Locked Out!!!                                                                         June 27, 2014 

 

We have lots of things on our minds most of the time: anxiety about a distant child, concerns about the economy, our own health and well-being, our kids welfare in general, how far will the dollar stretch before we ask for help.  I never worried that my child would lock herself out of her house, that her spare key was beyond reach (at my house), that she would need my help even as she knocked on a neighbor’s door to use the phone.

When I received the call on a late Thursday afternoon, I was momentarily lost.  If I drove, no problem; if my twice a week aide were on duty, no problem, if I had a visitor with time on her hands, no problem.  “Mom, can you help me I do not feel close enough to my neighbors to ask for help, but you have friends who are always eager to help you….?”  So, of course I made calls: the first one had an appointment, the second one was not at home, but bingo, a kind, non-judgmental, giving friend was at my door in ten minutes and we reached Judi with the key in fifteen.  She was grateful!  So was I!

There is a lesson in this episode that applies to all of us.  Anyone of us can press that lock button inadvertently and find we are outside without keys when we only meant to empty the trash.  A spare key has to be someplace closer than six miles away.  In my neighborhood, we have extra security and the security has my extra key, a quick call to them would bring immediate help.  In Judi’s case, there is a manager who most likely would keep her spare key.  I am sure her neighbor who once in an emergency fed her animals, would keep her key.

Being friendly and close to neighbors comes more easily to some of us than to others.  Tucking a neighbor’s key in a safe place does not make us bosom buddies, it does  require that we are trusting friends who care about each other’s welfare.

We can always hide the key in a remote place that thieves would never consider.  At the time of need what assurance do we have that we  (seniors) will remember that special place?  Better to trust a friend or, I guess, Mom!

    

 

Double Peak

Double Peak………June 19, 2014

     We were headed to a party, I had managed to mix up the time.  My friend and I found we had an extra hour “to kill”.  We had choices: we could return to my house and fiddle around with the beeping smoke alarms.  Or we could go our separate ways and meet for the party later.  We decided to take a ride, climbed the hill to the end of Double Peak.  It is a spot I love; it displays a 360-degree view of our town, mountain peaks from a variety of our California ranges, the Pacific Ocean in a quiet pacific moment!

     Frequently I have gone to the top to view a magnificent sunset.  No sunset this evening, we were too early.  But the sunsets are not the only feelings one experiences at Double Peak.   The end of day quiet was at once spiritual, relaxing, comforting.  I had had a hard day with doctors and their X-rays, EKGs and lunch breaks.  The low, misty clouds were almost ethereal in their formations.  Together my friend and I enjoyed the moment as an unwinding of the day that wrapped us in nature’s beauty and our own quiet introspection.

     Our end of day timing turned out to be perfect.

    

Mindfulness, a column, written more than a year ago, a subject worthy of repetition.
Mindfulness was originally conceived as a way to ease suffering and cultivate compassion. The February 3rd issue of Time had a comprehensive article by Kate Pickert on the subject last year. She notes that “we are in the midst of a popular obsession with mindfulness as the secret to health and happiness…a growing body of evidence suggests it has clear benefits.” What does that mean?

Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) includes techniques that are intended to help practitioners quiet a busy mind, heighten awareness of the present moment resulting in less concentration on what happened earlier or what’s to come. According to the Internet “…research has found therapy based on mindfulness to be effective, particularly for reducing anxiety, depression and stress”. Our daily stress appears to get more complicated and burdensome each day, especially so for us who are growing older.

Despite the fact that mindfulness has roots in Buddhism, it is relevant to all religions. The concept is to focus one’s whole attention and awareness on the present. Easing suffering and motivating compassion are ideas relevant for us all. We Jews are dedicated to tikkun olam: mending the world. Along with many other religions we believe it is humanity’s responsibility to heal, to repair the world. None of us can do that until we heal (help) ourselves.

In prospect it is difficult to achieve mindfulness, to set aside worries, expectations and concentrate on the now, on the moment. As we age it becomes harder to live with daily anxiety. Our minds are have grown accustomed to worrying about the children, their future and the financing of that future. As they grow, that future leaps to confront us. Our culture has taught us to strive to better ourselves, there is a constant longing for better, bigger, more beautiful. Mindfulness helps us to slow all that down, to be content. If we do indeed concentrate on the now and stop yearning for more we reduce anxiety, feel optimistic and even benefit our physical health.

I asked a friend who has a grandson in prison, “Do you think about him all the time?” “No”, she answered, “ I have learned to concentrate on today!” In the morning she plans her day, focusing on that, not allowing the negative to even enter her thoughts, she makes sure she sees friends and gets out and about, thus she battles her stress. It does not matter if angst is related to a chronic illness or a family crisis it impacts mind and body. Mindfulness challenges us to take responsibility for how we react to unpleasant circumstances. It helps us to understand what is happening mentally and physically.

Most of us realize we have to concentrate on today: we know we cannot change yesterday and tomorrow will happen no matter what. We have been practicing mindfulness without any awareness that it is a practice that had its beginnings in ancient times. It is a new concept for Western medicine despite the fact that some doctors and scientists have been “exploring the use of mindfulness to help people achieve better health and cope with major illnesses for several decades.”
We do not necessarily have to go through formal training to begin, Mayo Clinic suggests do-able guidelines: paying attention, remove judgment, concentrate on breathing. Paying attention to the present moment, eliminate those things that are history or prophesy. Remove judgment suggests, look at the world, other people and self with appreciation rather than criticism. Breathing is a reliable way to bring us back to the moment. Pay attention to nostrils and tummy notice the changes in breathing with one’s change in feeling. Learn to meditate it helps our efforts to concentrate on now.
Find “Mindfulness” on the Internet. Mindfulness can result in more patience, acceptance, a non-judgmental attitude compassion for others and for self, reduce stress, an attitude adjustment. The experience of Time’s writer Kate Pickert when she took a class in “MBSR” had her less connected to her electronics and more eager to enjoy the world around her. Her writing includes steps to achieve mindfulness meditation and why wearing a watch unties one from reliance on the phone in our pockets, why taking a hike enables us to really enjoy the “now”. Mindfulness is the “science of finding focus” in the midst of our stress.

My Memory of Dad                                                       June 7, 2014

 

     It takes all kinds of Dads to make the world go around and keep kids happy.  There are stern Dads, thoughtless Dads, lenient ones and above all there are mostly loving Dads. I had a loving Dad, a lenient one who was always ready to help me with art homework, spelling lists or math.  He left the rest to Mom.  He was lenient to a point.

     Shortly before I married, I had the temerity to climb into his lap one day; I needed a favor.  He was a big man and I was a small person.  Physically sitting on Dad’s lap posed no problem and he loved it.  That is he loved it until I verbalized the favor. As soon as he heard what I wanted his lap disappeared and I hit the floor, astonished.  My astonishment did not match his hurt.  How dare I ask him for something that way: I was buttering him up, he knew it and was offended.  It took months before he gave in and provided me with a railroad pass to visit my Beloved!

     He and I had an Easter Sunday routine, a date we looked forward to.  Every year on Easter Sunday, as our neighbors and friends dressed up for church or for parading on the avenue, he and I would don our oldest clothes. ( Easter is not a Jewish holiday.)  Then, looking like a homeless pair, we went down to the boardwalk at the beach and took a long walk.  We did lots of talking.  Subjects in my early years were about taking care of myself. “Take care of your hands, a lady should have nice hands, always wear gloves!”   Then as I grew and was making college plans, “Be sure you take a worthwhile course of study so that if you need to, you can have a job and earn your way.” He did not worry about me; I don’t think he did. Frequently he gave me his own point of view, I listened, sometimes, I heeded his advice.

     When Dad died in 1957, I remember sadly seeing him lying in peaceful sleep, I looked at his hands.  He had beautiful strong hands.  I pictured then and do now what those hands did for me: they taught me to hold a tennis racquet, they held me close when I needed a hug.  His hands taught me to draw a straight line, to hang on to him when we crossed the street.  His hands held many doors and showed me how to go first.  Those hands never hurt me; they caught me when I first jumped from the side of the pool,  taught me to swim.  They always helped me on with my coat and took it from my shoulders when we returned home.  In the early years, his hands pushed me in my carriage and straightened the covers; later they were not too big to push my doll carriage and help me cross the street.  Dad’s hands protected and reached out to me always; the memory of them lingers and continues to protect me.   Happy Father’s Day, Dad!

 

 

    

 

    

An Addendum to my Yanov Torah Story           June 5, 2014

There is no need for an "addendum".  The issue has been clarified and does not need to be aired any longer.  I thank my readers for their patience with me.  Let us together look forward to the continuing story of the Yanov Torah.  It is alive and well.  When I last spoke to the doctor's wife (one of the couple who brought the Torah to my husband), she burst into tears, for thirty years, when we lost touch, she worried about the Torah.  Had we shown it the proper respect?  She knows now that its journey continues...Thank you all for patience.

    

 

Yanov Torah                                              May 27, 2014

     You all know the story of the Yanov Torah, the survivor of the Nazi work camp in the East European town of Yanov.  Pieces of hidden Torahtot were smuggled into the camp for prayer; at war’s end, the survivors pieced it back to together, cared for it and cherished it, eventually sent it to America.

     Over the years Erv and I have been around the world with it.  More recently, since the death of my Beloved, students from the Hebrew Union College at Los Angeles have enjoyed the responsibility and privilege of carrying the Torah to their congregations to tell and demonstrate this unusual story of survival.

     Recently, Brad Yanover came into the story.  “Yes”, he said, his family, “way back, came from that town of Yanov.”  Whether the town was named for his family or visa versa, he is not sure.  H e wished to reprint a limited amount of copies of the book that Erv and I had written in 1985, they were to be favors for the guests at his daughter’s Bat Mitzvah last April.  In addition, he said he wished to make a documentary of the story and needed to have my permission and willingness to be interviewed. I was interviewed for two hours, I love to tell the story.

     I was excited and eager to participate as best I could.  The Bat Mitzvah was a huge success.  Brad’s daughter Jaden read from the Yanov Torah and there was much excitement in the synagogue in Arizona.  Brad was kind enough to tell me about the day.  Though he seemed to be dragging his feet regarding a documentary, he was not. It is not always easy to fund and implement one's dreams.  In the long run it will be satisfying to know that the Yanov Torah will become an historical treasure for the world; the message of survival of Torah, of Judaism will be set on film for all  to see and appreciate.

     Brad is a successful Producer this is not just a pipe dream.  I was charmed by him and believe him. I have discovered that he is not only charming but also sincere.  I think he cherishes the Yanov Torah with the same fervor that I do.

Burgundy Not Red

  

 

 

Burgundy Not Red!

    

   Judi, my daughter and I went car shopping.  Her eleven-year old car had given up.  It was time for a change.  Buying a car has always seemed harder than finding the right bathing suit.  I remember sitting through lengthy time consuming sessions with salesmen, in Ohio, North Carolina, Pennsylvania and New York, it was always the same.  Erv and I wandered around a showroom or a lot and picked the car we loved at first sight, took the car for a test drive. Then I believe the salesman rubbed his hands together (behind our backs) and invited us into his office.  The show began! The last car my beloved and I bought was the Camry in 2005.  It was a lengthy ordeal then, things have not changed a bit.

     This used car salesman plied Judi and I with cold drinks, or hot, bits of chocolate, dark chocolate I could not resist, and finally the itinerary to the rest room.  I remembered my husband’s tried and true technique.  “I do not have that kind of money”, I smiled sweetly, “consider this figure please”.   He retorted, “We would lose money, this is how much the car cost us, impossible! You can finance the car”.  I replied,  “I don’t want to…isn’t there a person you can discuss this with, over there?”  I pointed to the front of the showroom.  “Oh, oh yes, pardon me a moment, would you like another piece of chocolate?”  We were happy to nibble, it was past dinnertime.

     He came back and with a wide smile, “He will split the difference with you!”  A small victory, I was prepared to walk out, Judi was with me, then I felt her sense of disappointment, I told myself not to quibble anymore.  I recalled the feeling when Erv and I shopped cars. I hated the ordeal and wanted that car now!  I made the deal.

     But we were not finished; the paper work was long and tedious, another hour. It would have been easier if we had financed the car. The dealer preferred it that way.  When we were sent to the bookkeeper-closer we ran into more trouble.  He offered a warranty below what the salesman had promised.  We could not let our defenses down for a moment.  The sales force and we had different agendas, to put it politely.  We insisted that he check out our differences, he came back with apologies and a long story about having worked for a different company with different guidelines. My patience disappeared,  “I am not interested in that company let’s wind this up.”  He behaved.  Judi has her beautiful burgundy car. Please do not call it red. The process had taken three hours; I did not ride in the car until we took it home.  Judi had driven it earlier.   The joy on her face when she settled into the driver’s seat was worth the extra dollars.