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Good Housekeeping (or, “if you polish us, do we not shine?”)

August 18, 2008 by

I was raised in a self-cleaning home. When I woke up in the morning, my room was a mess. All of my things were scattered where I had left them. When I came home from school, my room was clean. My clothes were put away. My bed was made. The fact that my mother had a full time cleaning lady was only coincidental, or so I thought.

When I got married, I made a similar mess each morning, and with the help of my husband, even more. When I came home from school (I was still in college), I was shocked to see the mess still lying where I had left it. I figured out that maybe the cleaning lady did have something to do with the house being clean all the time, but I still didn’t fully get it. Until, one day after we were married about 6 months, my husband said, “Aren’t you going to wash the floor?” And I, in all my innocence answered, “Do you think it needs to be washed already?” I was serious. I had never witnessed a floor being washed. I had no idea of how it was done or how often normal people did it. Our floor in that apartment was tiled and a medium brown color, so I didn’t notice any dirt on it. I did sweep it from time to time.

And thus I entered the wonderful world of domesticity.

Over the years, especially when the children were young, we had a number of cleaning ladies ranging from Ida Mae (the family therapist)* who was with us through the beekeeping/haircutting period to “the white tornado” who helped us out around the time that our youngest was born. Usually they were with us for a short time due to our frequent moves (only one asked us if we could take her with us.)

Since I have lived in Israel, aside from some more and less successful encounters with cleaning help just before Passover, I have been help-less. I have discovered the magic of “Cilit”- that wonderful product that dissolves mineral build-up. I have learned how to do “sponga”- cleaning the floor with a squeegee and a rag without having to cut a hole in the rag (which, I am told, completes my absorption into Israel as an immigrant). I have even learned how to clean my stone counters without leaving watermarks (hint: a small squeegee is involved).

I have not, however, found a cleaner.

When I brought my father-in-law to live with us, the person who cared for him would keep the house very (Kati, the drunk Hungarian) or passably (Carole, the runaway Filipino) clean. A couple of years after my father-in-law passed away, a friend told me about her terrific cleaner. I tell his story and the one of our subsequent adventures at the end of the following post: this one Well, this week, I finally agreed to have my husband arrange for another cleaning person. She comes with the highest recommendations. She was supposed to have gotten here an hour and a half ago. You guessed it! Maybe she got confused? Maybe she’ll be here tomorrow? Stay tuned.

*More about Ida Mae upon request

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Renovations- Chapter 2

August 14, 2008 by

So…

We engaged an engineer who looked at the plans of our apartment and said that there was no problem in doing what we wanted to do. (My genetically programmed paranoia prevents me from being specific.) He has drawn up some plans that begin to address our needs. Since part of what we want to do involves stairs, we went to look at stairs yesterday with the intention of perhaps replacing our heavy, thick staircase with a lighter wood and metal one. We found some very nice options.

Since we are still struggling with the use of space, we are beginning to interview interior designers and the first came over this morning. She offered an option we hadn’t even thought of that makes a lot of sense. Of course she also thought that we should rid ourselves of those useless upper cabinets in the kitchen and open the wall up to windows across the entire side of the kitchen. When we explained that we liked to put our dishes and glassware away, she suggested we cut a hole in our dining room wall… which I had thought of, but because of the open plan of the living room/dining room/kitchen area and the window and sliding doors at the back of the room, there is almost no wall space as is…

I think that so far, aside from trying to reconcile two people’s priorities for what we need (my husband’s and mine) the hardest thing is the uncertainty. I haven’t even started and I’m already thinking:

Wake me when it’s over

Filed Under: Ramblings

About renovations

August 12, 2008 by

When I first moved into my house, I wrote the following article. I am posting it now because we are soon going to be starting on renovations and I am recalling the first time.

Note, I skip the part where I had hired people who *said* they were expert electricians, plumbers, and floor tile layers who ended up not only being disasters in all three areas (I had experts in each field come into the house and all of them pointed out the same problems with the work in their area of expertise) but actually did damage to the house that I ended up paying to repair. Later they threatened to sue me for the remainder of the money, but armed with pictures of the destruction they wrought, we were able to convince them that they were getting off easy if we didn’t sue them.

but I digress…

Here is what I wrote then. I hope that this time I will come out of it as well as I did then.

********************************************************************

“My blood pressure is HOW high!! my cholesterol is up; my ankles are swollen. This can’t be happening to me. After all, I’m only 26. Well, OK, my oldest child is 31, but I only feel like 26. How can this be?”

That’s what I said to myself when I made my last visit to my doctor in Jerusalem last May, about a week before I was scheduled to move to Modi’in. It was hard to believe that I had let myself get to this point. The doctor was not worried. But all I could think about was that I was slowly killing myself with the weight I had gained and the troubles it was causing in my body. I thought it would be really ironic to have come this far and done this much just to throw my life away over croutons and salad dressing, the high calorie stuff I poured over my tomatoes and cucumbers in an effort to diet.

But the move to Modi’in turned out to be my salvation because the inept shiputznikim [renovators] I had hired enabled me to go on the “no-kitchen diet.” Here’s how it works: You bring over a lift [shipment] from America that arrives exactly one day after you move into your apartment which is just fine except for the kitchen. So by the time your lift arrives and you place huge boxes containing all of your major appliances completely filling the living room and dining area, you have demolished two walls of the kitchen and realize that to open any of the boxes is dangerous because there will be days or weeks of flying debris to say nothing of the deadly quantity of dust and plaster that can invade anything that would make life pleasant (like a TV, for example.) But finally, after two or three days, you open the box with the refrigerator which now stands somewhere in the middle of what will be the dining room (probably in the next millenium, you think) and is separated from you by only a hallway, several piles of broken cement, cinderblock, concrete, plastic sheeting, electrical tubing, and a sand covered surface that will be under the floor tiles once they are replaced. Of course to protect the refrigerator from the debris, it remains in the box with only three seams cut to create a makeshift door in the box and a small area for air circulation behind it.

Now comes the fun part. You want to eat, but you can’t cook anything and the idea of even getting to the fridge is daunting. Fruit seems like a lot of effort. Cokes have to be poured and there’s no place to store a plastic cup or even to put one down should you want to pour, so the solution seems to be cottage cheese which can be eaten out of its container with a plastic spoon. To avoid excess fat, of course, you choose the .5% cottage cheese that, with a little nutrasweet, tastes almost like a treat.

Fast forward now to the chanukat habayit [house warming]. Yes, we made it. After a switch in shiputznikim [jokers] and a million missteps, the house was ready. The family came from far and wide, and here is the very best part: when we took the family picture, I fit. Yes, the “no-kitchen diet” did its magic.

Filed Under: Family life, Israel, Ramblings

I told you so

August 10, 2008 by

We in Israel were lucky enough to be able to see the opening ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics in real time starting at 3:00 p.m. on Friday local time.

In a word— WOW!!!!!

Having seen another production by Zhang Yimou, I have been telling everyone I know not to miss the opening (and closing!!!) ceremony. I told them it would “knock their socks off.” I was not disappointed.

The Chinese people are clever and creative and intelligent. I am happy that the world is getting to know them better.

And I am hoping that people will want to travel with me to China. I can promise it will be spectacular.

Filed Under: China

Of siblings and favorites

August 7, 2008 by

I loved receiving the comments from Sandy and Toby on my last posting. Yes, indeed. Siblings need to get along because when they do they truly are each others’ most steadfast companions through life. They share memories of events and attitudes and tastes and impressions and lots of funny stories.

My sister told me that she forgave me for the mean things I did to her because she didn’t want us to become like our parents’ siblings who didn’t get along and were not able to enjoy the warmth and intimacy they could have had with each other.

The truth is, as I look back at my childhood, I was set up to have a poor relationship with her. My mother overtly told me that it was “the brown eyes against the blue eyes.” She and my sister had brown eyes; my father and I had blue eyes. My mother stopped taking me to dancing lessons because “the baby” was sick. My dancing lessons were always the best hours of the week. So the fact that both my sister and I chose to be close and remain close was fortuitous and not what would naturally have occurred.

One of the best moments of my life (really) was the moment at my oldest son’s wedding when he and my middle son were dancing together (which is done at traditional Jewish weddings where the dancing is gender-separated) and as they swung each other around I could see big smiles on both of their faces. These were the two who squabbled the most and it was wonderful to see them rejoicing together.

As a parent, seeing ones children being kind to each other and helping each other is the ultimate high. What could be better than knowing that you have enabled your children to have warm relationships with each other that support and affirm through the years, and to know that when you are gone, they will be there for each other.

As to Toby’s response: In the course of development, children learn a number of skills. When they reach adolescence, the most important aspect of their development is individuation. The child needs to define him/herself as separate from his/her father and mother. At this time the child begins to notice which ways he/she is like and which ways he/she is unlike his/her parents. In a healthy home, the child takes much of what the parents have had to offer in the way of an example– values, attitudes, manners of behaving, religious beliefs, etc. and makes them his own- really incorporates them into his being, not as a given, but as a choice. Similarly, he/she defines him/herself as different from parents with some attitudes, values, behaviors, etc. that are different from the parents.

Now let’s look at a dysfunctional family where there are clear winners and losers as children. If the child is a loser in the parents’ eyes, he/she is really free to define him/herself as an individual. He/she knows that pleasing the parent(s) is impossible, so he/she can become his/her own person. He/she can take responsibility for evaluating his/her courses of action and take pride in making decisions. But woe unto the winners in the dysfunctional family. The winners are the children with whom the parents have so over-identified that any action or behavior contrary to the parents’ will is treason. All deviations are punished and all conformity is overwhelmingly rewarded. “Oh, look at her! She’s just like me!” For these children individuation becomes an impossible task– because all deviation from the parent(s)’ wishes is seen as betrayal. For some, individuation doesn’t happen until after the parent(s) has/have died. For some, it never happens. They never get to live their own lives. And that is why I said that it is easier to be the child who is out of favor than the one who is favored.

Filed Under: Emotional health, Family life, Parenting

Sure, why not

August 5, 2008 by

So you want to hear about the family…

Well, there is my generation. We are a total of three people: my husband, my sister, and I. My husband was a chaplain in the US Army and a civilian rabbi until he came to Israel on aliya in 1999. My sister has been working in the Philadelphia Prisons for a very long time (around 30 years). She’s a social worker. See. That was easy.

I’ll tell you a little more about each of them.

My husband and I first met the summer he turned 21 and I was approaching 16. He had already graduated from college and was starting rabbinical school and I was returning that fall to start my junior year in high school. We were just friends. I had a kind of a crush on him, but girls that age are always having crushes and it’s probably only a coincidence that we ended up getting married. We simply stayed in touch long enough until both of us were in a position to think of marriage seriously. I’m not sure I knew what I was doing when I married him, but so far it’s worked out well (and it’s 42 years.) One of the big things he has going for him is that he is able to put up with me.

My sister has been with me for all but the first 4.5 years of my life. She has always been my friend. Even when I didn’t treat her very well, she was my friend. We supported each other through difficult, but very different childhoods. She was the favored child and I the child who was the recipient of most of our mother’s anger. I think she had the harder job. I knew I could never please my mother. She thought she could. Through the years, through ups and downs, we have remained close and although we live far apart, we never really *are* far apart.

So that’s this generation… next, some musings about some of my kids (hopefully in a way that won’t embarrass them too much.)

Filed Under: Family life, Ramblings

Despite Motherhood

August 4, 2008 by

My daughter, Rachel Inbar, has a new blog that I find fascinating. Even if you aren’t interested in reading it from the beginning (which I highly recommend), you have got to check out a video she posted today. I will give you a hint: it contains two people I love and an furry blue old friend. You can see it here: here

Filed Under: Family life

The wind in my hair

August 2, 2008 by

I walked out into the hot sun this morning on my way to synagogue and suddenly I was hit by a strong memory, so vivid I could not only see and hear it, but I could smell it and touch it…

It is summer of 1952. I am six years old, going on seven. This summer my parents, my aunt and uncle, and my grandparents have rented a huge house in Atlantic City, New Jersey for the ten weeks of school vacation. All of us are living in the house- but my father and uncle and grandfather leave each Monday morning to go to work in Philadelphia. They visit on Tuesday and Thursday evenings and leave again the next mornings and they return on Saturday evening.

Life is good. My mother and my aunt Mildred have a lot in common and they get along well together. My grandmother likes sharing a home with her daughter and daughter-in-law and 3 of the 4 grandchildren they produced. My cousin Murray goes to overnight camp and is not home this summer.

The house is wonderful. It has about 20 clocks with chimes so that each hour, we have a symphony. It has two staircases and a room with a window seat and a porch that wraps around one side. We have a 45 rpm record player and we can listen to children’s songs whenever we want. We also hear a lot of Frank Sinatra and Eddie Fisher.

But the most wonderful part of this summer is that now that I am getting big, I have a lot of freedom to do things on my own. There is a pharmacy down the block where I went to buy my parents an anniversary card. It was a wonderful card with a paper disk that you could use to change the number of years. It made me happy to be able to get it for them. When I gave it to my mother, I expected she would be surprised and happy. I had kept it a secret. When she opened it, she said, “You have the number of years wrong.”

The best part of my freedom is that I am able to ride my bicycle on the boardwalk in the morning, all alone, by myself.

Atlantic City has a rule that you could ride on the boardwalk from 6:30 to 9:00 a.m. and so I walk down the brick steps in the front of our house, open the garage, get out my bike, and take it up to the boardwalk to start riding. Sailing along the boardwalk, at first I see the ocean to my right beyond a long stretch of white sand. The sand is so fine it just falls away as you walk on it, but when the sun has been beating down on it, it gets very very hot. I love building sand castles nearer the water where the sand is damp and packed down.

I look to my left and see the beautiful lawns with hydrangeas in pinks and purples and blues and petunias in pinks and purples and white and red and the marigolds in yellows and oranges. The flowers are so bright I feel as if I want to make them part of me. I want to keep their beauty with me all of the time.

Now the shops begin. They are wonderful. There is the “Million Dollar Pier” that has rides and games. My grandfather goes there to win stuffed animals for us children. There is the shop where they have a pitcher of orange juice that keeps pouring but never runs out. There is “Teepee Town,” a store that has all sorts of Indian items including feathered headdresses and beaded bracelets and beautiful leather and suede jackets with long fringes. Walking into “Teepee Town,” you can enjoy the smell of the leather. There is the salt water taffy shop where my mother often buys us “paddles,” chocolate covered salt water taffy on a stick. Farther up the boardwalk are shops that sell beautiful ladies’ jewelry and dresses and hats. There is “Mr. Peanut,” the Planter’s store just opposite the “Steel Pier” and the place on the corner of Virginia Avenue that sells the foot-long hot dogs. I haven’t even mentioned the beautiful hotels– the Traymore, the Shelbourne, the Chalfonte-Haddon Hall- many built in art deco style. And then there’s the Traymore Fountain- beautiful by day, lit in colors in the evening.

My ride is a feast for the senses- the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, the wondrous smells, the beautiful sights, and the feeling of freedom. I ride until just past New Jersey Avenue to where I get to the end of the smooth bicycle strip and turn around and return home. Nothing I will do today will be as wonderful as this ride– but tomorrow, I get to do it all over again.

Filed Under: Ramblings

Home

August 1, 2008 by

Our last day in Los Angeles was eventful. We spent the morning picking up last minute items, packing our things, and straightening the place where we were staying. I was seated at the computer when suddenly the room began to move– it seemed one corner of the the room lifted and then the other and the mirror on the wall went swinging and the blinds were moving back and forth. There was no mistaking that it was an earthquake. I thought about having seen the Wizard of Oz display in Kansas and I thought about the fact that the guest house we were staying in was not very different in size or shape from Dorothy’s house and it too was being buffeted. I can’t say I was afraid. I only worried that somewhere people were being hurt.

Fortunately, when the news media funally reported the quake, it was determined that there had been very little damage and no injuries. They said it was the strongest quake felt in the city since the Northridge earthquake in 1994! What a farewell!

We went out for a pleasant lunch with friends, and then at about 6 pm, we headed toward the airport to return the car and begin our journey home.

Good things about our trip home:
1. No overweight charges
2. They checked our luggage through to Tel Aviv
3. The planes left close to on time
4. Spending time with my sister in New York
5. It’s over

Bad things about the trip home
1. Cramped plane seats
2. Unpleasant people in front who liked to recline at all times, including mealtime
3. Unpleasant person in back who liked to put his feet all the way beneath my seat so that when I sat normally, the toes of his shoes scratched the backs of my legs. (When I turned around to see what was happening, he lifted his fingers, pointed to himself and smiled– but continued to put his feet there through most of the 8 hour flight.)
4. Not enough room to stretch out, causing me to adopt odd postures to try to sleep including the one where I moved my body to one side and my head to the other and stretched my neck to such a degree that I am sure I resembled a body discovered on CSI. It didn’t feel so good either.
5. Looking like a total dork with a blindfold around my neck (so I could use it when I wanted to sleep), earphones sticking out of the pocket of my magic vest* (from my iPod, so that I could drown out the ambient sound so that I could sleep), and one of those inflatable u-shaped pillows aroumd my neck. Despite all of that, I was still uncomfortable.
5. The sounds and smells of airline food by the time it’s the third or fourth time in the trip.

But coming home was the best! Our daughter Rachel and her youngest child Yirmi were there to greet us with a cold diet coke and lots of smiles and when we got home, there was her adorable husband and one of their gorgeous daughters and our younger daughter and her little girl whose hair now curls and is now taking steps!

Now there is only the task of putting things away and cleaning the house (I forgot we live in a desert and was not happy to note that while we were away a truckload of dirt blew through…)

It’s really good to be home.

*some day when I am out of things to write about, I will tell you about my magic vest.

Filed Under: Ramblings

Shake it up baby

July 30, 2008 by

My son Sam has always been kind of flamboyant. OK, not “kind of.” But today he arranged the most spectacular event. And who would have suspected?

As I mentioned, he and his wife went out of town (or so they said) yesterday, and this morning, as I sat in this very seat, the entire city of Los Angeles shook. Now this wasn’t a gentle rocking, like I had felt in Jerusalem about 12 or 13 years ago- this was a shake with the place we are staying moving side to side and up and down in a pretty uncoordinated way. For a long time– the mirror on the wall and the wand to close the blind must have still been swaying a couple of minutes after the shaking stopped.

It reminded me of something that happened about 30-some years ago… We were on a bus in the city of Worms, Germany, and the bus driver got too close to the side of the road and scratched the windows of the bus along a sign. Suddenly there was a hush in the bus and a little voice, Sam’s, that said, “At least I didn’t do it.”

I’m thinking he’s going to say the same thing this time. Like that time, I think I’ll believe him.

Filed Under: Ramblings
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