Thanksgiving 2013

There are still dishes in my sink, and dishes that haven't even made it to my sink, but for all intents and purposes, this Thanksgiving is drawing to a close.  I hope everyone had a lovely day and is looking forward to the rest of a fine weekend.  Whether you're shopping or avoiding the malls, enjoying your leftovers (best part of the holiday, I say) or looking for something that has no tryphtophan or carbs, enjoy tomorrow too. Take a breath before the swift slide into December and holly and jingle bells.  Then jump in and enjoy that too.  By the time you look around again, it will be new year.  

Thanksgivukkah

This year, as everyone with an internet connection or a television knows by now, Hannukah and Thanksgiving fall at the same time.  The first night of Hannukah is tonight, giving the latke-eating population a chance at an extra night of feasting this week.  Foodie websites have been devoted to how to combine the two holidays-- sweet potato latkes or fried pumpkin doughnuts anyone?-- and even the supermarket clerks are remarking on the fact that this coincidental timing of the holidays won't come around again for 78,000 years or so.  I say amen to that, because, really isn't once every 78 milleniums enough?  And another thing:  will Hannukah or Thanksgiving be celebrated in 78,000 years?  I have my doubts, but those are for the speculative novelists to, you know, speculate about, in their "novelizations" of future history.  Meanwhile we can revel in the fact that this is the year we can reminisce about for as long as we are pulling our chairs up to the turkey and sides and lighting the Hannukkah candles, as in : "Come here, kids, grab the cousins you only see once a year and let me tell you about the year we got cheated because Hanukkah and Thanksgiving fell in the same week.  Oy!  What a year!"

I'm going to let this go for now and get back to my double holiday cooking, but I want to leave you with something amusing in the meantime.  It's a long time until dinner, no matter what you're celebrating...

Here are Thanksgivukkah Playlists from Tablet Magazine and The Daily Skimm, and parodies from Jewcy.com.  I can't say I love them all, but I offer them for your consideration.  Enjoy!

 

 

Images from here (Once in a Lifetime) and here (Thanksgivukkah American Gothic)

Why This Jewish Mother is Seriously Digging the New Pope

One of the big stories in the news today is about Pope Francis and his recent apostolic exhortation, a statement of what the Pope believes the Catholic church is called to do during his papacy.  Each pope makes such a statement, so the release of the document isn't such big news, but apparently the content is.  The more I read on Salon and Huff Post and the Daily Beast, the more I realized I had to read his words for myself.  

The Babka of my childhood:  "Racetrack" from
Canter's Deli & Bakery in Los Angeles.  (Yes, it's a
totally gratuitous coffee cake picture.) 

I have previously identified myself as a Jewish mother in these pages, accepting all of the good and bad connotations that go with that title.  The fact is, I am Jewish, and I am a mom, so the description is apt. (And, Oy!  I do worry about the kids, but also, I'm so proud of them.  Come by sometime for a slice of chocolate babka and a nice cup of tea, and we'll talk.  Or I could make you some chicken soup, you are looking a little tired, dear.)  So what do I know about the Pope?  Well, mostly what I read in the papers. Also, I happen to be married to a Catholic, a man who went to parochial school from kindergarten through college.  In addition, I worked on a masters in philosophy at Boston College, a Jesuit university. Those personal facts may not give me enough street cred to speak knowledgeably about Catholic religious doctrine, but I do know how to read and analyze a document, and, Lord help me, how to offer my opinion of what I've read.  So here goes. 


From what I can gather, after a discussion of spiritual joy and the need to spread such light through the world-- and here, the Pope is kind of a noodge, reminding Catholics that they need to be agents of positive change-- Pope Francis talks about the troubles of the world, identifying the love of money and the spread of competitive capitalism as real evils in the world because they have lead to inequality and exclusion. He speaks of "the idolatry of money" and the "lack of concern for real human beings" and despairs about the growing inequality of the marketplace and the resulting human consequences:

While the earnings of a minority are growing exponentially, so too is the gap separating the majority from the prosperity enjoyed by those happy few. This imbalance is the result of ideologies which defend the absolute autonomy of the marketplace and financial speculation.... A new tyranny is thus born, invisible and often virtual, which unilaterally and relentlessly imposes its own laws and rules.... To all this we can add widespread corruption and self-serving tax evasion, which have taken on worldwide dimensions. The thirst for power and possessions knows no limits. In this system, which tends to devour everything which stands in the way of increased profits, whatever is fragile, like the environment, is defenseless before the interests of a deified market, which become the only rule.

"How can it be that it is not a news item when an elderly
 homeless person dies of exposure, but it is news
when the stock market loses two points?"

Wow.  This is such a powerful statement of how the pursuit of money caused individuals and governments to forget about what is truly important, not just neglecting and demeaning people, but damaging the environment as well. He goes on to mention that "trickle down economics" does not work, and to exhort everyone, not just his flock, to recognize the consequences of poor policies and to make changes that will make real differences in the lives of people everywhere. 

 Maybe it isn't news that the relentless pursuit of wealth for its own sake is an epic fail for people and for the planet-- yeah, you've heard that commie liberal crap before. But here is Pope Francis, someone that most people would identify as genuinely conservative in all of the best ways, someone with a global audience, who is throwing down and telling the world to get right.

I like that.  

I'd like to have him over for a slice of babka and a cup of tea, because he seems to be so genuine in his wish to heal the world and so sensible in his identification of problems that touch us all, no matter what religion we are or where we fall on the economic spectrum.  But he's a busy, busy man, and it's going to take a lot to get his message out, so I know he won't be stopping by for a nosh.  Wherever she is, his mother must be so proud... 

I hope it is absolutely clear that I mean no disrespect to the Pope or to any Catholic.  I think the statement he made is an astute analysis of the challenges facing the world today and I deeply admire his will to bring joy and love to the world.  

How it All worked Out, or, How Daddy Saved the Day

 Yeah, I've been up since about three thirty, because I knew something was not right. (Like Miss Clavel,  from the Madeline books.)  I knew Fiona was too warm, and I knew she wasn't breathing softly and smoothly, like she should be if she was going to get up and go to school in the morning. So I kept turning it all over in my head.  How would I cover my shift? What would the repercussions be? What if I did send her to school, and then she felt worse, or got sicker?  I had to stay home-- because I should stay home, that was the only thing to do-- but then I would certainly be out of pocket for the pay.  But what was more important, Fiona, or a day's pay?  Back and forth, back and forth.  Mental pacing.  Over and over. You'd think I would have at least put myself back to sleep with it.  I can see your lids drooping over there right now...

As it turned out, I went to work today, but only because Mike stayed home with Fiona, who was, of course, still running a fever early this morning.  There I was, fretting, when Mike's alarm went off and he got up at 4:40 to get ready for work.  "I'm going to need to stay home with her," I said, as he got up to take a shower.

He nodded, I think.  It was still dark.  I listened to the shower run, trying to figure out how early was too early to call my boss and let her know I wouldn't be there.  And what about calling a co-worker to cover the shift? It's always too early to get that call, especially when you have the day off...

Then Mike came over and solved the problem.  "I have a sick day.  I'll stay home and you go to work.  Go back to sleep for a little while."  Best. Husband and Daddy. Ever.  I know, right?  It was like magic.  It's not that he hasn't stayed home with sick kids before, but he has the full-time job with the grown-up wage, so if we have to choose, he is the one who goes to work and I was sure that, this late in the year, there was no way he had sick time left.  He didn't think so either at first, apparently, but he was smart enough to check, given that the time is accrued paycheck to paycheck, and last Friday was payday.  Though you'd never know it now, here on Monday (but that's another all-night fretting session right there.) 

So, even though I didn't get to go back to sleep (see, not really a fairy tale), because all the hushed chit-chat woke Fiona (who immediately said she was better, and was pissed because we said she was staying home) I did go to work and didn't have to deal with any sick-kid fallout.  It was a good thing too, since the post office inside the bike shop was busier than sh*t, because suddenly everyone decided that, with Thanksgiving falling this week and all, it was time to mail multiple packages. This did make the day move right along, proving that time flies, even when you don't get a lunch and are not, technically, having any fun. Fiona texted a couple of times, and was feeling pretty well by the time I got home.  After 24 hours with no fever, she may get her wish to go to school tomorrow.  

There was a small, fairy tale-ish, element that reminded us what we're doing this for, even though Mike and I were both totally wiped out by 8 o'clock.  It turned out that the girls had missed each other during the day.  Yeah, the same girls who will fight to the death over a purple barrette each claimed to have been kind of upset when only one of them went to school.  Fiona asked when Delia was coming home about a thousand times, starting, Mike said, about an hour after she'd left for school. And, as I was cooking dinner, Delia confided that her day was great, except, "Going to school without Fiona doesn't feel right.  It's just, you know, awkward!"  

Picture of Miss Clavel, from here.

Feverishness and Guilt



Fiona, feeling fine

So, last night, Fiona woke me up at about one thirty in the morning, and even as I was waking myself up and trying to focus on the words she was saying, I could tell she was talking very fast in the hot, breathy voice that always accompanies a fever.  Well, accompanies a fever for her.  Each of my kids has a "tell" that lets me know they are really sick, not just tired or having a round of allergies.  Delia's eyes get very cloudy, and the the area under her eyes is a transparent purple.  Usually that means she is going to fall deeply asleep or throw up, or both,  some time in the next two hours.  My oldest son had a pinched look, as though he weren't getting enough air, which was fitting, because he also battled asthma symptoms and carried an inhaler at least until junior high.  My younger son got pale, and extremely cranky.  The crankiness also comes over Fiona, and Delia gets kind of weepy.  All of this has always made me cranky and kind of weepy too, not only because I suffer when my children suffer, but because so often, sick children present a gigantic logistical challenge.  Oy!

That's bad, right?  It's bad to not only feel sorry for the sick kid but to feel sorry for yourslf too, because you have to go to work tomorrow, even though it looks like your kid is going to have to stay home.  Because no one can cover for you, or you've had to miss too many days already, or because you just flat-out won't get paid, and then the whole family will suffer next week if you miss this shift.  And by "you," I mean me.  I confess that I own this particular badness, because as I look back on my life as a mom, I realize that I have spent days and nights hoping a fever will break, not only because I want my kid to be better, but because I really don't want to have to call out, or to call in a favor, or to call and ask someone who doesn't owe me a favor to help me out, or to switch shifts, or to work 10 days in a row because I had to switch shifts, because someone had to do me a favor.  I also own the badness of sending a kid without a fever, who might be better off at home for the day, to school, and then spending the day at work feeling guilty and keeping my fingers crossed and sending up thank you prayers every hour I didn't get a call from the school. 

I hate being that mom.  The mom whose kid feels under the weather and walk like zombies through the school day.  The mom who might be sending a germ bomb to school, just to be sure that we can eat next week.  And I am not always that mom.  When I had the good fortune to have a job with sick days, I never took them for myself.  I went to work with a fever, if necessary (hello germ bomb!) to make sure that I could take off when the kids were sick.  I worked all weekend most weeks, when I knew someone could cover for me at home, so that I could be more flexible during the week, especially during cold and flu season, which, if you have kids, you know runs year-round. 

And tomorrow, I will stay home if Fiona is sick.  I already dread the call-out, the work-around, the anxiety of trying to figure out how I will cover any lost hours.  But what I dread even more is the possibility of spending eight hours feeling like I did the wrong thing for Fiona, by making her go to school sick. 

She's sleeping soundly now, cool as a cucumber and breathing lightly.  It looks like we've turned the corner, but I won't really know until she gets up.  And yes, my fingers are crossed, and I'm sending up a prayer.  For her, of course, and for me too.   We could both use a break...

A Break for Some Poetry

 As the post-a-day program wears on-- I have to say I'm pretty psyched that I have managed this long-- I am forced to rely on the words of others yet again to get this done.  Today I was paging through some poetry books at the library and thought I would pass on a couple here that I really like. 
 
 The first is Keeping Things Whole by Mark Strand.  I love the way this poem conveys the idea that we are just part of the greater goings-on that make up the world.  Somehow, these lines:
 
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
 
When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.
always make me pause and think that I am a small, yet integral,  part of things, and that, to me, is a great relief, and therefore, very comforting.
 
The next one is a love poem, Litany by Billy Collins.  He is a great poet of the contemporary world, and a very astute observer of human action and emotion. the poem uses references to lovely things in the world to show that each of the two partners is important.  The end of the poem is the part I like best:
 
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.    
 
And, for something completely different, there is this, in its entirety, by Dorothy Parker, the wit of yesteryear, commenting sadly on love and how it can fool us:    
 

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong;
And I am Marie of Romania.

 
I think anyone who can find a word that rhymes with Romania deserves to be remembered forever.
 

Top quote from this totally awesome page of quotes about poetry. Cocteau image from here.

Rainy Days and Fridays

It is raining today, something that warrants news coverage here in the Phoenix metro area.  There were on-the-spot reporters in yellow slickers out on the highways and byways today, before it was even light, with updates:  Still raining.  Back to you, Pat.

That's okay.  We're used to the tempest in a teapot when local news shows get ahold of something as juicy as a weather story.  Here, there are so many days when, ho-hum, the weather is lovely, and all the certified meteorologists can say is something like, "don't strain yourself having fun outside in the beautiful weather."  The real weather challenges here, of course, are the hot days, which seem to drag on through the eternity of May to September.  There's really nothing to say then either, except, "Sorry, folks."  But during that time we also have monsoon season, which breaks things up a bit, bringing thunder, lightning and some impressive storms that can drop a lot of precipitation or formulate as dust storms which the newscasters now call "haboobs." Usually with a straight face, though sometimes you catch them wanting to chuckle like twelve-year-olds.  I like that. 

The kids seemed more than a little discombobulated this morning, figuring out jackets and umbrellas and stuff.  Fiona had no interest in wearing a jacket.  "Look, Mom, these are long sleeves!  What else do I need?"  She eventually agreed to put on her jacket,  partly because it's new, so she hasn't worn it before, but mostly because Delia was raving about hers. "It's so soft and it has pockets, secret pockets, on the inside!"  Delia also declared that she is way too old to use one of the Dora:  Esta Lloviendo! (it's raining!) umbrellas we keep on hand for these newsworthy rainy days.  "I'll only use this plain pink one,"she said, seizing it from the closet.  "You mean mine?" I asked, but I let it go and grabbed one of Mike's many appropriate jackets. 

He still has quite the supply of gear for all sorts of weather, so I have jettisoned most of mine.  When we moved back to the desert, I donated all but the one classic pea coat, which will still be in style when the girls go to college.  Perfect for Harvard, I can't help thinking.  And I have a "good" raincoat to wear with dressier clothes, which, as a mom,  I really don't have anymore. I guess I should just throw that coat on over my yoga pants and the t-shirts I steal from Mike and act like I'm doing some kind of high-low fashionista-running-out-for-a-latte-thing.  I think all I would need to really pull that off is a pair of big dark sunglasses...oh, and a much smaller ass. Otherwise, I'm all set for the weather. 



Rain images from this page and this page and this page.