What is more comforting than a hot bowl of homemade soup?

Hey folks! Happy Chanukah! Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! May this be a bountiful, beautiful, healthy and happy, joy and love filled 2012 for all of us!

I have been in nesting mode this holiday season. Not that I've been a recluse by any means, but I have managed to do quite a bit of cooking and sewing. The weather has been cold and grey and rainy, and weather like that always makes me yearn for soup.
 So...several days ago, I searched the pantry shelves and the freezer and fridge and came up with some lovely staples for soup-making. I am sharing the almost-recipe with you all now as it came out wonderfully well and I have been enjoying it for days.
We will call this one KALE SOUP WITH BEEF SAUSAGE AND GARBANZO BEANS

Ingredients:
2 bunches kale
1/2 white or yellow onion
3 cloves garlic
4-5 stalks celery
beef kielbasa or other spicy sausage
1 box of chicken broth
hot sauce
celery seed
curry powder
1 large can garbanzo beans
1 small can blackeyed peas
1 large can tomato puree
1 small can diced fire-roasted tomatoes

Steps:
Chop onion, garlic and celery (you can mince the garlic and dice the rest) Green pepper would be fine with this too if you happened to have one in the fridge!
Heat large soup pot and lightly coat bottom with olive oil. Saute veggies and add salt, pepper and hot sauce to taste.
Add diced sausages next and continue to saute.
Add tomato sauce and diced toms and curry powder ( start with a little curry and add more to taste)
Add a sprinkle of celery seed at this point and a bit more salt and pepper.
Add both cans of beans after you've drained and rinsed.
Add chicken broth and stir well.
Finally, the star of the show: KALE (Yes, I am well aware that this is my second kale post but what can I say, I came late to the kale party and now that I'm here, I refuse to leave!)
Chop kale--make sure to discard the woody stems. Rinse well and then toss into the soup. It will do what kale does best: it will get nice and tender but still retain some bite which will make the soup even better and heartier. YUMMY!!!
If you are like my kiddos, and you believe that every good dish is made great by the addition of cheese, you may sprinkle a bit of shaved parmesan over the top.
ENJOY and stay warm!
The next time you hear from me it will be my first post of 2012!

WHAT PUTS YOU IN THE HOLIDAY MOOD?

Chanukah begins tomorrow night at sundown and Christmas is less than a week away. For weeks (months?), the streets have been filled with Christmas lights and holiday decorations. Every morning when my alarm goes off, Christmas songs fill my bedroom and my head with falalalalas. Cable channels, like Lifetime and Hallmark, have been running non-stop merry maudlin holiday movie marathons, and I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't seen more than a few.
I'm a sucker for this time of year. My close friends know that G-d made me Jewish so that I would not spend the 11 other months of the year sewing stockings and Christmas tree skirts! Seriously, if I had been Christian, I would have been all over the crafty part of Christmas. As it is, I invented ways to craft for Chanukah.

When the kids were little, it annoyed me that all the Chanukah decorations I found were plastic and paper. Nothing seemed permanent or special. There was nothing that one would treasure and pass down to his/her own children someday. So, to rectify that, I designed and sewed Dreidel Bags for each of my own children as well as my nieces and nephews and cousins and the children of my friends. Each one-of-a-kind felt bag contained a dreidel (which is a little toy top for those of you who are dreidel virgins), marbles to be used as currency (we use quarters at my parents' house) and a little laminated instruction card with all the rules for the simple little game.

I also made a bright felt table runner for our home so that every year I could pull it out to signal the start of the holiday season. I don't know exactly how old it is, but it has held up remarkably well!

Of course there are all the usual suspects too: latkes (fried potato pancakes), presents, chocolate Chanukah gelt and of course, the star of the show: the menorah. When I was a very new mom, (it may have even been Josh's first Chanukah) my parents gave me an amazing present. Growing up, we had owned a very large menorah which took large tapered candles rather than the usual mini candles that most menorahs require. I loved that menorah, and I loved the fact that it took up so much space (not as much space as a Christmas tree--but you definitely couldn't ignore it!). Somehow, my parents found a handyman who thought he could make a giant menorah. They commissioned him to try and I was the very lucky recipient of his efforts.

It is definitely a conversation starter since most people are not used to seeing a menorah of that stature. I will say that it is much more expensive to fill this menorah with candles for eight nights, but I wouldn't trade it for one of those puny little normal menorahs for anything!

I know that there are plenty of Christmas traditions that I cannot borrow, but there are a few that I will happily admit to enjoying. I LOVE gingerbread  and gingerbread houses. When we were little, some woman who has long since passed away used to send one to our family every year. I thought it was hysterical because my dad is a Rabbi and she was a congregant who must have known that this was a bit outside the norm for our tradition. However, I couldn't wait for that beautifully decorated house to arrive each December.

I am also incredibly fond of Christmas music and movies. Even though they do not represent me, I cherish the sweet, sentimental messages they espouse. Of course I've never owned a Christmas tree, or a Chanukah bush, but when my friends have invited me to their homes to help decorate theirs or just have a drink beside one, I easily shift into the holiday mood and soak up the twinkly lights and the fresh clean scent of pine.

Mostly, the holidays are a time to celebrate the magic that life offers to us every day; it  reminds us to stop for a moment to unwrap it. I wish you a holiday season filled with warmth and mirth, sweet traditions and abundant tables, the joy of giving and receiving, and lots of love!

WHERE DID YOU BEGIN AND WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

Why does this time of year lend itself to self reflection? I look at this sweet photo of me as a baby in my mother's arms, and I cannot help but wonder about the path my life has taken. Do you believe that our lives are like scripts? Has everything been written in some cosmic screenplay, and we are simply the actors cast in the starring roles? If so, would you like another take? A different script? A different leading man/woman? How much of our lives was written in the stars or in our dna? How much of our lives has been determined by the choices we've made? How much is controlled by our thoughts?

It is an idea that is both very new and very old that we can shape our reality through the perception of that reality. Contemporary gurus have cheapened these ideas as they have sought to popularize them for personal gain. Even Oprah gave the "Law of Attraction" writers her stage and access to her audience. But long before the cheesy movie, "The Secret," profound thinkers have expressed a similar belief.
Hidden among Rebbe Nachman of Breslov's wonderful teachings is this little pearl of wisdom:

 "You are wherever your thoughts are. Make sure your thoughts are where you want to be."


If you are as introspective as I tend to be, this can be a tough one. Sometimes, I have to call the Thought Police on myself. I can get lost in worries or fears that threaten to overwhelm me. My logical side knows that the negative thinking only sends me into further depths; I know that obsessing about the worries never dispels them. However, sometimes, especially in the middle of the night, these worries are traveling on a runaway train and I feel powerless to stop them. At those moments, I need the Thought Police (and some Tylenol PM) to rescue me from myself.

I am trying to work harder at feeling the present without fearing the future. I am learning to acknowledge my past without judging myself (or the universe) for the hills and valleys, the false starts and wrong turns. That tiny Rachel in her mother's arms cared only about having her immediate needs met, and they were met. She had love and warmth and safety and food; she had everything she needed. Mostly, we all still have everything we need. We may not have it all on every given day, but we know that when those bad days strike, the likelihood is that tomorrow will be better and brighter. Best of all, we own our thoughts and we can send them wherever we choose. Personally, I am going to try to do a better job of sending mine to "where I want to be."
SO, as you think about where you began and where you are going, don't forget to enjoy this day, this moment, this second and celebrate exactly where you are right now!

WHAT IS THE BEST GIFT YOU WERE EVER GIVEN?

It is a dreary, rainy Sunday here, folks! I had planned on going out and getting a jump on my holiday shopping, but I guess I'll stay inside and write about gifts and giving instead!

Can you think of the best gift you have ever been given? One of the first that comes to my mind is a lovely midriff-baring outfit my mom purchased for me when I was about 12 or 13. We lived in Chicago then, and we had travelled downtown on the train to do some shopping; while there, I had fallen in love with this very mod (yes, it was the 70's) pantsuit. It was white cotton with tiny little red and blue flowers all over it. The top had elastic around the cap sleeves and more elastic underneath the chest-- about 3-4 inches up from my belly button. The pants were probably bell-bottom-ish, though I can't honestly remember. I had just been asked out on my very first date. Perhaps this is telling, but I can remember what we ate but not the boy's name. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. Needless to say, I fell in love with the outfit as soon as I saw it, and I desperately wanted to wear it on my date.
My mother, who was (and still is) a budgeter extraordinaire, informed me that this highly impractical outfit did not fit into my clothing budget. She reminded me that I needed to buy a temple dress and several skirts and a pair of jeans and that there was simply no wiggle room in the budget. The belly-baring hippie outfit was impractical and  unnecessary and that was that.
I suppose I whined a bit, but I was a pretty docile child, and I doubt that I engaged in any severe form of histrionics. But I know I longed for that outfit and the image of myself in it that had become stuck in my head. Maybe I thought that with the revealing outfit on my pre-pubescent body, I would be instantly transformed into a femme fatale--or at least a girl who was brave enough to go on a date with a boy.


Several days after the aborted shopping trip, I came home from school to find a green Marshall Field's box on my bed. To my utter delight and amazement, my sweet mother had gone back downtown and bought the outfit for me. I learned a valuable lesson that afternoon; the gift that I most valued was the way in which my mother had sacrificed time and money to make me happy. At that moment, it was actually less about the outfit than it was about a mother's love for her daughter.

I wore the outfit on the date to the hotdog stand in the park across from the Museum of Science and Industry. I swear to you that I have no idea who the boy was, but I still remember the hotdogs!

I am a gifty gal: I love both giving and receiving presents. I can't imagine being someone who doesn't give a flip about birthdays and holidays. Gift giving is as much a part of my DNA as reading or cooking.

When the kids were little, I would spend hours making things for them. I remember when I finished Emily's quilt (or as she called it "Quilty"),  and I sewed a special patch on the back that said "Made for Emily with love from Mom."  It filled me with such a sense of accomplishment to give my daughter that gift. When Josh was little, I designed numerous t-shirts and blankets and stuffed animals for  him: watching him wear or play with something I had made with my own two hands filled me with pride. I can still see the picture of my sweet tow-headed Josh  with  his two very primitively designed stuffed flannel animals: blue bunny and blue kitty.

Ben,  who came out of the womb an entrepreneur, was always engaged in various business enterprises. I loved to sit at my lime green ibook and create business cards for him which he proudly passed out to friends and relatives to advertise "Ben's Jobco" or "Ben's Petco."

I think that one of the reasons I love cooking so much is that making food allows me to feel like I am giving a little gift to the people I love.

So as the holidays once again draw near...think about the joy of giving (and the joy of receiving). What the heck, let's just think about JOY!

What will your legacy be?

Before I get started with this week's post dear bleaders, I have a favor to ask of you. This is the 26th consecutive post, and it marks the halfway point in my 52 week blogging challenge. It has been a wonderful experiment/experience, and, though challenging, it has been well worth the effort! At this point, I'd like to ask each of you to forward this blog on to two or three people whom you think might enjoy reading it. I'd like to see if I can grow my readership a little. Obviously, this is totally up to your discretion, but if you know people who might be interested, I'd greatly appreciate the help!

Now on to legacies. Do you ever think about what you will leave behind when you end your time on earth? Do you think about your children,,,and your children's children...and your children's children's children? Do you think about a business you've built? Or a book you've written? Or a quilt you've sewn? Do you think about the countless number of lives you've touched through teaching, or preaching or nurturing or mentoring or advising? Do you think about food?
Yes, I know it is the week after Thanksgiving, and you may not want to think about food again for a very long while  but bear with me! My father's mother Reba was a native of Israel who immigrated to the US with her husband and raised her family here. Many of my memories of her involve food; ironically, most of the food she cooked was not very good. However, she took great care in making sure that each holiday, food was sent to us in Chicago (and later in Houston) from her home in Philadelphia. If she was coming to visit for the holiday, she would bring tins of food in her suitcase. Her cookies were always hard and dry. For Purim, she made hamentaschen (triangular shaped cookies) that crumbled as you tried to eat them. Still, I felt like I was eating love each time I bit into one of her treats. I can remember how each little cookie was hidden in crinkly Saran Wrap and aluminum foil, each morsel packaged like a gift.


One of her recipes was actually really good; that was her eggplant dip. I'm sure I've tweaked it a little (as I am wont to do) but it remains primarily hers, and when I make it, I remember Reba. It was the only request my sister Amy asked for as a birthday gift this year!

Ingredients:

6 whole eggplants

6 cloves garlic

1/2 bunch of parsley

salt/pepper

1 tablespoon sugar

5-6 lemons

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 tablespoon sugar

Directions:

Pre-heat oven to 425

Cut off tops of eggplants and poke  a few holes in the sides to vent

roast for 45-60 minutes or until they look shriveled and wrinkly

Let eggplants cool

Scoop out flesh (avoid getting the skin) and add to food processor

Add lemon juice and garlic cloves and parsley and sugar---Pulse

Then drizzle in the olive oil and mix.

Add salt and pepper to taste.

Serve chilled with whole wheat crackers or pita crisps.

As you interact with family  and friends this week, as you make people at work laugh or you call someone a special nickname, or you cook dinner for a friend who is under the weather, or you write a poem, or send a card-- think about all the little ways that you are making a big impression on those around you...one lovely stale cookie at a time :)

Rachel

WHAT ARE YOU GRATEFUL FOR?

Thanksgiving is right around the corner, so what better use of this weekend's blog post than a discussion of gratitude.  For the purposes of this post, gratitude shall heretofore be referred to as the GRATITUDE DUDE or GD (not to be confused with the Jewish abbreviation for our deity--although, come to think of it, maybe they should be interchangeable...more on that later.)

Anyway, my friends, the Delagis, have a family tradition where they pass around a booklet at the Thanksgiving table and everyone has a chance to write down what they are grateful for. They keep those little handmade books and can look back on them years later to see where they each were on the gratitude index at that particular Thanksgiving day. Interesting idea! Theoretically, we might be grateful for something now that we barely even paid attention to on a previous year. For example, if you have been relatively healthy, you might take good health for granted and only feel grateful for it after having recovered from an illness. My point is that one common human blind spot is that we often do not feel grateful for something until we feel the pain of its absence.

Several of the recent self-help movements espouse the benefits of keeping a Gratitude Journal. Dear GD, one would write, today I am grateful for x,y, z and a bit of b. Have I tried it? Sort of. I devised my own variation in which I would find one thing to be grateful for for each of my fingers. Simple, right? Lying in bed at night, I will count off something that I am grateful for as I touch each of my fingers, and most nights, I am happy to report, I run out of fingers before I run out of points for GD. Of course, there are those blueish days, followed by darkish nights, when I struggle to reach ten. Do we all have those moments when the glass is half empty rather than half full? Let's assume that the liquid in the glass always remains exactly the same. Even knowing that, won't there be days when it looks as if it is completely empty? And other days when it looks like it is overflowing? Is the GD just a figment of our imagination? In other words, if gratitude is man-ufactured (or woman-ufactured), then don't we have the ability to feel grateful no matter what is in our glass?

So today, what are you grateful for? Here's my list (in no particular order):
*JOSH
*BEN
*EMILY
*MY AMAZING PARENTS
*MY SALLY,  MY JULIE,  MY BETH and all my other amazing friends.
*MY LOVING FAMILY (including a sister who could write the "How to be a Great Sister" handbook).
*MAX--my loyal Rescue Dog--whom Emily rescued and who now returns the favor by rescuing me from any momentary bouts of loneliness I might have.

*MY WORK & MY STUDENTS
*MY CREATIVE BRAIN
*MY LOVING HEART
*LAUGHTER
*CAPE COD--where I feel most at home.
*FOOD--cooking it, sharing it, eating it, thinking about it.
*MY PILATES REFORMER CLASSES--an exercise class that I actually look forward to :)
*BOOKS, BOOKS, BOOKS.
*FABRIC and YARN and all the ways I can create beautiful things out of them.
*TURKEY DAY--Love the food! Love the holiday! Love the reminder to thank GD!


So if one wants to move this conversation to a more spiritual plane--perhaps, GD and G-D are really the same. When we are grateful, we are acknowledging our appreciation to a higher power or the universe. We are really saying "Thank You. I see what you have done. I feel what you have given me. I am appreciative of this breath I am taking. I am aware that walking and talking and even pooping (yes, I've been told there is even a prayer for that) are gifts that I cannot take for granted."
Dear GD:
Let me live each moment in a state of gratitude with the understanding that G-D, like all of us, appreciates knowing that SHE is appreciated :)

By the way, I recently stumbled upon a tiny little book of sayings attributed to the Hassidic  scholar Rebbe Nachman of  Breslov(1772-1810). Rebbe Breslov wrote: "when asked how things are, don't whine and grumble about your hardships. If you answer, 'Lousy,' then G-d says, 'You call this bad? I'll show you what bad really is!' When asked how things are and, despite hardship or suffering, you answer 'Good,' then G-d says, 'You call this good? I'll show you what good really is!'"

So enjoy your turkey and your stuffing and don't forget to let GD know what you are thinking.
And know that I am VERY grateful for you--all of you bleaders (blog-readers). Your comments and feedback keep me motivated to continue this year-long experiment!!
Rachel

How do you procrastinate?

Long ago, I mastered the art of procrastination. I am not proud of this fact, but it is as much a part of me as my brown eyes or love of freshly baked bread. In part, it has to do with my goal juggling-- (maybe I'm actually a little ADD-ish); I always have several creative projects going at once. When I tire of one, I simply move on to the next. The obvious problem with this is that I constantly have a plethora of WIPs (works in progress). There is also a hierarchy to my procrastinating: the things at the top of the list are the things that I must do or someone else will notice. At the very bottom of the list (the things that get bumped often)are the things that only I care about: getting exercise/ writing my memoir/ cleaning the clutter in my closet. Tippy top of the list?

 *Work related chores like grading papers! I am very good about returning things quickly--but that means that grading often bumps lots of other things off the "Must Do Now" list.
*Cooking--because I love it AND eating is a necessity of life AND I can share food with the people I love. *Laundry--a person has to have clean clothes!!!
*Making my bed every morning--just makes me feel like my life is organized--even when it isn't!
*Paying bills--online banking has made it much less onerous and late fees need to be avoided!
*Things my kids need me to do--It must be a MOM thing!
*Things my parents ask me to do--It must be a DAUGHTER thing!


What do you do to procrastinate? Sadly, I have a long (and sometimes embarrassing) list:
*Games on my ipad: Solitaire, Hearts, Scrabble, Words w/Friends, W.e.l.d.e.r., Word Search etc.
*Almost any show on the Food Network; I may need to join Food Network Anonymous soon!
*Answering email--that is a total TIME SUCK!
*Baking something decadent.
*Browsing catalogs--or online stores.
*Making lists--Is this productive or a thinly veiled procrastination technique? The jury's still out.
*Watching sappy, romantic movies on Lifetime or the Hallmark channel--or.--this time of year--the endless parade of silly, sweet Christmas movies. (Yes, Jewish girls still love the hokey holiday hoopla).
*Looking through my vast collection of cookbooks and dreaming about taking a cooking class in Italy.
*Calling my kids, friends, parents just to check in.

Mary Todd Lincoln wrote: "My evil genius Procrastination has whispered me to tarry 'til a more convenient season." My evil genius has been known to scream rather than whisper, and he knows exactly how to get me off track. For example, if I plan on exercising after school but then feel too tired, he says, "You've worked hard today. You'll exercise tomorrow!" If I am trying to stick to a writing schedule, he says, "What's the point? Is anything really going to happen with this? Is this the best use of your time and energy? Don't you have laundry to do?"

Maybe I will name my "evil genius." Maybe I'll call him Pete. Maybe the next time he tries to woo me away from the thing that I know I need to do, I'll just say "Shut up, Pete. Leave me alone! The Food Network will only make me hungry. The ipad games will still be there when I finish. My friends, kids, parents will all understand if I don't call them right now. And I certainly don't need to bake and eat any more cupcakes!"

So, good luck to all of you procrastinators! I wish you the wonderful feeling of accomplishment that comes from slashing things off your "To Do" list and finishing more in a day than you thought humanly possible. However, don't forget to budget down time, too. Our minds need to be still and quiet in order for us to achieve the balance that life requires of us. I know that the world will probably not come to a screeching halt if some things are put off "'til a more convenient season."

How can you turn cooking chili into a creative art?

Hello again, folks! It has been a crazy week, and I am ditching the esoteric-ish post I'd planned and replacing it with my non-recipe recipe for chili. As a southerner by accident rather than birth, I did not receive a Texas chili recipe as part of my birthright. In fact, I don't remember ever eating chili as a child. Now, it is one of my go-to recipes, esp. when the weather begins to turn cool.
My approach to chili is sort of like my approach to cooking in general: Do what tastes good to you!

I usually start out by sauteing a variety of ingredients which always include chopped garlic and onions and may also include red or green (or any other color you like) peppers. Then I figure out which protein I feel like including. Tonight, I've sautéed some boneless chicken breast tenderloins that I had in the freezer. Often, I use turkey sausage, ground turkey or ground beef.
Next, I raid the pantry for canned goods to include. Tonight, I've used 2 cans of black beans (rinsed and drained), a can of dark red kidney beans and a can of pinto beans. Navy beans work well also, but I didn't have any on hand.
I also grabbed a can of chipotle chilies in adobo sauce (Is that a new one for you non-Texans?)--
and a can of chopped green chiles as well as a can of fire-roasted tomatoes. I also used a large container of chicken broth. Feel free to substitute vegetable or beef broth; either will be fine.
Next, I headed for the spice rack. This is where things really start to get creative!! I use a mixture of the following spices:
*Chili Powder
*Curry:
*Cumin
*Salt
 But there are tons of ready-made chili spice packets available at your local grocery stores.

A crock-pot is your best friend if you are cooking chili. After sautéing the onion/garlic mixture and the meat/poultry, I dump everything in the crock-pot and forget about it until dinner time. Well, you can't actually forget about it because the rich, spicy smell of chili starts to waft through the entire house. YUMM-O!!!

I need to figure out the art of making chili LOOK good in photos!

A few warnings: Use the chipotle chilies in adobo sauce sparingly or not at all. I only used a few, and they added substantial HEAT!!
Another optional and surprising chili ingredient is beer. I often add about 1/3 of a bottle and it does add a special something. An old boss of mine told me that he did that, and it is the most useful piece of  knowledge he ever gave me.
Finally, a discussion of chili could not be complete without talking about toppings. In our house, we like to top our chili with a dollop of sour cream, a little shredded cheddar cheese and (if we are feeling especially decadent) a few slices of avocado.
By the way, the perfect accompaniment to a steaming hot and spicy bowl of chili is a freshly baked cornbread muffin. I used the Honey-Cornbread recipe from the Neely's which can be easily printed out from the Food Network website.

In closing, even though I have absolutely no authority to say this, I think that if you do make homemade chili, you should be able to call yourself an "Honorary Texan"....at least until all the chili has been eaten.
Have fun experimenting and eating.
Rachel

What have you learned lately?

I come from a long line of lifelong learners. I can remember my maternal grandmother telling me that she was learning how to interview people and write articles since she had agreed to be in charge of the newsletter for her condo association. She had to fit this in between her piano lessons and her yoga.
My grandmother also read the NY Times cover to cover each morning and clipped articles of interest to send to her various children and grandchildren across the country. My parents have followed suit and are both voracious readers and news watchers and always eager to learn new things.
I think that continuing to learn as we age is one of the big secrets of life (though its not really a secret)!
I recently attended my very first ZUMBA class and while it was strenuous exercise, it was also exhilarating to do something that I had never done before.
Thursday, I had the pleasure of attending the 4th annual UP Experience. Houstonian husband/wife team Sheryl & Ernie Rapp started UP to expose Houstonians to cutting edge thinkers and innovators from all over the country. The day includes 16 speakers from many different disciplines each speaking for 20 minutes and then providing an opportunity for questions in small breakaway groups. The speakers this year ranged from a young energetic tech guru to a food network personality with a movie-worthy life story to a scientist on the forefront of the field of regenerative medicine.
One of the most interesting things about UP is that sometimes the speakers whom you are least excited about turn out to be the most memorable.
I was fortunate to be able to attend UP two years ago, and I was impressed by the caliber and diversity of speakers. This year's group did not disappoint.  The education speaker this year was a young man named  Sal Kahn who began tutoring his cousins in algebra while he worked for a hedge fund. As his tutoring grew through the power of "YouTube," he realized that there was a demand for his high energy and specified instruction teaching style. Today, his Khan Academy distributes 2100 free educational videos and tutorials in subjects ranging from math to history. So far, the Academy's website has had over 54 million views and they are nowhere near stopping. With the help of  some major philanthropic supporters, Kahn is hoping to lead the movement for the democratization of education.
One of my favorite speakers this year was bestselling author Daniel Pink. Pink uses his background in behavioral science to take a new, and often profoundly different, look at human motivation. His latest book, Drive, looks at the fallacy behind the old "carrot and stick" method of motivating others. According to Pink's work, what truly motivates us is the opportunity to "realize our fullest potential." Pink shared stories with us about innovative programs at cutting edge companies which encouraged employees to pursue the things that they were passionate about. At Google, they call it "20% Time," and at a smaller company he mentioned, they call it "Fedex Days," because people are expected to play around with an idea and then present something the next day (like Fedex must deliver something overnight!).
I did not know that this existed in corporate America, but I left wishing it could exist in the world of private school education where I spend my days. How lovely to be given carte blanche for a small part of one's work week in order to explore something that one was intrinsically drawn to. I then fantasized even further about a school where students were given free reign one day a week to explore their passions. Pink explained that failure is an inherent part of this plan. "Ninety percent of the "free" work won't pan out," he explained, "but that doesn't matter."  Some of Google's best initiatives came from their "20% Time" and two recent Noble Prize winners in Physics made their revolutionary discovery during the "free" time at their lab.
I learned a little about a lot of different things at the Up Experience, but the most important thing I learned was how exciting it is to learn something new. So, I challenge you blog readers: This week try a new exercise class, pick up a new novel, sign up for language lessons, learn to make paella, read an article on the internet about a topic you know very little about. Stretch your brain, and it will take you to places you might never have imagined!

What does it mean to be female in 2011?

A few days ago, I was at the YMCA waiting for my Pilates Reformer class to begin and three women were sitting on the bench chatting with me. Two of the women were in their forties, and there was also a woman in her early 70's. The forty somethings and I were bemoaning the pre and post menopausal fat pooches sprouting up in unexpected places on our bodies. Words like "back-fat" and "belly fat"were being tossed around with humor tinged with fear. As women in our society, we understand that our looks are our currency, and we don't want to feel poor as we age. The fear is even greater when you are single, as I am, and have  been taught to believe that a woman's appearance may greatly affect her ability to find a mate. 

After a while, the 70+ woman jumped into the conversation. "I have parts of my body these days that I'd like to change too," she told us. "But, mostly, I want to make sure I'm around for a long time with all the parts in working order." The two forty somethings and I exchanged weighted glances. We agreed that how our body functions and what it allows us to do is what should matter; however, we also know that how we look has a profound and sometimes disturbing affect on how our lives unfold and how we feel about ourselves.

A few nights ago, a powerful documentary premiered on the OWN Network. The film "Miss Representation" takes a look at the disturbing ways that women are portrayed in contemporary media. From the hyper-sexualized and provocative images that children are bombarded with to the disparaging comments made about women in positions of power. The images and the statistics that the filmmakers present are nothing less than shocking. The overflow of uncensored and unregulated images and opinions that we are exposed to  on a daily basis has reached unparalleled levels. With  new cable channels and internet sites sprouting up daily, access to anything and everything is just a click away. 

The filmmakers, and the experts they interviewed, pose some difficult and important questions: 

Where are the role models for our girls? Why do even cartoon characters like Disney's Tinkerbell dress provocatively? How do reality tv dating and  toddler beauty pageant shows shape the way young girls think about the world and themselves? How does a girl learn about being a woman when she is flooded with images of young wild and spoiled girls like Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian and Lindsay Lohan?  How do the heavily photo-shopped images of models in magazines force girls and women to feel that they can never measure up to some impossibly unrealistic ideal of beauty?

I struggle too with finding the balance between valuing who I have become as  a woman and obsessing over newly gray hairs and newly flabby abs. Clearly, I have not yet arrived at the place where I am allowed to love my body-- flaws and all. Thankfully, I am far more confident than I was as a teen and I am extremely proud when I see the way my own daughter walks through the world with a mixture of grace and bravado that I could not even have imagined at 19.  

This weekend, one of my favorite people in the world is in town to visit. Beth's only daughter, Hannah, is here staying with me and visiting a friend of hers. A beautiful and bright sixteen year old, Hannah naturally wants to spend most of the time with her friend, but I stole her away this morning for an hour of pampering at the nail salon. This common ritual of female beautification and bonding is relaxing and fun. Are we buying into some culturally created mandate of femininity? Maybe. But, I refuse to believe that focusing on my contributions to the world and my spirit must occur at the expense of my nails. 

Afterwards, as we were sitting under the uv lights waiting for the polish to dry, I asked Hannah what part of the country she imagined she'd end up in. Her family has a home in Dallas as well as a summer place on the cape, so I was wondering if she thought she'd end up on the east coast or in Texas or somewhere else altogether. She looked at me with her strong and serene gaze and said, "If I have to think about where I'll be in 20 years or so, I imagine myself in some small village in Africa building wells." 

WOW!! Let's put Hannah on tv. Let's showcase our strong, confident, bold and beautiful daughters. Let's remember that we can only strive for that which we are allowed to imagine!

What does it mean to lead a creative life?

My little fabric zippered bags.

A few of my Cape Cod beach photos.

One of my needlepointed pillows.

Whenever I am asked to describe myself by listing three or four adjectives, "creative"almost always makes the cut. Unlike other words like "genius" or "talent," creativity does not imply a particular level of mastery or prowess. At least to me, creativity is a way of being, and it is the way that I have always been. When I was very young, I wrote songs that I went around the house singing. My younger sisters heard my top ten list (which included catchy titles like "Love is Something Very Dear") so often that they learned them by heart and even remember the silly lyrics to this day.

During the summers, when I wasn't reading every children's book in the Charlevoix Pubic Library or taking swimming lessons from the adorable-looking twin brothers who ran the day camp, I was teaching myself a new craft. During the embroidery summer, I covered a denim work shirt with colorful little pictures and sayings. During the decoupage summer, I made funny little 3-d pictures by cutting out multiple copies of the same image and layering them on top of each other using a stinky smelling epoxy. When the glue dried, I would shellac the heck out of the thing and either try to sell it at the craft fair or gift it to my parents in the hopes that it would be proudly displayed. Henri Matisse is quoted as saying that "creativity takes courage," but I don't think I was one bit courageous. In fact, it wasn't ever about risk-taking because it wasn't about succeeding or failing; it was about experimenting and expressing myself.  I would love to think though that creativity does indeed take courage because then I could consider myself brave (and perhaps even foolhardy) in at least one area of my life!!
Since the embroidery and decoupage days, I've dabbled with knitting and felting and cross-stitch and needlepoint and sewing and quilting and even scrapbooking. I also consider cooking a very creative act and that might explain why I have such difficulty sticking to a recipe! I am also a writer and that is clearly one of the ways in which my creativity gets expressed. In the classroom, my favorite moments are those times when I do something unexpected with my students or am able to encourage them to "think outside the box."
The late S. African novelist and editor, William Plomer once wrote that "creativity  is the power to connect the seemingly unconnected." I am always thrilled when I read a paper where a student has linked things that I would not have seen as related. One of my newest creative outlets is photography, and I am looking forward to learning more about that craft when I have the chance to pursue it.
I am also a HUGE fan of other people's creative efforts. My daughter Emily is a wonderful artist and I marvel at the things that she has made. I hope that she will find room for creativity in her life no matter where that life leads her.

A painting Emily made in Middle School that I have displayed in my bedroom.

Emily's version of Van Gogh's iconic painting.

A beautiful ceramic plate Emily made that always reminds me of Frida Kahlo.

My first quilt, a Single Irish Chain for my first baby, Josh!

A few of my felted purses.

The beautiful quilt Beth made me for my 50th bday.

        Bill Moyers said that "creativity is piercing the mundane to find the marvelous," so go out there and find yourself some marvelous!!!

Have you connected with the transformative power of story?

Sorry this 18th post is a few days late! It's been a busy weekend between Yom Kippur and grades/comments being due! One of the assignments that I was trying to finish grading was an Interview Memoir that my seniors had done. The students were asked to interview a family member who was at least 10 years their senior. They were supposed to gather details about a particularly memorable time or event in that person's life. If they had never heard the story before, they were then asked to ponder how this story changed their view of this relative. If they had heard a different (or truncated) version of the story, they were asked to imagine why the versions may have differed. Though there were other pieces to it, that is the assignment in a nutshell.
I received some very interesting narratives. Several students had parents who had undergone life-threatening illnesses or circumstances prior to their child's birth. One girl recalled how angry she had been when, at the age of twelve, she'd inadvertently stumbled upon the information that her dad had survived a terrifying battle with cancer in his early twenties. She felt betrayed that this story had been kept from her. For this assignment, she interviewed him about the details of his struggle and questioned him about his decision to shield his daughters from the knowledge. He explained to her that he believed that children needed to see their parents as invincible and that his story would have compromised that.

 I guess I disagree. I think his story was an important part of the person he ultimately became. Our stories define us because they showcase the ways in which life has been uniquely ours. Isak Dinesen once wrote that: "All suffering is bearable if it is seen as part of a story."  Somehow, it is both the telling and the framing that turn challenges into stories. If I can place a difficult moment in the context of a life, I can begin to make sense of it.

I grew up in a household of storytellers. My father's sermons were stories told to a congregation full of people whom he was trying to reach. He connected with them through the power of story. Yes, there were deep messages, but they were embedded in stories that touched us in emotional, intellectual and spiritual ways. One of my favorite times during the High Holidays, used to be when he would tell the story at the Children's Service. One of his favorites was "The Land of No Second Chances." For years and years, people would come up to him and talk about their fond memories of hearing that special story.

My mother is a storyteller too. She has an imagination as big as Texas, and one never knows where it will lead her. As little girls, we were happy to have her regale us with creative bedtime tales that showed us how clever and silly our beautiful mother was.  She continues to amuse (and sometimes shock) her grandchildren with her crazy stories. She even wrote and published a book of Jewish Holiday Tales so that others could share her storytelling gifts.

While I have always been a lover of fiction, it is the true stories people tell about their lives that most captivate me now. I believe that the telling of our own stories can be transformative, both for us and for those who know and love us. In her beautiful book, Writing for your Life, Deena Metzger addresses this idea when she writes,  "Stories heal us because we become whole through them. In the process of writing, of discovering our story, we restore those parts of ourselves that have been scattered, suppressed, denied, distorted, forbidden, and we come to understand that stories heal.  As in the word remember, we re-member, we  bring together the parts, we integrate that which has been alienated or separated out, revalue what has been disdained....Writing our story takes us back to some moment of origin when everything was whole, when we were whole."
When my student wrote her father's story, she re-created a piece of him and made her father whole. We are our stories and if we don't share them, we can never be fully known, by ourselves or by others.
So, if you are a writer, write your stories down. If you are not a writer, become a storyteller, allow others to fully know you because you have shared your stories with them. It is not an accident that all religious narratives are collections of stories. We are meaning-seeking creatures and stories allow us to create order out of chaos and transform seemingly random events into powerful narratives. So, begin now...."Once upon a time I........"

What does it mean to believe in G-d?

"Oh Lord, I pray that RachelAmyLizzyDaddyMommy never has breast cancer or any kind of cancer or any bad disease or accident amen, I pray we all have healthy normal children of our own,  easy safe deliveries, happy marriages, and long, safe healthy happy lives AMEN ."
To the best of my recollection, this is the prayer/mantra that I repeated in bed every night as a child/adolescent. I don't remember when it started and I don't remember when it stopped, but I know that I repeated this prayer for years and years and years.
When I reflect on the words of that childhood prayer now, I am struck by how clearly it represents all of my fears about the world that I was growing up into. For some reason, I was a fearful child. Although my family provided a very safe haven and I had loving parents and a room of my own and plenty of food to eat and clothes to wear, I worried. My relationship to G-d (if one could call it that since relationship implies a two-way dynamic) was based on asking for the bad things I worried about NOT to happen.
For example, for some reason I worried that I might not be able to have children (probably because from a very early age I knew how badly I wanted them). Perhaps some heroine in a book I'd read had lost her mother in childbirth and that's where that fear came from. I don't know for sure. I also don't know where I came up with the idea that G-d's role in the universe was to protect me from pain and hardship. It was as if I believed that G-d might not protect those who didn't directly ask for his protection.
I was able to have three healthy children of my own, but I was not granted a happy marriage and our family was far from cancer-free. So, where does that leave me?
My mature self certainly understands that one's relationship with G-d cannot be like one's relationship with the lady behind the counter at the cafeteria: "Yes, please...could you give me one order of happy kids and a side of lasting love and put a little extra health on the plate for good measure?"
Still, as I have suffered different pains and losses in my life, I will admit looking skyward and asking:
"Really? Where the heck are you?"
What does it mean to believe in G-d? Does it mean that you believe that there is a higher power operating in the universe that we cannot see but that we believe exists? Does it mean that you feel that
 G-d is omni-present and omnipotent and that each move you make is somehow pre-ordained or choreographed by an all-knowing deity? Far greater scholars than I could hope to be have tried to tackle this...so I don't expect to solve that question in this humble blog. However, as I sat in services this week, celebrating Rosh Hashana, I couldn't help but consider how my Jewish heritage and its liturgy have influenced me.
                            "On Rosh Hashana it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed.
                               How many shall pass on and how many shall come to be.
                               Who shall live and who shall die......"
And then the prayer continues listing all sorts of terrible things that could destroy our precious and fragile human lives. The prayer ends with these lines: "But Repentance, Prayer and Charity temper judgements severe decree."
So, young Rachel wasn't completely off track. There is a very real sense that I was taught to believe that G-d had control over my life and if I prayed to him, I could somehow travel an easier/better  path. Now do you see why I'm confused? I know that I have drastically and unfairly over-simplified this issue. Firstly, the prayer itself directs us to repent and to do good deeds as well as to pray. But still. to a worried child/teenager it must have seemed that G-d (and G-d alone) had the power to help me avoid the many land-mines that I envisioned popping up in one's life.
It is time, I think, to come up with a more grown-up, more complex, view of G-d. When Jacob wrestled with G-d, his name changed. I don't think we can wrestle with G-d and remain the same. Sometimes, I feel like my understanding of the events of my life requires that I get in the ring with G-d and that we battle it out together. And then, perhaps, I will have to change my name, too.

This act of wrestling is such a fundamentally real part of being human whether you are Christian or Jewish or any other strand of faith. My friend Julie and I recently saw a beautiful and complicated film called, "Higher Ground.' Vera Farmiga both directs and stars in the film which was based on the 2002 memoir, This Dark World by Carolyn S. Briggs. In the film, the main character and her husband find themselves drawn to a very strict fundamentalist Christian sect after a horrific car accident in which their baby girl is miraculously saved. While the protagonist has doubts from time to time, her faith is strong. It is only when she watches her best friend morph from vibrant, lively woman into a vegetative state, after a brain tumor is removed, that her doubts overwhelm her ability to believe. The film takes no shortcuts and provides no easy answers. Even at the end, there is no real resolution in terms of  her inner battle. I think that was one of the things I liked most about the film. We can straddle the worlds of faith and doubt; we can wait for a clear sign (like the burning bush that G-d showed to Moses) or...and this is what I am trying to learn to do...we can believe that our faith is evolving. That it takes two steps forward and then one step back.
When I'm moving forward, some things are very clear to me. For example, I have dealt with things that I would rather not have encountered or experienced...BUT I have emerged on the other side triumphant and stronger. My children's faces still look like miracles to me every time I see them. The friendships I have been lucky enough to enjoy feel somehow divinely directed. So, I do believe in G-d, but I have not yet figured out exactly what roles each of us has to play in our relationship. And for now, I am certain that uncertainty is something that I need to grow more comfortable with.

How Can You Turn an Ordinary Biscuit into an Extraordinary Treat?

Hi Blog readers (or Bleaders..as my son Ben would say). After several weeks of serious and heartfelt posts, I thought it was time for some lighter fare. However, these delicious treats are not light (in the nutritional sense), but they are delicious!
Growing up, I always looked forward to the Oneg Shabbat after services where all were free to peruse a wide assortment of treats. I really had eyes for only one back then, the gooey pull-apart coffee cake still warm from the oven. I would happily bypass all other cookies and cakes in order to be the first in line for the cinnamony perfection of "Pull Apart Cake."
 Fast forward 30+ years, and I finally decided to try and recreate it. After many google searches, I surmised that what we had called "Pull-Apart Cake" was also called "Monkey Bread."
My dear friend, and keeper of all secrets culinary, Berne Black, has since informed me that there is a slight difference between the two. However, for our purposes today, we will ignore the slight variations. After some (almost tragic) trial and error--(suffice it to say I over-stuffed the pan and had a butter-sugar oven fire)--I think I have finally come up with the perfect proportions and instructions.

Monkey Bread begins with the oh-so-humble canned biscuit.

If a canned biscuit can be transformed into the extreme perfection of monkey bread, then certainly there is hope for all of us to become whatever we dream of being :)

Ingredients:
2 cans of Homestyle Buttermilk Biscuits
Butter/Flour Baking Spray
2 sticks of unsalted butter--melted
1 cup of granulated sugar
1/4 cup cinnamon
1/2 cup brown sugar

Directions:
Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees
Spray bundt pan with baking spray
Cut each biscuit into fourths and roll into balls (you should end up with 64 balls)
Reserve about 1/4 of melted butter and mix with brown sugar and set aside.
Combine granulated sugar and cinnamon in bowl
Dip biscuit balls into melted butter and then roll in sugar-cinnamon mixture
Start stacking the balls in the bundt pan forming layers.
Don't worry that the layers look like they don't take up enough of the pan: they
will expand a lot when baked.
Bake for 15 minutes and remove from oven. 
Pour brown sugar-butter mixture over dough and put back into oven for
another 25-30 minutes.
Best served warm!

Happy Eating!!!!

What do you wish for on your birthday?

I was born on my father's birthday and so my birthday celebrations were always joint affairs. When I was little, my mom would coach all the little girls at my parties to sing "Happy Birthday to Rachel and Rabbi Karff" as she brought in the cake aglow with candles. Some girls might have minded the divided attention; I felt honored as if sharing my birthday made me extra special. Of course, I wasn't sharing it with just anyone, I was sharing it with the most special man in the world. Lots of little girls think that their father is special, but I KNEW mine was. Everywhere I went, people would tell me what a wonderful man he was. He seemed larger than life. When we were at temple, he was the star of the show, and his three adoring daughters' were always happy to bask in the overflow glow.
When I was fifteen, we moved to Houston and the congregation rolled out the red carpet to welcome us as if we were visiting royalty. For a shy girl from Chicago, the attention was sometimes overwhelming. However, I knew that he deserved their praise and attention. I knew he was special. On the high holidays, when he would finish his sermon, the room would resound in a loud collective purr of awe, and I can still hear the loudly whispered praises now if I close my eyes.
"Amazing!"
"He did it again."
"Powerful"
"It felt like he was talking just to me."
My whole teen self would swell with pride. That's my dad! He wasn't just admired for his oratory skills though, he is also incredibly compassionate.

Last night, the temple held a service in honor of his 80th birthday and Rabbi Les Gutterman flew in from Rhode Island to give a sermon/tribute to him. One of many kind (and true) things Rabbi Gutterman talked about was my dad's spirit of genuine lovingkindness. My father has a pure heart and a wise mind. Sometimes, we mistakenly believe that true kindness can only exist with innocence. My dad has taught me that this is just not true. He is perceptive and wise and knows how the world really is; he sees its flaws and loves it anyway. He sees our flaws and loves us anyway.

Voltaire wrote that "God gave us the gift of life; it is up to us to give ourselves the gift of living well." My father has lived well, and he has always been my compass. I look to him and know that his is the kind of life I aspire to live, even if I fall short more often than I'd like. Dad finds beauty (and spirituality) in a perfect Michigan sunset, a ripe peach, a funny joke, a brilliant novel, a person who has survived something difficult without getting lost in bitterness. He has taught me that you can be analytical and intellectual and yet simply love life unconditionally as well. How many people do you know of whom you can say that?

My three wonderful kids flew in to celebrate this milestone birthday with our family and having them here with me made me understand how much I value the people I love. They are no longer little and in one nest under my wings...but they are still very much a part of me. I am a very proud and grateful mom.

So, Monday will come and go...another marker of another year. Another candle on the cake and more wishes. On September 19th 1960 the stars aligned in perfect order to seal my destiny. I was to be born to a loving couple, Joan Mag Karff and Samuel Egal Karff, a dancer and a Rabbi. On every birthday, I was meant to be reminded of this special gift as dad and I would celebrate together. You are not supposed to share the wishes you make right before you blow out the candles on your cake....so let me just say, Happy 80th Birthday Dad....I will be making wishes for you and for me and for our family and sending hope out into the world that more stars will align and more Sam Karffs will be born to teach us all "the gift of living well."
I love you!

Why do we have a love affair with Jane Austen?

Last night as I searched Netflix for something to watch, I stumbled upon a film entitled, "Lost in Austen."
It is a clever little comedy about a young British woman's obsession with Pride and Prejudice. The gal, Amanda Price, compares all suitors to Darcy and retreats to her dog-eared copy of P&P and a glass of wine when in need of comfort. As a quirky twist of fate/fantasy would have it, Elizabeth Bennet finds a portal to our world that opens up into Amanda's bathroom, and you can imagine how the rest of the film unfolds. I certainly won't spoil it for you here!

Watching "Lost in Austen" last night made me think about my own love of Austen and P&P (which I have taught each Spring for the last five years). I marvel at the book on so many levels, not the least of which is how on earth Jane managed to write such a cleverly plotted novel without the aid of a computer which would have allowed her to cut and paste. As a writer, I am awed by her  ability to create such lengthy and intricate works in longhand...not to mention by candlelight!!!

Mostly, I am amazed at how well she knew people and how clearly she could observe them and then render them on the page. She must have felt, in some ways, like an outsider as she was always watching and assessing in her brilliant mind. Perhaps, it was both a gift and a handicap because the love that she described in her stories was never hers to experience in life. Although, the 2007 film, "Becoming Jane" does try to suggest that Austen had an aborted romance with a young man named Tom Lefroy, there really isn't proof to substantiate that. We are left imagining that she knew what love should feel like, even if she was never lucky enough to feel it herself.

 I wonder sometimes about my own introspective nature which can cause me to review my life rather than merely living it. While it is a trait that allows me to think deeply and empathize with others, it can also hold me back from being a fully engaged participant in my own life. My interest in yoga is in part due to the fact that it forces me to be fully present in the moment, and in my body,...breath by breath.

To me, the thing that most captivates us about P&P is the exploration of love. All humans crave companionship; we are seeking our other halves. Austen describes the process so cleverly that we feel lucky to have her as our guide. Darcy and Elizabeth don't love each other immediately; rather, they grow to love each other in spite of their flaws (his pride/her prejudice). While other couples (like Jane and Bingley) seem to fall in love more easily, we feel that they are somehow less complex creatures and that those of us who are intricate individuals have lots of murky water to navigate as we find our way towards each other. When love between Darcy and Elizabeth is finally realized, the reader feels relief and jubilation: we trust that they will be together forever. Luckily for us, there was no sequel where Elizabeth ran off with the stable boy or Darcy got one of the young chambermaids pregnant. No, Darcy and Elizabeth will be in love for all time....and we are all the better for it!

One of the funny elements that the film explored was this idea that Darcy, in all his sulky, brooding arrogance, is attractive to women. Honestly, last night's Darcy and Colin Firth (in my favorite film adaptation of P&P) both scowl and glare for the majority of the movie. Are we women really drawn to angry, humorless men? I don't think so. But Darcy's seriousness is appealing; he is a man not a boy, and that is immediately apparent. Also, I think, there is a female fantasy that we will bring joy to this sad, serious man. We want to be the one that makes him laugh, that puts a smile on his face, that loosens him up. He is mysterious...like a package  wrapped  in plain paper that we know hides a treasure. Of course, it didn't hurt that Darcy was also tall, dark and handsome as are most heroes  in literature and lore. In fact, I'll admit that I wouldn't mind a TDH hero of my own at the moment...even if his dark hair is now grey or completely gone :)

I can't end this exploration of Austen's appeal without mentioning one of my very favorite feel-good films: the 2004 Bollywood adaptation of P&P, "Bride and Prejudice." Complete with kitschy costumes, exotic locales, and full-blown musical numbers, "Bride and Prejudice" is a hilarious take on P&P and shows how totally universal Austen's stories are. Warning: You cannot watch this movie and still be in a bad mood!

One final thought: Though Jane Bennet is described as beautiful and good, most women readers identify with Elizabeth who is clever and headstrong. While Lizzy can make mistakes and misjudge people, she can also face the truth even when it is unpleasant. She has an inner strength which is laudable and a confidence that most women envy. When Darcy first insults her at the ball by saying that "she is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt {him}," Lizzy doesn't burst into tears or run screaming from the room. Instead, she walks over to her friends and tells "the story with great spirit... for she had a lively, playful disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous."

Bravo, Lizzy!!  Let us all learn to channel our inner Elizabeth Bennet, to be confident in our own skin, to
be wise and witty women who never settle for mediocrity when true love is possible!

How Do We Remember People We Have Lost?

Tomorrow, I will attend Esther's wedding. I will be there, and her mother, Naomi, will not.
Esther is Naomi's oldest child, her only daughter, and I know that Naomi would have given anything to be with Esther on this important day. Naomi lost her brave battle against breast cancer about  9 or 10 years ago, but it doesn't feel as if she has been gone for that long.
I remember when I first met Naomi. She and her husband Jay were hosting a young couple's group at their home and Esther and Craig were toddlers running around and Naomi looked so glamorous and comfortable as a hostess; I was mesmerized. Later, when her son Craig and my oldest son, Josh, became best friends, she and I became incredibly close. Our families would gather for dinner at one of our homes at least once a week. Naomi was a unique soul; she was a talented singer and there was always something a bit theatrical about her. She was incredibly stylish and loved the world of fashion and glamour. Yet, she was also incredibly down to earth and amazingly real. She was an intensely loyal friend and those moments are some of the ones that stand out the most to me.
I remember one summer, I came down with a terrible stomach virus and I started feeling faint. All three kids were home and Emily was probably under two. My parents were out of town, my husband was at work and planned on attending a work-related party that evening which he said he wouldn't be able to miss. I felt so frightened that I would pass out and the kids would be unattended. As soon as Naomi answered her phone, as soon as I heard her chipper voice, I felt safe. She said she'd be right over, and she took all three kids plus her three kids to the pool for the day. That night, she brought them back and ordered pizza and got everyone fed. She certainly didn't feel that she had done anything extraordinary; but the truth was, I felt loved and safe that day in the way that only those who really know and love us can make us feel.
Each year on my birthday, Naomi would set a date to take me to Neiman Marcus. Honestly, it was probably the only time all year that I would go there. Naomi knew the women who worked the makeup counters, and she would have them treat me like I was a visiting queen. Naomi loved makeup and knew everything about the fancy brands. She would have them give me a makeover, and then she would treat me to a few of the products as my birthday gift. Then, we would go upstairs to the cafe and have a very grown up ladies' lunch. I cherished those annual outings and looked so forward to them each year. Naomi knew how to make a person feel special.
Something happened to our friendship though as the years went on. As my marriage darkened, I found her unwilling or unable to explore the sad bold truth about my life. Naomi always wanted to see life's glitter; she never wanted to look too closely at the dust underneath. Maybe this was a survival mechanism for her. She had difficult, narcissistic parents who had not completely protected their three daughters. As the oldest sister, Naomi felt the brunt of much of that I think.
Then, when she was diagnosed with cancer, she fought like crazy to shield her own three young children from the terrible reality. I completely understood that fierce maternal desire, but it extended beyond her kids to other relationships as well, and I found it hard to have real talks with her. Sometimes, she seemed secretive; other times, she seemed in denial. I blame her for neither; she was just trying to survive. The problem was, my marriage was filled with secrets and denial, and I was trying desperately to brave my way into a new more honest place. Naomi couldn't go there with me, so we drifted apart.
She had been in remission for several years, and I had not heard that she had taken a turn for the worse. We had spent most of that summer in Cape Cod, and when we returned, Josh and Craig were leaving to go to a Maccabi youth group event out of town. Jay came over to pick something up that Craig had left at our house, and when I answered the door, he looked terrible. "She's in the hospital," he said "and you need to go see her tomorrow." I was shocked at his insistency and knew that things were so much worse than I could've imagined.
The next morning on my way to the hospital, I stopped at the drugstore and bought every fashion magazine they had. Clutching the Vogue, Harper's Bazaar and other periodicals in my hands, I got off the elevator on Naomi's floor. The nurse directed me to a room, but when I peeked in the door,  I was sure that they had made a mistake. The woman sleeping in the bed must have weighed 80 pounds and looked so frail and so unlike my vibrant friend that I would never have recognized her. The nurse saw me hesitate at the door and gently pushed me into the room. "Go on in," she said. "She'll wake up."
Naomi opened her eyes and smiled at me."You're back," she said. To this day, I get teary-eyed when I remember that moment. I guess she meant that I was back from the Cape, but what I heard was: Now you're back with me, you're back in my life.
I put the magazines on the window sill feeling silly for having brought them. This was not a woman who was going to leisurely page through a copy of Vogue turning down the corners to mark things to buy.
We talked about our kids. I tried very hard to be strong; I tried not to cry. "They say things are getting better," she said. "I'll be out of here soon." She died that night.

Josh and Craig (about 20 years ago)!!

Tomorrow, I will feel Naomi's presence as I watch her beautiful daughter walk down the aisle. I will sense her as I see her handsome, happy sons take part in the wedding. I will celebrate the moment as she would want us all to--filled with an overwhelming sense of joy and gratitude.

How can we learn to be resilient?

Wednesday night the phone rang and it was Emily. I had spoken to her earlier that day. It had been the first day of her sophomore year of college, her first day of classes at UT. She had found out the night before that she'd gotten into the sorority she'd wanted. It seemed things were working out incredibly well for her, and I had taken a deep mom sigh of relief and gratitude.

Then, Wednesday night, the phone rang. She was in the emergency room. She had fainted and fallen and needed stitches and knocked out part of her front teeth. We later found out that a third tooth was loose as well.  The doctor was doing a Cat Scan to determine whether or not she had had a concussion. 

When I first heard her voice, I thought she was playing a prank on me. After all, we'd just spoken a few hours earlier and she and her big brothers are notoriously famous for telling me false awful news to hear  (what they would deem) my classic  "Jewish Mother Style" overreactions. Her friend had to take the phone to convince me that she was really in the emergency room. For the remainder of the night,  I  mainly  communicated with her friends through multiple texts and calls since her lips were so swollen that it was hard for her to talk.

Emily has amazing friends, and luckily, several of them (Mikey, Scarlet & Rachel) were in Austin and were able to race to her side. They kept her company and advocated on her behalf. It became apparent to all of them that Emily was not being given quick and appropriate treatment. Perhaps it was because they were not accompanied by an adult. Perhaps it was because the hospital staff assumed, since the accident happened at a party in a college town, that Emily had been drinking.

When the results from the blood tests they administered came back, it was clear that Emily had fainted from dehydration NOT inebriation. In fact, her blood alcohol level was ZERO! It was a freak accident. She had been in the sun. She had not been staying hydrated. She had not eaten much that day, and she fainted onto a very hard concrete surface without any sort of warning or time to brace herself for the fall.

Wednesday night, feeling too far away and helpless, I called  the only adult I knew in Austin, a dear family friend, and secured the name of their family dentist. She offered to go to the hospital, but at that point, the results of the Cat Scan had shown that Emily did not have a concussion and they were going to release her.

Emily's best friend, Rachel, stayed in Emily's apt. with her all night. I left for Austin the next day after working out coverage for my classes (thanks to my colleagues in the English Dept.).  I checked in at the hotel and then went straight to the dentist's office. Let me take this opportunity to give a HUGE shout out to the inventor of GPS. I am a nervous driver and directionally challenged, so I would never have found my way around Austin without the comforting crooning of Bertha my portable GPS (God's Personal Substitute? ).

Emily spent about three+ hours at the dentist's that day and it is only the first of what will be many visits. He stabilized one tooth, started root canal on another and put a white compound over the teeth to protect them and to restore a more normal appearance. I was so grateful that he and his lovely staff stayed after hours to care for her and so appreciative that our friend had steered us to such a capable and kind dentist.

After running to CVS to pick up her pain meds, Emily and I checked into the hotel where we cocooned ourselves away  in rm. 4029 for two nights. We watched tv, ordered lots of SOFT room service meals and let her body heal.  The only time we left the hotel was  late Friday night because Emily wanted to show me the views of the lit up Tower and Capitol. She wasn't too keen on being seen, but she was determined to share that special view with me. 

 I'm pretty sure that my 19 year old self would not have left the hotel-- no matter how stellar the view.  I would've been feeling sorry for myself and self-conscious and that would have consumed me. But Emily is a much tougher more resilient version of me. Is it because she grew up defending herself against two strong older brothers? Is it because she weathered a divorce and has had to learn how to deal with a difficult father? Or was it just something special in her DNA? After all, when she was just a tiny two year old, my father said "Emily is the only girl I know who was born a broad!" 

On Saturday morning, we left the hotel and ran some errands that she needed and after two stops she started feeling a little faint, so she stayed in the air-conditioned car while I shopped for groceries. Back at her apt., she got settled in while I cooked some Jewish Penicillin (homemade Chicken Noodle Soup) and made her a Cookies 'n Cream Milkshake in the new bright pink blender we'd bought that morning. Later that night, Rachel came over and joined us for a pasta dinner made with teeny tiny pasta shapes that Emily could push to the back of her mouth to chew. As we talked about the accident, I found out that even in the ER, Emily had been making jokes with her friends and trying to get them to stop worrying.

Several times this weekend, Emily opened her swollen lips to remind me,"It could've been a lot worse!"

I am so proud of my beautiful, brave, resilient daughter. She will be fine, and she will endure the annoying and uncomfortable aspects of her recovery with her usual powerful grace. 

I could wish for Emily, and all of our daughters and sons, a life free of accident or trauma, but I'm afraid that life does not exist for any of us. So, I wish for all of them, for all of us, the gift of a resilient spirit. I love you, Emily!!

Photo taken by Emily on her computer and posted with her permission :)