I’ve written often about the ways life changes as your kids grow up and become adults. We are blessed that both of ours have brought us so much joy. This public accomplishment is really just icing on the cake; moment by moment is where the real wonder comes. Even so, how could I not post it here?
The man on the right is my older son Josh. Speaking at E3! (The annual video game trade show in LA) On G4 TV. About Fable II, a game he has been working on for a very long time. How cool is that?
We bought the kite for the four-year-old in this picture, in his father’s arms* We’re right outside Kitty Hawk and all of us are climbing the dune to watch the ("Oh my, it looks just like the very first airplane!") kite take to the air in the same sorts of breezes that aided the real plane 105 years ago in a spot near here. We’ve been here on the Outer Banks of North Carolina for 4 days and have established a lazy rhythm, somewhat altered by Wednesday’s wanderings not only to a "kids day" at a local kite store but also to the very scene of the Wright Brothers’ flight.
Our young friend has been beyond excited. The kite store was festooned with models suspended above our heads. The first airplane! A biplane! Jets and propellers and passenger planes and military planes and photos and puzzle boxes with still more. Small children, particularly, it seems, small boys, love airplanes (and dinosaurs) and our young companion is no exception. It’s wonderful to to watch him explode with joy at the small pleasure of a store display. And then to cross the highway to the dunes and see his own new possession take to the air. Oh – and to reassure him that the aspiring hang-gliding students one dune beyond will not fly over and tangle themselves in our kite strings.
Nearby is the official Wright Brothers National Memorial; we went there, too. It’s remarkable to see, this plain, very effective museum, marking with simple stones the small distances that set off the revolution that enabled us to move from a flight of 120 feet to the landing of a man on the moon in just 66 years. Remarkable too to go with this wonderful, ecstatic 4-year-old and his family and wonder, 66 years from now, what their world will be. How much farther will we have flown and whose ingenuity and inspired curiosity will have taken us there? Perhaps our young friend will lead his own airborne, or space-borne, leap forward. One of the great gifts of sharing days like this with little kids is the reminder of all the possibilities to come, no matter how tough or grim the future may appear. Another, of course, is that it’s just plain wonderful to spend time with gifted parents and their spectacular, curious, eager and lively kids.
Tonight we pack up the food and the clothes and the toys and prepare to drive back to Washington in time for a dinner honoring, among others, my husband and me. Both of the wonderful kite-flying families who joined us here are returning early, surrendering part of their precious beach time, in order to be there with us for the event. And our kids are coming – the biggest treat possible. So right now, at 4:30 on a Thursday morning, I’m just sitting in a deserted living room in a North Carolina beach house, counting the blessings of family and friends and every happy memory past, current or still to come — and wishing, for those children of ours, and our dear friends here, the same pile of wonderful moments we’ve known and hope to know. Good morning to you, too.
*As always, I won’t share his name or anyone’s identifiable photo to respect their privacy.
NOTICE: YOU MAY NEED INSULIN TO READ THIS – IT IS REALLY SAPPY — CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED
Right now, I’m crying. Not just teary, crying. Right now, the third time I’ve been to this moment. It’s so embarrassing that until I complete this post I don’t even know if I’ll ever let you see it. Why such emotion on a sunny day so close to my birthday? Over a television show? The final epsiode of one that went off the air in 2006. One that’s about witches?
If, like me, you never paid much attention to CHARMED, appearing on the now-defunct and youth-oriented WB – about three sisters who are witches and who have witchy powers including, when acting together with the “power of three”, to best Ultimate Evil (I know, I know), let me tell you a bit about them. I’ve written about them before – when I first found them two years ago and again almost a year ago, after a wedding whose ritual reminded me of theirs, even though in theirs families gather from across the divide between living and dead. As I wrote then:
On my favorite guilty pleasure, Charmed, rituals of birth and marriage are attended not only by those who share the lives and loves of the Halliwell sisters (yeah they’re witches and their story spent 8 TV seasons enchanting us all) but also by those who came before. They summon, “through space and time” all members of “the Halliwell line.” Surrounded by these translucent figures of past
generations, today’s Halliwells celebrate marriages and new arrivals. Those fully and those ephemerally present conclude together “blessed be.”What does this have to do with Jewish weddings — or any other terrestrial weddings for that matter? A lot. Eight years on the air, the longest running show with female leads, it dealt often with travel through time and space and dominions never imagined. But when really important events arose, all the magic was supplanted by a single, simple spell that basically –well — brought the family together.
I just looked the show up on Wikipedia and discovered that it went off the air on my 60th birthday – having run from October 7, 1998 to May 21, 2006. My
husband, when he’s in psychiatrist mode, talks about “anniversary reactions” – when we experience deep feelings but can’t quite figure out where they come from. Sometimes, they have to do with the occurrence of anniversaries we haven’t even noticed have arrived. In this case, though, I didn’t know the year the show ended, much less the date. In fact, I was in Paris with my family to celebrate this 60th birthday landmark on that day and didn’t even notice the demise of the long-running series. In fact, I first discovered it, in re-runs, airing as I worked in my office. I used it to keep me company (believe it or not, it’s on four hours a day – two in the morning and two in the afternoon.) Didn’t know a thing about the show or its success.
I got an earful from one of my sons when I asked though, who claimed that the show caused plenty of fights with his (then) girlfriend. Apparently, it was on at the same time as the Simpsons and every week was a negotiation.
But for me it’s somehow more than that. These three sisters, and their powers, are deeply moving. Their battles and solidarity, their humor and courage, their conviction that they could literally save the world from evil (p.s., they did) all resonated in a very weird way. Still do.
Hence the tears. The final episode, as the post-show future unfolds, feels like my own life. Endings. Loving farewells. The (hopefully) gratification of recognizing a life at least partially well-lived. The kids and their kids and an idyllic togetherness among sisters and their husbands and their children and their destiny. A lot to hope for and, I guess, as my own life moves forward, something to cry about.
We went to Long Beach Island, off the Jersey shore, a few weeks ago. I’ve been there often but never before May — it was still winterish there, hardly anything open and just lovely. We came with friends for my husband’s birthday — four adults and four little kids. It’s so much fun to be there with little people searching the beach for shells in their parkas and climbing all over the furniture. We took them to Barnegat Light — a 150 year old lighthouse I’ve loved since I was a kid.
It was a 20 minute walk in very cold weather, everyone excited about seeing a real live lighthouse. Somehow anything, no matter how many times you’ve seen it, looks brand new when you see it with small children. When it’s new to them, it becomes new to you too.
It was, according to my husband, a perfect birthday. Much of the credit for that goes to the friends who came with us, who wrote and performed a song for him as a gift because "you have too much stuff already" and, in so many ways have taken us into their lives with love. I just posted a meditation on being a ‘fake grandmother" on the SV Moms "over 50" blog, where I’m a new contributor. It’s such a peculiar privilege – hanging out with preschoolers in that easy way that can only happen with frequent contact.
Continue reading TO THE LIGHTHOUSE – LOVING THE JERSEY SHORE — AND A BIRTHDAY
Well here they are. My two boys some years ago, on a boat someplace in Germany. This photo is probably 20 years old; it’s from one of many wonderful trips covering territory all the way from Israel to Hawaii. Each was an adventure, enriched by the presence of these two little (and later bigger) boys, as were all our days. Most visitors to the baby shower know that I’m the sentimental one – not able ever to be as arch and irreverent as many of my sister bloggers. SO CONSUMER ALERT — this is mostly a riff on the treat it is to watch your two kids grow, change, interact, fight, become real friends, care for one another and grow up to travel together and meet up to go to concerts.
When I was pregnant with my second son, I was afraid that I could never love another child. The delight we felt with our first son was so complete that I wasn’t sure whether there was room in my heart for another. That summer, as we awaited his brother’s arrival, I insisted that our son, my husband and I – go to the beach to have a last vacation with "just the three of us." It was going to be tough to get used to dividing my time so I wanted one more golden moment with just one.
It was the year The Muppet Movie came out, and I remember sitting on the little deck outside the beach cabin we’d rented, my son in my lap, playing The Rainbow Song on the boom box we’d brought with us, just about overcome with emotion. Listen to it – if it doesn’t get to you I don’t know what will.
"Some day we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreams and me." So sentimental but absolutely perfect for my pregnant, hormonal self.
And then he arrived – this little, amazing, intense infant, and as soon as I saw him I knew all the worry was for nothing. Of course you can’t love an abstraction as much as a little blond sweetie who loves Kermit and Ernie and Bert — and you. Once that abstraction arrives though, he’s as real and exciting and mysterious and loving as his big brother. As each of their personalities emerged so did their differences, but each revealed a piece of them. Each individual talent and temperment and allergy and grace reminded us of the unique treasure that each of them was to us. So here are 10.5 thoughts on the question at hand – moving from one child to two:
Continue reading A BIT OF BABY SHOWER WISDOM FOR MOTHERS OF TWO
This message is coming to you from Don’t Gel Too Soon blogging HQ (pictured to your left.) I am fortunate to participate in a Blogging Boomers Carnival – and this week — week number 67, I’m the host(ess.)
You’ll find links and descriptions of posts by all my fellow Carnivalites; they’re a diverse, talented group, so knock yourself out.
Gloria Steinem used to say her greatest fear was ending up a bag lady. For many of the rest of us, it’s ending up in a house full of old newspapers and unmatched socks. Rhea Becker at The Boomer Chronicles has some interesting information on hoarding.
Is popular culture your thing? I Remember JFK’s Ron Enderland has a nice piece about changes in TV as the 70s rolled around, and a show called Hee Haw (you had to be there.) It’s a great slice of media history with a personal touch.
Those two glamor queens at Fabulous After 40, Deborah Boland and JoJami Tyler are all about great spring outfits (and shoes!) Who says over 40 has to mean out of style?
On a more serious note, John Agno over at So Babyboomer, tell us that "Companies and government agencies have long anticipated the "retirement brain drain"—-the tidal wave of Baby Boomers starting to leave the workforce. Will the
place whereyou work continue to thrive when Baby Boomers retire and take their
knowledge with them?
**For some reason, this post by the great Janet Wendy of GenPlus just arrived – even though she sent it last week! So be sure and read it! In honor of Earth Day/Month/Year, she focuses on how we can have a brighter planet by taking a cue from www.BrighterPlanet.com and their carbon offset visa card. Their site is a must-visit and read for any responsible earthling.
And from Ann Harrison at Contemporary Retirement, tips on ways to thrive on a more personal level: How are your first aid skills? Would you know what to do if
someone severed a finger? How about a sprained ankle – would you apply heat or
a cold pack? If you’re not sure, head over to Contemporary Retirement and
discover the top 10 first aid mistakes.
If you want to give some first aid to your relationships with others, stop at The Midlife Crisis Queen’s blog and learn How to be an Adult in Relationships.
My own post, appearing just below this one, is about the Clinton-Obama race and its relationship to 1968.
Hope you’ve enjoyed all these great ideas as much as I have….
NOTE: This post was set in advance to automatically go up Sunday afternoon and was created well before the closing days of Passover.
I used to love Passover. The politics of freedom, the story of courage and redemption, the miracle of the Red Sea and the great songs — all wonderful. We had nursery school matzoh covers that the kids had made, lots of stories and family and friends around and a general great time. Once each year. And then the holiday was over. There was no preparation beyond the cooking.
But that was then.
Now that we are living our kosher, observant life, things are pretty different. And exhausting. In the first place, the holiday is two days long at each end with, I think, five days in between. This year, it started Saturday night at sundown, with the first Seder (the word means "order" and it’s a ritual meal telling the Passover story). There are services Sunday then many people have company for lunch. We went home to crash because that night there is a second Seder! This year, since Friday night is the beginning of the Sabbath, that means that from Friday night until Monday night we couldn’t use computers, read email, drive, turn lights on and off etc. There are reasons for it; honoring the commandment to celebrate the liberation of the Jewish people is a wonderful privilege. It’s just so much work!
If you’re Orthodox you have to clean the house (well, we’d probably do a spring cleaning anyway) to get rid of any crumbs or other chometz (bread-related stuff). The toaster has to go (crumbs = chometz). The coffee machine has to go (to be replaced by one that has used Kosher for Passover coffee only.) You have to swap out all your dishes and pots. I’m having artichokes on one of the meals I’m serving and just realized I have no ramekins to put the dip stuff into because they are used the rest of the year. Gonna have to figure that one out…. And I haven’t even told you about all the food that’s not legit and how you need special spices labeled Kosher for Passover and they don’t make Passover curry powder or tarragon or even decent mustard.
Anyway it’s a pain. I began this post in a snit but now it’s three days later, the first days are over, everything is done and I feel better. The last thing, the hanging pot rack, is covered by a sheet (so scenic – here it is.) Here’s why: all the non-Passover stuff has to either be isolated or out of the room. It’s really tough, and heavy, to take all my fancy Calphalon pots off the racks and down to the basement so this is the solution I’ve come up with. The other stuff not in the basement is in cabinets that are taped shut . The remaining kitchen storage is jammed with Passover-ready tools and foods. What’s not in there is piled on the counters because there’s no place else to put it.
I’m in a real work mode so it’s been doubly tough to pay respectful, thorough attention to this this year — only our second living in a kosher home as observant Jews. But it’s done. And now, I’ve just been struggling to get past the prep anxiety that was waking me up at night and into the holiday itself. OH and not end up obsessing about where we’re invited for lunch and who’s coming to our house and….
Even so, I can still summon the thrill of remembering the remarkable past and recovery the Jewish people experienced – leaving Egypt and so many times since. (if you don’t count that pesky Golden Calf thing.) And remember that it’s our tradition to honor freedom and tell the story every year – like Camelot.
Ask ev’ry person if he’s heard the story,
And tell it strong and clear if he has not,
That once there was a fleeting wisp of glory
Called Camelot.
Even more than Arthur’s though, our story is informed with a moral depth that can be obscured by all this crazy kitchen-cleaning. Think of the Ten Commandments – the second time they appear.
“‘Observe the Sabbath day, to keep it holy, as the Lord your God commanded you. 13 Six days you shall labor and do all your work, 14 but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord
your God. On it you shall not do any work, you or your son or your
daughter or your male servant or your female servant, or your ox or
your donkey or any of your livestock, or the sojourner who is within
your gates, that your male servant and your female servant may rest as
well as you. 15 You shall remember that you were a slave [3] in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. Therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day.*
That’s how it gets me. At each Seder, Saturday and Sunday nights, we read the story of the abuses against the Jews and the miraculous escape – and are reminded that, as we deal with others, we must never forget that we once were slaves too – particularly in our dealings with those who work for or serve us. Beyond that, concern for others informs the entire service. This appears near the beginning:
This is the bread of affliction which our ancestors ate in the land
of Egypt. Let all who are hungry, come and eat. Let all who are needy,
come and partake of the Pascal lamb. Now we are here; next year may we
be in the Land of Israel. Now we are slaves; next year may we be free
men. You could, of course, complain about the "free men" phrase but that was thousands of years ago, and the sentiment, in my view, transcends gender.
So there you have it. It is an honor to live with such values and messages even though, my friends tell me, the aggravation arrives every year, with the Seder. Like so many parts of this still-new life we are living, there’s much asked of us, not only spiritually but also logistically. But, like so many parts of this still-new life we are living, what emerges amid the crankiness is a sense of pride, and meaning, and peace.
*Thanks to my friend Aliza for this insight – she is a true thinker and teacher.
The three bears went for a walk and there was a little girl and her name was Goldilocks from all the dolls and they went for walk and they walked and walked (dancing walk demonstrated here) and then she sit on one of the chairs and it was too hard. And then she tried the medium one and it was too slowwww and then she found the baby one and she rocked and rocked and rocked and she fell down and the chair broke. And her tushie got hurt so she needed to go in bed And she walked and walked up the stairs and then they did something and then she ate her porridge and then she "this bed was too hard" and then "that bed was medium" and "this bed was just right." And the three bears went home and said "who has been eating my porridge?" And the Poppa said (very loud deep voice, with facial expressions to match) "WHO’S BEEN EATING MY PORRIDGE?" Then Poppa Bear said "WHO’S BEEN SLEEPING IN MY BED?" and then Baby Bear said "THERE SHE IS NOW!!!" and she left her shoes and ran away. And she also…..
Dad can I go outside???
(NOTE: Elana woke up early Sunday and she and I were visiting and looking out at the ocean while I worked on my computer. As Elana was leaning over my laptop in great interest her father came upstairs and suggested she "tell Cindy a story and maybe she’ll put it on her blog." So she did. And I did.)
I once had the opportunity to interview BB King. In preparation, I brought his latest album home and played it for my sons. The older, then around 5, asked me "Why is this man named King mommy. Pete Seeger is the king of music, right?*" Well, how do you answer that? Our boys grew up on the Weavers, the Almanac Singers, Pete and Arlo at Carnegie Hall… all rich with wonderful songs (with pretty wonderful values) for children. I asked my husband, no folkie, why he didn’t complain about the "noise" – and in fact joined us every Thanksgiving at Carnegie Hall to hear Pete and later Pete and Arlo. He said (I’m paraphrasing here) "It’s offering them something whole to believe in. Even if they don’t always believe it – they’ll understand the feeling of believing – and always seek it." As far as I can tell, that worked.
Rerack a few years though — to the Vietnam war, when songs like this informed some of my earliest political ideas.
In fact, Pete has been a hero of mine for more than 40 years (How is that possible?) As I sit watching the AMERICAN MASTERS documentary on his life, I can’t stop thinking about all the hope, idealism and dreams tied up in his music – at least in my life — and, for a time, the lives of my sons. Seeger always has believed that music has infinite power; his own music made us believe that we could bring about the world we dreamed of. I’m embarassed by how much I long for those feelings; it’s probably one reason Barack Obama and his young supporters interest me so much – they remind me of…. ME. Pretty feeble, isn’t it? To still be whining about long-lost days and dreams. Most of all, to feel such rage and sadness at what we weren’t able to do for our children; we leave them a world, in many ways, so much tougher than the one we inherited.
Pete, though, would hate such talk. I once met him, around the time that there were civil rights battles raging in the old Chicago Back of the Yards neighborhoods that Saul Alinsky helped to organize. I asked him if it didn’t bother him that the residents there revealed attitudes so contrary to what had been fought for — for them — just a generation ago. His response "No. When people are empowered they have the right to want what they want. If we believe in empowerment we have to accept that too." NOT a usual man, Mr. Seeger.
The music was more than a transmission of values though — from "A Hole in My Bucket" to Union Maid. It was our family soundtrack. One of my kids was watching WOODSTOCK while he was in college, and was astonished to hear Joan Baez singing Joe Hill – and to recognize it from when he was little (this is a bad YOUTUBE version; the proportions are off, but just listen..
In our house, that old labor song had been a lullaby. I’d learned it from Pete’s concerts. Recently, so many years from those lullabies, another family favorite presented us with a great, rolicking tribute to this remarkable man. I wanted to end with a more of this (way too) sentimental tribute to Pete, but the joy of watching another generation up out of their seats in song is probably a better way to end. Right?
*He went on to become an enormous BB King (and Albert, for that matter) fan, for the record.
We leave Jerusalem for the airport in two hours and I don’t even know if it’s worth going to sleep. It’s almost midnight here and and cab is coming at 2 AM. So much has happened that I’ve been too tired to write most of it down. I guess I’d better chronicle it somehow though.
This was one of my favorite moments of our trip. It’s almost dawn at the Kotel (Western Wall of the old Temple) and a young boy and his father prepare for morning prayers. This day is the first that he will "lay tefillin "– wear the special prayer objects on his arm and forehead to follow the commandments by placing reminders on the arm and "between thine eyes" – on his forehead. They’ve chosen to celebrate this very significant pre-Bar Mitzvah moment in the early morning – a sunrise service where the Amidah – a critical prayer – is recited just as the dawn arrives. A loving and very impressive family of four girls, two boys and two remarkable parents, they all joined to offer moral support and presence to someone they love as he takes this first step to what I guess you’d call "religious adulthood."
I know the photo is blurry but I don’t like to show faces of other people’s families — they deserve their privacy. I just want you to know how lovely it was. An animated and intelligent young man, his father at his side – his sisters, mom, cousins, friend – and a couple of us — watching him make his way. I told his mom, whom I very much admire, that it was a privilege to be there. Probably sounds like hogwash but it isn’t – watching all this take place as the sun rose to illuminate us all was a true blessing.
Of course we couldn’t watch everything because much of the ceremony took place on the "men’s side" of the mehitza (divider between men and women) where we weren’t allowed to be. We peeked through fence dividers though, so we did get to see a bit. I’ve been living a fairly observant, Orthodox life for a couple of years now, moving forward month by month, holiday by holiday, and I continue to be amazed at the levels of intolerance I manifested before I learned about observant life from the inside. Days like this one remind me of how much of the world we can’t judge without living it – or at least being willing to come along as others do. This day was a perfect example of that.
That same day, a cousin of the family at the Kotel invited me to visit the school her kids attend – K-8 – near the town of Efrat, on the grounds of a kibbutz called Rosh Tzurim.
Founded by an amazing woman named Noah Mandelbaum, it began as an effort to accommodate a single Downs child by mainstreaming him, along with a special teacher, in a "regular" classroom. It was so successful that within months she had 4, then 6, then finally, so many kids that she launched a school where such mainstreaming would be policy. This photo shows the school in action. There are many classrooms for Downs, autistic and other developmentally affected kids study alongside the rest of the class. I didn’t want to take photos there and distract them. In this nursery class is another phase of the program. The young woman whose back is to us is fairly seriously compromised but she is permanent staff in the classroom and is learning to be a preschool aide able to get a job and work outside the school. That smiling girl in the blue sweater is today’s "guest" – another child with serious developmental issues who will work in the classroom for the day. The program helps these young people find a place of their own in the world – and teach all the kids at Reshit School the value of every human person.
This is Noah, the school’s founder. Surrounding her is part of the farm where every child – "normal" and otherwise, works each day – together. You can see the colors, the free-form murals – all the stuff that reminds me of schools we all dreamed of in the 60s. In many ways the tone of this school is similar – but this is a real "put your money where your mouth is" environment. Parents have to believe that the things their kids learn here are more important than super-competitive environments where the only standard is how far their children are from the next step on the ladder. Learning to be moral, caring human beings is an actual mission here.
The kids are pretty free (it’s kind of Summerhillish), across ability spectrum, and the curriculum is designed to allow each to learn in her own style at her own speed. When I asked Noah about kids like mine, who had needed and appreciated structure, knowing what was going to come next, her reply was startling in its good sense. Basically – and I’m paraphrasing here – the idea is that "for some kids, especially more intelligent ones, that may be true. But for kids with less ability it is especially important that they learn to live without an institutional structure every minute because the world doesn’t have that kind of structure – and the world is where they will have to live." By the way, after years of fighting with the educational establishment, Reshit has been designated a model and its efforts to mainstream all kinds of kids will be emulated in schools throughout the country.
I have more to write – about exploring ancient tunnels under old Jerusalem and more – but this is enough for now. I’ll try to have the rest in a day or two.