Every now and then I ponder on the meaning of it all, usually near my birthday. I get into my, "What's it all about, Alfie?" mode, and, like my old Decca records, the needle gets stuck on one particular spot. Today's introspection involves a gigantic question when most of us who are lucky enough to reach that point ask ourselves this very question: what is our purpose in the universe? Why is life so short and how did we arrive at this point so quickly?
It occurs to me that right in the middle of the word "life" is an even larger, more ponderously heavy word, "IF". Life itself includes many "if"s and many yellow brick roads in a lifetime. How often do we choose the ones that do not necessarily lead to Oz? Life has its trials, and after all sides are explored and examined, we approach the final summation, the closing argument, with some reservation.
Taking everything into perspective, I have found that the word "if", though tiny, is a very thought-provoking one. It boils down to choices. IF we had not said or done this....IF we had known about that.....things would have been different. Perhaps better;perhaps worse. Yeah, right, and if my grandmother had had wheels she'd have been a bicycle.
At that point, I arrive at my "everything is destined to be the way it is" mode, which directly contradicts my previous views. If all is preorodained, how can our choices make any difference? Fate will step in and direct traffic. Setting sarcasm aside, however, that old saying usually applies to all, that if everyone sat in a circle and threw their problems into the middle, chances are after viewing other people's turmoil, we would promptly take our own back.
I suppose I will never singlehandedly solve the age-old mysteries of life on this planet. I will simply put it on hold and consult with my favorite gurus: Ben and
Jerry.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Sunday, July 12, 2009
A Taste for Life
For some people looking through old photograph albums transports them back into times long past: childhood days, school days, teen years, or even last year's family gathering. Pictures do it for me, too, but not as much as food!!
Tastes, flavors..............ah, there's the magic carpet that whisks me way, back to my first little house where my children were babies; back to northwest Washington, D.C. where my mothere reigned supreme in the little kitchen of the big corner house on New Hampshire Avenue where I spent many youthful years.
These days it takes very little to make me nostalgic. Everyone knows his or her exact location when certain historical events occurred - -when President Kennedy was assassinated, Neil Armstrong's first steps on the moon, etc. For me, a variety of flavors recall what my children call the "olden days". One may remember where they were. I remember what I ate!!!
As the Jewish holidays approach, it is nice to look at the picturs of happy faces from the past. The video which exists in my head, however, never fades and can never be overplayed.............the kitchen table where twice yearly a hand-driven grinder was attached so that very soosn large pots of golden liquid were simmering on the stove, producing some of the best gefilte fish inthe world! The large wooden bowl (do they sell them anymore?) where the chicken livers were magically chopped into a delight that even made matzo taste good! Mom's matzo balls, which for many years justifiably got the name of "cannonballs", but were later replaced by light-as-air, fluffy confections (if you followed the box instructions carefully; and, of course, those sweet and succulent lukshen kugels, which yearly were provided by at least six cooks whose recipes were "the best".
In today's turbulent environment, it is good to look back to simpler times, where faith and family were paramount in our lives. May G-d bless our country and Israel, our spiritual homeland, with prosperity and peace in the coming New Year. L'shanah tovah tikvoteyvu.
Tastes, flavors..............ah, there's the magic carpet that whisks me way, back to my first little house where my children were babies; back to northwest Washington, D.C. where my mothere reigned supreme in the little kitchen of the big corner house on New Hampshire Avenue where I spent many youthful years.
These days it takes very little to make me nostalgic. Everyone knows his or her exact location when certain historical events occurred - -when President Kennedy was assassinated, Neil Armstrong's first steps on the moon, etc. For me, a variety of flavors recall what my children call the "olden days". One may remember where they were. I remember what I ate!!!
As the Jewish holidays approach, it is nice to look at the picturs of happy faces from the past. The video which exists in my head, however, never fades and can never be overplayed.............the kitchen table where twice yearly a hand-driven grinder was attached so that very soosn large pots of golden liquid were simmering on the stove, producing some of the best gefilte fish inthe world! The large wooden bowl (do they sell them anymore?) where the chicken livers were magically chopped into a delight that even made matzo taste good! Mom's matzo balls, which for many years justifiably got the name of "cannonballs", but were later replaced by light-as-air, fluffy confections (if you followed the box instructions carefully; and, of course, those sweet and succulent lukshen kugels, which yearly were provided by at least six cooks whose recipes were "the best".
In today's turbulent environment, it is good to look back to simpler times, where faith and family were paramount in our lives. May G-d bless our country and Israel, our spiritual homeland, with prosperity and peace in the coming New Year. L'shanah tovah tikvoteyvu.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
True Confessions of a Grandmother
The day after my granddaughter Samantha's 21st birthday I found myself "keeping her company" on the phone while she drove from her friend's house in Bloomington back to South Bend, her home for the summer, before returning to college.
Asking her what exciting thing she did to celebrate her birthday, I was glad to hear that it was a pleasant transition to adulthood.....dinners, parties with friends, etc. I confided to her that my own 20th year had been a really confusing one. I even recited the little verse that I had written when I became "official".
"You see", I explained to her, "when I was 20, that was the year that I got dumped. (Long pause) "Yes, dumped", I told her, "and by your Pop-Pop!) It went like this:
I was going out with Pop=Pop all summer. We hit it off. We had fun. His friends became my friends and vice versa. We were going "steadily" as it was called then, and as I detected a soft giggle in the background, I kept the story going, knowing how much of a kick Sam gets when hearing stories about my youthful flings.
"One night he said he had to talk to me about something serious, and as my heart pounded in anticipation of something more solid (he really was quite charming) he told me he didn't think we should continue seeing each other so frequently. . He was not ready for a commitment, etc., etc.,etc. Of course, I told him I felt the same, and that we would always remain friends.
Three long and agonizing weeks ensued, as I imagined him out dancing with some gorgeous babe and having a gay old time (in those days, that WAS an acceptably descriptive word). One Sunday morning the phone rang. My mother answered the phone. She said, "You = know -who is on the line". It was Paul. I said, audibly, "Oh, it's Stanley!!!" and picked up the phone with an enthusiastic, "Hi, Stan!". He said, "Hi, it's me". His voice was not easily disguised. "Did you miss me?" he asked. "Were you away?" I answered.
He asked if I wanted to go to a movie. I said no. He mentioned a few other options. I said no. Then he said, "Well, can I come over?" I said, "If you don't think that would look like a commitment or something". As my mother, the eavesdropper, stood by I felt kind of guilty, but, what the heck, I was 20 and single and I didn't need anyone in my life who was so willing to make me a "dumpee". "Such a nice young man", Mom said, "why are you so mean to him?". What do mothers know about male/female relationships?
So over he came. The conversation was forced. I, filing my nails nonchalantly, and Paul talking mostly to my mother. We were preparing to move to a new house in Riggs Park, and Paul managed to perform the act of endearment that remained with my mother for the rest of her days. "Mrs. Steinberg", he said, "may I help you pack?"
The next few hours were spent taking paintings down from the walls and wrapping them in newspaper and filling boxes with lampshades and books and what-have-you. His reward was Mom's invitation to him to stay for dinner. Still playing it cool, I was about to turn 21 on a joyful note.
"And so", dear Samantha, that was the re-beginning of your Mimi and Poppop's relationship. Eventually, we both made the commitment which lasted 45 and a half years.........one of the best commitments of our lives.
By the way, the little verse I had recited to Sam went like this:
Oh, wonderful twenty
Oh, joy mixed with strife
The greatest. most miserable
Year of my life!
Cried barrels of tears
For each moment of fun,
But that has all changed
NOW THAT I'M TWENTY-ONE
Asking her what exciting thing she did to celebrate her birthday, I was glad to hear that it was a pleasant transition to adulthood.....dinners, parties with friends, etc. I confided to her that my own 20th year had been a really confusing one. I even recited the little verse that I had written when I became "official".
"You see", I explained to her, "when I was 20, that was the year that I got dumped. (Long pause) "Yes, dumped", I told her, "and by your Pop-Pop!) It went like this:
I was going out with Pop=Pop all summer. We hit it off. We had fun. His friends became my friends and vice versa. We were going "steadily" as it was called then, and as I detected a soft giggle in the background, I kept the story going, knowing how much of a kick Sam gets when hearing stories about my youthful flings.
"One night he said he had to talk to me about something serious, and as my heart pounded in anticipation of something more solid (he really was quite charming) he told me he didn't think we should continue seeing each other so frequently. . He was not ready for a commitment, etc., etc.,etc. Of course, I told him I felt the same, and that we would always remain friends.
Three long and agonizing weeks ensued, as I imagined him out dancing with some gorgeous babe and having a gay old time (in those days, that WAS an acceptably descriptive word). One Sunday morning the phone rang. My mother answered the phone. She said, "You = know -who is on the line". It was Paul. I said, audibly, "Oh, it's Stanley!!!" and picked up the phone with an enthusiastic, "Hi, Stan!". He said, "Hi, it's me". His voice was not easily disguised. "Did you miss me?" he asked. "Were you away?" I answered.
He asked if I wanted to go to a movie. I said no. He mentioned a few other options. I said no. Then he said, "Well, can I come over?" I said, "If you don't think that would look like a commitment or something". As my mother, the eavesdropper, stood by I felt kind of guilty, but, what the heck, I was 20 and single and I didn't need anyone in my life who was so willing to make me a "dumpee". "Such a nice young man", Mom said, "why are you so mean to him?". What do mothers know about male/female relationships?
So over he came. The conversation was forced. I, filing my nails nonchalantly, and Paul talking mostly to my mother. We were preparing to move to a new house in Riggs Park, and Paul managed to perform the act of endearment that remained with my mother for the rest of her days. "Mrs. Steinberg", he said, "may I help you pack?"
The next few hours were spent taking paintings down from the walls and wrapping them in newspaper and filling boxes with lampshades and books and what-have-you. His reward was Mom's invitation to him to stay for dinner. Still playing it cool, I was about to turn 21 on a joyful note.
"And so", dear Samantha, that was the re-beginning of your Mimi and Poppop's relationship. Eventually, we both made the commitment which lasted 45 and a half years.........one of the best commitments of our lives.
By the way, the little verse I had recited to Sam went like this:
Oh, wonderful twenty
Oh, joy mixed with strife
The greatest. most miserable
Year of my life!
Cried barrels of tears
For each moment of fun,
But that has all changed
NOW THAT I'M TWENTY-ONE
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Ever heard of "self plagiarism"?
This morning, as I do every morning, I was lying in my bed and singing. I like to see how many songs that I know the complete lyrics to, and, frankly, I astound myself at the thousands of them that have clogged my brain lo these many years for no substantial reason but to be able to say I know them!
It occurred to me on this particular morning that both Irving Berlin and George M. Cohan have something in common. They stole tunes from themselves!
For example, "I"m just a fella, a fella with an umbrella". Peter Lawford sings it in "Easter Parade". In talking about a break in the weather, it goes, ".....maybe the break in the weather will prove to be a break for me." In Berlin's song, "Isn't it a Lovely Day to be CAught in the Rain", Fred Astaire tells Ginger Rogers, "...the clouds broke, they broke and, oh, what a break for me!" Same composer, different songs. Gene Kelly, in "The Pirate" sings, "Be a Clown". Gene Kelly and Donald O'Connor in "Singin' in the Rain" sings, "Make 'em Laugh". Same tune. Different words. "I love a piano" echoes the song about being down on the farm in MIchigan, and "I wanna go there, I wanna go there" is where "I love a piano" came from, or versa visa!
Cohan didn't have nearly as many soundalikes as Berlin, but I must say that "For it was Mary, Mary" is the same tune as "H=A-double R-I G A N spells Harrigan".
And while we are on the subject of music, I must spout off about one of my pet peeves. WHY IS IT THAT NOBODY WHO IS ASKED TO SING OUR NATIONAL ANTHEM AT VARIOUS EVENTS WILL SING THE TUNEz?????? They improvise. Aretha sings it like a gospel song. LeeAnn Rimes like a love ballad and they and everyone else add at least 1,000 new notss to the original tune. There are only so many notes on the scale, but many new ones have been discovered lately. My message to all of these people who insist on fixing what wasn't broken is: "O, say, can you sing it properly?"
In an earlier blog I mentioned Rogers and Hammerstein's preoccupation with larks. They show up regularly in many of their songs. For the fun of it, without referring to my earlier tome, see how many lines with the word "lark" you can find.
Years ago there was a vaudevillian who claimed that many songs are simply compilations of others. He took the song, "Yes, we Have No Bananas" and really dissected it. He said the only original tune was in the word "bananas". When broken down, it went something like this: (Sing the tune that matches the words from the other songs)
Allelujah! bananas
O bring back my bonnie to me
I dreamed I dwelt in Tara's Halls
Out on the blue, blue sea
It was an old fashioned garden
In Mrs. Murphy's chowder
Allelujah !bananas
O bring back my bonnie to me.
Ultimately, I guess, it isn't illegal to borrow words and music from onesself. There aren't many other nitpickers like me out there and I am ptobably the only one to notice!
It occurred to me on this particular morning that both Irving Berlin and George M. Cohan have something in common. They stole tunes from themselves!
For example, "I"m just a fella, a fella with an umbrella". Peter Lawford sings it in "Easter Parade". In talking about a break in the weather, it goes, ".....maybe the break in the weather will prove to be a break for me." In Berlin's song, "Isn't it a Lovely Day to be CAught in the Rain", Fred Astaire tells Ginger Rogers, "...the clouds broke, they broke and, oh, what a break for me!" Same composer, different songs. Gene Kelly, in "The Pirate" sings, "Be a Clown". Gene Kelly and Donald O'Connor in "Singin' in the Rain" sings, "Make 'em Laugh". Same tune. Different words. "I love a piano" echoes the song about being down on the farm in MIchigan, and "I wanna go there, I wanna go there" is where "I love a piano" came from, or versa visa!
Cohan didn't have nearly as many soundalikes as Berlin, but I must say that "For it was Mary, Mary" is the same tune as "H=A-double R-I G A N spells Harrigan".
And while we are on the subject of music, I must spout off about one of my pet peeves. WHY IS IT THAT NOBODY WHO IS ASKED TO SING OUR NATIONAL ANTHEM AT VARIOUS EVENTS WILL SING THE TUNEz?????? They improvise. Aretha sings it like a gospel song. LeeAnn Rimes like a love ballad and they and everyone else add at least 1,000 new notss to the original tune. There are only so many notes on the scale, but many new ones have been discovered lately. My message to all of these people who insist on fixing what wasn't broken is: "O, say, can you sing it properly?"
In an earlier blog I mentioned Rogers and Hammerstein's preoccupation with larks. They show up regularly in many of their songs. For the fun of it, without referring to my earlier tome, see how many lines with the word "lark" you can find.
Years ago there was a vaudevillian who claimed that many songs are simply compilations of others. He took the song, "Yes, we Have No Bananas" and really dissected it. He said the only original tune was in the word "bananas". When broken down, it went something like this: (Sing the tune that matches the words from the other songs)
Allelujah! bananas
O bring back my bonnie to me
I dreamed I dwelt in Tara's Halls
Out on the blue, blue sea
It was an old fashioned garden
In Mrs. Murphy's chowder
Allelujah !bananas
O bring back my bonnie to me.
Ultimately, I guess, it isn't illegal to borrow words and music from onesself. There aren't many other nitpickers like me out there and I am ptobably the only one to notice!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Climbing
The life that I lead (let me tell you in verse)
Is hard to endure, though it could be much worse!
It takes all my energy, gives me the blues
Just struggling to put on my slacks and my shoes.
Each step that I take often causes me pain
And I fall three steps backward for one step of gain.
The everyday problems that I must surmount
Sometimes seem like hurdles -- too many to count.
I'm slow as molasses, can't walk very far
When it rains there's no "making a dash for the car"
I guess that some people think it is pathetic
But to tell you the truth, I am very athletic.............
In every manner, in every way
I climb up Mt. Everest every day!
Is hard to endure, though it could be much worse!
It takes all my energy, gives me the blues
Just struggling to put on my slacks and my shoes.
Each step that I take often causes me pain
And I fall three steps backward for one step of gain.
The everyday problems that I must surmount
Sometimes seem like hurdles -- too many to count.
I'm slow as molasses, can't walk very far
When it rains there's no "making a dash for the car"
I guess that some people think it is pathetic
But to tell you the truth, I am very athletic.............
In every manner, in every way
I climb up Mt. Everest every day!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
So far snow is a no-show
For weeks now the weather man has been predicting snow for our area. I don't really happily anticipate harsh weather, but one must be prepared. With each report, I make sure that I stock up on lots of supplies for my kitchen, so that, God forbid, I don't starve to death if I can't get to the grocery store for a few days.
I buy all the usual things that people need to sustain themselves through a long, winter's hibernation: canned tuna, salmon, powdered milk, bagels (they freeze better than loaves) items to make soup, and.........................hot chocolate mix, cookies, frozen fudge bars, jelly beans (to avert a diabetic coma)and, of course, chips and dips. So the snow is imminent, and it is making me fatter by the day! It is a sin to allow food to go to waste, so, ultimately, it goes to WAIST!!
Why don't they stop trying to tell us days in advance that we are going to be stuck in our homes, and let the chips (multi-grain, of course) fall where they may? It wouldn't hurt any of us if we had to spend some time rationing what we have on hand, and, maybe, dropping a few pounds in the meantime! It seems the only way I will ever slim down is by enforced dieting......pretending I live in some third-world country where food is not so readily available as it is here at home. When I think of what others in this world have had to suffer through, it makes me very ashamed.
However, I have become accustomed to my snacks. Pretzels with Nancy Grace. Veggie dip and crackers with Dateline. And don['t forget good ole diet Jello (with sour cream).
Let one snowflake fall on our heads and everyone panics. There is no hope for me. I can panic along with the best of 'em. The time I go into my genuine panic mode is when I have a doctor's appointment looming on the far horizon, and I try to lose 20 pounds in a week. Never gonna happen. I fail to convince myself that there is no harm in snacking, in moderation, but my idea of moderation and the cardiologist's are two different things.
And so the vicious cycle keeps repeating and the weather man keeps predicting. Am I secretly hoping for a snowstorm to justify cake-baking, not only to "keep the house warm", but to use up that chocolate icing with the outdated "Sell by" stamp on the bottom of the can?
Look outside!! There are buds on the tree beneath my window!
DAMN!
I buy all the usual things that people need to sustain themselves through a long, winter's hibernation: canned tuna, salmon, powdered milk, bagels (they freeze better than loaves) items to make soup, and.........................hot chocolate mix, cookies, frozen fudge bars, jelly beans (to avert a diabetic coma)and, of course, chips and dips. So the snow is imminent, and it is making me fatter by the day! It is a sin to allow food to go to waste, so, ultimately, it goes to WAIST!!
Why don't they stop trying to tell us days in advance that we are going to be stuck in our homes, and let the chips (multi-grain, of course) fall where they may? It wouldn't hurt any of us if we had to spend some time rationing what we have on hand, and, maybe, dropping a few pounds in the meantime! It seems the only way I will ever slim down is by enforced dieting......pretending I live in some third-world country where food is not so readily available as it is here at home. When I think of what others in this world have had to suffer through, it makes me very ashamed.
However, I have become accustomed to my snacks. Pretzels with Nancy Grace. Veggie dip and crackers with Dateline. And don['t forget good ole diet Jello (with sour cream).
Let one snowflake fall on our heads and everyone panics. There is no hope for me. I can panic along with the best of 'em. The time I go into my genuine panic mode is when I have a doctor's appointment looming on the far horizon, and I try to lose 20 pounds in a week. Never gonna happen. I fail to convince myself that there is no harm in snacking, in moderation, but my idea of moderation and the cardiologist's are two different things.
And so the vicious cycle keeps repeating and the weather man keeps predicting. Am I secretly hoping for a snowstorm to justify cake-baking, not only to "keep the house warm", but to use up that chocolate icing with the outdated "Sell by" stamp on the bottom of the can?
Look outside!! There are buds on the tree beneath my window!
DAMN!
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