Winter & Jackets - Are They Necessary?

I choose not to beat myself up.
I choose to learn from my mistakes.
I hate when my mistakes involve my children.

Watch the unfolding of something so simple swirl into something beyond your control.
A simple thing.
The weather.
An announcement from the principal yesterday that the weather was getting cold and to - please - bring the appropriate attire.
My children came home from school yesterday announcing that they had to bring their jackets to school today.

And, when today came, one of them could not find his jacket.
But, the story is a bit longer than that.

This child takes a long time to get ready in the morning, needs a lot of prodding, and requires some reminders to look at the time on the clock.  This morning was no different.

The time edged closer to the first bell.  I was already driving another child to school and waited two minutes for the last one to finish getting ready - telling him that he should brush his teeth first and put his shoes on in the car.  That way, if he was late - he would not also make his sister late (professional time strategist here). 

We get into the car, and he soon realizes that he does not have his sweatshirt (hardly an appropriate winter jacket) in his backpack.  He has to go home and get it.  I even offer to go home and get it and bring it to him so he doesn't have to be late for school.  He turns down my generous offer.

I drop off the sister and head back home (30-second drive).  He goes into the house and I'm waiting... and waiting... and waiting.  I know what is going to happen.  He comes out and whimpers that he cannot find his sweatshirt.  He left it in his backpack.  It's not there.  He cannot find it in the house.

I tell him that his gray fleece is hanging on the hook, and he may get that jacket.  He looks at me like I just told him to go to school naked.  He goes back into the house.  I wait.... and wait... and wait.  He comes back out without the sweatshirt and without the jacket.  He gets in the car.

I say, "So, you are choosing to go to school without a jacket when your principal told you yesterday that it was going to be cold and you need to dress appropriately?  You are choosing to do this instead of bringing the fleece jacket hanging on the hook right inside the door?"

The child answers, "Yes."

Here is the moment.  I make a comment about how 'stupid' (I did not use that word; my word was probably worse) that was and about how the inability to be flexible was going to cause him to stay in at recess.  I told him to make sure he stayed inside at recess, even if no one noticed his missing jacket.

I dropped him off without a word and started to pull away - I realized he was late.  I rolled down my window and called him back to the car.  "I have to take you to the front entrance," I said, "the gates are locked.  You are late."

So, he got in the car and we pulled around to the front.  I walked him inside and watched him get his tardy slip.  
"Good-bye mom.  I love you, mom."

Daggers.  He loves me?  After that bad-mommy moment?  He still loves me?  Have I taught him well?  To love through anger and pain?  Is he trying to confirm that I still love him - through my anger?  Whatever the reason, I love him too.

And, as I come to the end of highlighting my own turmoil, I have learned that there has been another school shooting.  I have paused from writing to read and - though it didn't get as far as Sandy Hook - it rips me apart. The pain, anger, and hurt within that can cause a child to commit such a horrendous act.  The failure of society to make it difficult for a child to follow through with such a thought.  The fear, despair, and anguish in the Taft High School community.

I'm thinking I'll take my child out of school and have lunch with him today.

"98 is great; 98 takes you to Heaven's gate"

Unlike other relatives who I’ve had the blessing to watch grow old, my grandmother never grew old…. until the very end. At that point, I was praying for her to die.  Because that is what she wanted.  Because death would bring relief.  Because she was ready. 

And, I guess, because I didn’t really think she would.  I thought she’d be around for at least a handful of years – because that’s how she was. And she didn’t seem near death, just patiently waiting for it – until the end.

The end brought her to the hospital.  She had an obstructed bowel, among other things. The doctors could not believe that she had withstood that pain for so long. But my grandmother had a high tolerance for pain. 

She grew old in the hospital.  She looked weathered, but still sweet.  She looked tired and ready for something else.  Her fiery determination was put toward dying and not toward living.  She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t dying.

She thought if she moved from the hospital to a nursing home, death would come more quickly.  After all, her sister had died shortly after moving to a nursing home.  We told her that wasn’t the reason to go to a nursing home.  Not all people die soon after arriving there.

She wanted to know if she could die while sitting in her chair watching TV.  She was told it was certainly possible.  She wanted to know if she could die from starving herself.  She didn’t have much of an appetite before going into the hospital, and she was having more trouble eating once she was there.

My grandma was ready to return to her parents, my grandfather, and her siblings who had all died before her.  She had had a complete life.  She had used up her life and wasn’t prepared to put more effort into it.  That is why I prayed for her death (only I called it relief in my prayers).

And, now I realize – more than ever – I didn’t want her to die.  I had her best interest at heart, but not my own.  I did not want her to suffer.  I did not want to see her struggle as her physical body “failed” (her level of physical failure was still much better than most people her age) while her mind still flourished.  She was sharp as can be up until the end – remembering birthdays, memories, and details.

I still have conversations I’d like to have with her.  I still have things to learn from her.  I’m still wondering about my grandma’s life when she was a young mother, a middle aged mother, my grandmother in the early years.

I hold my grandmother in the highest regard.  The meanest thing I ever heard her say was “Lisa-la, you look like you put on a little weight.”  I knew I had to take better care of myself if my grandma was pointing that out to me.

Everyone loved her – loved her beyond.  Beyond an innate familial love.  Her love penetrated deep, and she didn’t have to do much to let you know it.  My grandma was an observer.  She received joy from sitting back and watching her children, her grandchildren, and her great grandchildren be together.

She baked with love.  The walls of her home resonated with love.  And the love remains now that she is gone.  My mom said my grandma saved everything.  My parents found the booklet from junior high graduation.  I found an autograph book that was from my grandma’s elementary years.  There are pictures – pictures of everyone in our family.  There were seven siblings in my grandma’s family.  There are pictures of everyone and their children and their grandchildren….

I don’t think she necessarily spent her time rummaging through her pictures and memorable keepsakes, but they sat in drawers – brimming with love and pride.  In fact, next to all the pictures of grandma’s family that were forever on the refrigerator were a picture of “pride and joy” (the cleaning supplies) because that is what her family meant to her.

My grandma passed away on December 16, 2012 – the same day that my friend, Cindy, was born. Cindy – my friend who passed away much too early in life.  And, that’s really all I can say about that right now.

I saw my grandma before she was buried.  I’m not sure if I was “supposed to” or not.  I didn’t ask.  I wanted to see her.  She looked happy.  She looked like the grandma that I remembered – not the one in the hospital (who, really, compared to most sick, grumpy old people – was not far from her old self and was hardly grumpy… but she still wasn’t her old self, and she was a bit grumpy – as far as my grandma is concerned).  I was glad to have that last vision of my grandma – a vision of content.

Along with my brothers and sisters and cousins, I carried my grandmother – like I had carried my friend, Cindy – to the next phase of life. That’s when it sinks a little deeper – and with Cindy – a lot deeper.  Too deep.  We knew we were helping my grandma to fulfill her last wish.  The last time I had seen her, I told her I would keep her in my prayers.  She said, “Don’t pray for me.”, and I knew what she meant.  “I’ll pray for your wishes to be granted, Grandma,” I had told her.  And, so I did.

The world has changed again.  And, I know every day, somewhere – the world is changing and we are not aware of it.  But, when it hits close to home – you become aware.  And, whether you want to or not, you begin a process of contemplation, analyzing, and peacemaking.  You find your way and your place in the world again.  You begin to look forward again.  You start to live again.  As my grandma always said, “Yesterday is history.  Tomorrow is a mystery.  Today is a gift.  That’s why they call it the present.”

Mr Rogers and Disaster

I had the opportunity to hear (on the radio) Dr. Daniel Aldrich - Fulbright research fellow at the University of Tokyo's Economics Department - speak on the topic of disaster recovery.  His family went through Katrina, so he has experienced disaster firsthand.  He has also published a book and several articles on the research he's done on disasters.

The amazing - and, perhaps, not surprising - thing is that it all comes back to Mr. Rogers.   Mr. Rogers told us to be  good neighbors, and Dr. Aldrich has discovered that that is a key component in successful disaster recovery.  Most of the people who save victim's lives are not first responders, but neighbors who know the habits of their neighbors.  Neighbors who know there is an elderly person next door who might need help; neighbors who bring water; neighbors who inform newcomers to the neighborhood how to better protect themselves.  People who know what other people need, are willing to give what is needed, are willing to accept what is being given, willing to trust that it is being given and received and used in the manner intended....

It's about people caring for other people - knowing other people - no matter of the religious background, socioeconomic background, educational background... At the core of disaster, one finds unity. One finds humanity. One finds the way it should be each and every day.

Unfortunately, it's not.

We're too busy worrying about our own - our own families, our own organizations, our own agendas - that we forget about being human and about caring for each other and about the power that comes from joining together. We are too consumed with competition and being the best and having the most, and we neglect to see that so much is lost.

We need a dose of mr. roger's advice - to be kind to our neighbors, to know our neighbors, and we need to pay attention to Dr. Aldrich's research findings  - the neighborhoods that survive disasters best are the neighborhoods that came together and helped each other out. From studying the history of tragic disaster recovery, Dr. Aldrich provides a priceless message.  I'm guessing if we applied the power of coming together before there is a disaster, we would be able to see the same benefits of unity, caring for each other, and making the world a better place.

Return, Return, Return

This is the mantra of the upcoming Jewish holiday of Rosh Hashanah.  It is a time for Teshuva and a time when most Jews - even those who are not religiously observant during the year - will return, if even for a moment.  What is it about this holiday that draws us back?

Teshuva means to return, and Rosh Hashanah is the perfect time to begin anew. It is time to take an accounting of the year - or years - that has/have passed.  It is a time to recognize and accept responsibilities for our major blunders.  It is a time to identify ways in which we want to grow, change, or adapt in the year to come.

The act of Teshuva - especially at this time of year - encourages us to come out of our holes, to commit to making life holy, and to make each moment a conscious moment.  It allows us to leave behind that which does not suit us well.  It is a directive to transform those things that have burdened us into things that will work for us.

It has been just over three years since my last post - my post about losing Cindy - an experience that changed my life.  And, not necessarily, in a good way.  Losing Cindy made me afraid, reluctant to love people, and - instead of making me more patient with my children, my husband, and the people I love - it made me impatient, rigid, and angry.

I tried - many times - to write.  I have not been successful.  I have only a few drafts that were never finished or remain unpublished from those three years.  Most of my attempts are in the wastebasket under my desk.

This past Sunday, I attended a workshop titled Turn, Turn, Turn Teshuva 2012 led by Rabbi Elana Kanter of the Women's Jewish Learning Center.  Teshuva, Teshuva, Teshuva.  Return. Return.  Return.

Even at the beginning of this three-hour workshop, I was struck by the notion of returning and the three paths of return that Rabbi Kanter identified.  We turn back to ourselves. We turn back to our community.  We turn back to G-d.


Return to Self
G-d can only be G-d, Rabbi Kanter said, if people make him G-d.  And, immediately I thought of the story of the man in the flood (not Noah, the other lesser known man).  There was a flood, and the man climbed up onto his rooftop to await G-d's help.  His faith was strong, and he knew he'd be all right.  When a boat passed by, he waved them on - as he continued to wait for G-d's help.  As the waters crept higher, additional boats came by and, each time, the man graciously waved them on.  G-d would come.  When the waters rose too high, the man drowned.  He came before G-d and demanded to know where G-d had been when he needed him.  And, G-d's reply?  "Why did you not get on the boats I sent to you?"

If we do not make G-d King, then G-d is not a King.  This month - this month of Elul - is the easiest time to welcome G-d back as your King.  The month of Elul is the month that the King comes out of His castle and roams the fields, opening His doors to His people.

If you want to get beyond something, you have to work at it - work really hard.  And, then - after all that work - you have to take action.  There is no sitting and waiting.  Nothing goes away with mere anticipation.

When we return to G-d, we return to ourselves.

Return to Community
When we turn from ourselves, we also remove ourselves from our community.  Even if we remain involved and connected, we are not present.  When we form habits or take ourselves away - we grow accustomed to that way of being.

Rabbi Kanter asked the group to consider whether there was anything we do that used to give us pause but no longer gives us pause.  I stopped going to shul when my children were young.  They are not so young anymore - and it does still make me pause each week - but I don't do anything about it.  Creating Parsha study at home is not the same as being a part of a davening community.  I cannot allow my own 'pausing habits' to impact my children and what I desire for them.

I haven't written in three years.  I think about it  - a lot!  I've tried to come back to it - a lot!  It's not even that I have a following or have made my blog public at all, but writing is an external expression - a reflection of being part of something outside of yourself.  Withdrawing from writing is withdrawing from life.

Return to G-d
This morning - in a class led by Esther Allouche - she shared an analogy of our relationship with G-d.  Picture G-d as a large, thick pillar candle with its wick lit aflame.  The light from this candle - or any candle, for that matter - is infinite and can light any number of candles without losing any light itself.  So, G-d (this giant, pillar candle) lights the smaller, tapered candles (us) so that each of us has a burning, living piece of G-d within us.  Esther also pointed out that the flame of a candle always reaches upward - even when it is upside down.  Our light - is always reaching toward G-d.  When the candle is standing still, the flame continues to waver and to dance.  It never sits still - nor should we - especially when it comes to our relationship with G-d.

Returning to G-d involves making a meaningful connection.  It becomes a process of setting aside your ego - over and over again.  And living with purpose, intention.  It's being an active participant.

Teshuva is a continual process of renewal, reconnection, and revamping.  The month of Elul, Rosh Hashanah, the Days of Awe, and Yom Kippur are an especially powerful time for this deep introspection, renewed commitment, and extensive effort toward growth and change.

Return. Return.  Return.
I will return.

In the midst of motherhood, you find your Self.

Saying Good-Bye

I'm sorry you never had the opportunity to meet my friend, Cindy. Cindy was the kind of person who brought 'good things' to everyone who crossed her path. It was a privilege knowing Cindy. It was an honor. She was a blessing in my life and in the lives of everyone she knew.

I just wish I knew she wasn't going to be here forever.

I wish I had called her more often. I wish I had set aside time to frequent the women's gatherings she put together. I wish we had had more in depth conversations about life, dreams, growing and struggling.

Cindy was an amazing woman. She was several years younger than me but she was one of those wise, old souls. Cindy approached every aspect of life with a desire to make it better, to better herself and to overcome any obstacle that stood before her. She was able to see the Divine residing in everyone. It is a gift many of us have not mastered.

Cindy was always looking up and around. Nothing was easy - because it had to be known thoroughly and embraced fully. Everywhere there was room for improvement. She worked so hard - at everything.

You still don't know her, do you?
She had a head of boing-boing brown curls and eyes that twinkled and a sense of humor to make anyone laugh. She analyzed, contemplated and tried to make sense of the world and all the things it presented her with. She was at home wherever she went and she went many places. She was outdoorsy; she didn't care what other people thought; she dressed the way she wanted to and not the way the magazines told her to.

I loved her because she was real and she was comfortable being real. Her insights could change your world, and they changed mine. Cindy was one of my friends who participated in a trial group of - then Mommymorphosis - now SWAK (sanity with a kid), a life coaching program designed to assist moms as they redefine and recreate themselves throughout the journey of motherhood.

We were talking about daily hiccups one day - those little, annoying things in your day that you cannot get rid of - and, somehow, a talk about sweeping the floor led to a discussion on negative self-talk. The entire program transformed before my eyes. Every conversation with Cindy was a MINDFUL CONVERSATION and that's the name of the book I wanted to write with Cindy. Now, I guess, I'll have to write it for her.

Cindy passed away from a heart condition - hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It was diagnosed during her third trimester of pregnancy, and she died a few weeks after giving birth to her second daughter - Ziva. She thought she would be on medicine the rest of her life. Perhaps she would need a heart transplant. She was feeling better when I spoke with her about a week after Ziva was born. She was in great spirits. She said "you should have seen me a few weeks ago". She was watching her daughter, Bella, swim with her husband, Peter and she was holding Ziva. "She's so precious". And then she had to go - motherly duties called - Bella and Peter were getting out of the pool. I made a note, then, to call her again soon - to be a better friend - to be a friend whose actions represented her feelings. She was such an important part of my life - even though our conversations were infrequent and our visits seemed to happen only when "one of us" got married.

Cindy passed away in Peter's arms. She was lying down because she did not feel well.

Cindy had a zest for life that anyone might envy. She had adventures all over the world. She was out of the box. She was Cindy.

I'm sorry you never had the opportunity to meet her. I hope, though, that you can learn from her.





I think my friend, Alisa, said it even better:

Dear Chevre, It is with deep sadness that I write to tell you about the death of Cindy Feldman Garaj, T47 and madricha for . During her third trimester of pregnancy, Cindy was diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, a form of cardiac disease known to cause sudden death. After delivering a healthy baby girl, Ziva, the beta blockers her doctors prescribed seemed to be working and everything seemed to be under control. But tragically and unexpectedly Cindy passed away two weeks later on May 29, 2009.

I can still see Cindy with her wild head of curls, sitting on her bed in Tzvat when I walked in the door to what would be our home for the next three months. I had no idea that wild and wonderful woman would become a beloved friend, a confidante, and a constant reminder that life is meant to be lived with creativity and passion. Cindy found freedom in nature. She cared deeply about the people in her life, about living her life authentically and on her own terms. Everything she did had the creative stamp of Cindy-ness on it. I still have a hand-bound book she made and sent as a surprise. It was meant for us to write our dreams and wishes and we’d send it back and forth to each other. “Dear Alisa,” she writes, “Sometimes I wish for an easier life, but then I try to remember that there are lessons to learn…I guess the biggest struggle I am having is understanding how my attitude/personality effect those around me.” That’s so Cindy. She was driven not just by learning but by striving to always understand – to understand the true nature and needs of her family, of her friends, of her health and wellness (as a yoga instructor and massage therapist) and most often, Cindy in her own words struggled to understand how her life effected those around her and vice versa.

“May her memory be for a blessing.” One of the rabbis at Cindy’s funeral had never met Cindy, but in hearing stories from her family and friends, he understood that Cindy was a sparkling being. When she couldn’t find a mikvah in Aspen, CO, before her wedding, Cindy ‘made’ one in an ice-cold mountain stream in the parking lot of her hotel. When she traveled the world, she sincerely offered, “There’s always room in my backpack for you!” When she met her husband Peter, she found her best friend, mate and future. When she organized a womens’ weekend, the food was abundant, the paints and crayons everywhere to create when the spirit struck you and she was the first to start a spontaneous dance of joy to celebrate the beautiful surroundings. Cindy had a soul that could not be contained or bound by the physical. The rabbi at her funeral said for people who knew and loved her to share their memories about Cindy, and in telling stories from her brief yet full life, in giving her daughters a sense of who their mother was and how very special and unique she was and how very much she loved them – in sharing memories of Cindy, in taking a kind action and dedicating it to Cindy’s memory, in doing that – we would make her memory become a blessing.

At the same time that I, along with all who knew her, grieve a tragic loss, I know I am a better person for having had Cindy Feldman Garaj in my life and the very best way to honor her memory is to practice kindness, give and receive love, and squeeze every juicy moment out of life with creative fervor and zest! The best way to honor Cindy’s life is to make her memory a blessing.

Mother-Life Crisis

I may be in the midst of a mother-life crisis. There are people - like myself - who live lives of introspection. We like to analyze; we like to think; we like to look at the deeper picture. Frequently, within motherhood, the opportunity to go beneath the surface is not easily entered into. One can spend countless moments contemplating and trying to make spiritual the act of motherhood - childcare, meal preparation, housecleaning, laundry, bill paying, grocery shopping... but to really go within takes time, and time is something moms often do not have a lot of.

Thus enters the Mother-Life Crisis. The ages at which my children now sit make motherhood pass by like an action movie, the scenes go from one to the next with little down time in between. Only in motherhood, there's no ending where we get up stiff-legged from sitting for so long and throw our popcorn boxes in the trash on the way out. Instead, our legs are asleep from bouncing children on them, and the garbage detail is endless as we go from meals to snacks to ripping up paper to more snacks to the next meal to the next snack to cleaning up play doh...

In motherhood, there is always a next scene. We just watch, as the film unreels, from scene to scene - responding to a crisis, a task or a responsibility. Transition or filler scenes are few and far between. I'm not sure how long it's been since I've sat on our couch for a bit of rest and relaxation. It's a "piece" in our house I look at lovingly and longingly but rarely get to actually enjoy.

Creating rhythms and control within the chaos is one of my fortes, and yet - at the same time - I watch as life unfurls around me, bringing in something else that needs attention, mastery and initiation into our family's common rhythm. Sometimes, standing in the eye of the storm is a simple task, and - at other times - it becomes more difficult.

When my exclusive self - the one that flourishes deep inside - is being neglected, the chaos on the outside becomes less manageable. There are times this cannot be prevented and the spirit within must sit patiently waiting to be nurtured and attended to. Often, the weeks pass before the time has opened up again and - it is in those long periods of time - when the mother-life crisis can strike.

In those moments, we stoop down and we wonder what it's all about. What is the purpose? How can we achieve meaning when our pinball machine has too many balls in it? Too many bright lights, loud noises, fast action and unpredictable surprises. But, eventually, we let the ball slip through the flippers and it quiets down for a moment. Such is life. The high pace might last longer than a whirl on the pinball machine, but - eventually - the pace will slow down again. We can feel like we have control of the reigns again. Life comes back to a semblance of order.

Those low moments may not occur very often, but they are forceful and should be anticipated and planned for. If you are pensive and reflective as I am, your spirit cannot take long departures from attention. For me, the stirring within develops in symptoms without. Pay attention, my body beckons me. Ever so quietly, sometimes subtly, I begin to pay attention to my inner needs. I put myself first again.

The State of Our Ecomomy*

Whether it's the radio, TV or newspaper, people everywhere are moaning about "the state of our economy". The economy reflects the wealth and resources of a country, and the conditions of our economy depend upon the careful management of available resources and the preservation of reserves.

Today on the radio, I overheard a conversation regarding the banking industry. The gentlemen on the radio show stated that they were "burning through our reserves". I'm not exactly sure what or who HE was talking about, but I started thinking about mothers.

With such an emphasis these days on "going green" and ensuring the sustainability of our resources for the future, I have a whole new approach to motherhood and the mastery of its complicated intricacies. A mother is like an economy. :) She must ensure the preservation of her resources and the maintenance of her reserves - patience, energy, innovation, and sanity, among other things.

The sustainability of mothers is, in my humble - humorous and sarcastic - opinion, a crisis of epidemic proportion. To provide for the present without compromising the ability to provide for the future is a major task for any mother.

To avoid a deficit of natural resources and the perpetuation of a successful ecomomy, it is essential for moms to plan ahead, think outside the box, and create strategies to build up reserves in the present. Preservation, sustainability, and energy crisis are all words that stand out in a mother's world.

It is time to set aside the guilt for taking time for herself and - even more so - moms need to dedicate time to figuring out what actions could help fill their reserve tanks - a commodity not needed for immediate use but readily available when required.

Our ecomomy may be in a state of crisis, but there is a lot we can do to prevent future depletions of energy... and patience... and sanity.

*it's not a misspelling