Remember When...

Your legs feel like jelly, your knees start to shake, your lower extremities tingle...no, I am not talking about sciatica or signs that you are entering menopause...I am talking about lust. Pure, unadulterated, L-U-S-T.

When was the last time you felt that? Was it during your first kiss? Was it your first "serious" boyfriend? Was it when you first met your soul mate, your partner, the love of your life? Do you even remember what that feeling was like? You feel weak in the knees, sort of nauseous, and excited. Like you are riding a rollercoaster for the first time or the 100th time. You feel the up and down, the twists and turns, the upside downs and the right side ups.

Well, I have a confession...I felt that way yesterday. I felt like I was 16 again. I was giddy, I was flushed, I was melting. What do you really call that? Is that a sign, is that magnetism, what the hell is that feeling? How can you dispel that feeling? How can you hold onto that feeling? Is this what Heaven feels like? You are content - at peace, excited, and "all a quiver".

Please, let me know what you think of this? Has this ever happened to you? When?

Remember...

Yes, remember. That was the theme yesterday at Mt. Zion Temple in St. Paul. Just the word Remember. Remember 6 million people. Remember 1.5 million children. That's all that needed to be said.

The kids of the Sunday School Classes (and some of the adults) made Butterflies yesterday. They made butterflies as individual and as beautiful as the children themselves. Some were decorated with every color jewel you could imagine. Some were basic, with only plain black eyes.

They were hung in the main entrance of the Synagogue surrounded by white netting. It resembled the Butterfly Exhibit at the State Fair, where the little insects land on you flapping their wings with passion and purpose. There purpose on this day was based on this poem:

The last, the very last,

So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.

Perhaps if the sun's tears would sing

against a white stone...

Such, such a yellow

Is carried lightly way up high

It went away I'm sure because it wished to

kiss the world goodbye.

For seven weeks I've lived in here,

Penned up inside this ghetto

But I have found my people here.

The dandelions call to me

and the white chestnut candles in the court.

Only I never saw another butterfly.

That butterfly was the last one.

Butterflies don't live in here,

In the ghetto.

~Pavel Friedmann 4.6. 1942

This poem is written by Pavel Friedmann, born January 7, 1921 in Prague and deported to Terezin* on April 26, 1942. He died in Oswiecim (Auschwitz) on Steptember 29, 1944. (Terezin was a Nazi concentration camp).

After we decorated butterflies, a short service was held. There was a candle lighting, readings, songs and finally, a descendant from a Holocaust victim blew the Shofar (rams horn) to replicate the sirens' wail in 1944.

The room was silent. Completely silent. There were about 150 children and about 50 adults. Quiet. Remembering.

We left with tears in our eyes and down our faces. We left with the faith that this tragedy never repeat itself again. Teach our children. Teach them to love one another, respect one another. Teach them to remember. Zachor.

Just Breathe...

Breathe....breathe...breath....

It seems lately, I have had to remind myself to breathe. My life has been so busy - not really with exciting things, just - well, life. From schlepping Louis here and there, going to work and scheduling haircuts, getting new shoes, and keeping doctor's appointments.

However, I am feeling a little sad. I am feeling sad for my dear friends that I have "ignored" for the past couple of months. It's just so hard, even to pick up the phone or send an email when you have laundry to fold, dishwasher to empty, phone to answer, bathtime and dogs to take out - all right at this second! Being a "single mom" has got to be the toughest job anyone has ever done. I couldn't even imagine putting a couple of more children in the mix and a full-time job.

So, let this be a huge apology and a massive hug to all my friends - I will try and be more responsive to your calls and emails, but if I only have a minute, I will let you know and we will catch up later - ok? I love you all and I thank you!

Let it Snow!

I am in the "feel sorry for myself" part of life right now. I am licking my wounds figuring out where to go from here, what to do with my life and which step to take next. There are things I need to do for my family, but there are also things I need to do for myself. As usual, my family will have to come first. I am not complaining, but that is just the way it is.

As I was standing outside this morning in my black jacket, wondering if this damn snow will EVER stop and melt, wondering where my next step in life would be, and still pissed about my 80 minute commute this morning, I had an epiphany.

I looked down and saw the tiniest, most defined snowflakes fall onto my jacket. I stared as each one hit me. I heard nothing around me, saw nothing, concentrated on nothing - except these tiny works of art landing on me. If you've ever seen picture of snowflakes with all the little points sticking out, this is what they looked like.

Some were perfect, some not so perfect. But, they WERE gifts from God. Not to get too religious (as most of you know I am not super religious anyway), but, I felt that God was telling me to "slow down, take a deep breath, and enjoy the beauty in your life. Some of us are perfect and some of us are not so perfect, but we all have a purpose in life."

This morning, I believe, these little drops of frozen water purposefully fell to show me to appreciate my life and all of the people in my life and to savor the little moments before it's too late.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

Forgiveness vs. Revenge

I will never understand how some people can have so much hate in their heart. I will never understand how people can be concerned with nothing but themselves. Was I like this when I was younger? Does your heart and soul soften with age? Do you finally realize that there are people out there that are so much worse off than you and that you don't need to hurt people in order to make yourself feel good?

I am so angry right now. I am so hurt. I am so at the point that I forgive or I seek revenge. Revenge sounds so sweet. It would make me feel better for the moment, but guilty in the end. Forgiveness would make it hurt a little less each day, but it would still hurt. Maybe eventually the pain will go away. How do you forgive someone that hurts you Monday - Friday?

Would my revenge be to forgive? Would that make this person hurt? I don't think so. But, it wouldn't hurt me. I am blabbering on and on. I am sad.

A change needs to be made. Immediately. I will do all I can do to survive until this change happens. My family is depending on me. Revenge is sweet. Forgiveness is sweeter! Like one of my favorite songs says, "I will survive..."

RAW

Raw. That is how I explain it. Have you ever had a really bad burn and it was just red, oozy, exposed, raw and hurt like you have never felt pain before? That is what I am feeling lately. I am feeling raw. I write my feelings, I talk about my feelings - more so than ever before. I let people into my life this way. I open up to friends about my life, my job, my relationships.

I wonder where this came from. I used to always be pretty shy, to myself and had a wall up between me and the rest of the world. These days, I feel like I am willing to share with anyone I can trust.

Is this good? I think so. I think for me to get feelings out and heal, I need to take the bandage off, let the burn ooze, hurt and slowly heal. Yes, it will be messy, it will cause great pain if it is touched, but that is part of the healing. I could put on a numbing ointment, but when the ointment wears off, the pain is back - it doesn't ease the process of healing.

Time is what helps the healing. Nurturing helps the healing. Taking care of myself helps the healing. This is what I need to do right now. Nurture myself. Realize that the pain will subside in time. Look forward to when the burn is gone and I don't hurt anymore. But, from here on, I just need to be careful not to touch the fire!

MMmmmmmmmmmmm...smell that?

I took the day off on Friday to recoup from the Annual Meeting at work and just the long weeks I have had when Steven was gone. My day went like this. 7:30am - woke up, made Lou breakfast and had a hot cup of coffee. 8:00am - brought Lou to school. 8:30am - sat on the couch, drank more coffee, watched the Today show. 9:00am - watched the Ellen show. 10:00am - watched the Price is Right. 11:00am - watched my soap. I took breaks only to use the bathroom and refill my coffee cup. Then I got up and needed to do something productive with my day - after about a pot of coffee, I REALLY needed to do something.

I was reminded of a story that was told in Lou's Hebrew School on Wednesday about a baker that made Challah. It was a long story, but the Challah part stuck in my brain.

I looked around the kitchen. Yeast, check. Flour, check. Sugar, check. Eggs, check. Oil, check. I had it all - amazing in my house! So, I brought out the recipe for making Challah.

As I poured the yeast, I noticed a familiar smell. As I mixed the ingredients together and put my hands in to give the mixture a good mix, I remembered the sticky mess and how I would get it off my hands. When I folded it out onto the board and began kneading it, I could feel all the ingredients come together to form an elastic mass, no longer messy, but soft, pliable and manageable. I coated my dough in oil and carefully placed it in a bowl on the stove. I turned the oven on warm to create that warm environment for the ingredients to work their magic. After nurturing my dough for 2 hours, beating it down and watching it emerge for another 2 hours it was perfect. I divided my dough, braided it, covered it in egg whites and baked it. I was so proud of my project. Secretly, I prayed it would turn out great - not too hard, not too soft.

When I was younger, I would make bread with my grandmother. It's not that we had a great relationship, but I do remember checking the bread under the dish towel and see it rising higher and higher. I remember the smell coming from the radiator - where she would put the rising dough. I remember the loads of butter on the bread hot out of the oven.

This particular Friday brought back so many memories. Memories of my childhood, memories of my family, memories of my past and present. Making bread from scratch is sort of like life. You add all the ingredients to create a successful life, expecting something magical. Sometimes you end up with a sticky mess, trying to figure out what the heck to do next. Sometimes you end up with a masterpiece. Regardless of how it turns out, you nurture, you knead and you pray for the best.

My husband and child gobbled up the bread. I shared some of the bread with a very dear friend. I got rave reviews from my slightly (ok, very) fussy child. It was all worth it. It was worth the time, the work, the mess and the waiting. Just like life. It is worth the time, the work, the mess and the waiting. Someday, a masterpiece will emerge. I just know it!