tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62546193637519975152024-03-12T23:52:35.224-04:00The Crone RangerMutterings & musings from the manically morphing mind of an estrogen deficient, menopausal, modern matriarch.sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.comBlogger157125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-67916075442864720722018-12-11T11:29:00.003-05:002018-12-11T11:29:48.777-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9r-T3MBKy8xPl217F5KMzatoiNj7Biv86Bh9BWyJlCkkwIUO0bwViCK2tKTAmHvqTQxwIV7TXqMP7CzydUuAcChIaFbpNP3Kg-9wpq1pw-F9tAfza4pCiUtvJspsAr6WnFDAi2pGq6xr/s1600/CF19EA82-F9CD-4C0D-A186-19527C3A7039.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9r-T3MBKy8xPl217F5KMzatoiNj7Biv86Bh9BWyJlCkkwIUO0bwViCK2tKTAmHvqTQxwIV7TXqMP7CzydUuAcChIaFbpNP3Kg-9wpq1pw-F9tAfza4pCiUtvJspsAr6WnFDAi2pGq6xr/s320/CF19EA82-F9CD-4C0D-A186-19527C3A7039.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Art.</div>
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So subjective.</div>
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This weekend, I vicariously experienced </div>
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Art Basel through the eyes of one of </div>
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Kaelin’s more colorful friends.</div>
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My tiny mind was totally blown</div>
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apart by the incredibly out there </div>
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Installations created with “art”</div>
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As their mutual</div>
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Muse.</div>
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From the paint-on-canvas</div>
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Through performance arts</div>
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I can not even inagine</div>
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Let alone comprehend,</div>
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Heaven forbid interpret ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIEWACOaTiJ5LsZMoZ1S-4RQseaBJ81iS-yARWukeSXOn_1qFiTbKwfn02U1GlNV7kKn2Bo9pTqHXPIEHOvV1byoxEu53MiIN9rhxG6Pt5u3nPEdpILWImzJgYZ-RaYKHFOco8tGQg78r8/s1600/925ED489-4158-492A-BACF-4272350DE8E8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIEWACOaTiJ5LsZMoZ1S-4RQseaBJ81iS-yARWukeSXOn_1qFiTbKwfn02U1GlNV7kKn2Bo9pTqHXPIEHOvV1byoxEu53MiIN9rhxG6Pt5u3nPEdpILWImzJgYZ-RaYKHFOco8tGQg78r8/s320/925ED489-4158-492A-BACF-4272350DE8E8.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
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So here is my homage to a</div>
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Master of multiple genres of</div>
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Pure art.</div>
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This picture was 3d, </div>
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One view, close lipped.</div>
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The other, a very deep</div>
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throat, mouthed </div>
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& SCREAMING.</div>
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sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-58033590295951842182016-03-13T14:11:00.002-04:002016-03-13T15:55:20.925-04:00Sunday Under the Oaks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0MNZyfY0sPEX1JY6ckn8kNav9tiWddxVzI9w_QAAhQug5S1EwUc5_YU6ZN5xsJUrh2Wna0B21PuWKjiBHtId2KN3sGiAbKqKlAaNywQgwxMiiN_uOo85u3V8SexUtDxOquuDqwe2gkgh/s1600/DSCF9103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0MNZyfY0sPEX1JY6ckn8kNav9tiWddxVzI9w_QAAhQug5S1EwUc5_YU6ZN5xsJUrh2Wna0B21PuWKjiBHtId2KN3sGiAbKqKlAaNywQgwxMiiN_uOo85u3V8SexUtDxOquuDqwe2gkgh/s320/DSCF9103.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Ahhhrizona sunrise.</div>
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How magnificent.</div>
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A Saguaro takes 45 years to grow </div>
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a new limb.</div>
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I am so at peace in desert settings.</div>
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At least during the day </div>
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With good shoes, hat & water.</div>
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As we sprung forward in time</div>
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While sleeping</div>
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I woke up, oddly refreshed as if I </div>
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Never got used to falling back</div>
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Great morning to go to annual</div>
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Under the Oaks art show</div>
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Nice & eaely</div>
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While natives are still in prayer</div>
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In chuch</div>
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I worshiped at altar of creativity</div>
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And self expression.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_mkBkM52x1b5kd3QQrvendRmxUYGNf0UFjnuyOfd9Q-To72FYYCuwSg_09v16pFAiIwybarbvjpB5_VUK8XsXcwFxOcm9RfFnFqsztpqUXnv_ubo1YWLOFOsL7Yw-sqVYth83BHFOfHKj/s1600/DSCF2733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_mkBkM52x1b5kd3QQrvendRmxUYGNf0UFjnuyOfd9Q-To72FYYCuwSg_09v16pFAiIwybarbvjpB5_VUK8XsXcwFxOcm9RfFnFqsztpqUXnv_ubo1YWLOFOsL7Yw-sqVYth83BHFOfHKj/s320/DSCF2733.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Continuing to observe this years owl brood.</div>
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Not 100% sure if original </div>
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Or second generation</div>
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Taking up breeding residence.</div>
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Always magic</div>
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All over again</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPPS3-d4K3a8UF_8Yk6esYRi6xtf4vTMoBmAu3xr1-z6WdmieluNc3IfQPgP30Q64mO4Tf0HcDN3HB4r7COPrqpMY2A2F39XFqpHlzhK1DD2mluQRzshT_n58VGzLaAaVWj85pNO7vvEmL/s1600/DSCF7269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPPS3-d4K3a8UF_8Yk6esYRi6xtf4vTMoBmAu3xr1-z6WdmieluNc3IfQPgP30Q64mO4Tf0HcDN3HB4r7COPrqpMY2A2F39XFqpHlzhK1DD2mluQRzshT_n58VGzLaAaVWj85pNO7vvEmL/s320/DSCF7269.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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And then I found this.</div>
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That wld be me exercising visualization</div>
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With Vic.</div>
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Vic's target on top.</div>
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Not bad for a Jewish girl</div>
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First time with that firearm.</div>
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Zen and the art of target shooting.</div>
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<br />sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-49412590322825915722016-03-12T19:14:00.001-05:002016-03-12T19:16:15.011-05:00The viel is lifting. Whoot!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Look hoo's back</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQLvKoYhGh7IbbiTlnJHfBcfjSc8blLDOlsL2NW_bH7mO4KExhQrmqKnupHTvOyNzazaKzxdzN0Jnj3UylNP3ORB9Yl2pzUeUQI4Stq9XiOtxenPBI2E2Jmv8akJJwK048ARR3epiRqo3K/s1600/DSC00012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQLvKoYhGh7IbbiTlnJHfBcfjSc8blLDOlsL2NW_bH7mO4KExhQrmqKnupHTvOyNzazaKzxdzN0Jnj3UylNP3ORB9Yl2pzUeUQI4Stq9XiOtxenPBI2E2Jmv8akJJwK048ARR3epiRqo3K/s320/DSC00012.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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And so am I</div>
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Only now I return</div>
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As a bone fide, ordained minister</div>
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I'm now Sista Minista</div>
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Lordy, lordy</div>
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Who knows where this blog will go now</div>
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A sleeper awakens</div>
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sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-82924040203790583192015-02-05T16:36:00.001-05:002015-02-05T16:36:16.825-05:00My personal neuroscientific challenge <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Have decided to perform an experiment on myself.</div>
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Having watched a fabulous program onBBC Four in the UK called "The Joy of Mozart", I have decided to listen to all of the Man's work according to the K-listing, from 1-636.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6Olk6CdOmg0YC2CbDyoX4vEkC49Jay5ZWaOtwEUaLdgb7Zf1UtFueL7gOw8hVVtdpakFWhMlRKKdGXxrWOs13t7VoRkfjhSa9h96LhVWbdRv-emXyZFgNQzuYNFmNK-e_2GiHSdDQEXp/s1600/IMG_9830.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6Olk6CdOmg0YC2CbDyoX4vEkC49Jay5ZWaOtwEUaLdgb7Zf1UtFueL7gOw8hVVtdpakFWhMlRKKdGXxrWOs13t7VoRkfjhSa9h96LhVWbdRv-emXyZFgNQzuYNFmNK-e_2GiHSdDQEXp/s1600/IMG_9830.PNG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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I am definitely one of,those peoples ho feel that Mozart was touched by G-d. His music touches in a literal, visceral way that I cannot explain.</div>
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So let's see what happens when I expose myself to a daily dose of Mozart for the next period of time.</div>
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I'll keep notes if I start levitating or the like.</div>
sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-66538154725843829252015-02-04T14:55:00.001-05:002015-02-04T15:01:13.755-05:00Come fly with me.<div style="text-align: center;">
I made it home! No kidding. I was going to get back no matter what. Snow? I would hose the wings myself.</div>
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No bad weather. No cold. No headache was going to prevent me from getting on board VS005<br />
seat 21k, (love the "k" seating) from LHR to the MIA.</div>
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I took full opportunity of my three suitcase advantage and just stuffed, threw or rolled assorted things around all the cases making them individually lighter!!! Ooh & aah!</div>
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Bliss to be picked up on time by Daniel, with whom I immediately proceeded to get into an argument. Yep, we , no HE missed the I95 exit and we were headed straight downtown Miami.<br />
We were about to encounter hell trying to double back. Not to mention the HOV lane which was bollarded off all the way until turnpike exit ...<br />
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After a couple of low blows hurled my way, to wit "There you go, Lili!" Daniel wld mercilessly, no fair, under the belt assault. </div>
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But I didn't really care because I was on my way home!!!</div>
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Cue Pharell's "Happy"<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mDskhxduN1I/VNJ3Dw9hIsI/AAAAAAAAJ0c/GOGMXWlSgaU/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mDskhxduN1I/VNJ3Dw9hIsI/AAAAAAAAJ0c/GOGMXWlSgaU/s1600/image.jpg" height="131" width="320" /></a></div>
"Pano" shot of view from my chair in Virgin lounge.<br />
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Many drinkers. So wasted on me! I am Ms Pots an Pots of Tea!<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4-d5Hm2t1Sg/VNJ3F4lpO2I/AAAAAAAAJ0s/VoHDfuB480M/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4-d5Hm2t1Sg/VNJ3F4lpO2I/AAAAAAAAJ0s/VoHDfuB480M/s1600/image.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Ok. It was tea time & head trip time. Yes, clotted cream & Russell Brand simultaneously.</div>
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Wheels down. I is home! USA! USA! </div>
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Best fucking place except perhaps gobs of money & Nekker Island!</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ClC88_c7gZQ/VNJ3KPyojyI/AAAAAAAAJ1A/5UFdfU9PTi4/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ClC88_c7gZQ/VNJ3KPyojyI/AAAAAAAAJ1A/5UFdfU9PTi4/s1600/image.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Ah, the beauty of a Florida is never wasted on me!</div>
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sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-7155531274346307452015-01-28T13:22:00.000-05:002015-01-28T13:22:00.012-05:00Remembering the liberation of jews, gypsies & gays: 1/27/19945-2015<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Found written on the wall of a concentration camp:</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-large;"><b>I believe in the sun</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-large;"><b>I believe in love</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-large;"><b>I believe in G-d</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-large;"><b>though He may be silent.</b></span></div>
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<br />sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-48911960740312531422015-01-28T13:12:00.000-05:002015-01-28T13:12:08.638-05:00I am so into bark ...<img src="https://scontent-a-lhr.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/10943645_10152834055509425_2202589145941165738_n.jpg?oh=0afdca283344fd8dc3d64313da7d847b&oe=55259D0D" />sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-32507497818011882942015-01-28T10:04:00.002-05:002015-01-28T13:09:45.813-05:00Polish Embassy<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.38; overflow: hidden;">
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Another event. Another embassy.</div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.38;">Last Wednesday, the Polish embassy presented a reading and debate of Michael Fleming's book, "Auschwitz, the Allies and Censorship of the Holocaust".</span></div>
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Falls right in line with "The Imitation Game" and the codes they broke which could have been used to win the war much sooner. Profoundly disturbing to know that both the British and </div>
<span style="line-height: 1.38;">American governments :knew" of the atrocities happening waiting 2 long years and millions of corpses later to take any action.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.38;">The event which I have been attending and the whole gamut of events, programs, radio, television, newspapers coverage leading up to the 70th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz are extremeely hard on me but I do it to honor my mother and in rememberance of family lost. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.38;">if Lili can hold up, I can.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.38;">The Polish ambassador is a dear and devoted friends of Lili's. He is seen escorting my mother up the beautiful staircase and sat her next to him.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.38;">Thinking of writing a book reviewing embassy buffets!</span></div>
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sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-60474841581872837832015-01-26T07:26:00.001-05:002015-01-26T07:53:09.795-05:00Let the "Shoah" begin.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Great Week of Remembrance has begun. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last week, I attended two events that kick off the full shebang this week which is Holocaust remembrance week. The Polish & German embassy both held evenings addressing different aspects of the Holocaust that was World War II.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Television has been jammed full of programming, from documentaries to movies chronicling the atrocities that took place between 1939-1945.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last night, I bit the biggest bullet of all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">BBC Four was running a marathon showing of Claude Lanzmann's epic 1985 series, "Shoah". In fact, I really avoided this type of programming as much as possible. Lili watches everything and sits, glued as if awaiting a different outcome.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> The 9 hour, 33 minute long documentary consists primarily of Lanzmann's interviews and visits to Holocaust sites across Poland, including three extermination camps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It presents the testimonies of selected survivors, local witnesses and German perpetrators. Many of the interviews were conducted using hidden cameras.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Definitely, something that was not even near the bottom of my "must see" binge watching list.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But during this significant time, I decided to bite the bullet and give it a go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I got three and a half hours into it and had to throw in the towel. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was having a very bad recurrence of my "Sophie's Choice" and "Shindler's List" reaction ... acute nausea, which in the cases of the movies actually manifested in full blown throwing up when we left the theatre on our way home. Terrible anxiety. Dreadfully disturbed. Pained to my core.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I speak a very broken and apparently unique Polish - mine. But it is good enough to get myself understood and can get by quite well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When Lili watches Polish television, it is hit and miss as to whether I understand it or not. When it is the news and current events, it gets difficult but when there is a documentary or series, I understand nearly everything.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Shoah" was directed by a French man and a large percentage of the documentary is simultaneously translated into French by one of the interpreters and has subtitles in English.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The so-called "Sophie's Choice" effect for me is when the people are speaking Polish, I completely understand them, do not listen to the translation and do not read the subtitles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This makes my personal experience much more visceral. It is local people talking the language of my parents and grandmother, particularly as they often came from the same region in Poland. It becomes much more personal. Much more intimate. Not all words translate accurately but for me, the picture becomes even more vivid. Alive. Real.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Shoah" is not a documentary for the feint hearted. Nor is it required viewing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But as the second generation of a small hand of survivors, I was finally compelled by a huge sense of Jewish & possibly survivors guilt that require me to sit, watch and listen to the morbidly gruesome details of the cold hearted murder of innocent, young, children. The SS mandated silence of the local residents surrounding some of the extermination camps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The pile upon piles of emaciated, skeletal bodies, being bulldozed into mass graves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The constant talk of the stench that can never be forgotten ...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is only so much the eye & mind can take.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tonight, it is off to the prestigious British Library where Lili is one of the 2 invited speakers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I suck up my own feelings in honor of my family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I suck up my own feeling because I am alive.</span></div>
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sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-51255842880016053562015-01-25T13:54:00.003-05:002015-01-26T07:28:16.450-05:00The Great West Ken Blackout of 24 January, 2015<br />
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Striking aerial picture shows swathe of west London plunged into darkness by blackout</h1>
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A huge chunk of west London was plunged into almost complete darkness </div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">An investigation was today launched into the cause of a blackout which left thousands of west London homes without electricity for more than two hours last night.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Police were called to major junctions as the outage knocked out traffic lights with motorists reporting long tailbacks on roads through West Kensington and Fulham.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Baron’s Court and West Kensington tube stations were closed and trains passed through without stopping.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Engineers from UK Power Networks were alerted at just before 8pm and spent two hours working to restore electricity.</span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-stretch: normal !important; outline: none;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They were today trying to establish the cause of the outage, which has been blamed on a fault in high-voltage underground cables.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Residents described “eery” scenes as streets were suddenly plunged into pitch dark.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="inline-image w620" style="outline: none;"><span class="inlineImageContainer leftAligned" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(217, 217, 217); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; float: left; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 0px; outline: none; padding-bottom: 5px; width: 620px;"><img alt="" src="http://www.standard.co.uk/incoming/article9997199.ece/alternates/w620/p3.jpg" height="413" style="border: 0px none; outline: none;" title="Tube passengers in west London were affected by the power cut Picture: Nigel Howard" width="620" /><span class="inLineImageCaption" style="color: #7d7d7d; display: block; font-weight: bold; margin-top: 5px; outline: none; position: relative;">Tube passengers in west London were affected by the power cut Picture: Nigel Howard</span></span></span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Engineer John Croft, 52, said: “I got off the bus at West Kensington tube station and it was madness. “There was a huge line of cars stretching back as far as I could see.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“After a while they stopped the buses completely and police had to come and direct traffic to keep things moving.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="inline-image w620" style="outline: none;"><span class="inlineImageContainer leftAligned" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(217, 217, 217); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; float: left; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 0px; outline: none; padding-bottom: 5px; width: 620px;"><img alt="" src="http://www.standard.co.uk/incoming/article9997210.ece/alternates/w620/powercut3.jpg" height="413" style="border: 0px none; outline: none;" title="The shots taken above Fulham and West Kensington show almost total darkness above an area of west London Picture: MPSinthesky" width="620" /><span class="inLineImageCaption" style="color: #7d7d7d; display: block; font-weight: bold; margin-top: 5px; outline: none; position: relative;">The shots taken above Fulham and West Kensington show almost total darkness above an area of west London Picture: MPSinthesky</span></span></span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Asad Ahmad, owner of a convenience store in North End Road, said: “It was really bad, people didn’t know what was going on. We had to close the shop so we stood outside and sold things on the street.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“We sold out of candles very quickly, we had none left at all. I’ve never seen anything like it.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A man in his sixties in the Famous Three Kings pub, next to West Kensington Tube, said: “The tube station was closed because there were no lights.</span></div>
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<span class="inline-image w300" style="outline: none;"><span class="inlineImageContainer leftAligned" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(217, 217, 217); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; float: left; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 10px; outline: none; padding-bottom: 5px; width: 300px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img alt="" src="http://www.standard.co.uk/incoming/article9997197.ece/alternates/w300/p1.jpg" height="450" style="border: 0px none; outline: none;" title="Really bad situation: Asad Ahmad, owner of a convenience store in North End Road" width="300" /><span class="inLineImageCaption" style="color: #7d7d7d; display: block; font-weight: bold; margin-top: 5px; outline: none; position: relative;">Really bad situation: Asad Ahmad, owner of a convenience store in North End Road</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“It was chaos. It’s fortunate there were no accidents on the roads because without traffic lights it was dangerous for pedestrians. Just trying to cross the road was terrible with cars coming from everywhere.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Dozens of police were rushed onto the streets to “increase reassurance” for residents, Scotland Yard said last night. Hammersmith and Fulham council also deployed wardens in the affected areas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The Met’s helicopter posted an image on its popular Twitter feed showing a swathe of west London north-west of Earl’s Court plunged into darkness, with the caption: “How do you make an entire London borough vanish?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While many residents in one of the capital’s wealthiest boroughs told of their anger at enduring a cold, dark evening of “eerie” darkness, others saw the lighter side.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Local MP Greg Hands wrote: “Power cut in my part of Fulham. Time to tell the kids all about life in the 1970s and the danger of another Labour government.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="inline-image w620" style="outline: none;"><span class="inlineImageContainer leftAligned" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(217, 217, 217); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; float: left; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 0px; outline: none; padding-bottom: 5px; width: 620px;"><img alt="" src="http://www.standard.co.uk/incoming/article9997198.ece/alternates/w620/p2.jpg" height="930" style="border: 0px none; outline: none;" title="A traffic light taken out in west London by the power cut Picture: Nigel Howard" width="620" /><span class="inLineImageCaption" style="color: #7d7d7d; display: block; font-weight: bold; margin-top: 5px; outline: none; position: relative;">A traffic light taken out in west London by the power cut Picture: Nigel Howard</span></span></span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Jack Layer said: “Powercut in Fulham. I’m very concerned that the Gressingham duck I bought may defrost. Emergency confit may be needed. “</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ben Wiltshire added: “46 minutes into the Fulham powercut and things are desperate, there’s quinoa all over the floor and no-one can find the maid to clean it up.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And journalist Guy Adams wrote: “There is a power cut here in Fulham. We are cooking fettuccini by the light of some scented candles.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A spokesman for the UK Power Networks said: “UK Power Networks would like to apologise to several thousand customers in the Fulham Palace Road area who were affected by a power cut this evening.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“A fault on the high-voltage underground electricity network occurred at 7.48pm. The cause is being investigated but our engineers worked as quickly and as safely as possible on rerouting supplies via other cables. The final supplies were restored at 10.20pm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“We appreciate how difficult it can be to lose power and apologise for the inconvenience caused by this inci</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">dent.”</span></div>
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sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-80810030961349257352015-01-25T13:46:00.005-05:002015-01-25T13:46:59.131-05:00Ohmmmm ..... <div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="overflow: hidden; text-align: center;">
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sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-47242969701894467042015-01-20T10:43:00.000-05:002015-01-20T11:12:11.472-05:00Music heals the soul.<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday's weather forecast was hostile with strong gusts of sarcasm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was seriously zipped up, protecting myself from the hypothermia generated by a very frosty Mother.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have had to establish some serious boundaries which may seem easy for some but trust me, it is not so easy here. It takes a tremendous amount of mindfulness not to sucked deep into the vortex of pain and misery.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As luck would have it, I had a dinner date with a very ancient friend who I have not seen for at least 45 years. Yes, we are that old! He used to live around the corner from my grandmother and we used to play together. It was really amazing recalling memories that involved none of my other friends. He remembered just how often I stayed at "Mrs. Abraham's", my grandmother. Apparently, a whole lot more than even I recalled. He remembered details of people that astounded me. It was a great evening, not just because of the great company but also for just getting me out of the house of pain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Things had deteriorated throughout the day, as is becoming the norm. A Himalayan pile of Jewish guilt being dumped on me as I continued to primp. Only one thing left to do. Music time! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My Mother is used to a variety of sounds coming out of my room. In retrospect, she never complained as my turntable went from Led Zeppelin to Joni Mitchell to The Monkees to Carole King to Black Sabbath and back to James Taylor and so forth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For my part, I had to suffer live broadcasts from Covent Garden Opera House on Saturday evenings which blared from every radio in the flat - bedroom, bathroom, living room, kitchen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The lighter operettas I enjoyed but once Wagner hit the airwaves, my ears were subjected to the tortured screeching sopranos and deep baritones.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">OK, back to last night. Mother sat vigil over a very confused Peter and I went about the business of getting tarted up. When someone hasn't seen you in decades, you are a) grateful its a dark night and b) lots of spackling paste is needed! A Kardashian glam squad would have been challenged. I didn't want to look 10 but then I didn't want my life to show all over my face either. Sequestered in my coffin-sized room, I pondered whicht soundtrack would fit the mood?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I went for a random hit. Boom! Sly and the Family Stone reminded me to "Thank you (Fallettin Me Be Mice Elf Again)". </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Perfect! Just what I needed to hear. I had been muttering a prescribed mantra, "thank you for reminding me that I am a piece of shit" but this is just what I needed to hear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The evening before, we had watched a wonderful television program about Mozart, my favorite classical composer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As fate would have it, the track that followed Sly was Mozart. A "messy soprano" (thank you, Victor Borge) gave it her all in the aria, "Der Holle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen" from Die Zauberflote" - "The Magic Flute".</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">If there were to be complaints about my choice in music, it certainly would not be voiced during a Vienna Philharmonic performance and trust me, my Mother knows her orchestras, conductors, sopranos, tenors, altos, bassos.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I could only imagine how confusing it must have been as Mozart was followed by Neil Young's "Heart of Gold". One of the great soundtracks of my angst ridden teenage years. What a great classic and why did I have to wait until I was in my late 50s to understand the depth of his lyrics? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The irony of my musical selection was that I was listening to the soundtrack from "Eat, Pray, Love"!!!</span></div>
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sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-74481896468497084832015-01-19T10:11:00.003-05:002015-01-19T10:18:48.199-05:00On the virtues of wrinkles.<div style="text-align: center;">
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Hooray for the Beauty Update section of the Sunday Times magazine.</div>
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Edwina Ings-Chambers wrote a wonderful article extolling the joys, virtues and beauty of aging. Apparently, there is no "negative equity" in having wrinkles.</div>
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She validates her theory by citing examples such as Dame Helen Mirren who, at the age of 69, is the new face of L'Oreal.</div>
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<img alt="Helen Mirren, the face of L’Oréal at 69" src="http://www.thesundaytimes.co.uk/sto/multimedia/archive/01122/STZ18BEAUTYNEWS10_1122063a.jpg" /><br />
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On her recent visit to Vero, my best friend bought a mirror that had magnification of 20.</div>
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20! Even without my glasses, I swear I saw the roots of evolving hairs on places of my face that should be hirsute free!Absolutely terrifying. Why is it that the older we get, the more hairs sprout up in areas in which they have no business? Why is it that the white ones require the likes of a pair of pliers for removal? It is as if the hairs have a team of elves who are pulling back as strongly as one tries to pull them out.</div>
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Due to the fact that I put on wayyyyy too much weight over the past 18 months, I no longer had a chin. Merely, one extended neck that was close to resting on my sagging boobs.</div>
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I would avoid mirrors at all cost, truly loathing my own reflection. </div>
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"At least I still have a sense of humor" was how I would console myself. </div>
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More like fool myself.</div>
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It took a long time for me to get off my diet of salt and vinegar chips, washed down with gallons of apple juice. These were my go-to comfort foods and will power was not winning over the need for instant gratification.</div>
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Once I finally got a grip, I churlishly started returning to the gym, profoundly embarrassed by what I had become. What I had done to myself. I had no one to blame but myself. I knew that my age compounded with a sluggish metabolism would mean that I had to work out twice as hard as I used to to make even the slightest dent in my immensity.</div>
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The fact is, for my height I was "'morbidly obese". Christ, what a confession. When my Dad, bless him, would waddle in on stick sized legs that miraculously balanced his rotund frame, Vic would just look at me as I scarfed another piece of cheese down and just say "it's in your genes".</div>
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Ouch!</div>
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I am not the best at self-discipline, unable to resist the little red devil's voice whispering high caloric words of pleasure into my ears. </div>
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"Chips. Cheese. Bread".</div>
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For the first time in my life, I really started thinking about the possibility of the benefits of a short cut via plastic surgery. The neck would be the first to go. Then my jowls. Then, as my list started expanding, I went down to tummy tuck, thigh and bum lipo ... I couldn't believe it.</div>
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In a country that values youth, it would take more than a sense of humor if I were ever to get back into the dating game. I was getting older and I was fat. </div>
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That was that.</div>
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As if by miracle, something amazing started happening during my recent sojourn in London. Even though I was unable to take my usual walks, due to circumstances at home, my clothes started loosening. So much so that when Peter was in the hospital, I saw a scale standing in a corner of the corridor. </div>
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"Do it!" angel on my left shoulder said. Strangely, Devil on the right agreed. Normally, when I weigh myself, (which is a rarity), it is stark naked, first thing in the morning in the privacy of my own home. It is also a machine that I tend to avoid like the plague. If I am at a doctor's office. I will take off my shoes, belts, glasses, anything and everything to keep that nasty balancer as near to the left as possible.<br />
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When the corridor coast was clear, I gingerly stepped on the scale, boots and all.</div>
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I registered the number in kilos and quickly got out my iphone to translate the information into pounds.</div>
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"No freakin' way!"</div>
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I was down. A lot! With jeans and boots and glasses on. Suddenly, I felt hope. I call it the "London Stress Diet" and although it comes at a very high price, I am thrilled with the results! No starvation involved. Just a house lacking in cheese, breads, juices and those pesky, delicious salt 'n' vinegar chippies.</div>
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Emboldened, the other morning I snuck a peak at my face in Peter's magnifying mirror for a laugh. Apart from seeing my mother looking back at me, my neck was retreating and a chin was showing signs of a springtime reemergence.</div>
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Maybe I would not need to go under the knife.</div>
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And then came article, titled "Read between the lines.</div>
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If Joan Didion is the new face of Celine at 80, and Jessica Lange fronting Marc Jacobs Beauty, there sure is hope for me!</div>
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sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-22096008113753580412015-01-19T07:11:00.002-05:002015-01-19T07:11:22.179-05:00At night at the German Embassy<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 1.38; overflow: hidden; text-align: left;">
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Tonight, Lili was invited to attend one of many events commemorating the Holocaust Generations Conference. As her "plus one", I had the privilege of accompanying her to a cocktail party at the private residence of Germany's ambassador.</div>
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I go to these events with her as a family representative of the "2nd generation" of Holocaust Survivors. The more of these events I attend, the more I realize that the survivors are all getting on in age and there is an urgency for their stories to be told and not forgotten to history. It behooves their children and grandchildren to carry on the legacy of telling their stories that we may never forget the horrors they suffered as a result of anti-semitism, particularly as rears its ugly head once again, 70 short years on.</div>
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The German ambassador, Dr. Peter Ammon, gave a moving speech on the occasion of the liberation of Auschwitz at the end of January, 1945.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 1.38;">He spoke of the Nazi regime as being "utterly criminal". As the former ambassador to the USA & France he said "we must & will stand united against the forces of evil" referring to the recent tragic events in Paris.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Many of the attendees had spent the day at a lengthy conference and closed the event out at the embassy. It was interesting to hear some of the European jews speaking in hushed tones how they never thought they would be invited let alone attend an event at a German embassy. Most of the ones who directly suffered in Europe during WWII are required to present themselves once a year to prove they are still alive and therefore still eligible for reparation or restitution monies owed to them as decreed and agreed by Dr. Konrad Adenauer in approximately 1950. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dr. Ammon's words were warm, welcoming and contrite, firm in its apology for the past and reassuring that today's Germany is a safe place for Jews to call their home.</span></div>
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It was freezing cold inside. No heaters were on in the magnificent Belgravia mansion, as seen in such great classic BBC series as"Upstairs, downstairs". To make it worse, the front door was open and there was a nasty draft blowing through the rooms. As the speeches came to a close, we were pleasantly surprised when we were invited to an ante-room which had a most delicious buffet with some much appreciated hot pumpkin soup - how Germanic.</div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22.0799999237061px;">The irony was that pumpkins represent one thing to me: Halloween and carving. Not one for dessert, I have never had pumpkin pie in my life and rarely ate the seeds. But the frost bite that was overtaking my toes screamed "eat it" and I was more than pleasantly surprised! Not only was it piping hot, but it has given me a new soup to make.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22.0799999237061px;">January 18, 2015</span></span><br />
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sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-35690787283632205512015-01-17T12:14:00.000-05:002015-01-17T12:14:21.729-05:00On caring for the aging.<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I read this today & all of it applies to the situation with Peter & Lili.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It validates my mantra of patience, kindness & compassion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Even when you want to pull your & their hair out!</span></div>
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<img alt="My dear girl, the day you see I'm getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I'm going through. If when we talk, I repeat the same thing a thousand times, don't interrupt to say: "You said the same thing a minute ago"... Just listen, please. Try to remember the times when you were little and I would read the same story night after night until you would fall asleep.
When I don't want to take a bath, don't be mad and don't embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl?
When you see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time to learn and don't look at me that way ... remember, honey, I patiently taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life's issues every day... the day you see I'm getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I'm going through.
If I occasionally lose track of what we're talking about, give me the time to remember, and if I can't, don't be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you.
And when my old, tired legs don't let me move as quickly as before, give me your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked. When those days come, don't feel sad... just be with me, and understand me while I get to the end of my life with love. I'll cherish and thank you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the huge love I've always had for you, I just want to say, I love you ... my darling daughter.
Original text in Spanish and photo by Guillermo Peña.
Translation to English by Sergio Cadena" class="_46-i img" height="315" src="https://scontent-b-lhr.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/s851x315/58608_10151335986868960_1168614629_n.jpg?oh=1b243c2ac9dc2975e28d7160854f37a6&oe=55242C8A" style="border: 0px; left: -6px; position: absolute; text-align: center; top: 0px;" width="474" /></div>
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My dear girl, the day you see I'm getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I'm going through. If when we talk, I rep<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">eat the same thing a thousand times, don't interrupt to say: "You said the same thing a minute ago"... Just listen, please. Try to remember the times when you were little and I would read the same story night after night until you would fall asleep.</span></div>
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When I don't want to take a bath, don't be mad and don't embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
When you see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time to learn and don't look at me that way ... remember, honey, I patiently taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life's issues every day... the day you see I'm getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I'm going through.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
If I occasionally lose track of what we're talking about, give me the time to remember, and if I can't, don't be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
And when my old, tired legs don't let me move as quickly as before, give me your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked. When those days come, don't feel sad... just be with me, and understand me while I get to the end of my life with love. I'll cherish and thank you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the huge love I've always had for you, I just want to say, I love you ... my darling daughter.</div>
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sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-6630962544042252512015-01-16T11:06:00.001-05:002015-01-16T11:06:11.401-05:00To be Jewish in the 21st Century<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This article was on page three in The Daily Telegraph in London on January 15, 2015.</div>
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The London I visit is a far cry from the London I grew up in, during the 1960's and 1970's.</div>
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Yes, there was still a degree of xenophobia then but the country was still reveling in the end of World War II and Britain was rebuilding itself with a succession of Conservative and Labor governments.</div>
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As a very young girl, of 9, I was sent off to a boarding school, deep in the English countryside.</div>
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It was a Church of England school and the pupils all came from very English families.</div>
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My upbringing, by east European holocaust survivors, did not prepare me for the world in which I had been sequestered. I knew I was different upon arrival. It began with the matron going through our personal items. One that was required was a "tuck box", something well known among the landed gentry. It was a wooden box, approximately 3' x 2' x 18" or so with a hasp for a padlock.</div>
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When it came to presenting mine, I produced what my mother gave me: an empty, over-sized cardboard chocolate box.</div>
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Everyone laughed and I felt confused and deeply humiliated.</div>
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This was just the beginning for me.</div>
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I was totally unfamiliar with the foods they served, such as steak and kidney pie, Shepherd's pie, haggis, black pudding ... the list went on and on. My diet at home revolved around soups and potatoes with every meal, sour dill pickles, rye bread, gefillte fish according to my family's Polish, Jewish traditions. My duvet was a continental one, unlike the British ones which were more like the thin comforters sold in the US today.</div>
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Sunday mornings were spent in church where I learned the Lord's Prayer, many psalms, hymns, liturgy, etc. I participated in all of it and rather liked the hymns which were more patriotic than religious ... lots of Benjamin Brittain, "There'll always be an England", "Onward Christian soldiers" and so forth. I liked going to Church because it was always followed by a trip to the local bakery, Wakefields, whose aroma of freshly baked delicacies filled the small town of Horsham, Sussex.</div>
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I only had one friend there. She was a 13 year old girl which for a 9 year old made her the epitome of maturity and wisdom. What brought us together was that she was also Jewish. Our heritage linked us and we were virtually inseparable. Even though her parents spent the war in Britain, we shared traditions and that bonded us deeply.</div>
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I was desperately unhappy at Springfield Park and on the few occasions that my mother visited, I remember watching her from a top floor window walking down the long, winding road of the school's former manor house walk until she disappeared behind the trees. </div>
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I cried and cried, begging her to bring me home.</div>
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By the end of the school year, it was recommended that I be removed as I did not "fit in". During school holidays, classmates went off to their homes deep in the English countryside, to their horses and hunts. I went to Switzerland, Israel and the US to visit my father.</div>
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This made the divide between me and the others even greater.</div>
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No one could understand going 'abroad" when there was the English coastal towns of Brighton or down south in Devon and Cornwall. I could not explain it. It was what we did.</div>
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In my own innocent way, this was my first personal experience of anti-semitism.</div>
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In the 1970's, the situation in the middle east blew up and with it came a huge influx of predominantly Lebanese refugees but Syrians and Jordanians followed suit. Those that abandoned their motherlands in search of freedom and security came with huge amounts of money. These were not the people seen in the growing refugee camps.</div>
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Money was no object and thus began the rapid rise in real estate prices. At the time, I worked on Saturday's at the then exclusive Harrod's department store. What was once the go-to destination of the British landed gentry, warranted by assorted members of the royal family, etc., was quickly being overrun with the harems of hijab cloaked women, children having their nappies (diapers) changed on the floors of the shoe aisles between the Queen's official shoemaker, Rayne and Ferragamo.</div>
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All "decorum" had gone to hell because, despite these displays of unacceptable behaviour came lots and lots of cold cash. Huge sums would be dropped in each department and what was once an elegant department store, with discreet assistants and softly spoken landowners buying their Barbour hunting jackets was quickly devolving into a shouk.</div>
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One lady who worked at the Chanel counter told me that a sheik had come in with several of his wives. He pointed to the huge, display bottle of Chanel no. 5 which dominated the display. He wanted that. The sales woman explained that if he wanted that much cologne, he would be better off buying a substantial quantity of smaller bottles as the large one would evaporate at best, at worst, lose its scent.</div>
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"I don't care. I want that big one there. It is going in the bath anyway".</div>
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Such was the spending that went on, unheard of by citizens. A dear friend who was a doctor told of us several occasions that he had treated members of the Saudi Arabian embassy, who vehemently complained about their bills. He would break it all down according to x-ray, blood work etc. It was not the size of the bill that bothered them. They did not feel they were paying enough and thus felt that they might not be getting the proper treatment.</div>
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Examples of this over spending of petro-money caused real estate to sky rocket making home ownership harder and harder for the British themselves. I found that I did not stand a chance in this type of economy, based on what I was earning and knew I had to make a change.</div>
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I returned to the States in August 1980. Oil became the standard by which countries wealth and status were judged. As tensions grew in the middle east, London became more and more popular due to its great location and easy access to Europe, the Middle & Far East as well as the United States.</div>
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Small, corner shops that used to be the domain of immigrant Indians and Pakistanis (members of the Commonwealth) were slowly being taken over by Arabic speaking nationals. Many came seeking political asylum, for which England is a huge sucker. Many just loved the freedoms afforded here while still actively practising their religion freely.</div>
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Over time, let's jump thirty years, the United Kingdom is now overrun with Muslims. I stood at a bus stop last year and I was the only western woman amongst 12 others waiting for a bus. They were all dressed head to toe in traditional black garments, their eyes staring out from the slits in their hijabs.</div>
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With this huge influx, came many wonderful, peace seeking Moslems. It also opened the flood gates for many radicals who took full advantage of their refugee status, espousing hatred and spewing vitriol from the safety and sanctity of their numerous mosques. The imams do not limit their hatred to just the Jews and the destruction of the state of Israel. They hate the very country that has given them security and a safe haven not to mention all the benefits that come with asylum status.</div>
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65 years after the end of the World War II, anti-semitism is on the rise again. Not just in England but in many countries across the world.</div>
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When I used to proudly wear a Star of David, I now hide it, something which shames me personally.</div>
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I am a Jew. I feel it deep within my soul. It's embedded in my DNA. Although I am a very liberal one, I remain Jewish to my core.</div>
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It is tragic to see what the legacy of Abraham's sons, Isaac and Ishmael has done to this world. Both Jews and Muslims share the same father of a monotheistic religion. Abraham. Both are fighting for right to worship their branch of the family.</div>
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As the child of three holocaust survivors, I fear for our future while I still hold hope and pray that peace will come to pass.</div>
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For the Jews, for the Muslims.</div>
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For the planet human.</div>
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My family in Krakow, Poland prior to the outbreak of war. </div>
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My grandmother and mother survived.</div>
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Mother's father and young brother were exterminated in the local concentration camp.</div>
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<br />sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-88363602448095296262014-12-23T16:24:00.002-05:002014-12-23T16:24:37.488-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Five years is a bench mark for cancer survivors. If you go five years without the big "C" rearing its ugly head, you are supposed to be "in the clear". You will always have cancer, as we all do, in some form or another. It's just that the body has found its own way of killing the genetic mutants.</div>
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Every survivor breathes considerably easier when they reach five year, all clear ...</div>
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I am stunned that I have not visited this site in almost three whole years let alone written anything.</div>
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Where had I been? What went on? Have I reached my five year all clear from grief?</div>
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It is hard to realize that so much time has gone by. So many changes. So much growing up within our little family.</div>
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My father, Tolek, finally made the big move to Vero Beach from his sumptuous apartment in Aventura, Miami in August on 2011 at the ripe age of nearly 85. It took many years of intense persuasion but we finally got him a great condo a mere six - not five or seven - minutes away from our home.</div>
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My father and I struggled my whole life with our relationship. As an alcoholic and survivor of not only the holocaust but also as a fighter for the Promised Land - a Jewish State, he never really recovered from his early teenage traumas, and coped as best he could. Alcohol. </div>
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Tremendously intelligent, he was a loner and often lived a fantasy life which included having business cards printed up that said "Dr. Teofil Cadmon". When I asked him what the heck he was doing handing that out, he told me that he had gone to enough courses through his work with Western Electric/Bell labs/ATT to afford him a PhD so he gave it to himself!</div>
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Although his health was declining, he was still very independent, driving, shopping and cooking for himself. Living so close to us, one of us saw him daily and we really felt like a little family for the first time. We developed a routine and he was always up for an outing anywhere. He was particularly happy if it included a meal for which he would always gladly pay. </div>
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As a newbie resident of Vero Beach, we went about the geriatric task of finding all new doctors and made regular visits to each one of them. Slowly, Tolek began to let go and trusted me with his medical information and speaking to the doctors. He believed he was as tall as he was when he was 50 even though he was at least two inches shorter than me and argued it at the offices! He also believed himself to be at least thirty pounds lighter. Many times, I would excuse myself when he was in the examining room to go and get a quick word with the attending nurse or doctor to give them the real low down ...</div>
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In August of 2012, he was hospitalized with heart failure. He had arbitrarily decided to stop taking one of his medications, which led to massive fluid build up in his chest.</div>
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He was discharged after three days but it was the beginning of the end. </div>
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I have to give huge props to the staff of nurses from the VNA of Vero Beach. Each and every single one of them who came home to visit and care for him was beyond caring, loving and so very kind. After a second visit to the ER, he asked me to sit down when I was finally allowed in his room. He wanted to speak and he did not want me to interrupt, a bad habit which drove him bananas.</div>
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He had been alone in the room for over forty five minutes and had clearly come face to face with his own mortality. He apologized to me for being a terrible father. In fact, he said that it was remarkable I turned out as well as I did considering how dreadfully I had been parented on both sides of the Atlantic. He held my hand, thanked me and told me he did not deserve as kind and caring a daughter as I was.</div>
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Although he was coasting, hospice came in for long term assistance. I was supposed to go to London but cancelled my flight in the last minute as he was beginning to fall from a weak heart. </div>
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I moved in. We were the unlikeliest of room mates. After fifty years, we were living together again.</div>
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On October 28th, 2012, Kaelin, Corey, Daniel and I along with two dear friends, celebrated Daddy's 85th birthday. That made him the oldest member of his family to ever reach that age and not die an unnatural, early death.</div>
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On Halloween morning, I went into his room. He was cold but so was the room. He was peacefully sleeping, the oxygen machine pumping away. I went to call my mother and while I was on the phone, Daniel came over to visit. A few minutes later, he came into my room and just held out his hand.</div>
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My dad had passed away as everyone should. Peacefully, happily, safely in his own bed, in his own home. In his sleep. </div>
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Those last three weeks were the best time we ever spent together. In dire circumstances, in the shadow of death, he gave me the greatest gift of all - he let me know that I really was loved and appreciated by him and his apology erased a lifetime of painful memories.</div>
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Kaelin stayed with me at Daddy's and for some reason, I did not return home but rather remained in his condo until December. I felt his presence all the time and it was comforting.</div>
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Two days after his passing, I made reservations to come to London to spend Christmas and New Year with my mother and a very ailing Peter. I wanted to spend the holidays with family, as it should be.</div>
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Upon my return to the States, I also returned home, much to the disappointment of my boys who got quite used to having the house to themselves! I really needed to reclaim my territory and made sure I marked all corners.</div>
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My dad's death was more bearable than Vic's as it came after a long, long life well lived. But I realized that my father had also become my buddy, my go-to friend when I needed company or an outing.</div>
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I missed my pal and again, I sort of disappeared into my own world, my room, forsaking the gym, people. My life, which had taken on some meaning whilst looking after Tolek, was again rudderless.</div>
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It was not but a few months later that I ended up in London as Peter's diabetes affected his right foot, culminating in the leg's amputation last year, at the age of 91.</div>
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I spend six weeks in London that summer to help. I have been returning every two-three months since.</div>
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We all returned last year again for Christmas and New Year, flying on Christmas Eve and leaving on New Year's Day.</div>
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A new tradition.</div>
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It is now December 2014. I am in London again, spending my first Christmas without my children, who will be arriving next week.</div>
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I have learned the importance of compassion, kindness and patience. I have learned that the smallest acts of kindness can make a difference in someone's life. I have learned not to have expectations of people or things as it usually ends in disappointment. Being expectation-free with very liberating.</div>
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I have rekindled old friendships and firmly established and cherished the precious ones I have. I am so grateful to those people who have stood by me and just loved me, unconditionally through these past years.</div>
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What will happen with my mother when she loses her partner of 29 years? It is my hope that she will pick up her life and continue with her causes, which still excite and fuel her. It is my hope that my children will get to experience the Lili that I used to know, full of life, laughter and song, a happy woman, far from the burned out caregiver that she has become. It is my hope that she and I have a few more years together, that we can enjoy life and that we can still share some journeys - together. Just the two of us. </div>
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RIP </div>
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Teofil Josef Angstreich-Cadmon</div>
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aka Tolek</div>
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October 28, 1925 - October 31, 2012</div>
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sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-70951705768865482312012-01-23T10:54:00.000-05:002012-01-23T10:54:16.702-05:00today's facebook posting ..."The reality is that it is 2 yrs 3 mos ... I still have not opened all the condolence cards & letters as it hurts too much ... I still have clothes in the closet that I just hold & smell ... how does one mend a very broken heart? Thank goodness breathing is a reflex".<br />
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End of posting.<br />
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Listening to Steely Dan on Spotify. It's been a while. It still works upon me as a musical balsam.<br />
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So, yes, it is still very much about the grief. I gave up several dedicated years of anti-depressants & anti-anxiety meds just in time for the holidays. Timing sucked but all my reading has made the distinction between grief and depression very, very clear. Grief cannot be treated with anti-ds.<br />
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If that was the case, why put my body through all the additional stress of processing unnecessary drugs?<br />
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Accupuncture has been working very nicely for my migraines. They are now less the norm than they were, a predictable and unwanted, painful presence just the turn of my head away.<br />
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Jon has been working on accupuncture detox points as well. Perhaps they are helping. I certainly did not go into full blown withdrawals, which was anticipated. Far from it, much to my doctor's great surprise. I will give 50% credit to Jon's healing needles & 50% to the power of my will.<br />
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Or won't. As in "I won't have a problem", "I won't give in".<br />
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It is hard enough to experience the death of a loved one, a spouse, but painful issues like single parenthood, financial insecurity, isolation, all becomes dominant players in the grieving process. <br />
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I know they are with me ...<br />
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Something about Vic's passing has overly sensitized me to people's pain & suffering, particularly the illness of cancer & all that it entails ...<br />
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Reading that Joe Paterno's family were making a decision about his ventilator threw me into a mini breakdown. It reminded me so vividly that my last decision made on Vic's behalf was not to put him on a ventilator as I was advised that once on it, he would never come off.<br />
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So to have him hooked up to a breathing machine, to feed him through a tube in his stomach ... not an option he would have wanted anymore as the quality of his life would have been completely compromised & he would have been helpless & dependent, two things that were unacceptable.<br />
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I miss him ...sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-58148866259697957872012-01-17T16:51:00.000-05:002012-01-17T16:51:58.742-05:00Moving out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IJxYErXIhMLg0B7wWYULpcKQc0ZW2k6UMHSGV8TvWlnxKleHfRHgZnp79DuNB_u_L_WYYa39Ll7NOCVPZ8nvnxwHGID4t63Eyr34R8tBI8iZIhnvXJ7ZYcuNdWaABJj01kmxqPKtDJjE/s1600/DSCN1120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IJxYErXIhMLg0B7wWYULpcKQc0ZW2k6UMHSGV8TvWlnxKleHfRHgZnp79DuNB_u_L_WYYa39Ll7NOCVPZ8nvnxwHGID4t63Eyr34R8tBI8iZIhnvXJ7ZYcuNdWaABJj01kmxqPKtDJjE/s400/DSCN1120.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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For the best part of the past two years, I spent my home time in my room with ventures into the kitchen for sustenance & into the den to keep the bills paid.<br />
<br />
Actually, that has since changed as I finally discovered online banking! Now the den really serves as the custodian of the family paper trail, the bane of my organizational existence.<br />
<br />
When Vic died, I made a couple of very subtle changes to the bedroom, a place where so much time was spent during his illness ... the changes included emptying out his bedside table drawers, moving my "stuff" over to his drawers in the bathroom, strange things like that. I had given Shay & Angie a lot of his clothing immediately upon his death so I took over more closet space even though there remains a number of Vic's items that I cannot touch, move, look at still. I want them there, I just want them there.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNX85dr114Lzb7HfxorkAJ4b-rb6mZewqbu5btIkIyvCG4GWhZVpnVZasGs9Fbun7srcVL1Vv7NRrsujjPTezgeUjULa4C4VSp51Y1TpjTKbuoLu58630jky0Ds0B5nx4cWbFOgCg18Jg5/s1600/iphone+2011+007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNX85dr114Lzb7HfxorkAJ4b-rb6mZewqbu5btIkIyvCG4GWhZVpnVZasGs9Fbun7srcVL1Vv7NRrsujjPTezgeUjULa4C4VSp51Y1TpjTKbuoLu58630jky0Ds0B5nx4cWbFOgCg18Jg5/s400/iphone+2011+007.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My room has served as my womb room, the place I feel most connected, most protected, most safe, most detached from the world.<br />
<br />
I have everything I personally need within a few feet of my bed, which serves as my hq. Comfortable beyond belief, totally inspired by the incredibly luxurious bedding in Miraval, my room is often referred to as my own hotel suite.<br />
<br />
My room has nursed & nurtured all my emotions these past years have evoked. My billowy pillows are piled high, downy & soft. I have buried my face in them, the sheets over my head, more times that I care to admit, let alone share.<br />
<br />
I have candles of all types everywhere, mainly inside an assortment of crystals, salt lights, etc. I have a lifetime of photos in multiple photo frames & I like to look at them.<br />
<br />
Some people tell me I should not have them around. That's it is not good for me to keep looking at the past.<br />
<br />
But I like it. It gives me great comfort. It reminds me of just how fleeting life is & how many wonderful moment we all shared. <br />
<br />
Our living room is the central point of our house. A large, high ceiling, you walk through it to get to all rooms. It's a fabulous room, focal point being the fireplace that we all love.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-z5lm7qvqaZdn896jhipPCYzsL582UBu8U02HFFPhbfdWWLysVeBWAfgqPb46RAtFrdJkwwS2u5Jt7u7YnJJPRfaxx172v0ZS1hUjsR9jmvWdJKB3lEekNqk1t0FOzphdBkz8I24gLjc/s1600/iphone+2011+107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-z5lm7qvqaZdn896jhipPCYzsL582UBu8U02HFFPhbfdWWLysVeBWAfgqPb46RAtFrdJkwwS2u5Jt7u7YnJJPRfaxx172v0ZS1hUjsR9jmvWdJKB3lEekNqk1t0FOzphdBkz8I24gLjc/s400/iphone+2011+107.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
But it is a room that I rarely frequent. It is the place where the Xbox was played, where football games and "Hillbilly Fishing" is watched. It is not a room that I use or have ever used, to be frank.<br />
<br />
The only time I really come out of my room is to enjoy the fire but that was always quite short lived. For some reason, I always liked it most when everyone was sleeping & it was just me, the sound of the wood charring & the smell of oak burning.<br />
<br />
Here it is winter again and the fire has been roaring away.<br />
<br />
There have been small, almost imperceptible changes that have been insinuating themselves into my life.<br />
<br />
One of them has been a very conscious effort on my part to spend more time in the living room, in the center of my home as opposed to sequestered in my "suite".<br />
<br />
Those friends who come over all "get" why we always end up in my room. It has a really, really good, soothing vibe.<br />
<br />
However, the seguaying into the living room is quite symbolic for me. <br />
<br />
It represents a part of me that is getting ready to come back into the world ... it is a very slow process for me.<br />
<br />
I have finally made the distinction between being depressed and the state of grief. <br />
<br />
I am very jealous of those people for whom the grief process was a one, two, three event. I am more curious than envious about those people who became widowed who are right there, wham bam, back in the game.<br />
<br />
I am questioning as to when I go from being "widowed" to being "single" ... being widowed still makes me feel connected to the relationship, as in we didn't want it to end. Being single seems overwhelming to me as I really never expected I would be that again. Even as we learned the true nature of Vic's illness ... death was not an option for him & we operated from that mind set ALL THE TIME.<br />
<br />
I am thinking that the word "solo" does not present me with such angst, like I am "out there" ... <br />
<br />
So there it is. <br />
<br />
No rush. No pressure. No hurry.<br />
<br />
And ...<br />
<br />
Moving out of the bedroom into the living room.<br />
<br />
Moving out of widowed into solo thinking.<br />
<br />
From my heart to G-d's ears ...sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-41984635257078188062012-01-02T17:12:00.000-05:002012-01-02T17:12:16.567-05:00Le roi est mort ...Vive le roi. "Le roi" being the old.<br />
<br />
"The (olde) year is dead. Long live the year".<br />
<br />
I gave up on resolutions many lifetimes ago. They just set me up for failure as I simply put too ridiculously much on myself.<br />
<br />
Now, decades later, I am happy to say that I have simply resolved to keep moving forward.<br />
<br />
That's it. Just keep moving onwards.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcB3nN-TXG1GgpYX5tgJ8bA-dqBYVJFcvgx-V41z6u-Z_ioboBLISbAfZEW5uSsd_QLQcW4dq3BUI12Hph5A1ZvTZRRIikBICsDWm8q1BJnuDqukpo24qRihyphenhyphenlujFnaPtWNQWatZkgeeIX/s1600/Karens+51st+birthday+2008+098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcB3nN-TXG1GgpYX5tgJ8bA-dqBYVJFcvgx-V41z6u-Z_ioboBLISbAfZEW5uSsd_QLQcW4dq3BUI12Hph5A1ZvTZRRIikBICsDWm8q1BJnuDqukpo24qRihyphenhyphenlujFnaPtWNQWatZkgeeIX/s400/Karens+51st+birthday+2008+098.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The past couple of months, although at times<br />
rocky, have all brought me to what I am perceiving as a new state. A new stage of my life.<br />
<br />
One of my favorite Van Morrison songs ended with the haunting line, "the best is yet to come".<br />
<br />
May it be so.sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-5134340866269908832011-12-31T14:21:00.000-05:002011-12-31T14:21:24.446-05:00Standing in a store ...while my dad was sitting on a bench outside, a song which I have heard so many times before began to play on the radio. Suddenly the lyrics just jumped out at me. Not a huge fan of Celine Dion but I swear, SWEAR, this was directed right to me. <br />
<br />
I have been fumbling for the right words to describe the place Vic had in my life, what he meant to me, how I felt when I was with him ... our relationship had MORE than it's fair and unfair share of ups and downs. I am not waxing lyrical on a life of perfect bliss. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhypAxpSVvFvKQIsgAbcd0XUGT9QkMXWqy3WyLtM-UCnbBLQIGokOVdWZ9aVAY8JwsP8lU_71LpQuD1uWMMqZSquAJeS-fO-5w09uaMtofnRNS4WvlbPOIyimdqP8y3DUHbbZAG7czmR3G7/s1600/100_0341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhypAxpSVvFvKQIsgAbcd0XUGT9QkMXWqy3WyLtM-UCnbBLQIGokOVdWZ9aVAY8JwsP8lU_71LpQuD1uWMMqZSquAJeS-fO-5w09uaMtofnRNS4WvlbPOIyimdqP8y3DUHbbZAG7czmR3G7/s400/100_0341.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
Not at all. There are not many people whose relationship went from the alpha to the omega of life ... million dollar lifestyle to crushing bankruptcy, repleven, repos, eviction, and the list keeps going.<br />
<br />
However, through all of it, Vic did lift me up, he did give me hope (even through his illness) and he told me every single day that we were together that I was the highlight of his life ...<br />
<br />
I am working so very hard to move on. I am not stuck in wishing him back - I am not that far gone. I just wish that I could be happy as he would have wished.<br />
<br />
I was watching one of my/our favorite movies, "Something's gotta give.". Diane Keaton, mid-fifties, divorced ergo "single" and her sister makes the following remark:<br />
<br />
"A man in his fifties who is (still) single, is called "elusive", "hard to get", a "catch". A single woman in the same demographic is about as fucked as it gets". <br />
<br />
Oy vey. <br />
<br />
Very encouraging!<br />
<br />
Anyway, onward into 2012 I go, the past slipping gently into precious memories with a hope for the future. <br />
<br />
"For all those times you stood by me<br />
For all the truth that you made me see<br />
For all the joy you brought to my life<br />
For all the wrong that you made right<br />
For every dream you made come true<br />
For all the love I found in you<br />
I'll be forever thankful baby<br />
You're the one who held me up<br />
And never let me fall<br />
You're the one who saw me through, through it all<br />
<br />
You were my strength when I was weak<br />
You were my voice when I couldn't speak<br />
You were my eyes when I couldn't see<br />
You saw the best there was in me<br />
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach<br />
You gave me faith 'cause you believed<br />
I'm everything I am<br />
Because you loved me <br />
<br />
You gave me wings and made me fly<br />
You touched my hand I could touch the sky<br />
I lost my faith, you gave it back to me<br />
You said no star was out of reach<br />
You stood by me and I stood tall<br />
I had your love I had it all<br />
I'm grateful for each day you gave me<br />
Maybe I don't know that much<br />
But I know this much is true<br />
I was blessed because I was loved by you <br />
<br />
You were my strength when I was weak<br />
You were my voice when I couldn't speak<br />
You were my eyes when I couldn't see<br />
You saw the best there was in me<br />
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach<br />
You gave me faith 'cause you believed<br />
I'm everything I am<br />
Because you loved me <br />
<br />
You were always there for me<br />
The tender wind that carried me<br />
The light in the dark shining your love into my life<br />
You've been my inspiration<br />
Through the lies you were the truth<br />
My world is a better place because of you <br />
<br />
You were my strength when I was weak<br />
You were my voice when I couldn't speak<br />
You were my eyes when I couldn't see<br />
You saw the best there was in me<br />
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach<br />
You gave me faith 'cause you believed<br />
I'm everything I am<br />
Because you loved me <br />
<br />
You were my strength when I was weak<br />
You were my voice when I couldn't speak<br />
You were my eyes when I couldn't see<br />
You saw the best there was in me<br />
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach<br />
You gave me faith 'cause you believed<br />
I'm everything I am<br />
Because you loved me <br />
<br />
I'm everything I am<br />
Because you loved me."sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-31283093687170357072011-12-18T13:10:00.000-05:002011-12-18T13:10:04.206-05:00On shopping & the real reason for the season ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQc5OmUbwLnJE527VArnv7g2vsYzAwnsWi2U8xU-SwmyoWzL3kqBIjWKC99jDJWv6T1ZCApDvQEHyNPCz0jr9dLkvkDzwpzHa4rZjXnLUIj3n5oXIkRjzz85AvgdTLBLzYuoa6StN-yHs-/s1600/DSCN3079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQc5OmUbwLnJE527VArnv7g2vsYzAwnsWi2U8xU-SwmyoWzL3kqBIjWKC99jDJWv6T1ZCApDvQEHyNPCz0jr9dLkvkDzwpzHa4rZjXnLUIj3n5oXIkRjzz85AvgdTLBLzYuoa6StN-yHs-/s400/DSCN3079.JPG" /></a></div><br />
I'm done! Hooray! <br />
<br />
This year, I made it easy. <br />
<br />
"Tell me 3 (reasonable) things that you want. I will take it from there."<br />
<br />
Whoop! Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanza!!!"<br />
<br />
This year, I finally learned. I shopped smarter. I let my fingers do the clicking. It was good. Now it's up to the assorted shipping companies to deliver ... holla!<br />
<br />
Always at the back of my mind I remind myself that it is NOT about the presents, the knocking yourself out figuring out how to top last year's gifts, fighting the crowds, killing yourself. <br />
<br />
To me, what this time of the years has a simple meaning ... it's about family, a time of gratitude, a time to reach out to others less fortunate.<br />
<br />
Kaelin has a part time job as a hostess at a nice, beachside restaurant steak house. She came home the other day, sad. The pecking order of payment is such that the busboys get paid last. Apparently, one of them is very young with a 3 year old son. Times being tough, he told Kaelin how he was so low on money that he might not be able to get his son a gift, let alone gifts.<br />
<br />
Kaelin was deeply saddened by this. She could not stand the idea of the little boy waking up to an empty holiday. How can you teach someone to have empathy? Kaelin feels pain for suffering in the world. She wants to make it better. <br />
<br />
She wants the child to be happy. She wants the child to have a present to unwrap. She wants to make a difference.<br />
<br />
Nothing anyone can give me is more meaningful than to have a child who cares from the bottom of her heart and feels deeply. <br />
<br />
Kaelin is a beautiful, deep, old, old soul who has a mission on life ... <br />
<br />
I will remember this as the year that Kaelin "got" it! <br />
<br />
Now, THAT is a beautiful gift.sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-44484848790190206862011-12-18T11:18:00.001-05:002011-12-18T11:20:02.227-05:00On partying the season away ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKWaE4ze1d25ja9KuzVM7nTZT1p0XQz44iKJ0a66Ir0h-C6JBs0hvmxtYYzxG71dxl3K_WscZtDRyDASZXvxQdPePY4Ifhv0s7LshPY9kYC-YCCI6g_6lXOmItbbwY8Ar0N0Lp52TI0oXu/s1600/DSCN3077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKWaE4ze1d25ja9KuzVM7nTZT1p0XQz44iKJ0a66Ir0h-C6JBs0hvmxtYYzxG71dxl3K_WscZtDRyDASZXvxQdPePY4Ifhv0s7LshPY9kYC-YCCI6g_6lXOmItbbwY8Ar0N0Lp52TI0oXu/s400/DSCN3077.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Oh boy. How do you turn a homebody into a party animal? Ok, forget the animal bit. How do you turn a homebody into a party person?<br />
<br />
It is very hard to change but I am trying. <br />
<br />
Not working too well. I much prefer the company of a few friends. More intimate. Not comfortable in the crowd of many. Particularly strangers.<br />
<br />
I went out for dinner with some friends last night. Nice, cozy, easy.<br />
<br />
Then I went onto the annual open house of a very dear friend of mine. I adore her - a soul sister from many lifetimes. She is such an amazing human being, so talented, so generous, so compassionate. I love her & really wanted to make the effort to show up.<br />
<br />
I went. Lots of peeps, the house was overflowing with representation of all ages. The house was magnificent. Glorious. Linda has such an incredible sense of style. The garden was all illuminated, totally magnificent. Totally rivaled our local botanical gardens on Christmas display.<br />
<br />
I really wanted to "belong" and luckily I saw a couple of my close friends. <br />
<br />
For a few minutes, I felt safe, ok. They had to leave and there I was. Alone. Alone in the crowd.<br />
<br />
Couples everywhere. Holding hands. Laughing. Hugging. Kissing.<br />
<br />
I miss Vic so much. Who holds my hand? Who hugs me? Who kisses me? <br />
<br />
It's two years and somehow, it is not getting easier.<br />
<br />
I never, ever expected that Vic's passing would push me deep, deep underground. <br />
<br />
I am still there, surfacing every so often but the world looks very formidable from my vantage view ... <br />
<br />
Still giving it a good shot, even if I did slip away from Linda & Ron's fest quietly into the dark night ...sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-36883536530892750782011-12-16T22:00:00.001-05:002011-12-16T22:00:30.822-05:00On people past ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ZZ9-EXP9ycT7__64Wwv8tdoilxScmi1xpNP4U-3CLx8HqtysDuj9V4XSgKXF1Okyb2AoGXTQIvM5GvZjfjvp3X0jKEVwTfiZUqyY2l_KWzyh_eQBH0pUYQM8oSSNL4KkAK77Cp7X9Rxh/s1600/DSCN3060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ZZ9-EXP9ycT7__64Wwv8tdoilxScmi1xpNP4U-3CLx8HqtysDuj9V4XSgKXF1Okyb2AoGXTQIvM5GvZjfjvp3X0jKEVwTfiZUqyY2l_KWzyh_eQBH0pUYQM8oSSNL4KkAK77Cp7X9Rxh/s400/DSCN3060.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
It's that time of the year again. Time to open up the bureau that belonged to my grandfather & grandmother. Time to get out my aging address books. Time to find the aging annual holiday card lists.<br />
<br />
Time to write the holiday cards.<br />
<br />
Little did I know as I opened up at "A", the first name dropped off the list.<br />
<br />
My grandmother, Cecilia "Mimi" Abraham.<br />
<br />
Gone.<br />
<br />
That was the beginning. <br />
<br />
Through "B", onto "C" - all the way through.<br />
<br />
What a harsh realization it was. In some cases, both the husband & wife were gone. <br />
<br />
I could not cross through the names. That seemed too harsh. I just left them all there, a timeline for the last 30 years of my life. People who live on in memories.<br />
<br />
I shared this with a friend of mine. She said she did not cross out the names. Instead, she would simply write in the date they passed.<br />
<br />
Maybe next year ...sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254619363751997515.post-79052089146619759572011-12-14T16:36:00.000-05:002011-12-14T16:36:24.929-05:00Of showers that never were ...A friend of mine was telling me about her niece's pending baby shower.<br />
<br />
For some strange reason, I was totally taken aback by the realization that I had never had one.<br />
<br />
Despite the fact that I delivered 3 good sized, healthy babies all by myself, Kaelin at home with a mid-wife, not one shower.<br />
<br />
Not even the hint of one!<br />
<br />
As my friend continued to tell me of the numerous showers she had attended over the course of her life, I started mourning the 3 showers that never were.<br />
<br />
Yet another rite of passage that sailed right past me.<br />
<br />
The games, the silliness. <br />
<br />
I found myself lamenting until I realized.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't have wanted one even if the opportunity had presented itself.<br />
<br />
What a strange amble my mind went on today!sista khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06433132404616020287noreply@blogger.com0