LIFE – Page 43 – Don't Gel Too Soon

Home and Heartache

Yeah, we’re home – and as usual it’s like walking into an electric fan. We landed, unpacked, did laundry, slept (until 3AM) then Rick went back to the airport for a fund-raising trip to California. I’m working on several major projects and wanting to organize for when the boys come home for the holidays. Grocery lists and activity planning in addition to many hours of business obligations.

Lots on my mind. Today a friend told me about the last conversation she had with her father and I was ambushed by a deluge of memories. It’s tough to come to terms with the loss of a parent. Both of mine have been gone for years and there isn’t a day I don’t think of them — and, often, wish I could ask them something – or tell them something — or just feel their love again. I haven’t felt this way in a long time and it surprised me. I just wasn’t expecting the intensity.

I once sent my dad the lyrics to a Judy Collins song about her father. It’s a wonderful evocation of the love between fathers and daughters and the bitter-sweet realization that one’s life will exceed that of a beloved parent. It’s what they’d wish for us but it’s complicated. Anyway there wasn’t a moment of my life when I doubted the love for and faith in me felt by both my parents.

There were also circumstances in my life that led me, in my memory at least, to be less attentive than I wanted to be. I think it will haunt me forever- times when finances or my own parental responsibilities kept me from visits; times when I let my dad tell me not to come because he didn’t want us to "see him like this." — all those things we all wish we’d done differently. I am beginning to think that this is a real issue for me and one I’ve got to get some clarity about.

This is the second time in the space of the 90 days or so I’ve had this blog that my dad has come up and he’s been gone since 1991. Somehow though I’m more at peace with the loss of him. I can summon memories that make me smile and I know that he had a profound and lovely effect on my sons, which adds to my own fond remembrances of him.

My mother, who died in 1998, haunts me though. I know things in her life frustrated her – and that she would have liked to do more in the world outside the house. My husband told both her and me that I was guilty that my arrival had pulled her out of a promising career but she insisted that that was HER choice and I should get over it. That she loved raising the three of us. I don’t doubt that she loved raising her daughters but I also think she needed more than she was able to get in life as a suburban mom. I don’t know – all I know is that I feel a need to be particularly helpful to elderly women on the street, or the bus, or the synagogue steps. As if I can do for her by doing for them. Agh. I don’t know. I’m going to bed to see if I can beat the last of the jet lag. This is too sad.

DEEP IN A DREAM: THE RED TENT

While I was in Jerusalem I went several times to Pardes Institute, a remarkable school to study the Bible, Talmud and commentaries. My husband and I love to study while we’re visiting places; it all seems so much more real – and sinks in more, too. We were there during the week that the story of the rape of Dinah is read on Shabbat. It’s pretty profound and provocative and a wonderful teacher named Rabbi Reuven Grodner taught the class. We were transfixed: the story of the vengeful brothers and their far from vengeful father Jacob is troubling to anyone – but particularly to women.

I remembered that The Red Tent was written in Dinah’s voice, so I decided to read it. I had tried once before but it seemed too overwrought and almost overwritten then. Now though, I find myself more interested in the stories in the Torah — the universality of Bible stories and all they represent — so I stuck it in my suitcase — and once we’d studied the Genesis story of Dinah I pulled it out.

It’s really quite an experience — almost a fever, like The Virgin Suicides. The sisterhood and love among women, the pain of childbirth, the rivalry and particularly the remarkable power author Anita Diamant provides to each of the main characters — is thrilling.

There’s a kind of Biblical interpretation called a Midrash and those that I, as a beginner, have read, are all pretty male-oriented. This book is one big women’s perspective/Midrash full of love, passion, pain, loss, love, birth, death, misery, joy and poetry. Much of it does NOT appear in the Bible but that’s true of the old Midrashim as well. I can’t stop thinking about the women of this book, their lives and stories. I came to love them and their stories — so very very different from the ones the conventional Bible stories tell.

Something there is that doesn’t….

We had a lovely day. It began at the Kotel (Wailing Wall) at 7:30. The guys prayed on their side of the Wall and Lea, the rabbi’s daughter, and I prayed on the women’s side. She’s 7 and knows all the prayers cold – helped me as I’m the newbie and still learning. I don’t want to post her picture for kid privacy reasons but here’s what the scene looked like.

The Men’s Side

The Women’s Side

Then we went wandering. Where?

Sign inside Uri’s Pizza – a tiny hole-in-the-wall that our friend took us to to get caramel jelly donuts (don’t ask!)

We also had a lovely dinner – the whole group — and crashed early. Yeah- lots to talk about about the separation of women and men. Later though. G’nite.

AMERICAN ME

Yesterday I went to appeal a parking ticket. I had not received my tags from the DC government and was ticketed because they were out of date. The DC police are notorious for ticketing marginal cases – I can’t count the number of times I’ve gotten tickets at broken meters or tree-concealed No Parking signs. I work for myself so it costs me money when I go to appeal ; usually I just pay. THIS however was a $100 ticket so there was no alternative.

I was pretty sure they would blow me off. I had an Internet receipt indicating timely payment of the fees but was afraid that wouldn’t matter — after all the adjudicating official probably makes a third of what I make even consulting and I’ve experienced class-like responses in the past. But Ms. Cindy and her snotty preconceptions were foiled, quite wonderfully.

At the desk in the hearing room was Mr. Carter, an African American gentleman with half-glasses, beard, white shirt, tie and a jacket and beret on the coat hook. There were about ten of us sitting around the edges of the small room, in the center of which was a table perpendicular to Mr. Carter’s desk. On his desk: a computer, our pile of appeal documents and a printer. One by one he called us to the chair at the far end of the table. One by one we told our stories. "Guilty with an explanation — the tree hid the no parking sign — I am a transit cop and even though I showed my badge they ticketed me — I drive a construction truck and the lane was marked "construction vehicles only" so the no parking sign did not apply — etc." Each time Mr. Carter read and re-read the ticket – reading the information aloud — then asked for corroborating evidence. Most of us had documents or photos proving our case. One by one he dismissed the tickets – ONE of which he didn’t even rule on because the dates were wrong and therefore the "ticket is defective." Then he called me.

As I sat down he took off his glasses and wiped them on his tie. No good. Held them up to the light. Rolled his chair over to a file cabinet, opened a drawer, opened a zipper case in that drawer, pulled out some eyeglass cleaner, cleaned his glasses, put the cleaner back in the case, put the case back in the drawer, shut the drawer and rolled back to his desk. I though "Oh boy – he’s feeling orderly – he’s going to tell me it’s my fault and I should have gone to pick them up if they hadn’t mailed them in time." He asked for my plea. "Guilty with an explanation." He asked for the explanation – that the tags never arrived. He asked for my evidence. I walked over and gave him the receipt from the date of online payment – well before expiration date.

He read everything carefully — went into his computer. "Damn," I thought, "he’s going to see all those photo speeding (2-5 miles over the limit – for the record) tickets and damn me to ticket hell." Nope.

He looked up. "You did what you were supposed to do. We’re not going to punish you because the government didn’t do what IT was supposed to do. Ticket dismissed." He signed the release and handed it to me. That was it. Done.

NOW. I’m not telling this story because this examiner was so perceptive about my sweet law-abiding self. I sat there during the entire proceeding – with people of varying degrees of education, articulateness, race, dressed-upness and other differences — all free to appeal the actions of their government. For some reason this small proceeding reminded me in a very tangible way what I love about this country even in the midst of its terrible mistakes and what I see as a wrong-headed and disastrous domestic direction: The right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances. [The end of the First Amendment.] Whatever has (in my view) been violated in the past six years, we have that right and most of us take it for granted. For today anyway – thanks to Mr. Carter and the DC Department of Motor Vehicles – that "most of us" does not include me.

WILL YOU STILL NEED ME, WILL YOU STILL….??

My older son used to shave his head. He’d lost lots of hair on top anyway so just shaved all of it off and looked way cool. I used to tease him that he needed an earring too but he said he was his own kind of rebel – being the only person to graduate from his free-spirited university with "no new holes." He’s always been his own self. Very cool, he and his equally groovy brother have kept me up to date with what’s new in music, books, film and world view. They are, honestly, two of the most interesting people I know. But I digress.

Thursday night at a Thanksgiving dinner in his new, very beautiful condo, he started talking casually about his grey hairs. GREY! Then his [younger] brother chimed in about "a couple" that he had. Now this is not easy. If my children have grey hair what does that make me? Not to be selfish or anything but it’s kind of disconcerting.

Aging is inevitable and I’ve been fortunate in my progress along this continuum but when your kids begin to demonstrate the passage of time you have to take a deep breath and accept it. I just read a piece in the New York Times about Baby Boomers refusal to join AARP. I can relate to that. My PARENTS belonged to AARP. No thanks.

Yeah — that’s me just above here. I think in 1967.

I feel about as silly as Peter Pan ( I won’t grow up. Not a penny will I pinch. I will never grow a mustache, Or a fraction of an inch. Cause growing up is awfuller, Than all the awful things that ever were. I’ll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up, No sir, Not I, Not me, So there!) but that doesn’t change my mind.

An old friend used to say "Call me adult anytime you want; just don’t call me a grown-up." I guess that’s how I feel. Counter-cultural and generational identity is strong in people my age and I feel it particularly. I did dozens of Boomer stories when I worked at the TODAY SHOW – including a series when Boomers (including me, Bill Clinton, George Bush, Ben Vereen, Donald Trump, Susan Sarandon, Goldie Hawn and Cubby O’Brien) began turning 40 in 1986 and an entire year of anniversaries of 1968 in 1988. I am formed and INformed by the time of my birth and have always known it. I joke that I’m a "walking demographic" but it’s true.

SO. I will handle the grey hairs on the beloved heads of my beloved sons. I pray for and wish them well in their own journeys and am more grateful than I can describe both for them– and for the experiences of my own eventful life. And that’s not bad — not bad at all.

SLEEPLESS (KIND OF) IN SEATTLE

We’ve been up since 4:40 (7:30 at home.) Fortunately there’s a CLOSER marathon on TNT so we’ve had some entertainment. Now the dawn is emerging (that’s what’s in the photo — our view from the Hyatt) and pretty soon we’ll be wandering back over to our son’s home for Thanksgiving. It’s the first year he’s done it at his home and it’s pretty exciting.

The airport yesterday was full of families with kids of all ages on the way to visit people they love for the holidays. Whatever we may think about our country – and there’s plenty to be upset about – and however much we may worry – correctly — about the state of American families when 40% of new borns are born to single mothers — it’s still true that most American families of whatever makeup are loving and devoted –at least part of the time.

My sister is having our cousin for Thanksgiving at her house in Massachusetts and it will be the first time in probably 30 years that this much-loved cousin will be with any of the Samuels “girls” on Thanksgiving Day. We have all gone our separate ways and aren’t together enough but those feelings that anchor our lives are still very much part of us and, I think, of all the people we passed coming and going in the airport.

So to all of you – and all of us — happy Turkey — love your families and count your blessings. I know that’s what we’re going to do.

IS THIS KOSHER?

WARNING: WHINING (completely without merit, I might add):

We were in Orlando all weekend at an advocacy training. It was my husband's journey and I went along for the ride. He had asked for kosher meals – it had worked fine on our last trip — but these were some of the worst food I have ever eaten. To the point where I was actively angry – angry! that this had become part of my life. They were in boxes, sealed with cellophane so the kashrut could be guaranteed. The first night the hotel sent them up with a wonderful bellman named Nelson and a tiny microwave where he heated them for us. The meal was called Buffalo Chicken Wings with Rice and Corn. It was a mush of rice, corn and way way waaaaay overcooked chicken wings. And tomato sauce. Plus it was spicy which I hate. Somehow this became very important to me – not sure why.

In the morning we were able to eat hard boiled eggs on plastic plates w/plastic silverware. Not so bad. Lunch brought spaghetti with weird meat-balls and tomato-flavored library paste. I took some salad from the conference buffet – which included – but was unavailable to me — rye bread (not kosher), cold cuts (not kosher) and cheese (not kosher.) We had Sushi for dinner which is ok and was good.

I often quote our friend MONK – "Here's the thing." I have spent a lot of time working on learning the rules of kashrut and often spend Friday evenings reviewing the rules (the books here [How to Keep Kosher and the Spice and Spirit Cookbook] are the best I've found) but it's just hard both to figure out and to execute on the road. I only buy food for our home with a hechscher (that U with a circle around it at the top of this post) and I know now to cook. As I've said before, the home stuff is fine – comfortable and real.

I think that the real problem isn’t the food it’s the exclusionary nature of this portion of the observant life. I’m going to have to learn how to manage it and keep writing about it until it feels better because right now it feels lonely in some odd way. Then I go to an event or to services at our synagogue and realize why I’m doing this. My husband calls it “the yoke of heaven” and reminds me that I’ve chosen it and will find a way to live within it. I know that’s true and that whether I eat crummy spaghetti is really not the issue. Reading the New York Times travel section and knowing I really can’t eat in most of the restaurants there is more the issue. OR wander into a Guatemalan hole-in-the-wall on 16th St. or a Greek place downtown or a Vietnamese place in Paris or even a steak house in Chicago!

HOLD ON!! I know as I read this how spoiled I sound. I’ve spent my life in amazing adventures in travel AND food and it’s not like I’ve never had these experiences. I am just really struggling with surrender I think. In some circles they call it “turning it over” to God. Our rabbi says “There is a God and it’s not me.” If I accept that then I have to accept the observant principles that inform the faith and the peace it offers. Most of the time I can. But boy it’s a bumpy journey.

NO BREASTFEEDING BUT HELP YOURSELF TO THE BLOODY MARY MIX!

OK. So it’s really true. Delta Airlines actually removed a nursing mother from a flight for breast feeding her child. The mother, Emily Gillette, noted that she was in the second-to-last row, next to the window, and “her breast was not showing.” A flight attendant apparently offered her a blanket to cover what she believed was already covered enough and she declined. At that point the attendant asked that the family be removed from this three-house-late flight. If you’ve ever traveled with a toddler late at night on a delayed flight you know how hard it is to settle them down. Besides, from the reports I read, the decision to nurse was made partly because kids often cry on takeoff and landing because of the pressure changes. One of my kids used to get ear infections when we flew because the pressure pushed mucus around in his eustation tubes – until our pediatrician suggested we give him Benadryl before flights to dry him out. So I know it’s an issue.

More importantly though – what could possible have “offended” the flight attendant who asked for the removal? We know that gate agents comply with these requests as a matter of policy and we know this is one of those puddle jumper subcontractor airlines and maybe they aren’t as worldly as larger ones but everyone has been a baby and she was in the back of the plane in a CORNER for heaven’s sake. Lots of you have been very funny on your blogs about this but I’m just not in a funny mood . It is a reflection of our larger policy toward children and it ain’t good. Somehow everything comes before the kids. Even the sensibilities of the only person likely to even notice this going on – that flight attendant.

While everyone is so censorious about nursing – I happened in the same weekend that I read this to fly from DC to Orlando and spend an hour and a half in the United Red Carpet Room – a very pleasant and useful luxury if one travels frequently. Here’s the thing. There are apples and bananas and oranges and 3-4 kinds of juice and pretzels and TWIX bars and sometimes even cheese and crackers sitting around in there. So when grownups are hungry – or even when they’re not – it’s all available and it’s all free (unless you count the annual feel for the Red Carpet Card.) I was going to write about how hard it is for me NOT to take a whole bunch of stuff in my tote bag – if only because it’s free. This time I failed – partly because the stuff was kosher and I thought we might need it. Three tomato juices, 4 tiny pretzel bags, five mini-Twix bars and two granola bars. And over the weekend we used them all. But isn’t it funny that I can get free food and carry it on in quantity while a 22 month old child three hours late for dinner can’t even get what’s naturally, organically, God-givenly hers? Somehow there’s nothing funny about that.

I DON’T WANT TO BE A TURKEY ON THANKSGIVING

We’re going to Seattle for Thanksgiving to see our older son’s new apartment and be with both boys and assorted others. I always get a little nervous when I haven’t seen them in a while; you know how it is — you just love them so much and sometimes if it’s too obvious it becomes a burden. They are wonderful sons and wonderful people and they tolerate my enthusiasm for them pretty well. Like any family, we’ve been through a lot together – good and bad — and understand one another pretty well I think. But I do worry about what I do when I’m uneasy – I get way too verbal and my big effort is going to be to keep my mouth shut except when it makes sense to open it!

One thing I learned from my father (that’s him on the left) is to try like hell not to tangle your kids up any more than necessary. He used to tell us that we should live our own lives and NEVER feel obligated to him; that the gift of us was all we owed him.

His own father was a classic immigrant tyrant and so he, of course, went the other way. I’ll tell you, I honestly believe that his attitude made us MORE likely to call, show up and fuss over him. The only grief of it, aside from losing him, is that my mom kept telling us not to come home in his final illness, that he "would not want you to see him like this." I finally decided to go to him – fed up with being put off and horribly guilty about not doing it sooner – and he died as I was on my way there. I don’t think I’ve completely dealt with it in the 15 years since he died — too painful and nothing to do about it anyway — but I don’t want my kids to have that sort of experience either.

For that reason, I forced myself to call them when I was in the hospital instead of, like my own parents, waiting until I was out and OK to let them know. I really do think of them as grown men now and try to treat them with the respect I would treat other impressive men – but sometimes I slip and go "all mom" on them. They accept it with good humor but I just would love to have the discipline to give them the respect they deserve instead of indulging my own over-expressive self. I’m practicing all weekend. Can’t talk anymore… shhhhh!

FLYOVER AMERICA AND STUDIO 60 (and my trip to Syracuse)

The pledge, which I accidentally violated, was to post every day in November. A promise is a promise and I am trying. Tonight after a wacky 36 hour trip to Syracuse (don’t ask) I’m so tired I’m hallucinating. I was guilty the whole time I was there because it felt so small and it was winter-grey besides. Couldn’t get into it.

From childhood family visits to my cousins and our current annual trips to the Cleveland Clinic I’ve grown perversely fond of Cleveland – and I grew up in Pittsburgh so I have a real feeling for it. But lots of smaller cities just feel claustrophobic and kind of disappointed. This was one of them although the people we met were lovely and very friendly — like Midwesterners.

Which reminds me (stay with me here) – Studio 60 is fun. I loved seeing John Goodman make all the coastal liberals (of course I AM one) squirm – and say several things that were true and also are what’s wrong with my political tribe, in my opinion. About those uppity liberals who think everyone between the coasts is stupid.

The show has a determination to look at this issue I think – not only in a Nevada courtroom but also through the constant dialog between Matt (Matthew Perry’s character) and Harriet (Sarah Paulson) — probably the most beautiful woman I’ve seen on TV in a long time — maybe ever.

I’m going to bed now and sleep off the last of the airplane air before I have to get on another plane Friday and get to Orlando before Shabat. G’nite.