Possibilities

Or at the very least, my own backyard.

There comes a time in every short Jewish gal's life when she looks in the mirror, screams briefly, and sees someone different. Her face looks weary. Her eyes look tired. Her hair looks unreasonably flat. When a gal, a short Jewish gal, let's call her the SJG, looks in the mirror and sees her own punim reflected back, as opposed to someone else's punim, say, Christie Brinkley's, that short gal starts to wonder if she can still be the same carefree short gal she used to be. Fine, she was never carefree, but her cares were so different. Is it possible to be the same person she was a year ago, pre-Pandemic, before she wore this mask, that mask, oops, that's your mask, not my mask? Can she look in that mirror, which needs a strong blast of Windex, and admit that she can't keep wearing the same mask, three weeks in a row? With all the wisdom she's acquired, not to mention all the hand sanitizer, can she continue to be the same gal she was before Sir Blakey telepathically inquired, "Why don't you ever leave the house?" Can she boldly go to Gelson's and remember it used to be her happy place, her homeland, and not the place where Insta-Carters block the aisles and she fears for her life? Of course, she can. She can and she will. At some point, there'll be some version of normalcy. Don't ask her when. She doesn't know. She hasn't even had her first vaccine. But anything's possible. 

Baby Talk

Now that Claire is nearly 9 months old, she's "talking" up a storm. At this stage, her chatter, a joyous collection of squeals, squawks, grunts and astute political observations, remains open to interpretation. This morning, the family weighed in on what she expressed in a video her daddy shared.

"I heard Dada."

"I heard Grammala"

"I heard Uncle Scott." 

"I heard let me out of jail."

"I heard supercalifragalisticexpialidocious."

I'll let you decide who heard what. As my very wise Great Auntie Zelda, who, rumor has it, took the money and ran with the tailor, always said, "People hear what they want to hear." The true meaning of Claire's baby talk depends on the listener, and of course, the amount of caffeine and/or alcohol imbibed in one sitting. 

"I said Grammala."

Serenity Now!

When the Yoga Gals gather on Zoom

On this one point, we lower the boom 

We want no noise, no audible sigh

No barking dogs, no volume on high

To achieve some Zen, we all agree

That silence leads to serenity 

So stay at home, no need to commute 

Say Namaste, but keep it on mute

Yoga With Tali 

https://www.instagram.com/talifefer/

Another Grandma For Peace

I grew up in the quaint little village of Westwood, admiring this classic War Is Not Healthy poster that hung on the wall of my childhood bedroom. From the time I was 9, the Lorraine Schneider artwork, a gift from my mother when she joined Another Mother For Peace, served as a daily reminder of hope and peace, inspiring me to dream of a better world. I wish I knew whatever became of my favorite poster. Longtime hubby and I have been together so long that he remembers the poster on my wall, too, and the other day, surprised me with a framed print. And now it hangs on my office wall, where I'm still dreaming of a better world.

A Nice Shot of Envy

"Dr. Schlepstein, thanks for fitting me in." 

"You're so welcome, my lil kugel maker."

"I've asked you not to call me that."

"Would you prefer Big Kugel Maker, on account of all the fressing you've been doing?"

"I prefer Rapidly Bitter Goddess."

"Okay, RBG, why so bitter?"

"I've come down with a bad case of envy."

"Envy? That's so unlike you. Usually you applaud everyone's success. You say, 'Good for you,' without a trace of sarcasm. But now, you're turning chartreuse, which isn't a good color for you, as I recall. So why, I ask you. Why?"

"Why? I'll tell you why, Dr. Schlepstein, if you promise not to charge me double."

"That was a billing boo-boo. How many times must we go over that?"

"A few more times, at least. Anyway, I'm a tad envious because some of my friends and relatives, no names mentioned, they know who they are, what with the Medicare card they keep flashing like a golden ticket, are getting the Vaccine, and I'm too young."

"Poor lil RBG, only 63. My heart breaks for you."

"Really?"

"No. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"My own therapist is shaming me? How is that helpful?"

"It's not, but under the circumstances, I'm making an exception."

"Dr. Schlepstein, I'm happy for them. I want everyone to be healthy and live a nice long life, free of tsuris. Still, I want the same for me."

"Listen, if I could give you a magic potion and make you 65, would that help?"

"I'd rather you give me a vaccine."

"Sorry, no can do. You'll just have to wait your turn like everybody else. Of course, patience has never been one of your strong suits."

"This is true. So, when did you get your shot?"

"I've been in line at Dodger Stadium since Tu Bishvat."

"Dr. Schlepstein, Tu Bishvat doesn't start till Wednesday."

"Fine. You caught me. Only since 5 a.m. today. My tush is numb. I need to pee. I'd kill for a bagel. I hate everyone in line ahead of me. Still envious?"

"No, actually. Thanks for your help."

"Anything for you, my sweet RBG."

"Bittersweet. That's me."

"Tell me something I don't know." 

Sixty Plus Three

The SJG @ 3

Since this photo was taken 60 years ago, I'm sure I've learned a few things, and yet, at the tender age of three, if you'd told me all the surprises and setbacks, struggles and victories, laughter and tears that awaited me, I wouldn't have believed you. I would've giggled, asked for a cookie, and then taken a nap. To sum up all the life lessons I've collected in the past 63 years would be tough, so instead, I'm going to narrow it down to three key lessons:

Almost everything is funny. 

Always ask for help.

Dance like everyone's watching.

Sir Blakey's New Year's Resolutions

1. Improve posture.

2. Expel less gas.

3. Remember to floss. 

4. Finish memoir. 

5. Kill squirrel.