Travel

 Recently I came across an interesting post about Niagara Falls and it started me thinking about what makes a vacation.

Not long ago Mike and I returned from a “vacation” in Atlanta, GA. We chose Atlanta because our daughter is teaching there this semester and visiting her was as good an excuse as any to visit a new city.

Unfortunately the trip started falling apart on our first full day there when Mike tested positive for Covid-19. I continued my adventures in Atlanta, including a mini-seder with our daughter, for another two days until I, too, tested positive.

Oh well. There are still pleasant memories if you get rid of the part where Mike and I holed up in our AirBnb for several days.

Batya and I visited the Coca Cola museum and, after learning all about the history of the fizzy beverage, tasted a variety of flavors from other countries. We also spent a more serious few hours at the Center for Civil Rights. While she worked I wandered her neighborhood, checking out a rail trail and her local yarn store and just generally getting the flavor of her area. I also wandered a bit by her work neighborhood but got stymied on my indoor plans. Note to self: try to avoid traveling on the Easter Sunday weekend if you want to see indoor stuff. It will either be closed or booked solid. 

But back to the point of this post. 

Prior to the kids going off to college, travel was a family affair. We’d search out places that we thought would be interesting to both Mike and I, as adults, and the kids, as … kids.

Our travels tended to be car trips which included Montreal,Quebec, Cooperstown, NY and, still an annual favorite, Lancaster, PA.

One memorable summer we cycled the length of the Erie Canal from Niagara Falls, ON to Albany, NY. 

Once the kids were in college, Mike and I rediscovered the pleasures of traveling together, just the two of us. Until recently our official vacation trips were still confined to road trips but we also tacked on vacation days to conference trips. Through conferences we’ve had the pleasure of visiting Baltimore,MD,  Omaha, NE, Phoenix, AZ and, most recently, Toronto, ON. We spend a day or so together packing in the “must sees” and then, while Mike attends the conference, I experience the area alone and at my own pace.

We’ve wandered streets and sought out experiences. The Desert Botanical Gardens, La Jolla, Letchworth State Park, Fort Niagara, dinner at a culinary school, hikes, local ciders. All snapshots of time spent together, etched in our memories.

Gone (mostly) are the memories of the travel glitches and left are the smiles as we think about time together experiencing new places.

As we slowly venture into this new part of our lives we are looking to gather many more memories. Feel free to pop your suggestions in the comments, either here or back on your favorite social media platform.

Devorah

Judgement

 Why do we constantly judge others? What makes us feel that we can be the arbiters of right and wrong when it comes to how others behave? Why do we jump to conclusions with regards to the behavior of others?

(Charoset made with hard cider instead of wine)

I’ve been pondering the question of judging others for a few weeks now. Personally, I judge others for being judgy. Yup, I think that it is not right to judge others for their personal choices. Do I do it? Yes. Am I trying to keep my judginess to myself? Also yes. But if I disagree with someone who is being judgy in my presence then I am more apt to speak up then when I was younger.

For example, when Mike and I were traveling home from our recent trip to Atlanta, GA, I saw a couple with five bags between them and immediately jumped to the conclusion that they were going to try to sneak the extra on with them as carry on items, hence taking space from the rest of us who were just following the rules. (All judgements were kept within the confines of my own brain and are only just entering the world through this blog post.) Then I heard them say “which bag should we check.”  D’oh! (Later on I witnessed someone on our flight bringing 3 bags on. I kept my mouth shut, I still had room for my stuff.)

I have friends who have made different parenting decisions than I have. Were their decisions wrong and mine right? Yes. Their decisions were wrong for me and right for them. (Had you for a moment, didn’t I?)

Over the years I have felt myself to be judged by others and found wanting. As I grow up I am trying to care less about it but a lifetime of reacting to other people’s verbalized and implied judgements has had an impact and shaped who I am today. I am far more tentative and judgemental of myself, seeing my decisions reflected in the eyes of others. Or at least what I think they think.

We are all different and we all operate in our own unique worlds. Worlds that overlap with each other but still, our own worlds. Let us respect each other and try not to be so judgy. At least not out loud.

Thoughts? (Yes, I am asking for your judgements.)

Queen Esther and the Tuna

Q: What does a large fish and a long ago Jewish Queen have in common?

A: They are both a part of Purim! (at least in our household)

Let me start at the beginning (a very good place to start).

Hamentashen, the traditional pastry of the holiday of Purim, are one of the few items I cook. The reason that I don’t cook much of anything else is a tale unto itself and not one for today.

I have baked hamentashen every year since the children were fairly small, so 20 years or so. It is a family affair, or at least a mom and offspring affair with dad offering to taste the final product.

Traditionally I have made the dough and, in recent years, the filling, and then together with whichever child is in the house (sometimes one, sometimes both) rolled out, filled, pinched and baked the cookies.

Last year Natan did all the prep work and we assembled together. So far this year Natan has made the fillings and I made the dough. I expect that we will fill them together tomorrow or Monday night.

Back to the tuna.

Once the pastries / cookies are assembled, they need to chill for a while. Our refrigerator is wide enough to handle one tray and I can usually clear off the bottom shelf so that we can stack the trays.

How does one stack the trays without smushing the cookies?

Tuna!

We put a good size pile of tuna in each corner of the bottom trays to support the trays above. 

The pile of tuna is conveniently contained in a perfectly sized can. (Had you there for a moment, didn’t I?)

Once the hamentashen are ready to bake, the cans are removed from the trays and returned to the cabinet for future meals or bakings of cookies.

And there you have it, the relationship between tuna and Queen Esther!

Happy Purim!

Natasha and Sherman

Friends and family have heard of Natasha, the turtle that came for a summer and wound up living with us for the long run..

Fewer have heard of Sherman, the friend that kept Natasha company at the end, and then stayed with our family, much to the dismay of our children.

First, Natasha’s story.

Natasha first came to us for a summer when Natasha’s owner, Boris, went away for a few weeks. After turtle-sitting for July and August, we returned Natasha to Boris and purchased our own turtle, Gym (pronounced Jim). A year later Sparky came to join us and then Goethe (pronounced Goat) took up residence in a tank in Mike’s office at Stuyvesant H.S. Natasha returned to us for a longer stay when Boris went to graduate school in Sweden and Goethe joined them all for his first and only summer break. Sadly, Goethe did not survive the summer.

Over the years Natasha, Sparky and Gym cohabitated in a 50 gallon tank. Eventually Sparky and Gym died but Natasha lived on.

Boris returned from Sweden but claimed he could not take Natasha back because of his housing situation. 

Our own children grew up and went to college, leaving the two of us alone with Natasha. Boris got married and had a child and claimed, when told that he was getting Natasha back as a pet for the new child, that he could not possibly care for a (tank bound) turtle as well as a baby and a dog.

So Natasha stayed. At one point it looked like Natasha was slowly dying. He spent all of his time on top of his log and wasn’t eating. 

We went away for two weeks and found Natasha in the exact same position as when we left. When tapped on the shell, Natasha responded and so life continued.

I made jokes at work about running a turtle hospice because I honestly thought that Natasha’s life was nearing the end.

One evening we watched Natasha slowly slip off the log and plop into the water below. That’s it we thought … until Natasha started swimming about the tank and even ate!

Natasha lasted several more months until, one day he moved no more.

Ever respectful, we did not flush Natasha down the toilet (he would not have fit), nor did we dump him into the trash compactor. Instead, we solemnly walked to the Hudson river and, standing at the end of a pier, let Natasha slip gently into the water. 

Thus ends the tale of Natasha.

But wait! I almost forgot about Sherman!

Remember those weeks when Natasha didn’t leave the top of his log?

Well it turns out that Natasha was being held in place by Sherman!

Who / what is Sherman? Sherman is our imaginary, invisible octopus!

Yes, Sherman has a back (and front) story and, with encouragement I might even share it with you. 

Our children are somewhat dismayed to learn that we finally got a free roaming pet only after they grew up. Think of the fun they could have had with Sherman to play with when they were little. How much could have been blamed on Sherman. 

Now? Sherman is just evidence that their parents are even stranger than they thought.

So let me know if you want tales of Sherman’s exploits.

– Devorah

Paper Dolls!

 Back in November I got together with my childhood buddies, Annette and Allison. The three of us met as “first families” in Co-op City in the Bronx back in the early ‘70s. For 6 years we played together, walked to school together and had sleepovers. All the things that kids do (or at least did back then). Co-op City in its early years was a magical place for a little kid. 

We lived in the townhouses in section 2, Cooper Place. For those of you with no idea of what I am talking about, let me pause and give an overview.

Co-op City is one of many housing projects spread throughout New York City. Composed of 5 sections, there are townhouses with three bedroom duplexes and one bedroom garden apartments allowing for mixed generational living. The garden apartments held older couples while the duplexes housed families. There were also single core towers, double core chevron shaped buildings and triple core buildings similar to the building that I currently live in.

Much like my current home in the Penn South Co-op, there is a lot of green space and tons of places for kids to play. Our earliest playspace was the courtyard that separated our banks of townhouses. To get to the courtyard all we had to do was leave our townhouse. That’s it. No cars allowed. The Cooper Place courtyard is where I learned to play hopscotch, jump rope and ride a bike. We walked on stilts, used pogo sticks and, in the winter, had snowball fights. We could walk to school without ever crossing a street.

My friends and I started kindergarten in the community center and were the first, first graders in the spanking new educational complex.

We endured the experiment that was the open classroom and one of us even graduated from the high school, making her a member of the first set of graduates to go all the way through that set of schools. 

Over the years we drifted apart. I was the first to move as my family broke apart and was later reassembled in a different, healthier form. Next, one  went another off to the suburbs. The last of us remained, left as an adult and then returned to her childhood home as her parents aged in place.

During our breakfast outing back in November, we shared our memories of a childhood viewed through three different lenses. It was fascinating to see what the others remembered and what I forgot. 

Fast forward a few weeks and you find me trying to figure out what a retirement wardrobe should look like. I’m watching youtubes videos on capsule wardrobes and listening to podcasts on “finding your style.” Then I wander over to the Seamwork website and discover their “Design Your Wardrobe” course. No, I haven’t taken it but I have scrolled through the course materials. And what did I find? Paper dolls! O.k., not really but sort of. There are line drawings of different adult silhouettes and you can match up line drawings of the sewing patterns to go with your silhouette. Look like paper dolls to me!, 

(not the Seamwork silhouettes)

That immediately sent me down memory lane, playing with and making our own paper dolls and paper doll clothing. Happy memories of a time when our responsibilities were mostly limited to doing homework and practicing our instruments. When free time was spent playing in the courtyard or riding our bikes or playing board games. A simpler time that we can never return to but that will always put a small smile on our faces when we think of it.

Here’s to simple times and the memories they bring.

Who wants to play paper dolls with me?!