding out the hard news and other randomness from the past few months, in typical noncohesive fashion, and then appending a piece on my thoughts on Rosh Hashanah, which is almost upon us. Unfortunately, I did not have time for the write-read-edit-revise-lather-rinse-repeat process that such a post would require. For now, I send you l'shana tova wishes, and sweetness all around, and please check back for the deeper spiritual stuff. The following starts of kind of serious, but gets lighter and skippier as you go.

June 2: 12tequilas is extremely happy, having had a great appointment (routine) with the gut surgeon yesterday (and those of you with IBD know what I'm talking about). Her good mood was only slightly diminished when opening the paper and finding out that a 14-year-old boy in the neighboring county was killed as a result of unprovoked gang violence perpetrated by kids the same age.

Does this happen to you? When I was getting ready to go out with friends to celebrate turning 21, a friend called to tell me that the U.S. had just dropped some big ol' bombs on Baghdad. Good thing the restaurant in which I was ceremonially carded had big screen TVs, so we could all hear what George Bush Sr. had to say about commencing Operation Desert Storm on my birthday. I just did not want to know about it right then.


More recently, I was happy about accomplishing something and was kind of floating and smiley about it. In fact, a person I greatly respect called me "intrepid," which is a descriptor I'd never before enjoyed. Then I was informed that some asshole was shooting people at the Holocaust Museum. The first thought that popped into my head was "I don't want to know about this right now." I may have said it out loud. And then I burst into tears at my desk, because I felt terrible for having that thought.


June 15: A letter to advice columnist Amy Dickinson complained about the appropriateness of housewarming gifts after telling guests she wasn't expecting gifts. "I don't want to complain," she writes, "but I don't think liquor is an appropriate housewarming gift. I think it's a husband-warming gift, and the wife is left out in the cold!" Um, did I miss some rule that only women drink? If so, I'm in trouble.

This woman and her husband were trying to replace all their old and worn out stuff after they bought a new house. So they thought they'd have a housewarming party and ended up with booze. Although wine might be a slightly better choice, I thought it was funny that she made a general statement to the effect that a gift of liquor is only for the husband. (It also depends on the kind of liquor, have you ever tried Godiva? It's like dessert, really.)


July 8: 12tequilas here with the hard news. I had something quite hard really about how they're going to close a bunch of I-95 rest stops in Virginia, the learning of which made me really have to pee all of a sudden, but then I came upon a debate about ice cream, which taught me that there are some people who place cones above ice cream in importance, and others that don't like ice cream at all (-gasp!-).

A close relative commented thusly: "Here is my $2 (2 cents raised for inflation). My local ice cream shop, (which I will now shamelessly advertise, I should get paid for this) Bruster's makes their own waffle cones and their own ice cream. A single scoop in a waffle cone is huge compared to a single scoop in anything including the waffle bowl. The waffle bowl is, is by the way, very good dipped in chocolate. Make sure that when you get said cone you also get the plastic "cone"-shaped holder. If your cone is flawed, ask for a bowl. If you do not, you will drop ice cream on your lap and then have sticky, yet yummy, mess to clean up. (And your clothing will be stained beyond repair, especially if said ice cream is of the chocolate variety)."

She also asked: "if the government closes rest stops on 95, where are people supposed to pee? Men have it easier than us women. I think the person who wants to close the rest stops is probably a man and doesn't care about where the women pee!"

I explained that apparently the rest stops were built before there were all those McDonald'ses. Supposedly the distance between McDonald'ses is not very long. If you've ever been to a Virginia rest stop, however, you'll know it ain't the same. Close Relative recommended WaWa. Their bathrooms are "OK," she said. "Plus you can make your own milkshake or smoothie there. Not in the bathroom though."


I'd like to share this column from July 13. In it, John Kelly gripes about having to change his password all the time, but shares some interesting tips for repeatedly coming up with passwords you'll remember.


July 22: 12tequilas here with the hard (and crunchy) news. A class action lawsuit has been filed against PepsiCo, parent of Quaker, maker of Cap'n Crunch cereal and its spinoff, Crunch Berries. The suit accuses the defendant of All Sorts of Torts, stemming from the main wrong of deceiving customers into believing that Crunch Berries contains fruit. (Update: the case was dismissed. Try to contain your shock.)


July 30: 12tequilas here with the hard news. President Obama drinks Bud Light. Really, what more do you need to know?


On August 6, 12tequilas broke a rule. The rule is: never buy candy corn when it is not Halloween. Most of her FB friends aren't big fans of candy corn apparently, and Close Relative was actually concerned by this news. However, on August 11, 12tequilas looked at the package again and saw that the fourth ingredient is "honey." She instantly realized that candy corn is healthy. Just like ice cream your child doesn't finish has no calories.

More recently, 12tequilas visited Bed, Bath & Beyond (remembering Peter Griffin's advice to "stay away from that 'Beyond' section"), and noticed that they carried a Candy Corn Party Tray with all different colors and flavors! Even better, they have THIS. Shot glasses, made out of ice. She could probably die happy now.


August 19: 12tequilas likes it when awesome people admit to weakness. From today's WP: "'There are many times where even I, at certain points in the evening, after a few drinks, can't pronounce my own surname.' -- Ukrainian actress Milla Jovovich, 33, to Britain's Daily Express."


Last, my personal favorite--August 26: 12tequilas here with the hard and righteous news. It was reported on an in-depth radio news program this morning that Mel Gibson's estranged wife Robyn got some good stuff in the split, including the property containing Gibson's "breakaway" church (he had to create his own because no church is Catholic enough). Rumor has it that Robyn is thinking of razing the chapel to build some guest homes. But more importantly, the radio people were all wondering how Gibson could claim to be beyond the most Catholic of all Catholics, and then get his mistress pregnant and divorce his wife. They agreed that the Jews must be blamed.

King of the Ladies

(Or: World's Worst Mother Update)



It's a bit difficult to grocery-shop with kids. Despite that, if I shop by myself, I find that I miss them. So I instituted some rules to try and make the process easier. I ask the boys to recite the rules each time we walk into the store ... where they proceed to break each and every one of them. But I figure one day they'll stick.

"What are the rules of the grocery store?" I ask. "Don't run away from Mommy!" Einstein will say. "Don't grab things off the shelves!" Pumpkin will say. "No one pushes the cart but Mommy!" "No yelling!" Sometimes they make up their own. "Don't talk to strangers unless Mommy says it's okay!" That one's not specific to the store, but it's a good one anyway.

A few weeks back they kids learned a new rule before we even went into the store. That rule is: avoid confrontation.

The parking lot for this supermarket has your usual layout--rows of spaces you can zig-zag up and down. There are also spaces along the back of the lot, facing out toward the street. On this particular day I turned down the car down one parking aisle and decided it was simpler to just head straight to the back. I did that, but as I was putting the car in park I noticed a car moving slowly behind ours, perpendicular. It had come around the perimeter as I was headed down the middle, and in a flash I realized that I may have gone right for the space without looking to the sides as I crossed over the perimeter access, and nearly ran into the crossing car.


In my rear view I could see the car behind ours inching forward. The man driving it was looking in my direction, and although he was wearing dark sunglasses, I could sense the accusatory stare behind them, and I could tell he wanted to impart his unhappiness. I waited. The kids asked why I wasn't getting out of the car. "Okay..." I said, to my windshield. "Just keep going..." The kids were confused, of course. I explained that the driver was mad at me and that I really did not want to talk to him. To them this seemed completely appropriate. Eventually the driver moved on, and parked at the other side of the lot. I whipped the kids out of the car as quickly as I could, just in case he came back to yell at me.

Moral: If you almost cause an accident, play dumb, and use your kids as a buffer whenever possible.

**************************************************************************

Holding hands and skipping is a great workout for the shins. It will also improve your mood, guaranteed.

**************************************************************************


There is nothing like ascending an escalator toward a little boy standing there with his arms stretched out in front of him, waiting patiently for you to reach the top.

**************************************************************************

Pumpkin made a crown at school, and he was planning to sleep with it on his head. "So I can be king while I sleep," he explained. But then he changed his mind, took it off and handed it to me. I put it on my head. Pumpkin looked at me for a moment and then declared, "You're King of the Ladies!"

*************************************************************************

And a WWM bonus:

"Mama!" from somewhere else in the house.

"WHAT?!?!?!" said in an annoyed and exasperated tone, conveying how tired I am of being called for the 900th time while I'm trying to make dinner.

"I love you."

Yesterday Upon the Stair I Met a Man Who Wasn't There

(He wasn't there again today.
I wish that man would go away.)

I thought this ad was enormously funny and had to share it with you. Not sure what that says about me, but...

Soothing the Savage

I am going to defocus this blog even more now, by spinning a post off of the comments in the last post, which had very little to do with that post itself, but in any case got me thinking. Probably no one was paying attention, but there was a little debate about music, and eventually, we took it outside, so to speak. But now I feel like I have to backpedal, and get off my high horse, and some other clichés. I had suggested that anyone who listened to Porcupine Tree would be certain to love it, and of course that is just not true.


Porcupine Tree is a progressive rock band--or, as it is more commonly known among fans, a "prog" band. Prog is tough to define, and, as always happens when people are passionate about something, there is much disagreement over the definition. There are also a number of subgenres of prog to further confuse things (progmetal! neoprog! goth prog! classic prog!), but generally prog rock is characterized by experimentation, ununsual time signatures, sometimes unusual instruments or unusual ways of playing standard instruments, departure from pop and rock formulas, and songs of epic length (think old Genesis). Prog is an underground thing--dare I say it, a cult thing. It takes very little time for the 1,000-seat theatre at Lehigh University to sell out for the North East Art Rock festival (NEARfest) which took place last month. Many are willing to spend quite a bit for a Patron ticket to ensure their spot for NEARfest, because these people are serious.


But if you ask the person to the left of you and the person to the right of you, chances are neither one of them has heard of prog. That's because not only is prog sort of an acquired taste, you have to want to acquire it. Every once in a while a new person gets introduced and they realize that they've been missing something all their lives. But this is rare. So I was being unfair to expect that this would miraculously occur for all or even a few of my wonderful readers.

(Lest you think that you've never heard of a single prog band, there are a number of them that have made it to the mainstream that might be familiar to you. Examples are Pink Floyd, Rush, and Yes.)

I'm still a little surprised that anyone wouldn't like "Lazarus," the song that was the subject of the last post, being such an emotive and lovely song and all. But I know, we all like different things. My children think the live-action Scooby-Doo films are just as great as the animated material, which I couldn't disagree with more. A family member once described The Simpsons as "stupid," and a part of me died. I guess I just have to get over it...

Although I am a prog fan, I'm not a nutty exclusively prog listener. That should be obvious if you've been following along. To show you that I'm not just about the esoteric, I'm going to link to something that is almost on the other end of the musical spectrum from Porcupine Tree. Check out the Web site for Grey Eye Glances. This is a folkish pop band. What I love about the site is they have a page with actual entire songs, not just clips, to listen to. Or you can go to the sampler page, which has a few of these songs chosen to be introductory. It so happens that two of the members of Grey Eye Glances also play in the prog band echolyn, but obviously they couldn't live by marble rye alone. Some of the songs are just plain fun, some are a bit haunting, I love the musicianship and harmonies, and I can sort of sound almost as good as their singer if I really try. In other words, GEG is singable. Let me know what you think.

Let's swing back again for a sec. Spock's Beard is a prog band, generally thought of by the oxymoron "mainstream prog." Those who judge books by their covers will certainly have things to say about this band's name. But if they sound good, who cares?

For something different, again, I'm repeating the plug for Chris Cornell's album "Scream." I may have turned some people away from it by posting the "Part of Me" video in an earlier entry. It's not the best song in the bunch, and the video is useless unless you happen to think Chris Cornell is sexy (ahem). But the album is really funkin' groovy. It's cheer-up music at its best: the perfect mix of angry and fun. No further YouTubing here; I'll leave that one up to you.



Back on this post I said I might post some more of the short films from Alphaville's Songlines collection. This one is actually more like a music video, in that it feels as if there's no true ending to the story, but again, no band members, just real live ACTORS. I love turning this song up in the car just for the explosive riff that starts it off--a devastatingly beautiful piece of noise that unfortunately gets cut off in the vid--and my son Pumpkin now makes requests for "the LOUD song." Fortunately, I never get sick of it.



I could go on and on, flitting about the musical omniverse, making you start looking around for my mute button. I haven't even touched kids'-music-that's-good-for-adults, timeless classic rock, the 80s music you won't admit you liked, etc. I'm currently creating a sort of ultimate playlist that spans my life and includes all the songs that ever had any significance to me. I promise not to post it (unless you ask, of course). But, I have more tales to tell of the world's worst mother, so watch this space.