This weekend my family is converging on New York City for the 75th anniversary of the Mary Angel Family Circle. Or maybe it’s the 74th anniversary. The exact date has been the topic of some discussion, and as with all things family, there has been some debate about it. Whichever it is, there will be four generations in attendance representative of no fewer than ten different states in the union.
That we still call ourselves a family “circle” is a byproduct of the era in which it all began – the 1930’s. And like the story of many other Americans who immigrated to the United States, my family came to these shores to flee the religious persecution of Eastern Europe and to seek a better life for their children.
My great grandparents, Mary and Morris Angel (anglicized names to be sure), raised their seven sons and daughters with a belief in shared sacrifice as well as shared celebration. Nothing was more important than “the family,” and when my great grandmother, Mary, died, Morris gathered those seven children and began this official “family circle” in Mary’s memory for the sake of maintaining a close-knit group and fostering continuity that he never could have foreseen at the time of its inception.
We who gather this weekend are the descendants of those seven brothers and sisters, and we will number more than seventy. Of the original seven, not all of them went to or graduated from college, but I dare say there are few, if any, of my generation and beyond who haven’t gone to or graduated college. This dream of Morris Angel’s has produced doctors and lawyers, actors and architects, police officers and teachers. We are writers, musicians, engineers, and photographers. We’ve served in the armed forces and work at the United Nations. And yet, that is not the thing that sets us apart from any other family.
What sets us apart, at least in my opinion, is the fact that we still find value in continuing our now once a year family circle meetings. What is distinctly American is that we are defined not only by what we make of ourselves in the modern world, but by where we came from. Most of our lives would never intersect were it not for these yearly reunions.
When the family circle started, everyone lived in New York, so the meetings were frequent and a mere subway or bus ride away. And when I say “meetings,” I mean there were actual meetings with minutes taken and decisions made by a majority vote. Of course, the only piece of real business ever discussed to my recollection was the family cemetery plot. But then there was “old business” and “new business,” during which time both the concerns and accomplishments of individual family members were shared. This was usually the cue for the children who had spent most of their time concocting some form of entertainment, to get ready. Show time was approaching.
By the time of everyone’s departure, we knew the whereabouts and date of the next meeting. And if there’s one thing that I attribute our current continuity to, it is that attendance was never optional. There was no choice involved when it came to showing up.
So here we are, bringing it back to its point of origin where there’s a clear view of Lady Liberty and the boundless opportunities she has bestowed upon my family. We will no doubt discuss what’s new and reminisce about bygone days and people. We will leave knowing where and approximately when we will meet next.
As for our big 75th anniversary, it turns out, after doing a little research, (a.k.a. calling my cousin Lynn), that the first meeting actually took place in 1938…making this our 74th anniversary, not our 75th. Oh well. I won’t tell if you won’t.
Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
In Search of...a Father's Day blog
Today is that wonderful holiday invented by...well, I don't actually know who it was invented by (Hallmark, perhaps?)...where we celebrate dads.
At present, mine is still sleeping, enjoying a lazy Sunday morning in, so I thought I'd write a blog in his honor. He's 83, a Korean War veteran, retired accountant who is not so retired around tax season. I can blame him for my hazel eyes and propensity for anxiety when going new places, my love of the New York Yankees and my ability to remember things numeric but not names. Oh yeah, and he is good to the core, too, a person whose word is his bond and who genuinely seems to hold no malice toward anyone. These are the things I've not only observed firsthand but admired all my life.
After losing my mother, I realized that Mother's Day and Father's Day completely suck for those who have lost parents, or maybe never had them to begin with, but for those who still have either one, it is an opportunity to give thanks and express what we usually take for granted most of the time.
It is hard as we watch those we love age, to let go of a treasured past so that we can find beauty in the present moment, whatever it is. I remember the man who easily carried me on his shoulders into the kitchen for milk and cookies. And that is the same man whose walk is slow and labored now and who listens to the television at decibel levels that would scare small children. But I don't mind the slowing down part, because you get to notice things you normally wouldn't and that is a gift.
So today I am thankful. I am thankful that my father is still with me, thankful for all the quirky traits we share, for the person I became because he is my father, and thankful for the time I get to spend with him. He is a gift for which I am extremely grateful. And when I watch my brother with my niece, I know that he, too, took away what was most beautiful and important about my father.
So to all you dads out there, and to those of us celebrating them - Happy Father's Day!
Thanks for stopping by.
At present, mine is still sleeping, enjoying a lazy Sunday morning in, so I thought I'd write a blog in his honor. He's 83, a Korean War veteran, retired accountant who is not so retired around tax season. I can blame him for my hazel eyes and propensity for anxiety when going new places, my love of the New York Yankees and my ability to remember things numeric but not names. Oh yeah, and he is good to the core, too, a person whose word is his bond and who genuinely seems to hold no malice toward anyone. These are the things I've not only observed firsthand but admired all my life.
After losing my mother, I realized that Mother's Day and Father's Day completely suck for those who have lost parents, or maybe never had them to begin with, but for those who still have either one, it is an opportunity to give thanks and express what we usually take for granted most of the time.
It is hard as we watch those we love age, to let go of a treasured past so that we can find beauty in the present moment, whatever it is. I remember the man who easily carried me on his shoulders into the kitchen for milk and cookies. And that is the same man whose walk is slow and labored now and who listens to the television at decibel levels that would scare small children. But I don't mind the slowing down part, because you get to notice things you normally wouldn't and that is a gift.
So today I am thankful. I am thankful that my father is still with me, thankful for all the quirky traits we share, for the person I became because he is my father, and thankful for the time I get to spend with him. He is a gift for which I am extremely grateful. And when I watch my brother with my niece, I know that he, too, took away what was most beautiful and important about my father.
So to all you dads out there, and to those of us celebrating them - Happy Father's Day!
Thanks for stopping by.
Monday, June 4, 2012
In Search of...the thing I checked off my bucket list
Parasailing wasn't always the thing I wanted most to do. Frankly, it wasn't even on my radar until several years ago. I wanted to hang glide. Why, you ask, would I want to jump off a cliff with the equivalent of a fake set of wings being my only security? Because I wanted to feel like I was flying through the air unencumbered by such things as an airplane.
Maybe I saw one too many Superman movies. I don't know. What I do know is that I've wanted to do it since I was a child. It wasn't until my cousin Jill suggested parasailing as a much safer alternative with the sensation I desired that I combined my desire to fly with my dream of going to Hawaii. So for years now, I have dreamed of parasailing in Hawaii.
Fast forward to my Hawaiian expedition with two friends. I wasted no time in sharing my dream. Their response? An article on a freak fatal parasailing accident. This was not exactly the kind of unbridled enthusiasm I was hoping for.
The Oahu portion of our trip came and went with no better news for my bucket list goal. In fact a hotel employee told us they stopped recommending it at all because it was too dangerous. This further cemented my friends' vehement attempts at nixing my plans. Okay, so Oahu was out. Next stop Kauai.
Kauai is not exactly the place for parasailing. Hiking or golf, yes. Parasailing, no. Next.
Maui is what I believe you find in the dictionary when you look up the word "paradise." And so it was there that I decided I would fulfill my dream.
Now might be a good time to mention that soaring high in the air above the waters of the pacific is not something anyone who knows me, even in passing, would associate with me. I have not been known to be synonymous with adventure. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that I am a master worrier, someone who can see the potential worst case scenario in just about any situation. It's a gift, I know.
So the question was this: would I cater to my fear or my heart's desire? And isn't that really what it comes down to for all of us?
Most of us walk through life unconsciously living out belief systems that were either handed down to us by previous generations or by assumptions we made about life based on our own worst experiences. In either case, we are not basing our choices on truth, but rather skewed perceptions that set extraordinary limits on our lives.
As I got dressed for my parasailing excursion, I felt a strange mixture of nervousness and excitement. I saw this as the opportunity for a fresh start, a chance to choose consciously what I wanted to do and to lay to rest once and for all generations of women in my family whose choices were governed by fear. This was my opportunity to experience a loving universe that would support me if I would but stay true to my core.
When my friends and I arrived at the designated spot on the beach, I had several pages of waivers to sign - another reminder that there was actual physical risk involved with this activity. I signed the papers. Did I mention that the only boats I'd ever been on were the ferry that takes you to the Statue of Liberty and a dinner cruise around Manhattan ?
Well, it turned out that you had to take the equivalent of a motorized blow up raft out to the parasailing vessel a few people at a time. And the kicker was you didn't get your life vest until you got on the bigger boat.
I awkwardly climbed in. I wish I could say I waived goodbye to my friends who were probably assuming I was rafting off to my certain watery death. But I was already clinging to the raft for dear life.
Holy shit, I thought to myself and possibly said out loud as we zoomed away. How am I going to get from this raft thing onto the boat? I only knew I had to. Let's just say I wasn't graceful and I banged myself up pretty well doing it.
Step one complete. Now for the boat ride. Did you ever hear of trade winds? Suffice it to say it was very windy on the open seas, so windy, in fact, that we had to travel to another town where it would hopefully be less choppy.
The ride out could best be described as a cross between a roller coaster ride and Pirates of the Carribean gone terribly awry. My knuckles were white as I held on to a metal rail with one hand behind me. No one else looked the slightest bit worried.
We were told how it was going to work and what the signal was if you got up there and quickly realized parasailing wasn't for you.
I knew I was going to do it. Everyone else was going up in pairs but I was on my own. The guide helped me on with the gear. I stepped up onto the back of the boat and got ready. One, two, three, up I went! I was in the air, high up over the pacific, looking at the whole world differently. I was going the way the wind blew me - literally. It was magnificent and peaceful. It was a different kind of quiet than I'd ever heard. And the peace is what I imagine heaven to be like.
It was ending sooner than I expected or wanted as I started descending back toward the boat. I landed perfectly on my feet on the back of the boat I had ascended from.
I couldn't wipe the smile off my face as I took my seat for the honeymoon couple to go up next. Even during the ride back over the same choppy waters, I was calm and relaxed and going with the crazy flow.
I had lived in the moment, free of the past and the future both.
As the boat met up with the raft-like thingy, I found it was much easier getting off the boat than on. We sped back to shore where everyone but me disembarked without incident. I climbed over the side of the raft and lost my balance in the shallow water, getting soaked. A perfectly imperfect ending to my experience.
I learned a lot of things from my parasailing adventure, things I'm still processing, but perhaps the most profound is that in the end, it's up to each one of us to shout down our own voices of doubt that hold us back from living the life of our dreams.
So here's to one item checked off and many wonderful and exciting adventures to come.
Thanks for stopping by.
Fast forward to my Hawaiian expedition with two friends. I wasted no time in sharing my dream. Their response? An article on a freak fatal parasailing accident. This was not exactly the kind of unbridled enthusiasm I was hoping for.
The Oahu portion of our trip came and went with no better news for my bucket list goal. In fact a hotel employee told us they stopped recommending it at all because it was too dangerous. This further cemented my friends' vehement attempts at nixing my plans. Okay, so Oahu was out. Next stop Kauai.
Maui is what I believe you find in the dictionary when you look up the word "paradise." And so it was there that I decided I would fulfill my dream.
Now might be a good time to mention that soaring high in the air above the waters of the pacific is not something anyone who knows me, even in passing, would associate with me. I have not been known to be synonymous with adventure. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that I am a master worrier, someone who can see the potential worst case scenario in just about any situation. It's a gift, I know.
So the question was this: would I cater to my fear or my heart's desire? And isn't that really what it comes down to for all of us?
Most of us walk through life unconsciously living out belief systems that were either handed down to us by previous generations or by assumptions we made about life based on our own worst experiences. In either case, we are not basing our choices on truth, but rather skewed perceptions that set extraordinary limits on our lives.
As I got dressed for my parasailing excursion, I felt a strange mixture of nervousness and excitement. I saw this as the opportunity for a fresh start, a chance to choose consciously what I wanted to do and to lay to rest once and for all generations of women in my family whose choices were governed by fear. This was my opportunity to experience a loving universe that would support me if I would but stay true to my core.
When my friends and I arrived at the designated spot on the beach, I had several pages of waivers to sign - another reminder that there was actual physical risk involved with this activity. I signed the papers. Did I mention that the only boats I'd ever been on were the ferry that takes you to the Statue of Liberty and a dinner cruise around Manhattan ?
Well, it turned out that you had to take the equivalent of a motorized blow up raft out to the parasailing vessel a few people at a time. And the kicker was you didn't get your life vest until you got on the bigger boat.
I awkwardly climbed in. I wish I could say I waived goodbye to my friends who were probably assuming I was rafting off to my certain watery death. But I was already clinging to the raft for dear life.
Holy shit, I thought to myself and possibly said out loud as we zoomed away. How am I going to get from this raft thing onto the boat? I only knew I had to. Let's just say I wasn't graceful and I banged myself up pretty well doing it.
Step one complete. Now for the boat ride. Did you ever hear of trade winds? Suffice it to say it was very windy on the open seas, so windy, in fact, that we had to travel to another town where it would hopefully be less choppy.
The ride out could best be described as a cross between a roller coaster ride and Pirates of the Carribean gone terribly awry. My knuckles were white as I held on to a metal rail with one hand behind me. No one else looked the slightest bit worried.
We were told how it was going to work and what the signal was if you got up there and quickly realized parasailing wasn't for you.
I knew I was going to do it. Everyone else was going up in pairs but I was on my own. The guide helped me on with the gear. I stepped up onto the back of the boat and got ready. One, two, three, up I went! I was in the air, high up over the pacific, looking at the whole world differently. I was going the way the wind blew me - literally. It was magnificent and peaceful. It was a different kind of quiet than I'd ever heard. And the peace is what I imagine heaven to be like.
It was ending sooner than I expected or wanted as I started descending back toward the boat. I landed perfectly on my feet on the back of the boat I had ascended from.
I couldn't wipe the smile off my face as I took my seat for the honeymoon couple to go up next. Even during the ride back over the same choppy waters, I was calm and relaxed and going with the crazy flow.
I had lived in the moment, free of the past and the future both.
As the boat met up with the raft-like thingy, I found it was much easier getting off the boat than on. We sped back to shore where everyone but me disembarked without incident. I climbed over the side of the raft and lost my balance in the shallow water, getting soaked. A perfectly imperfect ending to my experience.
I learned a lot of things from my parasailing adventure, things I'm still processing, but perhaps the most profound is that in the end, it's up to each one of us to shout down our own voices of doubt that hold us back from living the life of our dreams.
So here's to one item checked off and many wonderful and exciting adventures to come.
Thanks for stopping by.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Motherhood the Musical - the Review
It is no small feat to go from having a kernel of an idea in your head to watching that idea play out in front of an electrified audience who are laughing, crying, cheering and leaving a theatre feeling happy, connected, and understood. This is exactly what Sue Fabisch did with her show Motherhood the Musical, which opened this week at the Royal George Theatre in Chicago.
In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll tell you up front that I’m a songwriter and that I co-wrote the song “Costco Queen” with Ms. Fabisch one afternoon several years ago on my couch in Nashville. Yes, the love of a good deal and bulk shopping can go a long way to getting those creative juices flowing, as can the hot dog and a soda for a buck fifty. These are the things that can lead a woman to sing and dance around her apartment. But that was where both my contribution to and my involvement with the show began and ended. And so, even though the show has already played successfully in Philadelphia, Atlanta, Tampa, and as far away as Australia and Scotland, this Chicago opening was the first time I had ever seen it.
Truth be told, I see a lot of Broadway shows. In the past month, I’ve seen Ghost, Jesus Christ Superstar, Once, Death of a Salesman, and Nice Work If You Can Get It. I can appreciate the seriousness and soul searching of Arthur Miller, but I can also appreciate the levity of song and dance and comedy for its own sake.
Motherhood the Musical is set at the baby shower of first-time mother-to-be Amy. Her three friends, Barb, Brooke, and Tasha, who are already experienced moms several times over, try to shed light on what’s in store for Amy in the days, weeks, and years ahead. What is revealed is a poignant and unceasingly funny look at everything from bodily changes to the joys, frustration, and complete exhaustion that is every mother’s experience. Each character brings her own particular spin to it – the working mom, the stay at home mom, the divorced single mom.
The show goes from utter hilarity to gut-wrenching emotion in the snap of a finger. For example, “Every Other Weekend,” the standout performance by Melody Betts, captures the heartache of single parenting, while “The Kids Are Finally Asleep” is a celebratory gospel anthem that will have you clapping and singing along by the time it’s over.
Whether you are young or old, whether you are a mother or have simply had one, Motherhood the Musical leaves you feeling good. And really, what more could anyone ask for?
In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll tell you up front that I’m a songwriter and that I co-wrote the song “Costco Queen” with Ms. Fabisch one afternoon several years ago on my couch in Nashville. Yes, the love of a good deal and bulk shopping can go a long way to getting those creative juices flowing, as can the hot dog and a soda for a buck fifty. These are the things that can lead a woman to sing and dance around her apartment. But that was where both my contribution to and my involvement with the show began and ended. And so, even though the show has already played successfully in Philadelphia, Atlanta, Tampa, and as far away as Australia and Scotland, this Chicago opening was the first time I had ever seen it.
Truth be told, I see a lot of Broadway shows. In the past month, I’ve seen Ghost, Jesus Christ Superstar, Once, Death of a Salesman, and Nice Work If You Can Get It. I can appreciate the seriousness and soul searching of Arthur Miller, but I can also appreciate the levity of song and dance and comedy for its own sake.
Motherhood the Musical is set at the baby shower of first-time mother-to-be Amy. Her three friends, Barb, Brooke, and Tasha, who are already experienced moms several times over, try to shed light on what’s in store for Amy in the days, weeks, and years ahead. What is revealed is a poignant and unceasingly funny look at everything from bodily changes to the joys, frustration, and complete exhaustion that is every mother’s experience. Each character brings her own particular spin to it – the working mom, the stay at home mom, the divorced single mom.
The show goes from utter hilarity to gut-wrenching emotion in the snap of a finger. For example, “Every Other Weekend,” the standout performance by Melody Betts, captures the heartache of single parenting, while “The Kids Are Finally Asleep” is a celebratory gospel anthem that will have you clapping and singing along by the time it’s over.
Whether you are young or old, whether you are a mother or have simply had one, Motherhood the Musical leaves you feeling good. And really, what more could anyone ask for?
Friday, April 6, 2012
In Search of...an Easter and Passover blog
Yes, blog followers, I am going from drunken debauchery to spiritual awakening and redemption. Something for everyone, that's what I always say!
It is no secret that Passover is my favorite of the Jewish holidays, partly because my childhood memories involve very large Seders filled with family, friends, food, and overwhelming feelings of love and joy. The other reason is the celebration of going from slavery to freedom, of aligning with past generations long gone and feeling a sense of timeless continuity.
Plus, there's the Ten Commandments - not the movie, but the actual ones. In my opinion, those are the only things we need to go by to live in a perfect world. Case in point: If we would just abide by the two about not killing and not screwing over your neighbor (I'm paraphrasing here), how different would the world look right now? Wars - gone. Economy - fixed. Healthcare - for everyone. See where I'm going with this?
So hours from now, I plan on not only enjoying my matzoh and Manischewitz, not only recounting the story of parting seas, but of envisioning a world that would be filled with people living up to the God stuff that is contained within each of us, because that is my belief - that God shows up as each one of us. And let's face it, that sounds scary, because we, in turn, must behave like we know that. And that would make us responsible for our lives, for this world, and for all that goes on in it.
This brings me to Easter and Jesus and crucifixion and resurrection. Here's where both my Jewish and Christian friends and family are thinking, huh? You, Ilene? Yes, me. And here we go.
I think there are two kinds of people - those who, if you tell them the stove is hot and they will get burned if they touch it, believe you, and those who have to touch the stove and get scalded in order to know.
For example, we all know that we should love one another, forgive one another, help one another. We know many things that we don't embody on a daily basis. We know we have potential that is not fully realized. What we don't know is what humanity looks like when those things are fully realized. We don't know what it looks like to love those who are most unlike us. Or to forgive those whose hands we would die at. Or to help when it is inconvenient and a sacrifice. These are things we do not see the embodiment of today. And that's where Jesus comes in. He didn't hang out with those who were like him. Instead he embodied the fullness of human potential. He taught by example what unconditional love and forgiveness looked like. He knew his life had a purpose beyond the physical world, and he was committed to living out that purpose. And that, my friends, took courage.
In the end, it was fear, and ignorance, and hatred and betrayal that crucified Jesus. And these are the very things jeopardizing and destroying our world today. We crucify ourselves and each other in both small and large ways every day. And we know we are called and set upon this earth for more than that. It is not an act of foolishness to stand up for love and peace and healing. It is an act of bravery. And if we are to be the healers of any ills, then it is for us to say, as Jesus did on the cross, "It is finished."
So in the spirit of resurrection - not necessarily resurrection of body, but rather of our soul's purpose, I ask you: what would you say "It is finished." about? I have been thinking about this for the past few days now, because I think it is a powerful force for change.
I want to say, "It is finished." to lack, to limiting beliefs about what is possible, to the idea that one person doesn't have a powerful voice. It is finished.
I want to say, "It is finished." to living from a place of fear, and of weakness, and of doubt. It is finished.
I want to say, "It is finished." to any image I have carried of myself that doesn't honor the power and love of God that lives in each of us. It is finished.
And as for resurrection, I want to resurrect the idea that love is more powerful than fear, that light takes away the power of darkness in the world, and that truth not only sets us free, but enables us to empower others to be their best selves, too.
Whatever your belief system, I hope it uplifts you, inspires you, empowers you to live a life that is love-filled, joy-filled, and leaves this mortal world in some way better for having been here.
Here's wishing you a sweet Pesach and a Happy Easter! Thanks for stopping by. Peace and Blessings to you always.
It is no secret that Passover is my favorite of the Jewish holidays, partly because my childhood memories involve very large Seders filled with family, friends, food, and overwhelming feelings of love and joy. The other reason is the celebration of going from slavery to freedom, of aligning with past generations long gone and feeling a sense of timeless continuity.
Plus, there's the Ten Commandments - not the movie, but the actual ones. In my opinion, those are the only things we need to go by to live in a perfect world. Case in point: If we would just abide by the two about not killing and not screwing over your neighbor (I'm paraphrasing here), how different would the world look right now? Wars - gone. Economy - fixed. Healthcare - for everyone. See where I'm going with this?
So hours from now, I plan on not only enjoying my matzoh and Manischewitz, not only recounting the story of parting seas, but of envisioning a world that would be filled with people living up to the God stuff that is contained within each of us, because that is my belief - that God shows up as each one of us. And let's face it, that sounds scary, because we, in turn, must behave like we know that. And that would make us responsible for our lives, for this world, and for all that goes on in it.
This brings me to Easter and Jesus and crucifixion and resurrection. Here's where both my Jewish and Christian friends and family are thinking, huh? You, Ilene? Yes, me. And here we go.
I think there are two kinds of people - those who, if you tell them the stove is hot and they will get burned if they touch it, believe you, and those who have to touch the stove and get scalded in order to know.
For example, we all know that we should love one another, forgive one another, help one another. We know many things that we don't embody on a daily basis. We know we have potential that is not fully realized. What we don't know is what humanity looks like when those things are fully realized. We don't know what it looks like to love those who are most unlike us. Or to forgive those whose hands we would die at. Or to help when it is inconvenient and a sacrifice. These are things we do not see the embodiment of today. And that's where Jesus comes in. He didn't hang out with those who were like him. Instead he embodied the fullness of human potential. He taught by example what unconditional love and forgiveness looked like. He knew his life had a purpose beyond the physical world, and he was committed to living out that purpose. And that, my friends, took courage.
In the end, it was fear, and ignorance, and hatred and betrayal that crucified Jesus. And these are the very things jeopardizing and destroying our world today. We crucify ourselves and each other in both small and large ways every day. And we know we are called and set upon this earth for more than that. It is not an act of foolishness to stand up for love and peace and healing. It is an act of bravery. And if we are to be the healers of any ills, then it is for us to say, as Jesus did on the cross, "It is finished."
So in the spirit of resurrection - not necessarily resurrection of body, but rather of our soul's purpose, I ask you: what would you say "It is finished." about? I have been thinking about this for the past few days now, because I think it is a powerful force for change.
I want to say, "It is finished." to lack, to limiting beliefs about what is possible, to the idea that one person doesn't have a powerful voice. It is finished.
I want to say, "It is finished." to living from a place of fear, and of weakness, and of doubt. It is finished.
I want to say, "It is finished." to any image I have carried of myself that doesn't honor the power and love of God that lives in each of us. It is finished.
And as for resurrection, I want to resurrect the idea that love is more powerful than fear, that light takes away the power of darkness in the world, and that truth not only sets us free, but enables us to empower others to be their best selves, too.
Whatever your belief system, I hope it uplifts you, inspires you, empowers you to live a life that is love-filled, joy-filled, and leaves this mortal world in some way better for having been here.
Here's wishing you a sweet Pesach and a Happy Easter! Thanks for stopping by. Peace and Blessings to you always.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
In Search of...tequila is no joke
I'd like to start off by dedicating this blog to five other people who are as inebriated as I am right now, though in my defense, I am sipping coffee as I type this.
I should probably mention that this is only the third time in my forty-six years that I have been intoxicated, and one time was at a church luncheon because I hadn't eaten anything at all that day and they served wine first, so does that really even count? I'm thinking no.
After a day of marathon shopping, which left me with naught but a beautiful pink lipstick, I came away package-less and in search of the nearest Jenny Craig. This is, perhaps, not the time to go to dinner at a Mexican restaurant with an overly friendly waiter cheerfully offering margaritas. I'm usually the one saying, "No, I'm fine with water." But tonight? I did not so much as hesitate in ordering the drink. Maybe it will take the edge off this feeling that I'm old and fat and in need of a life plan that will not keep waking me up at 4:30 in the morning wondering why I don't own my own damn condo by now.
When the drinks came, the waiter winked at my friend Anthony and told him he put in extra tequila. I, being the novice among us, thought he meant he put the extra only in Anthony's drink. A few sips into my icy cold beverage, I felt the room start to spin and my face get hot. I decided this was the time to make an announcement. "Hey you guys...I'm drunk."
Now I would like to tell you that the more experienced drinkers at the table thought I was joking, but in truth, from where I sat, they all looked a tad drunk, too, from their one beverage. They started laughing at/with me. I said, "I'm not kidding. I don't think I'll be able to stand and walk." Fortunately, our food hadn't arrived yet, so maybe there would be time for it to absorb some of the alcohol.
For some reason, our conversation involved other meals we'd eaten at other restaurants and where else we wanted to eat in the future. It really is all about the food, you know. I'm convinced that if there's a heaven, it involves a banquet of my favorite foods. Yeah, yeah, there's light and love and all that other good stuff, but I'm convinced there will be a pint of Ben & Jerry's at the end of it and no Type II diabetes anywhere to be found.
As I continued sipping my drink, undeterred by the thought that I might literally pass out in my Spanish beans and rice, I wondered how people who really drank actually did it. I mean, we're talking about one drink here and I was three sheets to the wind. Someone said, "Ilene, you're a lightweight," to which I responded, "That's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me."
As the check arrived and I scrambled to down as much water as I could in the hopes that it would dilute the effects of the cocktail, I mentally struggled to reassess the notion of standing up. The room was still kind of spinning. It was time. We all stood up, got on our jackets, and then came the true test - walking. I almost got mowed down by the busboy balancing the trays of tortilla chips and salsa he was bringing to a table. I swerved to miss him. My friends were laughing hysterically. I maintained my tilted posture as we exited the restaurant, artfully (in my mind, at least) maneuvering the few steps to leave.
As I prepare my bedtime chaser of Advil and a glass of water, I am inclined to agree with my friend Jenn who wisely leaned over during dinner and informed me, "Tequila is no joke."
So let this blog serve as a cautionary tale, boys and girls, that 1) One drink can really be one drink too many or at least all you need, 2) That you should be wary of anyone who is just a little bit too happy to serve you, and 3) that tequila really is no joke.
Sweet dreams and thanks for stopping by.
I should probably mention that this is only the third time in my forty-six years that I have been intoxicated, and one time was at a church luncheon because I hadn't eaten anything at all that day and they served wine first, so does that really even count? I'm thinking no.
After a day of marathon shopping, which left me with naught but a beautiful pink lipstick, I came away package-less and in search of the nearest Jenny Craig. This is, perhaps, not the time to go to dinner at a Mexican restaurant with an overly friendly waiter cheerfully offering margaritas. I'm usually the one saying, "No, I'm fine with water." But tonight? I did not so much as hesitate in ordering the drink. Maybe it will take the edge off this feeling that I'm old and fat and in need of a life plan that will not keep waking me up at 4:30 in the morning wondering why I don't own my own damn condo by now.
When the drinks came, the waiter winked at my friend Anthony and told him he put in extra tequila. I, being the novice among us, thought he meant he put the extra only in Anthony's drink. A few sips into my icy cold beverage, I felt the room start to spin and my face get hot. I decided this was the time to make an announcement. "Hey you guys...I'm drunk."
Now I would like to tell you that the more experienced drinkers at the table thought I was joking, but in truth, from where I sat, they all looked a tad drunk, too, from their one beverage. They started laughing at/with me. I said, "I'm not kidding. I don't think I'll be able to stand and walk." Fortunately, our food hadn't arrived yet, so maybe there would be time for it to absorb some of the alcohol.
For some reason, our conversation involved other meals we'd eaten at other restaurants and where else we wanted to eat in the future. It really is all about the food, you know. I'm convinced that if there's a heaven, it involves a banquet of my favorite foods. Yeah, yeah, there's light and love and all that other good stuff, but I'm convinced there will be a pint of Ben & Jerry's at the end of it and no Type II diabetes anywhere to be found.
As I continued sipping my drink, undeterred by the thought that I might literally pass out in my Spanish beans and rice, I wondered how people who really drank actually did it. I mean, we're talking about one drink here and I was three sheets to the wind. Someone said, "Ilene, you're a lightweight," to which I responded, "That's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me."
As the check arrived and I scrambled to down as much water as I could in the hopes that it would dilute the effects of the cocktail, I mentally struggled to reassess the notion of standing up. The room was still kind of spinning. It was time. We all stood up, got on our jackets, and then came the true test - walking. I almost got mowed down by the busboy balancing the trays of tortilla chips and salsa he was bringing to a table. I swerved to miss him. My friends were laughing hysterically. I maintained my tilted posture as we exited the restaurant, artfully (in my mind, at least) maneuvering the few steps to leave.
As I prepare my bedtime chaser of Advil and a glass of water, I am inclined to agree with my friend Jenn who wisely leaned over during dinner and informed me, "Tequila is no joke."
So let this blog serve as a cautionary tale, boys and girls, that 1) One drink can really be one drink too many or at least all you need, 2) That you should be wary of anyone who is just a little bit too happy to serve you, and 3) that tequila really is no joke.
Sweet dreams and thanks for stopping by.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
In Search of...a telling sign
I recently thought it a telling sign that Rocky Road has been my favorite ice cream flavor for as long as I can remember. Do I even have to wonder how this shows up in my life? Sure, I could point out the obvious: my music career, but the message was really driven home to me as I tried to open a window that was stuck yesterday afternoon, before the blinds came crashing down during my failed attempt, and before the rod that manipulates the blinds broke off and also fell while the window stubbornly remained closed.
That was the point at which I decided a glass of wine might be in order. Absent the Merlot I craved, I was left with the bottle of Manischewitz in the refrigerator - not was I was hoping for, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. And did I mention the computer virus on my "good" computer? This is truly a wonderful thing for a writer to have. Doesn't slow you down at all.
A lesser person would have just ended it right there for the day, but oh no, not me. After a few moments of tearful hysteria, I commenced the rehanging of the blinds while my father glued the pieces of the rod back together so I could rehang that, too. My window solution? Turn on the air conditioning, even if it is only March. The computer virus? Back up files on a hard drive and bring the dang thing in to be fixed somewhere.
Now, I could tell you that none of this fazed me, or that I was perfectly zen-like as thing after thing has gone wrong over the past few days, but who are we kidding?. The truth is I've been, at times, on complete meltdown, but that is a luxury none of us can really afford, and so, I put into practice the greatest take away I took from what might be lovingly referred to as a hippy-dippy workshop I took part in more than a decade and a half ago. Here's what I learned: You can be on complete meltdown and still function productively at the same time. This is a neat trick and possibly should be taught in elementary school to save us all a heap o' trouble later on in life. You can feel what you feel, but you have to take action in the direction of resolving the situation anyway.
And I'll let you in on my secret weapon in accomplishing this: friends. Call the ones who, though sympathetic, don't indulge helplessness, but rather, aid in finding solutions that can assist you. For instance, one friend found me every place to fix my computer within a 25 mile radius. My brother, God bless him, explained everything I needed to know about viruses and sent me all the malware links that would work. The blinds, well, they took some nifty "I can do this" affirmations while I stood precariously perched on the arm of the couch trying to rehang them. But I'm happy to say they are back up without looking too much the worse for wear.
Life throws all sorts of obstacles in our way. Some are small, like the blinds and computer; some are big, like illness and unemployment. It's not our circumstances that define us. It is how we deal with our circumstances in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.
The same thing can be said of our government, our politics, and our policies. It is a telling sign of our character, both individually and collectively, how we handle the most trouble-ridden, poverty-stricken, help-needing people in our society. I am dumbfounded at "people of faith" who "don't want to give handouts." I'm not sure how you reconcile the teachings of Christ with a practice of letting people starve, ail, and die. But maybe that's just me. I subscribe to the trinity of beliefs that go something like this: there but for the grace of God go I, I am my brother's keeper, and we are ultimately judged by how we treat the least among us. If all that doesn't work, I also subscribe to the notion that karma's a bitch. Yes, these are the fundamental ideas I live by.
It is easy to give credibility to the negative. It seems so pervasive today. I'm not sure that I've ever seen a more hostile and selfish time in history. But I also know that there is an equal and opposite reaction to that as well. So if there is greed and hostility, then there is also the flip side; generosity and kindness. We just don't get those stories in the news. We love to build people up and tear them down. We want things to be different, but we don't want to be different.
So I encourage you today, to begin with a deep breath and a desire to be the opposite of the sign of the times. Be the one who lets the other guy who's signaling into your lane. Be the friend helping the friend who's on meltdown, the one who, through tears or no tears, takes action in the direction of fixing what's broken. Self esteem is gained only by doing that which we thought we couldn't, by developing muscles that heretofore have been atrophying.
I'm going to do this, too. Then, maybe Rocky Road won't be a telling sign of life choices, but rather, simply a desire for marshmallows and peanuts with my chocolate. It's the little things in life.
Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends. And have a great day!
That was the point at which I decided a glass of wine might be in order. Absent the Merlot I craved, I was left with the bottle of Manischewitz in the refrigerator - not was I was hoping for, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. And did I mention the computer virus on my "good" computer? This is truly a wonderful thing for a writer to have. Doesn't slow you down at all.
A lesser person would have just ended it right there for the day, but oh no, not me. After a few moments of tearful hysteria, I commenced the rehanging of the blinds while my father glued the pieces of the rod back together so I could rehang that, too. My window solution? Turn on the air conditioning, even if it is only March. The computer virus? Back up files on a hard drive and bring the dang thing in to be fixed somewhere.
Now, I could tell you that none of this fazed me, or that I was perfectly zen-like as thing after thing has gone wrong over the past few days, but who are we kidding?. The truth is I've been, at times, on complete meltdown, but that is a luxury none of us can really afford, and so, I put into practice the greatest take away I took from what might be lovingly referred to as a hippy-dippy workshop I took part in more than a decade and a half ago. Here's what I learned: You can be on complete meltdown and still function productively at the same time. This is a neat trick and possibly should be taught in elementary school to save us all a heap o' trouble later on in life. You can feel what you feel, but you have to take action in the direction of resolving the situation anyway.
And I'll let you in on my secret weapon in accomplishing this: friends. Call the ones who, though sympathetic, don't indulge helplessness, but rather, aid in finding solutions that can assist you. For instance, one friend found me every place to fix my computer within a 25 mile radius. My brother, God bless him, explained everything I needed to know about viruses and sent me all the malware links that would work. The blinds, well, they took some nifty "I can do this" affirmations while I stood precariously perched on the arm of the couch trying to rehang them. But I'm happy to say they are back up without looking too much the worse for wear.
Life throws all sorts of obstacles in our way. Some are small, like the blinds and computer; some are big, like illness and unemployment. It's not our circumstances that define us. It is how we deal with our circumstances in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.
The same thing can be said of our government, our politics, and our policies. It is a telling sign of our character, both individually and collectively, how we handle the most trouble-ridden, poverty-stricken, help-needing people in our society. I am dumbfounded at "people of faith" who "don't want to give handouts." I'm not sure how you reconcile the teachings of Christ with a practice of letting people starve, ail, and die. But maybe that's just me. I subscribe to the trinity of beliefs that go something like this: there but for the grace of God go I, I am my brother's keeper, and we are ultimately judged by how we treat the least among us. If all that doesn't work, I also subscribe to the notion that karma's a bitch. Yes, these are the fundamental ideas I live by.
It is easy to give credibility to the negative. It seems so pervasive today. I'm not sure that I've ever seen a more hostile and selfish time in history. But I also know that there is an equal and opposite reaction to that as well. So if there is greed and hostility, then there is also the flip side; generosity and kindness. We just don't get those stories in the news. We love to build people up and tear them down. We want things to be different, but we don't want to be different.
So I encourage you today, to begin with a deep breath and a desire to be the opposite of the sign of the times. Be the one who lets the other guy who's signaling into your lane. Be the friend helping the friend who's on meltdown, the one who, through tears or no tears, takes action in the direction of fixing what's broken. Self esteem is gained only by doing that which we thought we couldn't, by developing muscles that heretofore have been atrophying.
I'm going to do this, too. Then, maybe Rocky Road won't be a telling sign of life choices, but rather, simply a desire for marshmallows and peanuts with my chocolate. It's the little things in life.
Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends. And have a great day!
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