Monday, September 25, 2023

A Quick Word or Two

Just a quick note now that the sun has set, I have eaten, and I'm already feeling guilty in the new year. 

It was actually really crowded today
Yom Kippur is not a happy kinda holiday. It's a 26-27 hour fast...and I do mean a no-nuthin' kinda fast...and it's a whole lotta time in synagogue. The last few years, for a whole lotta reasons, have been hard on me. It was more than the glances toward the back of the social hall looking to see if Ziggy and his buds had slipped in the back door. It was more than sitting by myself because the Senior Son is all the way in Milwaukee and Family Junior Son is across town in their shul. 

When our first and long-time rabbi retired, no one could've predicted the strife that would follow and the toll the pandemic would take on our little shul. Our transition has been uneasy on the good days, downright awful on the not so good ones, all of them moving us away from the carefully crafted principles we established at the start of the experiment in Jewish egalitarianism. I'm not kidding when I say we because Ziggy and I were there at the start, actively committed to this burgeoning community. 

But now, I suspect the stress is all in the rearview mirror with the distance between then and now growing quickly. Rosh Ha'Shanah services were welcoming like in the early days. People were laughing in the hallway, greeting friends and even strangers with warmth and welcoming smiles. Kids escaped onto the bimah a few times, only to be scooped up with guffaws, not groans. It was nice. I found it comforting to daven sitting in the pew my family has occupied since day one. And it was really nice when the Junior son joined me for Ne'ila, the last service as the Gates of Heaven are closing. We would break our fasts with the rest of the family at my cousins' house, a long standing tradition. 

So why am I feeling guilty already?

Easy. It's Monday night and I did not have a blog entry ready to go. I was nervous about Yom Kippur this year. Seriously. I know that sounds weird for someone who has been doing this her entire life, but this year felt different. Lots of it had to do with the recent changes at shul, as well as the really nice Rosh Ha'Shanah. Was I expecting too much? Was I imagining the change because I wanted it so badly?  Was I setting myself up for another disappointment? Whatever my brain was fixated on, it was making me nervous and I was very much aware of it. I couldn't settle into a topic for this week because I was totally focused on Yom Kippur...and not in the way we're supposed to be focused. 

But it was all for naught. Services were terrific. I made it all the way through the "morning" services from 10:00 until 2:20 with only one stroll for a breath of fresh air. I was back for mincha, the afternoon service, and even stood for all of Ne'ila...not an easy feat when you've been fasting for 24 hours. I wanted to be there. It was the first time I actually wanted to be there since Ziggy died. And it felt really good. And I have no real reason to feel guilty because I will hit the publish button before midnight. 

G'mar chatima tova! May you all be sealed in the Book of Life for a good year. 

PS: lots of people at minyan this morning! Life is good! 

The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week
Only my agnostic/atheist FIL could manage to
pass away on Yom Kippur morning.
We can never forget his yahrzeit.
This is year 9.
Pop, we all miss you muchly.

Monday, September 18, 2023

OWNERSHIP

 First thing first: Miss Myrus, at 91, is alive and well and living in New York City. I am verklempt! I am hoping to have updates from the lady herself soon. I hear she does email!


Meanwhile, back at the ranch, this past weekend marked the end of 5783 and the start of 5784. All things considered, the Jewish year is supposed to be from the beginning of the earth until now, but uh, our history goes back a bit further than 5700 years. But for the moment, let's talk about the Hebrew calendar

Fundamentally it's a lunar calendar, but in the land of mathematics and calculations, it's a luni-solar calendar. How the holidays and leap years are calculated is a total mystery to me, but there is a High Holy Day to next High Holy Day calendar in the kitchen in plain sight so I can adjust my life according to all the holidays and observances. 

On a social/familial level, my life, and the lives of most of my family members, are kinda marked in relation to the Hebrew calendar. Grandma Bessie was born on Shavuot in 1900, but died on Sukkot in 1977. Ziggy died the week after Shavuot. I got married right under the wire for the solemn days before Tisha b'Av. Uh-oh, that's really close to Passover....so forth and so on. You get the idea. 

I don't think the holiday/home event correlation is much different in any ethnic group. Major events happen, and often they are put into perspective in relation to a community event...like a holiday. It's a time marker and one that can be quite comforting....or not. Our earliest memories are often tied to events like Passover or Christmas or Eid or Diwali...some special occasion when families gather. Not all memories are good, but good or bad, they link us to our personal past. I had great Passover memories, but Ziggy had terrible Christmas ones that ultimately helped to steer him toward Judaism...and a way to make a whole set of new memories, most of which were pretty good because they were family times. 

Rosh ha'Shanah, the first of the Days of Awe, is really a call to introspection. It's mental house-cleaning. The expectation is that we look at the good and the bad of the year, figure out what we can fix, and what needs improvement in the coming year. I take that examination pretty seriously; it's for me, highly personal, and definitely not easy. And it takes place in the middle of pretty happy family stuff. My big bro comes in from Philly to spend the holiday with us, which is cause for great celebration amongst the kiddos. The food is really good, services might be a bit long, but they're also kinda nice. Standing somewhere in the middle of this, I'm trying to figure out how to do better.  

Instead of Happy New Year, we say "l'shanah tova u'metukah," (שָׁנָה טוֹבָה וּמְתוּקָה‎)...to a good and sweet year. At the same time, we use the Book of Life as a metaphor to address that coming year. We wish a good year by saying, May you be inscribed in the Book of Lifebut closer to (and on) Yom Kippur we say, May you be sealed in the Book of Life

In the liturgy for Rosh ha'Shanah, there is a piyyut, a poem, that addresses exactly that called Unetaneh Tokef. Who wrote it and when is pretty much a debatable issue, but that doesn't change the awe-filled intent of the prayer. It's pretty scary stuff, especially when you're a kid, but the older you get, the more you understand why facing life and death head on is a part of our very existence. 
All mankind will pass before You like a flock of sheepLike a shepherd pasturing his flock, making sheep pass under his staff, so shall You cause to pass, count, calculate, and consider the soul of all the living; and You shall apportion the destinies of all Your creatures and inscribe their verdict.

On Rosh Hashanah will be inscribed and on Yom Kippur will be sealed

how many will pass from the earth and how many will be created; 

who will live and who will die; 

who will die after a long life  and who before his time; 

who by water and who by fire, 

who by sword and who by beast, 

who by famine and who by thirst, 

who by upheaval and who by plague, 

who by strangling and who by stoning. 

Who will rest and who will wander, 

who will live in harmony and who will be harried, 

who will enjoy tranquility and who will suffer, 

who will be impoverished and who will be enriched, 

who will be degraded and who will be exalted.

But Repentance, Prayer, and Charity mitigate the severity of the Decree.


The last line is the best, the one that tells us we can fix ourselves, that no decree is final, and that there is always hope. But here's the kicker about that last line: we must take responsibility for our own actions. We own who we are and what we do. As a kid, I totally believed that. Come to think of it, I still do.

I can remember Grandma Bessie weeping on Rosh ha'Shanah as she recited Unetaneh Tokef. She used to tell me the only one who could change the Holy Decree was me, and that I was in charge of what I did. And if you don't think this 8 year-old was terrified by that idea, you have another think coming. 

Terrified as I was, however, the idea that I was in charge of me was planted pretty early. I hope I did the same for my guys. But it's not something I can or would ask. This is the deepest part of one's being...the admission that one is in charge of one's own actions. 

Yom Kippur starts next Sunday night and ends at darkness on Monday night. Most of us will fast from right about 6:30 in the evening until 8:00 p.m the next day. This family will gather with our cousins as we have done for the last 37 years (except for two years of COVID) to break our fast with hard boiled eggs, bagels, herring, carrot ring, and assorted other really good stuff. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is that odds are pretty good there won't be a blog next Monday night. Just so you know ahead of time. 

The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week
Owning your own behavior, actions, deeds
is always a good thing no matter what you believe.
If everyone did that............

Monday, September 11, 2023

Miss Myrus: The Power of Magical Thinking.

Our Miss Myrus

I've written, albeit briefly, about Miss Myrus, my 5th grade teacher, in other posts. 


A teacher can change the trajectory of a life. Over the course of 19 years of classroom learning, I have had good teachers, a few truly great teachers, and a few who should never have become teachers in the first place. But no teacher can hold a candle to Miss Hazel Myrus (now Mrs. Virgopia...or so we've heard.)

 

My long-suffering (grin) BFF who was in that class with me agrees: no teacher could make a room fill with magic like she could. A world traveler, she brought a Balinese shadow puppet theater into the room so we could all be Balinese puppeteers. She talked about standing in the Valley of the Kings and looking down to the doorway that hid Tutankhamun's tomb. When Miss Myrus told us about it, we were right there with her. She's been in India and Thailand, showed us silks from both and the differences between them, and taught us what made silk good or bad. She taught us about the Buddha, and why Shinto gates look that way. On top of it all, she could make math understandable. This was a true skill. 


My copies
Even before I set foot in her classroom, she visited our 4th grade room with books for everyone. She lent me her copy of TUTANKHAMEN after she heard I'd already read GOD, GRAVES, and SCHOLARS because if I want to be an archaeologist, I should be encouraged to be an archaeologist. She promised we would discuss this further when school began in the fall. We did. The time she spent with me changed me. I was always the trepidatious one, but Miss Myrus gave me a taste of how sweet learning could be. I think her sinister plot was to leave me hungry for more learning. It took a while, but...


If you don't know,
I'm not telling. 
When Miss Myrus decided we were going to do a play called THE MAGIC COOKIE JAR, she asked me to help "fix" the script for the class. For reasons I will never understand,  she told me I was a natural playwright. I didn't know what a playwright was, but I found out. And I would eventually give up an archaeology/anthropology major to get my degrees in theater (specifically as a director) and go on to spend some 30 years writing plays for children. And getting paid for it.  Ah, the power of suggestion. 

See, Hazel Myrus was a true magician. She made the world small enough to get through the door of the classroom at Jacob Gunther Elementary School, before blowing it all up to fit the room. Magic.

So why write about this now? Little Miss is in third grade and Young Sir just started kindergarten. Both are excited about school at the moment. I hope this lasts. I hope they have great teachers. But above everything else, I hope they have a teacher like Miss Myrus who made learning magic. 

Which got me to thinking about kids in schools. Look, I'm not advocating for LORD OF THE FLIES in 3rd grade, but I don't see why a 3rd grader shouldn't  have the choice to read Harry Potter?  Or even A WRINKLE IN TIME. Every kid needs a Miss Myrus right about now. Every kid should know the pleasure of magical thinking. And every kid should be allowed to explore books that open up new worlds, new ideas, and new horizons.

And right now, I could use some of her kind of magical thinking 

This has one of the worst, un-creative summers I can remember. I don't know if it was the heat, or the smoke in the air that made breathing a chore, but whatever the reason, working on either of the new books has been rubbish. My characters have stopped talking to me; now they just smirk, something I cannot abide. The BIG book is so complicated I want to pitch the whole thing...but I know there's a really good story buried under all that extraneous detail. I've macheted the damn thing twice now and I'm still not happy with it. The smaller book is just boring and it wasn't always boring but it is now. Everybody is too damn nice. Which brings me to the refrain that's taken up space in my head.

Too damn nice. 
Too damn nice.
See how they bore
See how they bore
They do horrid things and they never pay
They expect to be welcomed home anyway
No repercussions ever get in the way
'Cause everyone's too damn nice.

This is an ongoing issue with me and my characters. Usually, they perch on my shoulder while I'm driving and spill. Not lately. Driving over to the cemetery Sunday to see Ziggy before the High Holy Days, I called the staff meeting in the car and yeah, they ALL showed up. 

Meanwhile, for the record, this is why I like hands-free phones in the car. No one can tell I'm cajoling my characters into telling me what's going on. Not that they did. [BIG GIANT SIGH.] It just looks like I'm yammering away on the hands-free phone. I like looking less crazy some days. 

Okay. I'm gonna shut up now and go back to pretending I'm editing. Or pretending I'm getting ready for Rosh HaShanah. Either way, nothing is getting done. Feh.

For the record, Miss Myrus has gotta be in her 90s now; I have no idea if she's still out there, but I am hoping that maybe she is, and that maybe someone will see this and share it with her. She will always be the best teacher I ever had. I hope she knows that. 


The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week
If you're in the Twin Cities,
hie yerownselves down to either Sholom Campus.
They have knishes in 2 sizes: big and small.
They are not to be missed!

Bonus Tip
L'shana tova u'metukah to all that observe.
May you be inscribed in the Book of Life
for a sweet New Year.


Monday, September 4, 2023

That Time Of Year Again: Minnesota State Fair


Yes, I went to State Fair this past week. First one since the pandemic hit. I thoroughly enjoyed my three favorite State Fair things: roasted corn, seed art, and watching Aunt M march toward onion rings. I cannot handle fried food, so I must live vicariously watching Aunt M eat. And tasting. I did get to taste the onion rings (best ever every year) and a Tom Thumb Donut. But the seed art was brilliant as usual....and it wasn't fried.

This is something that may or may not be unique to the Minnesota State Fair, but I will tell you there is always a line to walk by the wall with seed art in the Agriculture Building. Mona Lisa At The Minnesota State Fair took home the honors. Not my favorite this year, but definitely a fine work of seed art.

Ziggy introduced me to the Roasted Corn Stand the first year he took me to State Fair, back in 1975. It was our ritual; we went every year. One day was for just us, no kids. We got there right when the gates opened at the crack of dawn, ate breakfast at the Hamlin Dining Hall, had roast corn for lunch, followed by malteds at the dairy building. Stopping at Peters Wieners in the Food Building to visit his high school friend, Lu Ann Peters. These days, compelled by tradition, I always stop to see if she's there. This year, she was. For a moment, I could almost sense Ziggy's grin as Lu Ann caught me up 
on all their old friends. I loved it.

On a less nostalgic note, turns out this Labor Day marks a milestone event for The Wifely Person Speaks: the blog has been viewed a half million times. That means over 500,000 clicks on my weekly nonsense have been recorded and duly noted. Yes, I know all about bounce rates. But the WP is strictly a blog, no adverts, no questionnaires, no request for interactions; just me and my opinion. Of course, some weeks are better than others. Do I want to "monetize" the blog? No. That's not why I do this. I do it, as the Senior Son would say, for "shits and giggles."

While this may all sound very exciting on the surface, the one person I wanna share it with isn't around to celebrate...or poke holes at my thinking.That snarky guy from ZJOD who told me, "Sign up for this new Blogger thing. Who knows? Maybe one day you'll use it," would probably think it's all kinda funny. I tend to agree with him....but I would probably call it surreal.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I have a new roof, I really like the new fridge, and as I type this, thermometer reads 97°F, I've watered the bleepin' hibiscus 4 times already this afternoon, and I cannot go out on the mirpeset without something on my feet. So I'm gonna go downstairs, pop open a bottle of Spotted Cow, and find a cool corner in which to read. Even with a new a/c unit, I'm on Energy Saver, so it's just okay in the house. Tomorrow, the high is predicted to be a chilly 92°F. I can't wait to open the windows again. 

The Wifely Person's Tip o' the Week
What can I say? 
I'm a South Shore girl pining not for the fjords, 
but for my home beach.
Gotta  beach of your own?
Go catch a wave