Ten Years

Ten years ago last night, I was frantically trying to wrap up a final project for my 200-level modern poetry class. The assignment (I believe we had a choice among several) was to select ten poems we'd analyzed that semester, choose a musical artist/band to perform the poem as if it were lyrics to one of their songs, and (of course) explain our choices. Ever the clever one - or perhaps just still stuck in high school cre8tiv mode - I asked a tech-savvy friend to burn a CD with a representative song from each musician/band, and I made up liner notes (with the "lyrics") and cover art for the jewel case. At least I had the good sense to submit the thinking portion of the assignment in standard 8.5 x 11 format.

Ten years ago today, somewhere around 2 AM, I swung by the Young Israel House at Cornell to pick up my mix CD. There was a quiet buzz about some recent alumnus coming to visit for Shabbat; I filed it away in the back of my brain. I had much left to do for my (clever!) project, and probably other work to do besides, and only about eight hours in which to do it all. I snagged my CD and hightailed it back to my sorority house.

Ten years ago this morning, wired from a night without sleep, I proudly presented my final project. Some weeks later, I was amused to receive the graded materials back from the TA with a note that it was a "real treat" to hear Rabbi Carlebach sing A. R. Ammons's "Small Song" in translation. Shlomo Carlebach had been dead for four years, and even while he was alive I doubt he would have indulged such a request. Ammons was still alive then. I may or may not have napped that afternoon. Probably not.

Ten years ago, about an hour later than I am writing this, I finished stuffing pajamas and a couple changes of clothes into my overnight bag. I hopped into my car and admired the sunset (sunset!) as I drove past Carl Sagan's house (okay, also dead) residence and over the Stewart Avenue bridge. I made it to the House just before Shabbat, and probably left my car in the driveway. I can't remember exactly why I didn't go into the small shul in the back of the Kosher Dining Hall - maybe I was helping with something for dinner? - but I do remember chatting with Alisha during that time. Oh, there's some alum in town? Oh, really, I think I've seen him on the composites. Yeah, I'd like to meet him, talk about how the House used to be.

I think it was Alisha who pointed Julian out to me ten years ago this afternoon. It was definitely Josh who was chatting with him in that area where the shul and the dining room and the kitchen all spill out by the sinks. Yep, Josh is the guy who failed to introduce me to my future husband, when I stepped up all polite and smiling. Josh just kept on talking, and eventually I broke in with, "Hi! You must be Julian. I'm Shanna." Stuck out my hand, pulled it back. He could be shomer negia. I probably looked rather more right-wing myself, in a full, tiered, ankle-length skirt (size 6, it was my mom's) and a black turtleneck sweater. Simple pearl earrings and a single strand of them around my neck - I wore the latter on our wedding day.

Ten years ago I sat with about fifteen people at a dinner table big enough for eight or ten, because that table had the "good" wine (Baron Herzog White Zinfandel) and an interesting guy named Julian. After dinner, a couple dozen people moved upstairs for a tisch. Not that any conclusion should be drawn about underage drinking, but it's possible that Julian offered me a beer. Perhaps more than one. Hard as it may be to believe, I turned them all down, on account of extreme sleepiness. I also credit the extreme sleepiness with causing me to turn down a lunch invitation from Julian's weekend hosts. Silly me thought he'd be eating the in dining hall, and insisted I had to be there (though of course I didn't tell her why).

Ten years ago tonight, even though I'd already been awake for close to thirty-six hours, I stayed up late playing durak and talking about Billy Joel (I had changed into a concert T-shirt). I proclaimed my criteria for a future husband (easy to pronounce last name, waits no more than three hours between meat and dairy). Julian brought me over to one of the composites hanging in the living room and challenged me to pronounce "Gorfajn." (I got it wrong.) At about four o'clock in the morning, the five of us (including Matt) wrapped it up for the night. I slipped into a bathroom to change into pajamas, and by the time I'd gotten out Julian had left. Somewhat dejected, I confessed my new crush to Beth, my roommate-for-the-night, who prompted called me an idiot for turning down the lunch invite.

To make a long story short (too late!): I crashed lunch, we fell in love, we got married. Ten years and two wonderful children later, I couldn't be happier.

What I Learned On My Summer Vacation

Once you have packed the necessary baby items into your (rather roomy) car, you're lucky if you have enough space to squeeze in a couple of changes of clothes for yourselves. Note that "necessary baby items" does not include Pack-N-Plays, as these were provided for us at our destination (Grandma and Grandpa's house).

The drive to New York takes at least twice as long with two babies in the car. (Thus our first demonstration of the difference between "textbook learning" and "experiential learning.")

If you have your babies in the car for ten minutes during their usual "wakeful" period mid-morning and are heading home for a nap so you can get some things done, they will fall asleep in the car and cry inconsolably if you take them upstairs. If you have your babies in the car for a long drive and it is the beginning of their usual naptime and you desperately want them to sleep so you can get some real driving done - ha.

Someone will decide that it's time to nurse or have a new diaper precisely one-eighth of a mile after the rest stop.

No toy on the floor is nearly as attractive to a little girl who knows how to crawl as the black plastic sheeting underneath the high chairs.

The black plastic sheeting underneath the high chairs is completely useless if your kid has a good pitching arm.

Baby-led weaning is a wonderful way to impress the grandparents...
...if your kids actually bother to eat.

Sometimes praying for good weather really does work, even in the face of a thunderstorm forecast.

When putting sunblock on a seven-month-old, there is no need to worry about applying it at least fifteen minutes prior to sun exposure. You will certainly encounter some issue preventing you from going outside before this time has elapsed.

In order to respect the laws of tzniut while swimming, I had to bend the rules of beged ish.

Splashing in the bath = fun.
Splashing in the pool = somewhat less fun.
Splashing in the ocean = get me the hell out of here.

Seagulls like poopy diapers.

Whoever invented a hand-held showerhead that can be propped about 30 inches above the floor - perfect baby-showering height - should be awarded a gold star.

Sunhats are for sissies. Mommy and Daddy will make you wear them anyway.

If you're dumb enough to stay at the beach house until almost five o'clock before driving over an hour to Brooklyn and you think your kids will stay awake so that you can put them to bed on time when you get there, then you'll totally get what you deserve.

The quality of takeout sushi is inversely proportional to the quality of the chopsticks provided.

Just because your son has peed once since you took off his diaper (and you caught it before he got his shirt) doesn't mean he won't do it again. (Note: this is a review lesson from last semester.)

When attending "an affair" with your children, be sure that all the spare outfits you've stashed in your various diaper bags and changing kits are of an appropriately dressy standard.

My children can sleep through anything (but only if they want to).

Bar mitzvah party games have gotten awfully complicated. I( don't recall scavenger hunts including a hundred-dollar bill, an American Express card, and a diamond engagement ring (may be retrieved with finger still attached)?

I still know how to dance Yoya.

I would say that I've discovered I'm too old for Yoya, except the bar mitzvah boy's mother was totally kicking it and I'm pretty sure she has a couple of years on me.

Teething pain waits for no man.

It's not the constantly changing locations that throws off the babies' sleep patterns - it's the amount of time it takes to effect each move.

Do not offer your babies blueberries first at breakfast if you want them to eat anything else.

Don't think you've escaped the annoying-music phenomenon just because you've gotten your children used to listening to stuff you like rather than kids' music. You can grow violently ill listening to even your favorite song for the thirty-seventh time in a row.

The tethers that go from the back of the convertible carseat to the anchor behind the rear headrest make excellent handholds for a baby who has just learned to stand. (Car not in motion, of course.)

Said baby who has just learned to stand will generally be unwilling to stop standing so you can buckle him in and get back on the road.

Eventually, said baby's sister will decide that she wants to stand, too.

With the proper breathing techniques, you can drive for a shockingly long period of time with a screaming wanting-to-stand baby (or two) in the car.

A parking lot outside a sewage treatment plant is not really the optimal place to try to lull your daughter to sleep.

It is possible for an exhausted mommy to squeeze into the backseat between two rear-facing Britax Roundabouts and read book after book while managing pacifier replacement to the left and head-stroking to the right - but it's not easy.

There's no place like home.

slow-slow

English was not my father's first language. It was his fourth, in fact, after Farsi, Hebrew, and Arabic. Because of this, he had more than his share of linguistic quirks. I never really noticed them as a child, the way you don't really take note of your parents' accent or weird driving habits or total lack of fashion sense until you hit middle school or whatever and someone else points it out to you....at which point it starts to stick out like a sore thumb and becomes a never-ending source of embarrassment.

Two particular quirks hold fast in my memory. One was his use of the word "cautious." He must have learned "cautious" before "careful," because he almost never used the latter. "Be cautious!" he would say as I hopped onto a swing, dove into a pool, or went off to just about anywhere. It would burst out of his mouth even as a split-second warning, like when I was riding my bike or learning to drive. It just sounded odd, as these things go, far too formal a declaration when a simple "Careful!" or "Watch out!" would do.

The other one that sticks out for me is the way he communicated the concept of acting slowly. In Hebrew, one would say "le'at le'at," which translates literally as "slow slow." Different languages, different grammatical structure; it makes sense in Hebrew. But not in English. I'm not sure he even knew the word "slowly." Driving too fast? "Go slow-slow." Wolfing down dinner? "Come on. Eat slow-slow." And so on.

You may have noticed a few new lines in the Archives drop-down menu. Or, if you are subscribed to the Devarim feed, you probably have a bunch of new posts in your reader. I am importing posts from the original Devarim, working in little spurts. Slow-slow, it will all get done.

mazal tov

Happy wedding day to Josh and Alexis!

rain

My grandfather's unveiling was this morning. The weather in Netanya was hot, mostly sunny, slightly breezy. Just a few degrees above what I consider comfortable, enough to leave a film of sweat on my back and make me thirsty. Not too humid, though.

We started saying Tehillim (Psalms) and about two verses into the first one, I felt a drop of water hit my shoulder. I looked around: no one was washing a nearby gravestone, no one was pouring water over her head or even drinking from a bottle. *ping* A drop hit a nearby stone. My aunt whispered to me: "What--it's raining!" And indeed it was. Even Rabbi Wolicki noticed and looked up to the sky somewhat befuddled. The rain lasted only a minute, maybe less.

I guess God was a little sad that Grandma and Grandpa had to leave us. It's hard to find good people like that to do Your work here, huh?

coming and going

In case you're playing along at home, my bar application is finally ready to be mailed. Unfortunately, Julian is going to have to mail it for me, because...

I'm leaving for Israel tomorrow--er, today. Train to NYC at 11 AM, flight from JFK at 11:30 PM. I'll try to update this blog when I get there (Monday afternoon Eastern Daylight Time, Monday evening local time) but no promises. Back to New York on Sunday the 16th, graduation on the 18th and 19th, then (finally) back home on the night of the 19th.

It's not as much fun as it sounds like. For starters, I'm leaving Julian in Boston. I love you and I miss you already (even though you're just in bed in the other room).

/mush

like a band of gypsies we roll down the highway

Food made. Clothes packed. Sleep had (though of course not enough, but that was due to insomnia, not unpreparedness). I just have to put stuff in the cooler, change into something halfway-decent to wear to this brit I'm going to on my way out of town, and perhaps burn a few mp3 CDs. There's a lot of driving ahead.

going away

This Friday I will be leaving for a weekend in the Poconos with 21 other women, many of whom I know only online. It will be only the second weekend since our wedding that Julian and I have spent apart...the first one was also a gathering of online friends, although those of you who know about that one should understand why I want to sort of block it from my mind.

Anyway, the upcoming gathering consists of people from the boards at Indiebride, which is a cringeworthy name for a web site, but not a bad place just the same. We'll be staying at several neighboring houses in the Poconos, and on the way down I'm stopping in NYC to pick up N and grab some food. (For those of you who don't know this already: the kosher restaurant options in the Boston area are pitiful.) Hopefully I'll see Adam and maybe Batya over lunch also, and of course Rivah is coming down from Boston with me. All in all, the traveling should be a blast. I'm a little more concerned about the gathering itself, as I haven't spent as much time on the IB boards recently as I used to. I'm worried that I'll get all cliquey with the ladies who've been in touch with me via email, and that no one else will know who I am.

In my excitement over this whole gathering (and really, as an excuse to cook, because that's one of my favorite things to do), I offered to make enough challah for everyone to sample, along with some desserts. That's in addition to providing real food for myself and N (who also keeps kosher) for the entire weekend. Two friends had babies in the past ten days, and I'm making meals to bring to one of them this week and probably some sweet thing to bring to the other next week. Out of the kindness of my heart, I'm going to leave some food at home for Julian as well. So, all in all, I am making: a dozen medium-sized challot; a pan of baklava; two, maybe three, pans of brownies; two quiches; a double recipe of pumpkin soup; three loaf pan sized lasanges; a huge pot of chili (to be divided and frozen); two pounds of green beans; broiled portabella mushrooms; a yerushalmi kugel; roasted potatoes with mushrooms and onions; spicy chickpeas in tomato sauce; and mustard-baked chicken. All in the next forty hours or so, plus I'd like to sleep. I'll let someone else sort out what goes where.

Don't believe a word of my complaints. I love to cook.

communism

It's amazing how involved we can get in hypothetical conversations. Batya and I have been discussing our commune for years now. There are several other parties knowingly involved (who shall remain unnamed until they tell me whether they want blog aliases or not), along with a scattering of friends who we're going to pull along for the ride, even though they don't know it yet. The whole thing started with our frustration with the education system--specifically Jewish education--along with some base desire to shut out the rest of the world. It occurs to me now that the commune has no name; we'll have to work on that.

The first big issue I remember us discussing was where to set up house. I like snow, Batya likes warm weather, and one of the nameless people wants to live in the trees. Not just in a clearing in a forest, mind you. In the trees. Like the Swiss Family Robinson in the summer, I guess. After years of debate and many discarded potential locations, I think we've decided on the Galil. Nice weather most of the year, a little snow in the winter, good vineyards, and lots of trees.

Tonight's discussion with Batya oscillated between dietary issues and monetary issues. Yeah, kind of free-ranging there, huh? It seems we disagree on the proper amount of animal-source protein, specifically dead-animal-source protein, needed in our diets. I'd like the commune to raise all of the animals from which we will benefit (milk and eggs, wool, plowing--along with meat, becuase we're not vegetarians). That makes it difficult to have chicken and beef every night, and considering that a diet high in dead animals is not exactl the healthiest in the world (no matter how lean the meat is), I'm OK with that. There are plenty of other protein sources (soy, quinoa, brown rice, other beans and grains), most of which are generally more ecologically and econimically efficient. I suppose we'll have to get fish from elsewhere--farmed salmon isn't the best thing in the world, after all--but ideally fish consumption would be limited to once or twice a week. High mercury deposits and all that. I suppose if we can get a good source of low-contamination fish, we'd have it more often. The omega-3 and omega-6 fatty acids are wonderful for you, and fish protein isn't so bad either. Still, I think most of us are too enthralled with eating dead animals, and just haven't sampled a wide enough variety of vegetarian meals. (Watch this blog for a more in-depth discussion of my dietary views at a later date....this bit is getting too long.)

Anyway, Batya is worried about our children being malnourished, and she is further concerned that people who won't or can't eat dairy--like herself--will have problems as well. Looks like we'll have to bring a nutritionist on board to help me with the menu-planning (I've appointed myself in charge of the commune's pantry and kitchen). I also suggested having a few family meals each week, rather than only communal meals. That has a social benefit as well, since we all need a break from the larger group and could certainly do well to build up family intimacy. It would probably result in fewer food fights, though.

We've just started to tackle the financial stuff. To be honest, I don't have the head to get into it all here now, so it will have to wait for another posting. Still, Batya wants it known that while I will describe her as advocating modified communism, "it's not communism in a monetary sense." Gotcha.

not a bad philosphy

Eat when hungry. Sleep when tired. Laugh all the times in between.

I miss you, Neil.