Joining the Thin Club

The Freak Show - All of Us!

I spent July 4th weekend at a singles event and I had a revelation there.  With the sun pounding on the boardwalk, the waves crashing on the shore, it occurred to me that all of life is a freak show.  You know the kind you see in carnivals in the movies, with tattooed men and bearded ladies.  There IS no normal...except in our own minds.

I quietly watched as single men and women drifted through the weekend, making the motions of people trying to connect but silently slipping right by each other like ships passing in the dead of night.  There were grossly obese men who couldn't understand why thin, pretty women were passing them by.  There were older plain women who were hurt that young attractive men did not want to date them.  Everyone, even the most attractive and intelligent in the group, had something hanging over them - either physically or psychologically--what is known in the singles arena as "baggage."  One attendee put it succinctly and effectively.  "We are all broken toys," he said.  And it reminded me of headless Barbie dolls and firetrucks missing a wheel.  He was right.

What most impressed me about the weekend was the sad realization that , in spite of our own flaws, all of us--myself included--were walking around like we were the only ones in the room with no baggage whatsoever.  We were the perfect toy in the brand new box, pristine, unopened, never drooled on or chewed.  But I know better...and when you scratch beneath the surface, there was not a face in the crowd that could claim perfection, no matter how pretty or handsome, trim or fit, accomplished or intelligent they were.

A lady with facial hair, a man with missing teeth, a woman battling the memories of dealing with bulemia, a young mother with four children, a 75-year old set on finding a 35-year old...what a collection we were.  And so, when approached by other "broken toys" we reared our heads, looked through them, or sat barely tolerating the other's advances.  Some got downright insulted that the other dared try to engage.  Is it fair?  Is it nice?  Certainly not.  But it is human nature.  A sad fact.  We only see the other's flaws.  Not our own.

Grandma??? Me! Oh yeah!

 

"Whatever you do, do NOT tell men that you are a grandmother," the matchmaker advised me.  "It's the kiss of death!"

But as I leaned over my tiny grandson, born just last week, I knew that wild horses couldn't keep me mum about the mesmerizing feeling that flooded me as I watched my sleeping grand-baby's tiny pursed lips, or saw my son, now a father,  gently stroke his sleeping child's cheek with a look of pure love.  Add to that, my own mother, tears in her eyes, as she watched me watch them--and I found a moment that simply MUST be shared with the world.

I wonder how reiterating my joy will play among the men I meet who are my age and older.  The ones who say they find me fascinating and they would love to know me better -- if ONLY I were as young as I look--just a few years younger so they could start a family with me.  My heart does go out to them.  They never had children of their own.  They each have stories and countless reasons for their childlessness.  The likelihood is that in their lifetime, they will never witness their biological son stroking their grandson's cheek, but far worse, they are probably going to go through that lifetime both childless and companionless.  They will continue to scour the singles scenes, myriad parties and mixers, as the age gap between them and the fertile female population continues to widen, ever hoping that they will find someone to bear them a child at the age of 49 , 55 or 62. 

"There is a reason to why men prefer younger women," writes someone on the dating site I frequent.  "Let's state the obvious. As men we have few concerns of our own when choosing a mate. The first is children. Obvious the younger the woman is the more healthy children she could bring into the union."

But at what age will older men finally give up the dream?  At what age will men say, I may not have those children I always dreamed about?  And even if I were to find the perfect relationship with someone willing and able to bear those children, I may never live long enough to play soccer with my children or to see them graduate college.  And the chances are, I'll never live long enough to witness my children's children.  At what point do I instead, look for a compatible mate.  Someone who remembers the Beatles, appreciates life's moments, and with whom I can ride through life's roller coaster with, into the golden years.  Someone who will make me a part of her life and share her children and grandchildren with me.

But, no, the matchmaker said.  Don't ask, don't tell.  Don't let them know your age.  Don't tell them about your pride in your progeny.  At least not at first.  Let them get to know you -- have them fall in love with your warm smile and intelligence.  Let them love you for you.

But don't you understand - Now I AM a grandmother.  That IS me.  I'm a grandmother - even though I don't look the part.  And I love my grandson.  He is the crown jewel in my tiara, as are each of my children.  Is there really a good reason for not wearing my beautiful diamonds with pride?

So I amended my profile on the dating site and wrote about my pride and my love for my grandson and my children.  These are life moments that matter - that define me as a full-fledged woman and as a human being. If a man has an aversion to dating a loving, caring woman who has, to her credit, raised a child to be a tender, loving father, and who is proud to write about it, well, he is not a man I would ever want to marry.  Matchmakers be damned!

"Whatever you do, do NOT tell men that you are a grandmother," the matchmaker advised me.  "It's the kiss of death!"

But as I leaned over my tiny grandson, born just last week, I knew that wild horses couldn't keep me mum about the mesmerizing feeling that flooded me as I watched my sleeping grand-baby's tiny pursed lips, or saw my son, now a father,  gently stroke his sleeping child's cheek with a look of pure love.  Add to that, my own mother, tears in her eyes, as she watched me watch them--and I found a moment that simply MUST be shared with the world.

I wonder how reiterating my joy will play among the men I meet who are my age and older.  The ones who say they find me fascinating and they would love to know me better -- if ONLY I were as young as I look--just a few years younger so they could start a family with me.  My heart does go out to them.  They never had children of their own.  They each have stories and countless reasons for their childlessness.  The likelihood is that in their lifetime, they will never witness their biological son stroking their grandson's cheek, but far worse, they are probably going to go through that lifetime both childless and companionless.  They will continue to scour the singles scenes, myriad parties and mixers, as the age gap between them and the fertile female population continues to widen, ever hoping that they will find someone to bear them a child at the age of 49 , 55 or 62. 

"There is a reason to why men prefer younger women," writes someone on the dating site I frequent.  "Let's state the obvious. As men we have few concerns of our own when choosing a mate. The first is children. Obvious the younger the woman is the more healthy children she could bring into the union."

But at what age will older men finally give up the dream?  At what age will men say, I may not have those children I always dreamed about?  And even if I were to find the perfect relationship with someone willing and able to bear those children, I may never live long enough to play soccer with my children or to see them graduate college.  And the chances are, I'll never live long enough to witness my children's children.  At what point do I instead, look for a compatible mate.  Someone who remembers the Beatles, appreciates life's moments, and with whom I can ride through life's roller coaster with, into the golden years.  Someone who will make me a part of her life and share her children and grandchildren with me.

But, no, the matchmaker said.  Don't ask, don't tell.  Don't let them know your age.  Don't tell them about your pride in your progeny.  At least not at first.  Let them get to know you -- have them fall in love with your warm smile and intelligence.  Let them love you for you.

But don't you understand - Now I AM a grandmother.  That IS me.  I'm a grandmother - even though I don't look the part.  And I love my grandson.  He is the crown jewel in my tiara, as are each of my children.  Is there really a good reason for not wearing my beautiful diamonds with pride?

So I amended my profile on the dating site and wrote about my pride and my love for my grandson and my children.  These are life moments that matter - that define me as a full-fledged woman and as a human being. If a man has an aversion to dating a loving, caring woman who has, to her credit, raised a child to be a tender, loving father, and who is proud to write about it, well, he is not a man I would ever want to marry.  Matchmakers be damned!

You're on (Candid) Camera

A horrible video is circulating this week featuring semi-inebriated American youth in Israel cursing out our president.  The video was horrible on SO many different levels - so distressing that I know Jews who refused to comment on it, fearful of bringing more publicity to an already overexposed disaster.

But as an orthodox Jewish woman, I believe that I cannot remain silent.  I will not link to the video or name it in any way.  Those who have seen it know, and those who haven't can take my word for it.  It's horrible.

You see, as orthodox Jews, we know that we are scrutinized--not just by the public that waits for us to slip.  As people of "the book"--"chosen people"--we are always on trial in the public court, but any truly spiritual, orthodox soul knows that we are under constant scrutiny--by G-d.  The cosmic video camera is recording us every minute of every day--from the second we awaken, until we say our bedtime prayers.  And the recording is locked in a hard drive that will outlast the most durable data storage system on the planet.  It will follow us from one lifetime to the next and every action will beg the question, "Did you sanctify my name? Did you use the physical tools I gave you to bring light to the world? Let's roll that videotape!"

What a miraculous age we live in.  Information flows like water.  Every word we utter shoots across the cosmos at the speed of light.  And now, the world looks on in disgust at drunk and unthinking children making uneducated and random "so-called" political statements.  Because these children are Jewish--and orthodox--the statements are given credence as public statements.  Indeed, as Jews, we should already know that every word we utter in public or in private is a public statement.  We are all PR representatives for the Client of all Clients.  So when I see our youth behaving in complete disregard, not just of a camera pointed at them in a bar and the capacity that video has to be broadcast over endless social networks ad nauseum, but of a Higher Power that watches and judges--and has great expectations of them--as a PR person and a Jew, I find it disappointing, deplorable, and horrible.

Does the awareness of our underlying and constant scrutiny come about with age?  Not necessarily.  How many middle-aged folks are caught doing horrible things--Ponzi schemes, adultery, murder...So, how does one "tune in" to the awareness that we are forever being recorded for life.  That every moment will bring a complete accounting--not on YouTube but beyond.  And how do we bring this into perspective for our kids?  This video put us on trial with the general public.  And the results are horrible.  We are ALL being condemned.

It was a rude awakening.  Our children need to sharpen their awareness of the G-d who watches over them.  Their parents need to figure out why, in spite of a Yeshiva education that brought these kids to Israel, that message seems to have missed its mark.  Every Jewish person on the planet has to introspect and emerge "Al Kiddush Hashem" - with the realization that one must SANCTIFY G-d's name - not desecrate it.  Every moment.  Of every day.  In public.  In private.  Because we were put here to be examples.  Of everything that is holy and good.  Every minute of every day that we spend in this lifetime.  On facebook, on youtube, on twitter, in life.

The New Fear Factor - LIFE!

Today our Vice President warned the nation to stay out of confined spaces - subways, airplanes, anywhere people congregate in closed places and, whatever you do, avoid that sneeze!  Swine Flu: the latest scare to hit the American people. 

It's not enough that the headlines make people afraid to spend a dollar on a carton of milk, lest they face bankruptcy in a month or two, now we face the new fear factor - walking into an elevator!

Now, please correct me if I'm wrong, but we have faced diseases before--some that make Swine Flu look like a mere tickle in the throat.  Anthrax, ebola, the black plague, salmonella--plagues exist and will continue to do so until drug companies figure out how to eradicate them.  And then, another plague will hit, because the very nature of viruses and bacteria is to mutate.  That's what they do.  That is how they were created.  How amazing it is, when you give it some thought.

But to urge the nation to stay out of confined places?  WHO IS WRITING YOUR SCRIPT, MR. BIDEN?  We are a nation living in fear.  And you just made it worse!  Oh ye of little faith, don't you realize whence it all comes -- illness, sustenance, life?  How stupid are we that we are afraid to fuel the economy, give charity, spend money, face the declining markets and how idiotic that we think that if we stay out of confined places or wear silly masks we can avoid an illness.

The bottom line is, that each of our financial plights is determined by a much higher force than the people who rule the financial markets.  The collapse of our hallowed institutions and the auto industry show us how silly it was to believe that any company infrastructure was solid and stable.  And our health is not controlled by those who manufacture drugs and masks, or by physicians or medical researchers.  The sooner we realize that we are not in charge of determining how much money we have or will have and whether we will walk out the door and get hit by an ice cream truck or inhale Swine flu germs and die, the sooner we will be able to walk anywhere without fear and with a dollar in our pocket.

I feel sorry for Joe Biden.  He clearly is afraid to move.  But his bogeyman - the dreaded virus - is not the thing to fear.  Because every day we face a universe that could collapse in a moment and cease to exist.  When we recognize The One who keeps it intact, only then, with a healthy dose of fear and acknowledgement for the perfect world He has created--then the fact that we continue to thrive in spite of the many things that threaten us, may contribute to restoring our finances and our health to a state of relative normalcy. 

Stupid Guy Tricks

The Internet is an astonishing way to learn about people--particularly if you are single and dating.  I have researched boyfriends, potential boyfriends, found out about their ex-wives and former girlfriends, their children, and I've outed two-timers, all using the handy-dandy world wide web.  And, no, it's not stalking - it's simple research to see WHO is behind the "Hi" on that social website.  These are safety procedures for our bodies, minds and hearts.

Most amazing is that there are some mighty deceitful men whose tangled web antics leave such an illuminated electronic trail behind, it may as well be NEON!  Here are some "stupid guy tricks" perpetuated on networking sites that have made me wonder - what WERE they thinking?

• Dating Site Dummy - A prominant physician dates two girls in two different cities simultaneously, promising to marry them both.  Only problem is - he met them on the same dating site--a small one where people get to know each other.  Both women meet each other through a mutual platonic friend from the same dating site and compare notes  They realize that he has been spending alternate weekends with each of them (claiming to be with his children on the "other" weekend).  It's a small world on some dating sites.  Anonymity only goes so far! DUH!
• Tell a Friend Freak - This same man moves on to greener pastures (dumping both dating site women) - but this time he logs onto Facebook, and he "friends " two new women that he happens to be currently two-timing, er, dating.  Talk about social networking, the first women - now a tag team - find his Facebook friends, message them and "out" Dr. Kildare to both new women (after they confirm, that YES, he is repeating his pattern--talking marriage with the new matching set of women in different cities, of course). Hint: When you "friend" someone, she's there for all to see! Even the "other."
• Wall Eraser - You think you have a warm and fuzzy relationship of sorts with him so you post a "warm and fuzzy" note on his wall about how you can't wait to finally meet him--and you're SO glad he's coming to see you, only to find the post vaporize moments after you posted it.  Guess he has the same sort of warm and fuzzy relationship with several other women.  And he must think you're pretty dumb not to figure out why that post disappeared!  Guess again!
• Facebook Lothario - He friends you from nowhere on Facebook, and appears to be friends with a whopping 13 of your friends.  "Who IS this guy?" you wonder, and you shoot him a note asking him if you know him.  His response is, "No, but you looked cute and I'd like to know you."  Only problem is, he's been using that line with all the women on your friends' list.  It only takes a few short emails, IMs or TMs until you have touched bases with your girlfriends to figure out you're dealing with a Facebook Lothario.  Next!

These are just a few "Stupid Guy Tricks" used by some to dip into the Internet Candy Box of single women.  All I can say to the guys who are reading this is - don't try this at home - at least not on me.  They won't work!  Once burned, twice learned.

What We Sow...

I find these days I am spending a lot of my time "planting" seeds I hope will bear fruit someday.  The economy and a generally "sluggish" period, allows me to focus on sowing - many more seeds than I generally would sow, so that just a few of them might sprout.  And because I never know just which will be the flowers, more is better--just keep those seeds a sprinkling in many different areas of my proverbial "garden."

That means that my average day tends to be diffused.  I allocate time to research and development, to sharpening my skills and to networking--both on and offline with old contacts and new ones.  I find that everyone seems to be in a similar scramble-mode these days, although many choose not to admit it. Like fishermen or hunters, they don't want to reveal where they plan on snaring their "big catch" and if you ask them, they will tell you that everything is just fine and they're not hunting at all, but rather are - taking a nice boat ride or walk in the woods to "rejuvinate."

You can be sure they are scrambling along with the rest of the safari, perhaps venturing out into uncharted territories.  One thing you can be certain of, there are still uncharted territories, money is still available to be made and some will come up with a bountiful harvest, after all the seeds are sown and the crop is grown.

No More Crumbs...A Post Passover Treatise

It astounds me how much wisdom can be gleaned by studying Torah - the Jewish Bible.  My mind opens up like a flower as I delve into the ancient secrets compiled and transmitted by Moses.  Every word is as relevant today - to ME - as it was thousands of years ago to my forebears wandering in the desert.

So, Passover is a holiday that is not designated a celebration - like Sukkot and Shavuot (please don't ask me to name these holidays in English...).  It is a holiday that constitutes work and remembrance.  Work that today consists of cleaning out every crumb in our life and remembrance of times that were hard - really really hard to endure.  Our lives were made miserable and we screamed in pain.  And G-d heard us and answered us.  We bless the matzo each year - the bread of affliction - not once but TWICE!  Unlike ordinary bread that we bless just once.  Perhaps to remember that especially when we are experiencing affliction, G-d is with us and we know that everything has a reason, a time, a season.  "This too shall pass," King David advised his son, Solomon.  When things are up, they will change.  When things are down they will change.  Life is not static.  The soul is as motile as an elevator.

This Passover, for me, was real.  I came face-to-face with mortality - dealing with my aging and declining parents.  I realize that life is way too short.  I'm not getting younger.  As they age, I age.  I felt the pain of their aging.  And the loneliness of mine.  And I blessed G-d - even though I have my challenges.  We all do.  Different challenges.  Afflictions, yes.  But He has a plan.  Of that, I am certain.

In preparation of Passover, I went through my cabinets and got rid of the half-eaten bags of pretzels, half used flour sacks, the yeast I used to leaven my weekly challot.  And with those changes, I made some emotional adjustments as well.  I resolved to rid myself of relationships that were "crumbs" - I've had a number of those aging on shelves.  The guy who calls once every three months for a date when he is in the neighborhood...not good enough for me.  The guy who calls every day but can't seem to find time to actually come and meet me - if he were serious about a relationship, we'd have met long ago.  The one who says his busy profession takes a toll on his time, but frequents the dating site in the interim--gone with a sweep of a feather.  All lovely men.  All totally not serious about a relationship - at least not serious about a relationship with ME.  Crumbs.  Yup. I burned them all with the leavening.  They are dust in the wind.  Owner-less...I don't want them. 

So today, having made it through Passover, having prayed, thanked G-d for the hope He gives me through all the tests and travails I might face, I move on to bake anew.  New me.  New relationships.  New outlooks.  More studying, more heartfelt  prayers, more attention to myself, my parents, my diet, my exercise and to my goals - in life, in relationships and in Torah.

Bad Daughter, part 2

I did what I always tell others to do.  When you're feeling stretched, pulled by all and overwhelmed, take time for yourself.  My father was asleep and my mother was getting dressed.  The house was finally quiet.  So I suited up, snuck downstairs to the basement and hopped on the treadmill.  After three days of doing nothing but taking care of everyone else (and eating myself into matzo comas) I figured some "Judy time" was long overdue.

I'm getting into a groove after 45 minutes, sweating and feeling good, really starting to hit the wall, my music blaring, when the song switches, and I hear a voice behind me.  "Do you have a radio that I can listen to?"

I shrieked and my heart rate accelerated.  My father, in his sweet but mouse like fashion was standing right behind the treadmill, longingly looking at the stereo that blared my exercise music.

"I want to know what's going on in the world," he said. 

After I composed myself and caught my breath - and my heart stopped pounding, I told him I'd set him up with a computer to listen to as soon as I finished my workout.  He stood behind me patiently.  "Later," was not the answer he wanted.  He wanted a radio and he wanted it now.  He wanted MY radio.

"Bad daughter," my conscience scolded me.  "Get off the treadmill and lug the stereo upstairs.  Respect your parents.  The Torah says so."

But a part of me said, NO - you have to draw boundaries.  If you don't fasten your own oxygen mask, how will you be able to be there for everyone else who needs you.

I have to be honest.  I don't have the answer to this one.  Perhaps it's payback for the times I stood, crying by a closed bathroom or bedroom door when I was a toddler, screaming for something I wanted from my parents now, now, NOW!  Or perhaps it's just a rite of passage.  A way of teaching me that as much as I've "separated" from my parents, I will never really be able to fully disengage.

Their needs, my needs, our needs...it's all one big melting pot.  I just don't want to lose myself in the proverbial witches brew...

Being a Good Daughter is SO Hard!

I'm finally the proverbial Skippy peanut butter in the sandwich generation of my life.  I'm squished between my two teenagers, twenty-something man-child, and my aging parents, and oh, how I wish I was back at the no-sleep, screaming baby stage, when all I could do was nurse and complain about being sleep-deprived.  As tough as that stage was, this one is way tougher.  I'm getting it from both ends.

While I am grateful for every moment and every holiday spent with my parents, having them in tandem with my children all under my roof  for the holidays is very, very challenging.  I find myself confronted with ghosts of holidays past - thinking back to the "good old days" when my parents were in charge and functioned as full-fledged adults.  These days, they are helpless, it seems.  They depend on me for everything - from accompaniment to places they need to go, to basic instruction on how to set the table, to simple reminders to take care of themselves (bathe, dress, exercise, stick to their diets).

My diabetic father eyes the pastries I baked, looking for an opportunity to sneak a cookie.  "I bought you sugar-free cookies," I remind him.  "But those look so good," he said sadly, grabbing a chip as soon as I turn my back.  I know how much sugar I used to make them--I made them for the kids.  These will make him sick.  And all the diet goodies I bought him don't look half as enticing as the "baddies."  But he is the proverbial child with his hand in the cookie jar, and I feel like I'm parenting my father.

Despite their good intentions, my parents seem to be ever underfoot, standing in doorways as I navigate the kitchen with hot soup, hovering over my shoulder as I wash dishes or retrieve email.  When I walk with them, I have to watch over them, much like I did when my children were very young, making sure that they don't trip on potholes in the street or stumble over bumps in the sidewalk.  Only, with my children, I looked forward to a day when they would grow up to be strong and steady on their feet.  And now they are somewhat grown, quite strong, and with their newfound independence, my children come at me with guns blazing.  Meanwhile, on the other side of the sandwich, every bit as emotionally strong-willed, demanding and insistent as they ever were when they were the people that kept ME from tripping and falling, my parents just seem to get physically weaker and less able to process the simplest suggestion. 

As I watch my children balk at my suggestions and input, I see myself balking at my parent's suggestions--just as I did when I was my kids' age.  "Why don't you try to become a teacher?" my mother, a longtime teacher, suggests.  "That would be a good job for you.  You'd be a wonderful teacher." 

"Mom, I'm a marketing consultant, not a teacher," I inform her, just barely holding in the desire to scream.

Both sets of "wonder bread" have their own ways of doing things, and neither seems to value or discern that I, squished in the middle, have developed systems and boundaries that have worked for me.  My household has its protocols--and to date those systems have worked--the napkin and forks go on the left, knives and spoons on the right, we make sure not to stop up the toilet--and we wait until I can free myself up when I'm taking 2 badly-needed minutes for myself.  No, Mom, I do not have a clothesline, I have a clothes dryer - and, no, Mom, it won't eat up your support hose, I promise.  Here's a net bag.  You've never heard of a net bag. Oh, never mind!

I want SO badly to be a good daughter!  And I feel horribly guilty that I'm failing miserably!

Honoring one's parents is a commandment and I, as a religiouswoman, am working really really hard to comply.  But, G-d, this is one lollapalooza of a tough commandment!  I know I should be doing things for my parents with joy, knowing that someday, those same children who are slamming doors in my face, will face the same commandment and remember not to cast me away in my old age.  Ya think?

Made the Treats - Now DON'T Eat!

 

Me and My New Shoes:  Post-workout bliss!

Passover prep is well underway with the almost 24-hours to Seder and counting.  Today I baked.  Not with ordinary ingredients, but with Passover substitutes.  It's amazing how many gooey, gunky, sugary treats you can make without flour, yeast and baking powder.

This year Judy's bakery includes this amazing sponge/almond roulade with amaretto/apricot cream inside and melted chocolates and ground almonds on top, a walnut meringue cake with truffle fudge topping, a sponge cake, a chocolate cake, a chocolate nut torte and about 600 "taste like chometz" chocolate chippies.  And as I separated eggs, beat whites, poured in practically five pounds of sugar, melted chocolate, I cannot tell a lie--the little voice in my head said, "Just Do It!"

Darlene wrote on my Facebook Wall and indicated she would like to know how these baddies play into the "diet."  Well, guess what - they don't!  Sorry, I have not yet figured out how to eat any of these things and still manage to keep the weight off.  The only trick I've learned is to make things that I typically don't love.  But Passover time, especially the first few days, all those exotic cakes take on a new appeal.  So what's a dieter to do?

Well, to counteract the negative sweets (which my hungry family, pregnant daughter-in-law and umpteen guests will no doubt find quite "positive"), I did something tonight - this eve before Passover.  I took my daughter to the Nike store at the Westchester mall, cashed in on some American Express Membership rewards, and bought us both new running shoes.  Just being in the Nike store, and talking to the cool personal trainer who ran through the shoe inventory to find me some great shoes at excellent prices, made me ache for the treadmill.  Like NOW!  We talked about Kettlebell workouts, kickboxing, all the activities that due to Passover prep mode have taken a major back burner - and I came back with brand new sneakers and a desire, not to taste the treats in my bursting-at-the-seams kitchen, but to burn some calories before the holiday begins.  That will keep ME from bursting at the seams!

So excuse me all while I lace up and hit the treadmill and elliptical!   I'm psyched!