From the Haze of Anaesthesia

I took The Husband to the oral surgeon this morning. Following a horrendous experience with a dead tooth, damaged nerve, and a subsequent extraction, he had an implant inserted into the hole where the tooth once lived. This isn't the first time that he has had this procedure, so both of us are experienced in the method and the aftercare. I went along for the ride because given the fact that he was placed under a general anaesthetic, driving himself would have been a criminal offence and cause for a flunked sobriety test.

Aside from absolutely freezing in the waiting room, (it is really cold here today and the office air conditioning was still on) the procedure went like clockwork. After it was over, the nurse came to pry my frozen butt from the chair and led me into the recovery room where The Husband was just coming  down off of the juice. Call me a miserable wife, but I always get a kick out of this time alone with him. He is absolutely goofy and loopy and he says the craziest things that he never remembers sober. Today was no exception. And so I thought I'd share a few of today's gems with the masses. (In light of the continual mess swirling around Toronto City Hall, I would like to offer the following qualification. This is what hard drugs do to a very intelligent and soft-spoken man. Imagine what they could do to our loveable Mayor MacCheese. So kids, a warning....don't do crack!)

• As I first walked into recovery, The Husband, all droopy-eyed and puffy in the cheeks, said in a very loud and slurring voice "Take off your shirt, I want to play!" That's my guy!
• He was connected to a heart monitor that was fastened to his index finger. Unbeknownst to either me or the nurse, he pulled it off causing an alarm to sound. He told me "Fix the radio. I want to hear Q107."
• Lying on the table and drooling blood, he decided that it was a great time to take out his phone. Of course he couldn't see anything because he wasn't wearing his glasses, but he proceeded to magnify his mail and read the entire e-signature from a friend, complete with address and phone number. Why this was urgent, I will never know.
• After the nurse sat him up, he decided that just sitting there didn't provide him with enough distraction. "I'm bored," he declared. "Get me a toy!" He then grabbed the sphygmomanometer (blood pressure cuff for all of you luddites) and started squeezing it....hard!
• The nurse came in to brief me on the aftercare. He actually thought that she was talking to him and kept answering her with the same non-sequetor after each instruction. "Scotch." It is kind of nice to know that at least he is consistent whether plastered or sober.
• And just to complete the experience, as I helped him on with his jacket he grabbed my breast. It's a guy thing. I suppose I should be happy that it was me who helped him instead of the nurse.

The meds are now wearing off and he has gone from goofy to cranky. It's ok. For a brief moment in time, The Husband could actually have pulled off a stand-up routine.

Passion

It is obvious that we can no more explain passion to a person who has never experienced it than we can explain light to the blind. ~T.S Eliot

I have been thinking a great deal about passion lately; how we live our lives either consumed in it or totally devoid of it. We tell our children to find that thing, that essence, that almost indescribable entity that will bring unfettered enthusiasm to their lives, and then we send them out into the cold dark reality and say "Now, go and try make a living doing it!" (insert cold water shower here!)

Please don't misunderstand me. For those of us fortunate enough to find our "passion" and live the dream, there can be nothing better. We see our jobs as vehicles for a higher purpose. We have managed to turn our hobbies into loves and our fascinations into eager excitements. We enjoy the journey as much as the destination. Wouldn't we all love to say that we have lived our passions?

The Husband can. And so can his best friend and business partner Twin Son of a Different Mother. They have been involved in a passionate labour of love for almost seven years and this weekend we hope to begin to see the fruits of that labour. I cannot adequately express how much pride, love, and admiration I have for these two forward thinkers. It isn't as though a simple bottle of newly released artisan whisky will bring about world peace or cure cancer, but it has brought a renewed sense of spirit (no pun intended!) and fire to The Husband about which most of us can only dream. He is invigorated, energized, and revitalized every single day that he goes to work. How many of us can actually say that?

It hasn't been easy. Worthwhile endeavours rarely are. And while Mr. Eliot had trouble explaining passion, I think that after watching The Husband over these many years, I might be able to aid in the definition.

Passion is doing something you love when you have no knowledge or expectation of financial reward. You want it, hope for it, and pray for it, but you continue to do it knowing that the money may or may not be there in the end.

Passion is found in the sheer joy of the daily experience and not necessarily in the payoff.

Passion is the continuation of the dream when everybody around you is telling you that you are bat-shit crazy!! (That list includes family, friends, spouses, critics, strangers, government bodies and too many others to mention.)

Passion is fighting through the roadblocks set up to deter you from the dream.

Passion is rejoicing in the incremental steps forward.

Passion is allowing for the nutty and off-the-wall ideas to flourish.

Passion is the excitement you feel when that first bit of praise, that first Twitter RT, that first Facebook like comes in and provides you with a small pat on the back.

Passion is the animation in your voice, the light in your eyes, the childlike exuberance you exude when discussing your project.

Passion is defined by your creativity and finds its genesis in your self-worth. 

To The Husband and Twin Son.....I toast to your passion. 

Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha-olam

Shecheiyanu v'kimanu, v'higiyanu lazman hazeh

Blessed are You Adonai our God Ruler of the Universe

Who has given us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this day!

Petitioning the Petition

I just received a link from a friend of mine for an online petition. This particular cause is actually one that is close to my heart. It purports to attempt to save the beleaguered Canadian Jewish News from extinction. After 42 years of service to the Jewish community, the CJN has found itself in much the same position as many other print publications, (some much larger papers with far bigger circulation numbers) and has announced that it will be shutting down in two months time. I want to state up front that I am a regular reader and a paid subscriber of the CJN and have been for a very long time. And while I do take issue with some of its editorial policies and its tendency to ignore or act dismissive of Reform synagogues not named Holy Blossom, I am a supporter of the paper and its mandate. So what I am about to state might strike many of you as odd.

This petition is silly.

I get that we as a community are upset about the loss of an institution. We should be. But signing an online petition like this one accomplishes absolutely nothing.

Who are you petitioning? The publishers? Don't you think they want to save the paper and the jobs of the people who work for it?

Who are you hoping will be affected by this petition? A donating angel? Good luck with that. Why would any single person throw good money into what is obviously a losing enterprise?

The CJN's problems are many. They have a shrinking advertising base that has become convinced that there are better ways to reach their target audiences than by placing a (frankly!) very expensive quarter to half page in a weekly with a small circulation. Their online edition is poor at best, with a difficult to navigate site, little advertising (MONEY!!) per se, and chunks of the paper aren't even available there. They have been slow off the mark with social media and don't do a great job with either their Facebook or Twitter feeds. Their core readership is aging and they are obviously having trouble attracting younger subscribers. And don't even get me started with the homogeneity of their columnists and editorials. Differing perspectives on a wide range of topics would be nice! These problems aren't new. Ask The Toronto Star, The New York Times, The Globe and Mail or any of the other thousands of print publications that have recently hidden content behind paywalls. The internet has changed the way newspapers function and those that have been slow to react are paying the price.

But why is the petition silly?

Because it does nothing to address the core problems that the CJN is facing. If every one of those signing were to subscribe, my guess is it still wouldn't be enough. Are you signatories all willing to pony up? Are you willing to put your money where your names are? Are you willing to advertise? Are you willing to pay for content? Are you willing to donate? Are you willing to fund this proposition?

The CJN is worth saving in spite of the issues that I have outlined. As a Canadian Jew, I want a publication that informs and provokes and provides needed data for my community. But it also needs to adapt itself to the realities of the twenty-first century.

Sorry folks. Let's find a better way to help than an entreaty that isn't even worth the bytes spent typing our names.

What to Do When the Lights Go Out?

What is the one thing in this world that you could not possibly live without? Now don't get all spiritual on me. I'm not talking about the obvious stuff like food, shelter, clothing, love, family, health, companionship etc. Those things are givens and go without saying. I am delving into the extraordinarily selfish and materialistic side of all of us. The one thing that when push comes to shove you couldn't be without. Is it your car? Your TV? Maybe it is your phone? For me, there is simply no debate. The one thing that I cannot stand to be without is power. Not power in a political or family dynamic sense, but real plug-in-the-wall, the fuses are all working, don't stick your finger in the socket power. Nothing sets me more on edge and causes me more anxiety than a power outage.

At the very moment that I am putting these words to paper, (yes paper! With an actual pen!) I am suffering through yet another blackout up here in the North Jewish Ghetto. Weather related power outages occur with some regularity in my neighbourhood due to the mid-Twentieth Century technological idiocy of constructing above ground power lines next to mature trees. Whenever a major storm happens, winter or summer, Mother Nature sees fit to drop a limb, branch, or trunk onto said electrical-bearing connections, leaving half of this part of the city in the dark and cold. Today's April nastiness is no exception, and I have been left to putter in the eerie stillness that is my house for the last hour and a half.

Think about all that is dependent on power. The lights are the obvious, but modern technology has tethered us inextricably to all of those coursing volts. I can't make a phone call unless I use my cell phone, which I can't use too much lest the battery drains and I cannot recharge it because I have no power. (We do have an analogue phone with a hard-wired jack that we keep handy for these situations, but for some reason it isn't working right now either. We think that the cable guys might have messed with it during their last visit. Of course, one only discovers these things during a crisis!) I can't cook. The oven is out, as is the microwave. I don't want to open the fridge or freezer too often because I am trying to keep the food within as fresh as possible. I do have a gas stove, so that is something. If we are still in the dark come dinnertime we certainly won't starve, but it will definitely be somewhat more challenging.

It is starting to get cold in here. I have been reading with some amusement, some Facebook statuses from friends in the south who are complaining about the heat and their lack of air conditioning. I'll take being hot over being cold any day. Wanna trade?

I had just finished working out when the lights went out. I haven't yet been able to shower, mostly because our bathroom is rather dark and I am a bit concerned for my safety. That, and the total vanity that goes along with not being able to dry my hair. I am not usually high maintenance.....except when it comes to my hair. No blow dryer equals no public appearance.

I can't do housework. No laundry or vacuuming. Small blessings? I can't spring clean the closets which has been on my to-do list. Too dark. I need a flashlight to read and all of my electronic diversions such as computer, recorded music, television, Internet and the like are all power-dependent. Nope. Being without power is truly a first world 21st Century problem.

We have done this to ourselves. We have become totally power-dependant. Our grandparents never seemed to freak out when the lights when out. What did they do to keep themselves busy in these situations? Could it be that they actually talked to one another?? They inquired after each other's well-being and expressed interest into what they were doing? Or maybe, they just enjoyed each other's company. Stunning!

I am not usually a nostalgic person. But I do admit to being a bit freaked out by how much I am at the mercy of Power Stream. Maybe some things were actually better in the "good old days." Or maybe I just need to simplify my life a bit more. I have had my eye on a really nice throwback rotary phone I recently saw on Ebay. Too bad I can't order it until the power is restored.

Posted with Blogsy

A Really Good Friday

I have spent the better part of today staring at the morass that is my backyard pool. As the snow and ice continue to melt off in the relative heat (?) of a late March sun, the putrid brown water that has replaced them is a certain sign that spring is on the way. And with that ever-increasing pond scum comes the surest symbol of the changing season....the annual arrival of the mallards.

Over the last number of years, The Husband has taken to awakening me in the early morning hours whenever he catches the first glimpses of our duck friends, and today was no exception. The returning couple arrived with a male friend in tow. A truly unusual occurrence for mallards who mate for life and don't like to introduce sparring partners into their relationships. If they form a threesome, it is most often two girls and a guy so that he can feel like some pumped-up lead in a porno flick. So when we saw the extra green head this morning, I couldn't help but to cheer wildly and with increased vigour for my feminist fowl friend.

The odd thing is, that as of this writing some 5 hours since we first spotted them in the pool, they are still here. And while the jealous boyfriend fought off his tenacious rival some time ago, the happy couple seems to have buried roots in my backyard. They are happily paddling, occasionally snoozing, quacking in good spirits, and seemingly searching for an adequate location to nest. It is as if they are test-driving the space. A condo for canards?

I have spent the better part of my day photographing them, staring at them with awe and wonder, and pondering how I might increase their happiness and comfort in an effort to get them to hang around just a little bit longer. I have found the entire experience very zen and extraordinarily calming. There is something so easy and relaxing about enjoying the minute and short glimpses of true natural beauty that living in the suburbs affords us. I have loved every second of this incredible Good Friday.

Put Me In Coach....

“Baseball is the most perfect of games, solid, true, pure and precious as diamonds. If only life were so simple. Within the baselines anything can happen. Tides can reverse; oceans can open. That's why they say, "the game is never over until the last man is out." Colours can change, lives can alter, anything is possible in this gentle, flawless, loving game.” 
― W.P. Kinsella, Shoeless Joe

Back in my teaching days, I always found it amusing trying to explain to young students about the holiday of Tu B'Shevat, the Jewish holiday celebrating trees. "The Birthday of the Trees," we would proclaim in loud enthusiastic voices, and then we would go about attempting to make planting of greenery relevant to pre-schoolers who were more than a little bit confused by the sight outside of their windows of snow and ice that are the norm in a Canadian January, as that is when this little gem of a celebration usually falls. "Well," I used to say. "Maybe it doesn't yet feel like spring outside here in Toronto, but in Israel there are signs of the season everywhere." This rationalization is exactly the method that we northern baseball fans use every single February when the Boys of Summer flock to their spring addresses, readying themselves for the always promising season that lay ahead. We may not be able to yet see or smell the grass, but we know that it is just around the corner because Spring Training has begun and tells us so.

It is one thing to fanaticize about once again sitting in the Dome with a scorecard in one hand and a beer in the other while still in the Great White North freezing one's kishkas blue, but it is a whole other experience to make the journey south to be with the lads as they begin their quest for the Holy Grail of October baseball. For the very first time in 37 years, I made that pilgrimage to watch my beloved bluebirds open the spring season. Older Son and I were fortunate enough to grab a couple of seats in the car with our dear friends and chauffeurs The Social Butterfly and his Sephora Girl, and we all headed the 4 1/2 hours north from The Southern Home. It is a baseball fan's dream. Truly. I know that I am gushing, but I am still giddy from the all too brief encounter with the boys.

The weather? It was a perfect 81 degrees. (Sorry Toronto!) The grass? Mowed and trimmed to perfection with just the hint of fragrance wafting into the stands. (Seriously Rogers! Time to spring for the real deal at the Dome. So necessary!) The players? Excited, nervous, open, engaging, and anticipatory. There is a real feeling of expectation this year and it isn't just amongst the fans. Being a Toronto sports fan, I find it difficult to get overly excited about pre-season prognostications, but this group has the talent. Here's hoping for good health, breakout seasons, and return to form. My son? Happier and more glowing than he has been in a very long time. He spent a great deal of time hanging out down at the fence trying to chat up the guys. While most just went about their business, I think he still got a contact high just from the close proximity.

A few random thoughts about the 48 hour excursion.

I loved the small town feel of Dunedin. It reminded me of Stratford Ontario; a town that is totally centred around one industry for a finite period of time every year. The Stadium is right down the middle of the main street and all of the locals seem consumed with the Blue Jays. If felt very different from the Phillies complex that we passed on the highway in Clearwater....big place in a big city. Dunedin feels like Anytown America, population in the thousands.

Stadium seats only about 4,800 people. They try to separate the visiting team fans to one side so that you don't have to fraternize.  Everybody becomes fast friends, even if they are cheering for the Red Sox.

I knew that I wasn't at the Dome when the PA announcer came on to advise us all that if a foul ball hit any of our parked cars, we would be gifted with a free chicken sandwich. Every time one of the guys managed to foul it off behind the plate, Older Son and I looked at each other and yelled "Chicken Sandwich!"

The Voldemort Skipper of that team wearing the red sox (he who shall not be named) was booed mercilessly when first announced, and again when he came out to deliver the lineup card. He is in for a very rough ride whenever the Beantowners visit this season.

Joey Bats cranked one in the first game. The good news? He pulled it to left, thus turning his formerly injured wrist over in the process. He looked good!

Mr. Knuckleballer has one weird pitch. He wasn't yet in mid-season form as he hadn't yet harnessed the  dancing ball, but his out pitch is odd, unreadable, and hard. He is a keeper.

As are both the pitchers that came over in the mega deal. Both were popping the glove at 95 mph regularly.

Mr. "I'm sorry for the drug use and won't ever do it again" cracked two doubles, one to the opposite field. If he can do that this season with regularity, he will be perfect in the 2 slot.

I loved watching the kids. There is an eagerness to all of them that reminded me of watching my nephew playing Little League. These guys are still in love with the game and it shows. Like John Fogerty wrote:


Got a beat-up glove, a homemade bat, and brand-new pair of shoes; 
You know I think it's time to give this game a ride. 
Just to hit the ball and touch 'em all - a moment in the sun; 
(pop) It's gone and you can tell that one goodbye! 

Baseball is back my friends and there is optimism in the air. I know that it is cold and miserable back home, but take heart.....summer is coming home with the Blue Jays.

"Baseball, it is said, is only a game. True. And the Grand Canyon is only a hole in Arizona. Not all holes, or games, are created equal." ~ George Will

Civil Discourse

During this time of Shabbatical, I have been consciously attempting to disengage myself from what I view as a myriad of toxic online behaviour, mostly in the realm of politics. I can't say that I am always successful at this, but I am trying. I have stopped visiting sites that have as their sole purpose the smearing of one political belief or another. I refuse to engage with Facebook or Twitter "friends" in their constant barrages of ugly partisan posts, nor have I passed on or shared such content. (I will admit to keeping the pressure on in support of Women of the Wall, but I view that struggle as much a religious fight as it is political.) It is no secret that I have strong opinions on many (most?) subjects that fall into this category, and very often I have used this space to express my displeasure, incredulity, or even disgust on a myriad of issues. I have rarely shied away from a civil discourse on any subject, provided that all opinions were taken into account, and slurs, epithets, and stereotypical categorization were avoided. But lately, I have found myself placed in the potentially awkward position of actually  "unfriending" a few of my Facebook and Twitter associates because of the lack of decorum that they have displayed in the troublesome language used in their posts. Why awkward? Well, some of these people are quite close to me in the real world. So, it is to these few that I address the following.

Dear Friend,

I have recently noted that you are quite active in the social media world, and as we are virtually connected, your posts and interests have become regular fixtures in my news feeds. I am always interested in the many voices and sides to the debates of the day, but please allow me to offer you a bit of advice if you hope to engage me, and others like me who are not necessarily on your side of the political divide, into reading what you have posted. (Note: I am speaking to both liberals and conservatives here!)

1. Using words like "hypocrite", "liar", "looney", "idiotic" or "doltish" in your pre-posting comment is likely to dissuade me from reading whatever it is you have put up. Insulting me before the fact is bad behaviour that is most likely to result in your post being flushed. 
2. Using past bad liberal behaviour (and there has been a ton!) as an excuse for present bad conservative behaviour (and there has been a ton!) or vice-versa is a straw man's argument that does nothing to move along the discourse. Stay in the present or I will probably just delete what you have posted.
3. Arrogance is never a good way to sway me to your side of the fence. If you have valid arguments, make them. But, please don't act and speak to me as if you are morally superior simply because we differ.
4. Personal attacks on any of our leaders will get you absolutely nowhere with me. Calling our mayor out for his corpulence is extremely bad form, as are jokes about our premier and her sexuality. Language matters and it is time that we all took a great deal more care in how we use it.

Rabbi SaraLeya Schley teaches:

Jewish mysticism teaches us that we are all essential parts of the One Soul, each of us sent into our lives to fulfill our unique soul missions. Without each and every one of us, the Great Name, Sh’mei Raba, is incomplete. When we each speak our unique truths from a place of centeredness and integrity, our words are indeed the words of the Living God, infused with the quality of Divine inspiration. Dialogue then becomes a spiritual practice in which we see and acknowledge each other as sparks of the Divine. We consciously open our hearts wide enough to hold diverse opinions, even those which seem to be so opposite to our own that we cannot imagine resolution. In this sanctuary, mishkan, of our unified hearts, holding each other in love and respect, we create - with our sacred intention and deep listening - the possibility of shalom and reconciliation and we can birth radically new solutions, heretofore never even imagined.

Look, friend. I am not suggesting that you and I will ever see eye to eye on politics. Our individual opinions are simply too ingrained. I am however, suggesting that I could possibly understand you better and see some merit in some of your viewpoints if only you might present the articles without ugly editorializing. If you find this beyond your comfort zone, I understand. But please also understand that our online relationship will come to an end. 

Yours in friendship and Shabbat Shalom,

Dawn