CALL YOUR MOTHER!

My little brother started basic training in the Israeli army. The first day, Facebook got a flood of pictures, him and his friends in their new spiffy uniforms. He looks good, but it's funny, when I remember the Chayalim from seminary, he just doesn't fit in. Cuz he's my little brother. How can he be a soldier. Of course I commented on the picture, 'The costume store called, they want their uniform back.'

When he went to Israel, my mother didn't hear from him for awhile. He called when he got there, and that's about it. I would ask my mom, 'So how is he, what's he up to?' And she would say, 'I don't know, my kids don't tell me anything.' I saw him tagged in pictures on Facebook, so I knew he was okay. (There is something horribly wrong with that sentence.)

He was in Israel for two months before he began training. Suddenly, when he got to base he started calling home every week. I don't know if it was the realization that he may be in danger G-d forbid at some point, or nostalgia that prompted him to call. My mother jokes that it is probably worked into their daily schedule, 'O two hundred hours, Call Mother.'

I never thought about it really, because I don't have kids. Why does it matter if someone knows where I am at all times. I'm independent. I can do what I want when I want. I make my own rules. When we were little, we were always told, if you are at a friend's house and leave to go to a different friend, you must call home to let someone know. And even when I was older, my mother would say, I don't need to know where you are, but please call me to tell me you are okay. She's my mother and I owe her that much.

I guess I'll never know the worry until I have my own kids. Your mother may not be sitting at home wringing her hands waiting for the phone to ring. But pick up the phone and say 'Hey mom, I'm okay'.

Wishing everyone a good Shabbos, and may this week be a good week for everyone, with lots of blessings, and only revealed good.

Thank you for your thank you card

When I was little, my mother would have us send thank you cards to my grandparents for the birthday cards/gifts they sent us. The cards were written 'from us' in my mom's beautiful curly penmanship. Right, like I could ever write like that. We were taught to say thank you, and to show appreciation to someone for the things they do for us.

I recently got a thank you card in the mail from a friend, thanking me for the wedding gifts I got her. She referred to them specifically, giving examples of how she is getting lots of use out of them. I thought it was a nice gesture, if a bit artificial. It took me a second to even remember what I bought her from her registry.

What is the purpose of a thank you card? Is it for the giver, or the receiver? Do I need acknowledgment for my gift? Does she feel the need to thank me for it? Is it just a formality?

I honestly don't care. Besides for the fact that I like getting mail which is not bills or junk, I don't need a thank you. I did something nice for the sake of doing it. The end.

My mom stopped writing thank you cards for us. My grandmother sends us birthday cards religiously every year for our birthdays. I take is as a part of life, I don't know any differently. This year, she included a note that embarrassed me. It said: "Don't forget to send a thank you card". I thought, is she insulted, does she need me to thank her for the card and check? Or is she trying to teach me a good value?

I dutifully sent her a glowing thank you card, in my own messy scrawl. I do appreciate the birthday card. I just forget to say it.

Saying thank you is for both the giver and the receiver. I give a gift because I want to and it makes me happy to get you something nice. You say thank you because you appreciate it and you want to show me how grateful you are for my gift. Your thank you makes me feel warm and acknowledged, and it is a good feeling. So it works for everyone.

"Thank you for your thank you card thanking me for my thank you card which I sent as thanks for the wonderful gift you sent me. I really appreciate it. I will be sure to send you a few more thank you cards, and I in turn await your thank you to my thank you card."

..........

And it can go on forever.

Thank you, and G-d speed.

I watered your stupid plants

I really didn't want to, but plants don't water themselves. I really wouldn't feel bad. Neglecting plants is not as bad as forgetting to feed your dog, or worse- your baby. (Now that is where child welfare services would step in.) I came home late at night so exhausted after a looooong day, and had to water the stupid plants. They are not even my plants.

When my brother asked me if I could take in his mail and water his plants for him while he, my sister-in-law and my niece are lounging in the hot Florida sun for the week, of course I said 'sure no problem'. They are always accommodating and invite me over for Shabbos meals. The least I can do for them is water their stupid plants.

Who needs plants anyway? I'd forget to water them and they would die. Which is why I'll never get a pet. Things that are not smart enough to figure out how to take care of themselves are not worth it. Tacky or not, fake plants are pretty, give your room a homey look, and they don't turn brown and die.

Don't give me flowers as a present. It is but a passing beauty. They will die in about a week. Then you will buy me new flowers. And those will die too. Just buy me something I can enjoy right now, like chocolate.  

So I shlepped myself over to their apartment and watered their stupid plants. I may have over watered them. They may be drowning right about now. Sue me, I've never had a plant. Don't ask me to water your dumb plants.

It is not something I even think about. It is such a minor thing. Like, I'm going on vacation. Turn off the lights, close the windows, and that's about it. Make sure someone feeds your goldfish? Water the stupid plants? People actually think about things like that?

But you have to think about it. Because if you don't, your dumb plants die a slow painful death. And really, what did they ever do to you?

I love going on vacation. I feel free, no obligations, just have fun, relax, enjoy. But as you are enjoying yourself, away from the hub of the city, away from the frum community you are always a part of, do you forget who you are? Do you go to the beach in a short sleeved shirt and flip flops, because really, its not like you will see anyone you know. And no one is watching you, or reporting it online. "Spotted: Frum girl in flip flops!! Shame on us all! A scandel!".

Just like those stupid plants cannot be forgotten, our relationship with Hashem is a constant and never-ending thing. It is not something you can forget about or neglect. Because Hashem never forgets. You can be on that beach dressed however you want thinking nobody is looking or cares, but He is always watching and He always cares. 

Plants can go without water for a bit and they may bounce back and they may be okay. But do you wake up in the morning and say 'Sorry G-d, not today, it's my day off'? What if He said that to you? Hashem could blink and we'd all be gone. He gives and He gives, and you can't give Him back a little in return?

I think I'm gonna leave them a sign, "Welcome home, I watered your stupid plants!"

Fluid

It runs through your fingers,
like water.
You can't quite grasp it,
hold on to it.

No, it won't let you.
Slips and slithers,
trying to get away.
Please stay?

It is air.
It evades you.
Like smoke.
It disappears.

Into the atmosphere.
Never to be seen again.
You tried
to hold it.

You tried
to contain it.
But air cannot be
contained.

Free.
Light.
Untethered.
As it was meant to be.

You can't train
the untrainable.
Clip their wings.
And birds will never fly again.

It twists and turns
to get out of your grasp.
Struggle ensues.
Let it go.

An invisible bubble
surrounds.
A warning sign.
Stay away.

It is fluid.
It is water,
wind,
fire,
air.

It is invisible.

How long
will you hold on
until you realize
there is nothing to hold on to?

Hold sand
in the palm of your hand
and watch the grains slip out
by the millions.

It will be gone
soon enough.
Can you learn to
let it go?

Baby-face

It is cute on a baby. You just want to pinch their cheeks.

But when the person in question is your superior and he looks like he could be in high school, with cute rosy cheeks, it is hard to treat him with respect.

We should have a guessing game to guess his age. I guess 19.

Hit the ground running

My favorite place to drive is on the highway. A big, rolling 4 lane highway, with hundreds of car going anywhere. I love it because it is open land, I feel like I can go anywhere I want to, and most importantly, I can drive as fast as I want (within the speed limit.)

When I first got my license my father told me to stay off the highway until I had more experience. But how will I get experience if I'm not doing it? So he took me driving on the highway. He stressed that when I get onto the entrance ramp I must get my speed up to those around me within a very short period, otherwise it would cause accidents.

My first few times driving on the highway were stressful. I drove leisurely in the left lane and got honked at. I got nervous whenever I needed to switch lanes. Once I almost missed my exit, so I swerved over 3 lanes, drove up on a huge mountain of snow and somehow landed back on the ground. (Note to self: next time just take the next exit.)

Driving on the highway is like a race. Some people can do it, and some people stay in the right lane driving at exactly 55 mph. But when you first get on, you really don't have time to think. You just have to do. You are entering a race in the middle. You have to catch up to those around you.

We don't always get a beginning in life. Sometimes we are thrown into a tumultuous situation and we have little time to learn how to deal with it. But it is all about rising to the challenge.

Do you have what it takes?

Can I have my change, please?

I don't like to owe people money. Which is why I rarely borrow money. But what happens when friends pay for each other, when they dine out, or 'grab me a soda', or one girl covers the cost and the rest pay her back? Is everything accounted for?

Let's try a riddle:

Three guests check into a hotel room. The clerk says the bill is $30, so each guest pays $10. Later the clerk realizes the bill should only be $25. To rectify this, he gives the bellhop $5 to return to the guests. On the way to the room, the bellhop realizes that he cannot divide the money equally. As the guests didn't know the total of the revised bill, the bellhop decides to just give each guest $1 and keep $2 for himself.

Now that each of the guests has been given $1 back, each has paid $9, bringing the total paid to $27. The bellhop has $2. If the guests originally handed over $30, what happened to the remaining $1?

(Read the in-depth solution here)

I am pretty good with numbers. People have suggested that I become an accountant. But I equate accounting with 'boooooring'. I was always good at math. I can add numbers in my head pretty quickly.

During one of my summer jobs, one of my responsibilities included keeping track of all the money coming in. I kept an excel table, and put all the numbers in carefully, and calculated it. It didn't add up. I kept trying, and the numbers just weren't adding up. There was an error somewhere, and it was killing me. My employer told me, let is go, it's not a big deal if it is a little off. But I couldn't let it go. So I kept at it until I finally figured out the miscalculation and corrected it.

Should one wait until they are being audited by the IRS to get all their taxes in order? That would be completely foolish. Which is why we must always be careful with money, know what we have, what we are bringing in, what we are spending it on. Sometimes I think it would be worth it to have a personal accountant, to take the headache off of me.

Spending money on other people is not a big deal if they are a close friend. So I buy a drink for myself and grab one for my friend too. There is no need for her to pay me back, the money disappears into a void and never gets accounted for. Or if we are going somewhere together and one girl covers the subway fare. It is petty cash, it goes no where. Only big denominations are noticed, such as if you take a trip together and one girl puts the expense on her credit card and the others pay her back.

In life, spiritually, G-d accounts for everything. He is not your close friend. He is not the IRS. He is the creator of the world, and there is no 'petty cash' to Him. He knows every little thing that goes on. Comes Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, and it is time for the accounting. And you do not have an accountant. Or a lawyer. It is just you and Him.

What will you say? Will you be ready to stand and face Hashem and explain to him every little thing that you did, where you erred, where you neglected, where you brush aside and said 'no big deal'?

We have to be prepared in all of our accounts. We have to own up to everything and be honest. No secrets. No hiding.

Hashem may not be out friend, but He is our father, and He loves us. Will He understand the 'petty cash'? The little things that you overlook because they are such small indiscretions?

We hope that He will erase our account, and that we can start off next year with a clean slate.

It's that time of year again. Rosh Hashana is fast approaching. It is time to prepare and make sure that you did all you can so that when you stand before Hashem, you know what to say.

(To my friends, this is not a request for you to pay me back, don't worry.)

Excuses excuses excuses

There are always so many excuses for why not. Why didn't I go to the wedding last night?

Because I was tired.

Because I was feeling sick.

Because I just got back from a long trip.

Because I had nothing to wear.

Because we really are not that close.

Would she really even notice if I wasn't there?

And on and on and on.

Late at night when I am being completely honest with myself I can admit that, all excuses aside, I didn't go simply because I was lazy. I selfishly decided to stay home when I could have gone and done the mitzvah of mesameach chosson vekallah.

And of course, the next day the guilt sets in. I should have gone. I could have gone. I had hours to prepare, why didn't I just get dressed and go. I agonize over that one little decision. Maybe I am just giving voice to my conscience.

B"H I have a conscience. But sometimes it kicks in too late.

Many of us make excuses for ourselves very often, in many areas of life. Why you just simply can't daven today. Why you can't spare some change for tzedaka. Why you are in a hurry and can't do a favor for another person.

The list of excuses goes on and on. They sound so convincing. But who are you really lying to? Are you fooling yourself? In retrospect, will you feel good about that decision, or will you beat yourself up for awhile in the hopes that it might change something?

I know what my problem is. I have every good intention to do something right up until the moment that it comes- and then I back out. I make an excuse of why I can't do it.

Do we ever make excuses for why we could do something? But then it wouldn't be called an excuse. Maybe instead of trying to find a way out of something, come up with reasons of why you should be doing that.

Because I will see friends.

Because I can wish her mazal tov.

Because I can get dressed up.

Because it is a mitzvah.

Because I told her I would come.

Now if only I can remember all those good reasons the next time I come against one of my good intentions.

Far from home

The sights and smells and sounds are overwhelming. I expected it. This is what I came for. This is my time to kick back, to have fun, to let loose, to enjoy, to live, to experience.

I write this from my hotel room when I should be sleeping. It was a long exhausting day and it is over. I am so tired.

They are sleeping. I always feel a little different than the rest. A little over-protective. Maybe they wouldn't like that, if they knew. But of course they know.

So I take charge, and I laugh with the people I am supposed to laugh with, and befriend the people you need to make nice with, and of course, I refuse to ask directions or help from anyone. That is how I am. It is dumb to ask for directions when you can figure it out yourself. It may take longer, but your pride will be intact.

So I let them ask. And I stand to the side and pretend not to listen and pretend not to care what the answer is. And I gave in today and asked for help, after a frustrating start to the day and many wrong turns and much money wasted on tolls and gas and taking out my frustration on my stupid uncooperative GPS.

But it is okay. It is all good. I had a great day today, we did all we planned to do, we had a lot of fun. Sometimes I forget how to have fun. And I did something daring, something I wouldn't normally do. No, I didn't get a belly piercing or a tattoo. Just something fun.

Of course I took pictures. Some. But lots of it is un-photograph-able. And that is okay too, because I will have the memories, for a little while at least.

It is funny how close to home you can be and still feel miles and miles away. A part of me, in a strange city, breaking my routine, having to be responsible for myself and for others just yearns for the comfort of my own room, my own bed, my own kitchen, my own comfortable familiar surroundings.

But if we never got away, we would never realize how good we have it.

Tomorrow is home-bound. And until then I will enjoy my own strange part of the world, with my friends, and live it up like only we know how.

Amen V'amen

I can hear the music playing in my head. I can imagine the crowd as they see me coming, and gasp, and oooh and aaah over how beautiful I look, and I will smile bashfully because I know it is true.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I can see the groom, but I never see his face. He is hidden in shadows, an as-yet unknown player in my game.

I have learned that it is okay to dream, to wish and to hope. I have learned that it is okay to be vulnerable. It is okay to take chances and to be unsure about what is coming next.

But I know what is coming next. Sort of. I would say that my life is on track. I am meeting the goals I made for myself, I am accomplishing things I once only dreamed of. My future is bright, and I can do or be whatever I want to be.

There is something missing. There is always something missing. Sometimes it is okay, and sometimes it is not so okay. Sometimes I don't think about it at all, and sometimes it is all I think about.

And those hopes and dreams- they seem far and distant, and unattainable. And the only thing that keeps me go is raw unwavering faith.

I stop to give a man tzedaka. He tells me I should grow up to be a tzadekis. He tells me I should meet the right guy at the right time, he pours brachos on me one after the other. And I just nod and smile. And say amen.

I give tzedaka to a lady that doesn't speak English. She blesses me in yidish, or maybe hebrew. I don't quite understand what she is saying, but I know how to respond. I say thank you, and of course, Amen.

Amen. I believe. I have emuna. Nothing in this world moves or breaths or happens without the hand of G-d. Every tiny little detail is orchestrated, from the beginning to the end of time. So how can I not believe that He knows what is to come, that He has a plan for me, that everything will work out as it is supposed, and it will be good?

Sometimes it makes no sense, and still I say, Amen.

Because deep down in my soul, I believe.

To be free

Oh the places I could go,
the people I could see,
if I were free.
If I were free.

The birds up in the tree,
they'd chirp down at me- at me!
And sing together playfully,
tell the world that I am free.

Oh to be free,
it's a glorious thing.
I stare around me in wonderment.
To see daylight again,
in middle of the day
I just want to say-
I'm free!

To feel the sand on the beach
as we lay in the sun,
oh the fun
we would have
altogether.

To have not a care
in the world,
let my hair
down my back
Wish we'd stay here like this
forever.

I'd like to dance
and to sing-
It's a marvelous thing.
For I am free
yes I'm free
at last.

No alarm
to awake,
no lunch I need to make
for I am free
yes I'm free.
It's a blast!

This thing
they call happy
I know what it is!
I can feel it,
this grin that won't leave.

And so
we will go
and have fun
for awhile.
All of this,
I still can't believe.

To quote Martin Luther King Jr. - "Free at last, Free at last, Thank God almighty I am free at last."

The Fortunate Ones

She looks at me with uncomprehending eyes. She doesn't recognize me. Nor I, her. Barely. Emotions and thoughts course through me, fighting to be heard. I admonish myself. Don't judge her. It is not your business. You don't know where she's been or what she's gone through.

Yes, I know all of that. But I know where I have been. I know what I have been through. Two people who start off on the same path and take very different turns...

My mother always jokes that her kids don't do drugs or anything bad because they are too lazy to look for it; That we are frum by default, because it takes too much effort to learn any other lifestyle.

Frum by default? That sounds sad. Rote. Mundane. Routine. No actual thought into it.

But that would connote that I don't think about it at all. Which would be false. I think about it every day. Some days more than others. It strikes me at the oddest moments, when I smile and look around me and realize what a wonderful world I live in and how lucky I am to be one of the Chosen Ones.

Yes, I think about it... I think about how I should really think about it more. I think about how much my efforts are lacking. I think about how much I used to do compared to what I do now.

Am I frum by default? I don't know. Maybe. Does it matter?

I look at her. And I look at me. And I try so hard to understand her, to not judge her. And it breaks my heart a little, what she must have seen to bring her to this point. And I wonder if one day she will ever come back home...

And whether it is by default or through my own efforts, I thank G-d every day that I am one of the fortunate ones.

ROAD TRIP!!!!!

Let's get in the car, you and I, and drive away together. I've always wanted to do that. No worries, no cares, no looking back.

We would drive for miles with the windows down, wind whipping our hair all about. We would blast the radio and sing along with it, in our slightly off-key voices. We'd talk for hours and keep each other awake as we took turns driving.

There is something so alluring about the vast open road. We can drive forever and go anywhere at all. It is one of those things that's on the bucket list. 'Take a road trip with friends'. We can do it. We are young and wild and free.

Stopping at rest stops and eating junk food from the vending machine. Stopping to take in the gorgeous mountain views. Taking pictures. Bonding.

Where would we go? Do you have a plan? I wish I could be spontaneous. I wish I could throw the rules out the window, say 'to hell with it', live in the moment, enjoy life, be exciting. But I need a carefully mapped out plan. I need to know everything before I take off.

But with you, it would all be different. Feet up on the dashboard, head back, mouth open with laughter. Hair streaked with sunlight, eyes shaded with sunglasses, the picture of happiness. You would bring that out in me. For you I would be spontaneous. For you, I would jump, because I know you'd never let me fall.

One day we will get in that car and drive off into the sunset together, on our very own road trip. And it'll be the journey of a lifetime.

Distractions

There is always something else going on. Always someone talking to you. Things to do, people to see.

I make an effort to daven on my way to work every day. It is not so easy with having to transfer, the train swaying, feeling like people are staring at me. But I got used to it, and it is a part of my daily routine.

I know myself. I know my schedule. I don't like disruptions. But some things are not fully in our control. Or are they?

She came onto the bus and smiled in recognition. She sat down next to me. We caught up. How is she doing, what is she up to now, how I am, what my job is, etc etc. I was holding my siddur in my hand, glancing at it from time to time. Thinking, I really should daven. But instead, I chatted with a friend.

My day felt very off balance. Empty, even. Like something was missing.

A few days later, I was standing on the bus davening. She came on. I smiled at her. I said hello. Then I said, I am going to daven now so I'll talk to you later. It felt so '7th grade', like I am better than you and holier than you. It was a little awkward.

Then I looked up and saw her pull out her siddur and begin to daven too.

Distractions are not easy but they are a part of life. Will you let them cloud your vision and take you away from what is important? Or will you stand up for what is right?

I never thought that would be me.

At least I didn't wear white today

They huddled under store awnings
and took shelter in building lobbies.

I didn't really understand their need
to stay out of the rain.

Walking, head down,
glasses so spotted I cannot see.

Rain so heavy and wind so strong
but it did not deter me.

I was drenched after a few minutes,
not a dry inch on me.

The faster you go the faster you'll get there,
but as fast as I went I missed the train.

Arms crossed,
conserving warmth.

In the midst of August,
it is cold.

The train arrives.
Everyone is wet.

I take in my surroundings.
I am the only one standing.

I try to remember details.
It is a blur.

The raindrops slide down the windows of the car,
slower the faster we go.

I am not sure if it is raining anymore,
when the doors open and I hear the downpour.

I notice it is steady,
not getting heavier and not slowing down.

I stare at my reflection in the window.
It is so gray outside I can barely see it.

In the flitting dark facades
I can just barely make out the shape.

Of a wet cold girl
on a rainy day.

Jello fail

My skills in the kitchen are pretty rudimentary. My roommate might disagree. She thinks everything I make is awesome and that I am a great chef. I know how to cook. I know how to bake. But knowing how to doesn't mean you have skills.

I particularly like to make soups and salads, and other foods where you can kind of play around with it and add whatever you want. I don't like following rules. I kind of just make it up myself.

Baking is more rigid in the necessity of following the recipe. I understand that it is partly a science, and if I do not add the correct measurements of ingredients it is bound to fail.

I am similar to my mother in the sense that I know I can make good simple food but I don't believe I am exemplary. My mother makes good food. I recall friends of mine often saying "My mom makes the beeeeest..... ______________" and I never said that. To me, the food somehow just appeared on the table. Only when I got older did I start asking my mother, how do you make this, what about that dish that I really like. And she would respond, I don't really cook, I kind of just throw it together. Well teach me how to 'throw it together' because that was amazing!

I ate by my brother on Shabbos day. He always has very interesting dishes. Never anything simple. Sometimes I like it and sometimes I smile and say wow everything looks great.

He brings out dessert and it looks so pretty. They say presentation is everything. Dessert is.... cubes of strawberry jello. He arranged them in pyramids in fancy cocktail glasses and the red with the glass gave it a very elegant effect. Of course, cold jello is refreshing after any meal.

This week I was craving jello. I have never made jello before, but of course it is so simple. Just add hot water. So I picked up a packet and decided to make it.

I always scoff at people who say 'I can't bake, I ruin every recipe.' And I say, "How can you ruin Duncan Hines?????" It baffles me. It's so simple. You follow the recipe. The end.

Of course I followed the recipe. It said to boil water. So I did. It said to measure out two cups. So I did. The water was hot. Some of it splashed on the counter. I of course added more water, because I wouldn't want to deviate from the instructions.... I mixed it, like it said to. I poured it into ice cube trays. So far so good. I put it in the fridge, and let it cool, anticipating my strawberry jelloey goodness.

I waited. And waited. And checked it. Still liquidy. Still not jello....

Of course I realized my mistake. Sometimes there is such a thing as too much.

That jello never did turn into much of anything. I put it in the freezer and made strawberry flavored ice cubes and told my roommate to eat them all because I wasn't interested. I wanted jello... Oh jello...

I may try again. My mom taught me that if you make a mistake you fix it. When I was may 10 I begged her to let me go to the store for her, telling her how responsible I was. She sent me to the meat store with instructions to buy a specific type of meat. I stood there staring at all the red meats, everything looked the same to me. I didn't ask anyone for help because, well, I don't do that. So I got something, came home and of course it was the wrong thing. So I cried. Then I went back to the store again.

Always fix your mistakes. And follow the directions more carefully next time. Despite the best intentions, there is such a thing as too much.

Never mix work with pleasure

This story is partly fictitious and a gross over exaggeration.

I practically skipped to work today, giddy with anticipation and nervous excitement. How should I do it? Casually? Make a big gesture? Modestly? I don't do modesty very well.

It is the feeling of excitement a child gets when they bring something special for their class. But I didn't know how it would go over.

I decided on a subtle approach. I left them sitting there with a note that said 'Please enjoy'.

Cookies. I brought cookies to work today. Moist, melt-in-your-mouth chocolate chip cookies. I love to bake. And that's where it stops.

Roommate- (While stuffing her face with cookies) "Ugh, you really can't bake anymore, I'm gonna get fat."

Eye roll. Girls.

Me: "There is something called self-control. Just because I make them doesn't mean you have to eat them."

Roommate: (Mouth still full) mumble mumble mumble "I hadn't thought of that." Please take them away from me I can't control myself.

So I decided to unload on my co-workers.

I work in an office full of guys. I'm the only female working there. I have never before done anything girly or personal (except spray perfume once in awhile. My co-worker gags and says he can't breath. Yet he comes in smelling like axe from a mile away.) So I had no idea if anyone would even notice or appreciate the gesture.

Here's how it played out in my head:

Skeptical looks at first, then they try the cookies and-

"Oh Altie these are amazing, the best cookies I ever had."

"You get a raise!"

"Please marry me." (Totally kidding.)

I imagined they would be filled with admiration for my baking skills, beg me to do it again, be so thankful, etc.

Here's what really happened:

A few mumbled thank you's. I watched the cookies like a hawk all day. Hardly any were eaten. Only one guy said thank you and they were really good. So at the end of the day when I didn't want to take them home with me, I gave him the rest.

I realize it is a selfish emotion to give for the sake of compliments and appreciation. That is obvious. But everyone likes to hear how good their cookies are.

Don't worry, when I came home the ones that I left on the table were almost all finished. My roommate and her friend ate them. (It is all your fault that I can't fit into my dress.....)

Moral of the story: never bring cookies to an office full of guys. They will not be appreciated.

Lesson learned.

Drama-free

You ask me how I'm doing. I give you the standard answer. 'Good, thank G-d.' To your question of 'What's up?' I reply 'Nothing much', which seems to be the acceptable response. There is a lull in the conversation. You ask me, 'So how are you, really?'

I'm good. Really, I'm good. Once upon a time I had so much to say, I needed advice on so many things. I believe that the best poetry is written out of sadness than of joy. Some people have extreme emotions and they cannot have a normal medium. I can be normal. But when I am normal, that means all is well. And when all is well, I don't need you anymore.

I am quiet for a time. You ask me 'What's up'. I am not ignoring you, I am actually busy working. I explain this to you. But more and more frequently these days, our conversations are filled with silence.

I think of all that I accomplished this year. It is funny. I set out goals for myself and I was not very optimistic about accomplishing them. I recently took a look at the paper where I wrote down my goals, and as it turns out- I have accomplished all of them, or some of them in part. And I don't feel triumphant. I am not jumping for joy or slapping myself on the back. Because I knew I could do it all along.

Life is good. It is. It is going in a good direction, and I made it for myself. I learned that not everything needs to be taken so seriously, not all my problems have to be aired, and that most of all, I can figure things out on my own. And I am so proud of that.

Sometimes we have to go through hard times to realize how strong we are. Tell me what you think is wrong with me and I can tell you all the things that are right with me. And I will make it. I know I will. I will become everything I dream of for myself. I will accomplish every goal I set out for myself. Because I can. I know I can. And I know that you know it too.

But I think this is goodbye. At least to that part of us. Drama. It is something I have no need for in my life, and it is all over B"H. The people who bring drama- you get rid of them. Live life simple and purely for the right reasons, not for anything or anyone else. I have rediscovered myself, and I remember me. I like me.

Give me my wings and let me fly. It is time.

One big piece of a puzzle

Many of my acquaintances seem to know many of my other acquaintances, and not through me. I notice this a lot on Facebook. It is always so interesting and weird to see so many of my worlds colliding. A co-counselor from summer camp is friends with my childhood neighbor, a classmate from high school is friends with a girl I met at random. I always stop and say hmmm you know her? Wow I know how I met her but I wonder how you guys came to know each other... It is like separate parts of my life converging and it is confusing.

'Jewish Geography' is a favorite came to many. When you meet someone you try to find some sort of connection. Maybe you know their aunt, cousin, sister, great-great-great-something or other. But what I find even more fascinating is when there is no connection at all.

And yet there is. A big one.

She rolled down her window and honked at me. I took this as a sign that she was offering me a ride. I felt their stares on my back as I made my way towards the car amid traffic. Wondering, do I know that lady? Was I waiting for her to pick me up? Are we related? How come I get a ride when they have to wait for the bus?

Her first words to me were 'I got to do a mitzvah today'. It brought a smile to my face. She proceeded to tell me all about an orthodontist appointment she just came from. We chatted. She didn't ask me my name until right before she dropped me off. I thanked her kindly.

I didn't know her at all. Of course she asked about my family and tried to place me, but we were two strangers who may never meet again.

But she did a favor for me simply because we are family. We are one. "Kol yisroel areivim ze lazeh."

And that is all that really matters.

Niggunim

They pull at my heartstrings like no other music does. They reach down into my very soul and fill it, surround it, like a warm embrace.

It is ironic, really. Years ago I gave up on Jewish Music completely. It bothered me a lot to know that many of the sources were impure. I figured, if the song anyway has a non-Jewish source, I may as well listen to the real thing.

I have no great attachment to music. I listen to it when I am sad, sometimes when I am happy and need a good beat going. I listen to music when I drive, and on long road trips to keep from getting bored. Sometimes I exercise to music. But I wouldn't say that it nourishes me in any way.

Some people have a deep soul connection to music. For other people it may be a beautiful painting, a moving poem, or captivating ballet.

No matter where I went or how far I strayed, niggunim always spoke to me. Their wordless melodies, ancient and pure, it does something to me like nothing else can. I always feel better after listening to niggunim.

I miss the farbrengins we used to have in high school. The feeling of camaraderie, everyone sharing stories or lessons they learned, good resolutions they made. But mainly, the singing. Around a table or a bonfire, it could go on for hours. Someone would start a tune and everyone would join in. Slow and soft at first, but rising steadily until it reached a crescendo. A beautiful melody crashing with the gates of heaven, bonding us together as one.

I close my eyes and try to recreate those feelings. Alone in my apartment on a Friday night. My surroundings melt away and only I and the niggun remain. Over and over it goes, bringing back memories, warming my soul. I feel a yearning, a desire for something. To connect to a higher source, to be a part of something so much greater than myself.

The niggun winds down, I open my eyes. I am in my own apartment. But for a brief moment, my soul was in another place, another time.

THAT is what a niggun does.

Here are a few selections that I like:

1. Reb Mendel's Niggun

2. Nigun L'Shabbos V'Yom Tov

3. Eilu Vo'eilu

4. Nigun M'yuchos

I also have great memories of falling asleep to the sounds of niggunim as a child. It stuck with me. If nothing else, it is something to take with me for the rest of my life, and keep me close wherever I go.

The little engine that Could

I've known my whole life,
they've always told me,
offhandedly,
that I can.

"You are so strong."
"You are so smart."
"You have so much potential."
They made it clear.

They expected more from me.
Me.
For no reason.
Just because.

It is a false security.
"I am smart."
"I am capable."
"I can do it if I try."

Like an alcoholic in denial,
"I just don't want to."
But I can.
I think.

Can I?
Maybe.
Will I?
I don't know.

If you want something
really badly
you try really hard
to get it.

You don't stop
until you have it.
The question is
how badly do you want it?

The little engine
that could
did.
Because it believed.

Can I?
Will I?
I guess time will tell.

1:01

"Hi, it's Altie. How are you? Happy Birthday! How are you celebrating, are you doing anything special for it?"

"I don't celebrate my birthday.

"Oh, okay. Well I hope you have a nice one anyway. Hope it's a great year for you, may you have lots of blessings and everything you need."

"Thank you."

"Hows your business going? Hows everything?"

"Good."

"Good to hear that.... (silence...) Well, happy birthday, take care all the best!"

"Thank you".

I hang up. Huh. 1 minute and one second. That's what I call progress.