It Was 50 Years Ago Today

A few months ago, my brother John, a mensch of all mensches who remembers every momentous occasion in his life, unlike his sister, who can't tell what day or date it is without checking, called me up with the following news: "On June 15, it will be the 50th anniversary of my Bar Mitzvah." "Mazel tov, honey." "I was Bar Mitzvahed on June 15, 1968." "L'chaim." "In honor of my Bar Mitzvah, we're going to the Bel-Air Hotel to celebrate." "Even though your birthday isn't till the 22nd?" "I wasn't Bar Mitzvahed on the 22nd. I was Bar Mitzvahed on the 15th." "Technically, you weren't 13." "Who cares?" "God cares. He cares a lot." "Whatever. Put it in your calendar." "Why the Bel-Air Hotel?" "Are you seriously asking me that?" "I was 10." "What's your point?" "Tell me why, I'm begging you. My brain can only hold so much information." "That's where the party was." "Are you planning to recite your Torah portion?" "I'm performing the entire service." "What do I have to do?" "Just sit there." "I can do that."

Brother & sister at Leo Baeck Temple: 50 years ago today! 

Special Delivery

In school they taught us many things,
Things we liked and/or detested.
One thing never was requested,
But oh, how the pendulum swings.

Today I learned a regimen,
It chilled me from top to bottom.
"Here's a pouch for when you've got some,
Seal and send us your specimen."

"Well, I'll give it deep reflection,
But the thought does disturb me so.
It's beneath me to sink this low,
I say no to this collection."

"It's for your health," she insisted.
"Trust me, hon, there's nothing to it.
Just make up your mind and do it.
Don't be the fool who resisted."

"Okay, okay," I told the nurse.
"On your behalf, I'll do my best.
You want it that much, be my guest."
Under my breath, I said a curse.

I rushed right home and did the deed.
I couldn't help but kvetch and moan.
I was out of my comfort zone.
May the contents be well-received.

Must You Go Shakespearean?

Try and stop me.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's flea infestation?"

"We know what we are, and I know you are, but what, pray tell, am I?"

"If music be the food of love, why the flatulence?"

"Better three hours too soon than one more minute on the 405."

"Brevity is the soul of my blog."

"The dog doth bark too much, methinks."

"No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say bupkis."

" 'Tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to eat an entire kugel by yourself."

"I give unto my hubby my second best sofa with the lumpy cushions."

"Oy! Let me not kvetch, not kvetch, sweet heaven; keep me kvetch-free; I would not kvetch!"

SJG Rebrands

(Sherman Oaks) The Short Jewish Gal, a self-proclaimed international blogging sensation, has decided to make a bold marketing move that may or may not send keppies spinning like a demonic dreidel. "I've given myself a promotion to goddess. You heard me. From now on, SJG will stand for Short Jewish Goddess. It's about time someone worships me. As I remind longtime hubby on a daily basis, I have many goddess-like qualities. You want examples? Examples you'll get. I'm the embodiment of peacefulness, especially when I'm napping around 4 p.m. on the sofa. You want serenity? Stop by. I'm nothing if not serene. Ask anyone, especially if they're not related to me. Oh, you want to talk purity? If I'm not the symbol of purity, who is? That fact that I swear like a truck driver is besides the point. What else makes me a goddess? How much time have you got? The fact that I represent neurotic women, globally, certainly qualifies me for the title. I give meshuggies everywhere hope, and if that's not something to brag about, I'll eat an untoasted bagel. So, there. I've sent in my application in for a name change, and once it's approved by the powers-that-be, I'll be the Short Jewish Goddess. Why? I'll tell you why. Because I said so."

The Tarte Tatin Took A Turn

Clean-up on Aisle 10

For the rest of time, we'll be trying to figure out what went wrong. All we know is this. An attempt at carmelizing led to burnt buttery offerings that somehow wound up stuck to the bamboo floor. A trash can melted, too. I'm not sure how that happened. I'm not sure how any of this happened. I only know this. At 2 o'clock in the afternoon, the newlyweds suddenly decided to make a tarte tatin, thanks to a French baking show they've been watching, obsessively. "It's going to be great," the eldest promised, as he searched in vain for items the SJG doesn't possess. I'm not from the bakers. By now, he should know this about me. The only thing I do from scratch is kvetch. Missing from the kitchen: A rolling pin. A pie pan. And I can't remember what else, because, as I may have mentioned, I'm not from the bakers.  

My eldest son, the dough-maker

I kept a safe distance on the sofa, pre-gaming for the Tony Awards, and saying useful things like, "The tarte tatin has taken a tar-tar-turn." And, "It's a tar-tar-tastrophe." Of course, had the newlyweds decided to make their first kugel, I would've been all over it. But instead, dough was happening, and apples were getting peeled by longtime hubby, who just couldn't help himself. Give the man a tool, kitchen or otherwise, and he's going to get busy.

My wonderful D.I.L. re-carmelizes, as one does, post-disaster.

The result: Just between us, it's tarte tatin-adjacent.

And delicious. Did it convince me to start baking? 

Like me think about that. No. Bon appétit! 

A Night In Woodland Hills

A warm evening in Woodland Hills. A delightful volunteer appreciation dinner courtesy of the Motion Picture Television Fund. "Don't say I don't schlep you to the best places," I said to longtime hubby, handing him a drink ticket. "I wouldn't dare."

A lovely party under a big tent strung with twinkle lights. "You know how I love the twinkle lights," I reminded my date, handing him another drink ticket. "You feel strongly about the twinkle lights." "I really do." Twinkle lights are part of my personal belief system, along with dental floss and caffeine. They just make me happy.

A well-established SJG factoid for your files. I'm very easy to surprise, mainly because I'm just oblivious when good things are headed my way. Last night, the wonderful Fredda Johnson, Director, Volunteer Engagement, sent me into total shock when she called my name and gave me this unexpected, very pretty and quite shiny glass plaque.

I mean, come on. It's not often that someone gives you an award for anything. In my case, it's pretty much never. So I was farklempt and honored and did an understated hora on my way to get it. I may have uttered my daddy's famous line: "For me?" Or maybe it was just in my keppy. "Don't get used to this," Fredda whispered later.

Saturday Sanity Scan

I know, I know. It's been a week. What say we have a group check-in to determine whether we're "not all there," "all there" or "there's no there there." Come on, gang. Let's do a quick sanity scan. At this moment in time... do you know where:
1. Your brain is?
2. Your soul is?
3. Your heart is?
4. Your dog is?
5. Your cat is?
6. Your car is?
7. Your spouse is?
8. Your wallet is?
9. Your phone is?
10. Your pupik is?