Count to 100... About eighteen months ago, there was a particularly grisly murder in our little neck of the woods. Seems a 15 y/o kid named Ian came home and, along with his friend Robert, bludgeoned Ian's 18 y/o brother, Adam, to death with a claw hammer. Then they drank some milk and went to hang out at the mall. In the meantime, the news of the dirty deed spread like wildfire along the cell phone chain maintained by Westmoreland County high school youth until it reached the home of my cousin, Kelly, who was there with some friends, coincidentally, at the same time my aunt Susan was watching my then-8 y/o son, Evan. Still with me? So, being the prudent people they are, my aunt allowed my cousin to proceed to elaborate on all the grisly details within earshot of my VERY-interested son. Who...then came home and proceeded to tell ME stuff that wasn't even released on the news until MANY days later! First, I was surprised at his capacity to hear, retain and repeat all the nasty details and being dead-on-balls-accurate about names, places, instruments, etc. Since the kid still, on occasion, calls me "Daddy", I find such precision to be encouraging in a really strange sort of way. Second, I was horrified that here was my 8-year old, now reenacting for his father's and my benefit, exactly how "Ian took the hammer and whacked Adam on the head." Now, this was a subject of constant comment for my son and since it was on every front page and usually came up sometime during the 5pm-6pm news broadcasts, it was something that just wouldn't die. And Evan was, to put it mildly, fascinated by how a brother could kill another brother. Having no brother of his own, he viewed it as a terrible crime and an utter tragedy. He wasn't so much worried Ian might come for HIM, as he just couldn't GRASP how it could have even happened in the first place. Well, the trial of Ian came and went and he was convicted of third-degree murder of his brother. Surprisingly for me, his parents stood by his side and defended him to their last breath. As much as Evan couldn't understand how the murder had even HAPPENED, I found it hard to understand how these parents even went ON. Evan hadn't said much lately about Ian or Adam until last night when Ian's sentencing was all over the news channels. He got 20-40 years...and if he's good, he could be out by the time he's 34. His parents think the judge is a lying, conniving, politically ambitious bitch in so many words and feel this is all a travesty against their family. Somehow, I can't help but think that they'd be thanking Judge Pezze some night when their kid was standing at their bedroom door, ready to carry out the final chapter of his plan - which was reported to have been killing THEM when they got home that fateful night. This morning, Evan brought it up again on the way to school and I figured it was as good a time as any to talk about Cain and Abel. After all, we heard that story at the bar mitzvah last Saturday and plagiarising the Rabbi is probably not the worst thing I could have done. We talked about how Cain lied to G-d when he asked where Abel was and how Cain really just made some BAD choices all the way through. But I pointed out how G-d didn't KILL him like HE had killed his brother. G-d didn't choose to address a sin WITH a sin. No, instead, G-d had banished him to a life of loneliness. I told him how no one would have him over for dinner and kids threw rocks at his house. Evan was impressed. Then I asked him what Cain could have done differently because after all his life was now ruined. Even G-d thought he was a liar and pretty much, no one would ever believe another word he ever said. "For that matter," I asked, "what should IAN have done differently because he's pretty much in the same boat?" And Evan thought about it and said..."He should have walked outside and counted to 100." Indeed.

One Ringy-Dingy...Two Ringy-Dingy Yesterday morning, at 7:13 a.m., I answered the phone call, identified by caller-ID to be my waste-of-skin sister, and said, "You are calling me at 7:13 a.m. because WHO died???" My sister just giggled. She had also called at 6:01 and 6:43. What, I ask, is UP with that???? And when I finally talked to her, she was all "Good Morning!" and I assure you, I was still, like, all "Why the hell am I even TALKING this early in the morning??" I guess her meds are working. I mean, she sounds chipper and the kids are obviously up because I can hardly hear her talk over the tv blaring Cartoon Network in the background. And my older nephew is busy channeling some sort of karate super hero or maybe it's Attack of the Zombies which is all the rage right now. In any event, she just chats along bitching to me about all the latest about my Dad and his Squeeze. My sister is HOPPING mad because NOW the Squeeze's 32-year old, welfare-for-life-and-why-the-hell-not daughter is making a power play to move in with her two children, neither of whom is she even remotely aware of who the father is. So why, you ask, is the Squeeze even still THERE??? I, too, my faithful readers, ask much the same question and for the most part, I have just thrown up my hands in defeat. Actually, I just don't care. My father is apparantly "happy", whatever THAT means considering, according to my sister, all he does is bitch, whine and moan about the Squeeze and what a rotten mother she is, how filthy she leaves THE house and how he can't stand having all her kids and grandkids there all the time. As for me, well, I just look at it this way. It leaves me with more time to NOT be driving down the turnpike on a snowy morning to see him. And considering he doesn't call me anymore unless I raise holy hell about it for about two weeks, there's no guilt trip because I guess HE doesn't care anymore either. My SISTER, on the other hand, cares and it seems so does her white-trash, pot-smoking spouse who is incensed that my father doesn't bring them dinner every night and somehow has concluded that his oldest is being shortchanged in the Paw-Paw department. Let's not forget Spud hasn't seen the man since July 4! But for the short term, this is the way it is. I can't help but hope that it changes but for once, I am not optimistic that it will. My sister reports that Welfare Wanda wants to move her two kids in ASAP and she would follow as soon as her Section 8 runs out in March. The 17-year old has already taken over what used to be the boys' bedroom and her friend stays Monday-Friday so there really isn't much room left. I mean, it's simple math. My dad and the Squeeze are in the kick-ass Master bedroom, the two kids would take over the boys' room, the 17-year old skanky daughter would have to either remove herself to the basement Lighthouse bedroom - which wouldn't really be so bad since it has a private entrance so she could sneak all her badass heroin-shooting friends in and no one would ever know - or use the Murphy bed in the new room off the kitchen. The skank's live-in teenage friend could either sleep on the fold out in the loft or on the couch somewhere and Welfare Wanda could do the same. I am sure someone could crash on the pool table is there's nothing better. Who knows, he may even build an addition for them! Our road trip south is planned for November 8. Here's my game plan. I plan to get on the road about 8am. We're supposed to meet my sister and the boys in her new minivan ("It's only going to cost $50 a week!!!) at Penney's in Winchester for "Christmas" pictures for my Dad (who woefully asked me last time we talked if it was true we weren't celebrating Christmas this year - this from the man who brags that HE was the first Jew in the family.) Then - hopefully - we'll meet him and his woman at the country club at 2:00 for lunch and be back on the road by 4:00 and home by 7:00 in time to see COPS. Of course, spending time with them is like being on an episode of COPS anyway and I am not exactly sure I can survive the new wave of embarassment of dealing with this white-trash chick he calls his girlfriend. I mean, I have it down to a science with HIM - I am deathly afraid I'll say something REALLY ugly to her. I keep thinking, "So tell us how you REALLY feel!" So I will. This has gone on entirely TOO long and is now infringing on my life. I never talk to my Dad anymore and while there is good and bad from THAT little situation, it's mostly bad. He used to talk to me no less than twice a week. And each time, for no less than an hour a pop. YES it was hard to schedule that kind of time and YES it was a pain in my ass. But now that it's LONG gone, I miss it. I am sure you wonder what fathers and daughters talk about and I have to admit, after my mom died twenty years ago, I wondered what the hell we would be talking about too. Well, for us it was football, basketball, baseball, politics, religion, business and food. In that order. In today's conservative world it's hard to imagine being raised by true blue, dyed in the wool liberals but I was. And it's nice to finally be WAY past my Newt Gingrich-groupie days and finally able to discuss my left-of-Jesse liberal bent with a fellow neo-hippie. And NOW, thanks to the Squeeze, who doesn't have a brain in her blonde head, those days are LONG gone. I also miss visiting once a month. We'd come in Friday nights and stay until Sunday. In between we'd eat. A lot. But it was nice. My dad always seemed to be so happy to have his whole family around. Sometimes we'd go for roadtrips and visit the aunts in Berryville - both well into their 90's and always asking me if I was the adopted one. I always refused to answer and pretended to not know what they were talking about. And now THAT'S gone too. The next time I see those two will most likely not be a pleasant experience. So you could say I am disgruntled and my sister has become disgruntled as well. I'd have to say it's least fair to her since he was always up her ass most of the time anyway. Now, suddenly, he doesn't want anything to do with her and it's hard for her to disengage. Me? I live my life on the fringe - so far under the radar he thinks I am in another hemisphere most of the time. He doesn't know what I do ANYWAY so he can't criticize me. He knows what I share with him about my life which has always worked well for me, especially when my grandmother was alive and lived 10 miles to the east and called me every day but I digress. So what to do? I am always known for having a game plan and as always, I have one now. Let me share. First, my sister has GOT to stop calling me before I become conscious. G-d knows what I might say one day and besides, she's cutting into my lunch-making process. Second, the Squeeze has GOT to go. One way or the other. I have instructed my sister to become "unavailable" when he beckons so he can figure out what he's missing. Since his own bitching has increased exponentially to her spending less and less time at his house so I figure this is a good indicator that over time, this will wear him down. And third....well, there is no third really. Two is big enough.

Attack of the Killer Strollers What is UP with strollers these days??? And, for that matter, what is UP with mothers of small children? I mean, come on! I don't mean to offend anyone and I certainly don't mean to pick on just Mom's but let's face it, Dad's just don't DO these kind of things! What kinds of things? Well, please, let me just get started! First off, strollers have taken on monstrous proportions - no longer are they the sleek little chair on wheels or baby bed on wheels of decades past. Heck, they aren't even what they were TEN years ago! No, these strollers are like little houses on wheels and practically as big. They hold not one, but two, three, four, five, even SIX babies at a time! They hold all the packages the mother can collect while shopping with six babies at a time! They even have holders for her diet coke and Auntie Anne's pretzel! I even suspect that with the push of a button, the whole thing will unload each baby and strap them into their carseat in the back of the enormous SUV they are riding in, collapse itself and put itself AND the packages away! They boast every modern convenience, except the convenience for ME, the fellow shopper! My biggest complaint is when a shopping Mom leaves one of these behemoth strollers in the middle of a walkway so she can look through discount thongs on the panty rack at Sears. No one can get through and if you even get within a foot of the thing, alarms must start to sound that only the shopping Mom can hear - so that she turns around with lightning speed and launches a lethal F*CK dart across the stroller at me that is intended to kill, not maim. The look says in no unsimple terms - "How DARE you get near MY babies while I am shopping! Back away NOW!!!!" And of course, I do...I back up and make a wide circle, cutting through the shoe department to avoid the Sacred Stroller. I have encountered this in Sears, Disney, Penneys, WaldenBooks and Hallmark. The only place I HAVEN'T encountered it is in Barnes and Noble and that's probably only because all the shopping Mom's are there to sit with their kids back in the storytelling area and pretty much stay out of my way as long as I stay out of their space back there. Which I do .... GLADLY! So I have to wonder, when did all this start??? I mean, eleven years ago when I had the Spud it was a small miracle if ANYONE, including his godmother, opened the door to the mall for me, let alone let me stand in an aisle and windowshop while my kid sat in his stroller and snagged a piece of collectible porcelain to teethe on while I, lost in another universe, was completely oblivious to it all! I can assure you, it NEVER happened. I was adept at opening the door to the mall and holding it with my enormous ASS while I pushed the loaded stroller through. I am starting to suspect THAT is why I never got around to actually LOSING the baby weight....something had to prop those doors open because no one else was helping me out! Back in MY day, if I would accidentally block an aisle while shopping with the baby - even a SIDE aisle between racks of oversized and overpriced clothing with which to hide the enormous door-holding butt I had grown, old ladies would give ME the F*CK darts and make weird clicking noises with their tongues as they looked at me like I was the worst human being to ever grace the entrance to the food court! And G-d forbid the child should need to nurse because Lord KNOWS that just wasn't DONE at the mall. Take that screaming, starving baby home lady...no tit flashing here! Not today man. Today all you see are women in the food court with huge afghans slung over their shoulders and weird, nursing looks on their faces and the only evidence a baby is even in the zip code is the behemoth stroller parked beside their seat, taking up two tables to their left. And today...if someone has a two-year old and is letting them walk on their own through the Disney store, do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT get in between them because I have found, if you do, it's like Siegfried and Roy all over again. She'll go for your juggalar man. You'll be better than dead. Seriously, I don't know if I am just oversensitive or what...but I am starting to get really ticked off by the dirty looks, the "I am a MOTHER, bow before me peon"-attitudes, and the gigantic strollers that could pretty much haul around the Brady Bunch without a second thought. I am not sure there is any retribution though and so I just add the mall, during the day - ANY day - to my short list of places I won't go. In addition to Friday and Saturday nights when the freaks come out. Oh G-d, I AM turning into my GRANDMOTHER!

HOOOOO-ah at Weight Watchers Yes, I admit it, I AM a Weight Watcher. Over the past twenty years or so I have amassed a collection of Weight Watchers (WW for short) paraphanelia so vast that I shudder sometimes when I realize I have no less than four complete sets of materials. Now, some of you may start to think I am about to slam WW but au contraire mon ami! I think it's the best thing to come down the pike, hence, the reason why I have every program they have designed since 1982. When things get bad and I start to accept that I am no longer the svelte, leggy red-head I picture myself to be in my deepest dreams...I pack up the kit and head back to WW. And they always welcome me with open arms. They take my check and give me a whole bunch of little pamphlets and books which, should I choose to accept, will provide me with the body of my imagination. My latest round with WW started in March 2000. I had a few bumps on the road as I started but within four months, I had lost 25 pounds and gotten my 10% award. That's actually a cool little "mini goal" they give you in WW along with a bunch of other motivational thingees to make you feel like it won't take forever and in the meantime, you're doing great. I guess for some people it wouldn't work but for me, hey, give me the gifts! Anyway, I admit I had some serious issues with the program after I got my coveted 10% keytag. Whatever those problems were...I felt I was doing what I had to do to lose and I just stopped losing. I never knew what the problem was but it devolved into an eating disorder and I eventually lost a lot of heart about the whole thing. The upside is...I did maintain that 10% pretty much. The key, I think, was that I never quit. Even though I didn't lose for an entire year and a half - I went. I went and sat through the meetings and kept the journal. Until the very, very end when our leader had to leave...I kept coming. Unfortunately, when she left, so did a lot of my motivation and for the summer, at least, the best I did was to show up to be weighed and finally, just took four weeks off. So when I wandered back in in September....I was ready. I had joined a personal challenge at Dotti's and besides, hey, it was WW, I KNEW I could do this. Things went GREAT the first week. No, BETTER than great. I came back and had lost 7.2#! I had NEVER lost THAT much before in my life in one week. Not even when I was sick! I was psyched and motivated. My challenge had been 9.0# before Halloween and I was POSITIVE I could do it by the NEXT week. Well, as I am sure you have guessed, things didn't work that way and I ended up GAINING 1.4#. That wasn't so bad, I reasoned, after all, 7.2 was a LOT. I even halfway expected a small gain. No matter. I'd get it off the NEXT week. But the next week was a Jewish Holiday and I had to fast for one full day just two days before my weigh-in. And while my journal reflected an on-program week, the scale felt it best to mock me and took away yet another 1.4 pounds. I was about ready to just go absolutely postal when the receptionist, as she wrote my numbers in the book, snarked, "Well, you NEED to come to MEETINGS and you NEED to follow the PROGRAM." I couldn't even believe she said it to be honest. Like, hello!!! Have you not see me sitting her for the past FOUR weeks every Wednesday evening from 6:00 until 6:30???? Have you not FILED my card with everyone else's that same night??? Can you not SEE the stamps I have from the past FOUR weigh-ins??? HAVE YOU NO COMPASSION??????? Apparently, the answer to that question was - not an ounce. But my Uber-Leader Diane saw my distress and quickly came over to my chair as I contemplated setting my books on fire and tossing them into the middle of the group...and she handed me a "Points Pie" which talked about better distribution of points for optimal loss and also talked me off the ledge. She said it's reasonable to think after the holidays and fasting that I'd be all discombobulated. Just keep DOING it. Never give up. Which is something my friend Melissa also says to me. So instead of heading straight to Wendy's after the meeting to drown my sorrows in a Double with Extra Extras, when my husband called during the meeting to ask where we could have dinner afterwards, I heard my mouth say "Subway." And that's what we did. I had a 12" turkey with honey mustard, no cheese and everything else and a packet of baked Doritos. And I wrote it all down in my journal before we left and that was that. I felt pretty good about it. And this week I felt even better because when I walked in to get weighed last night, I was DOWN 2.6 for a grand total of 25# overall and 7# since I had started Flex Points! The proof, though, will be in whether I can string another loss to this one next week and then maybe I'll start to believe my own personal curse has been lifted. Until then, I just keep plugging along. I keep reminding myself that desire is 9/10's of the battle. And I know, I WILL do this.

What's New and Interesting The first thing that is new and interesting is that the dog fell down the stairs. It's new and it's somewhat interesting but it's pretty sad. And he's pretty banged up. I am not sure of all the logistics. I just know he accidentally pee'd on the kitchen floor as he looked at my husband who immediately went into nuclear meltdown mode causing the dog to scramble to get the hell out of there and bolt too close to the basement door which was cracked open so the miserable cats can get to their litter box which they seldom use anyway and he stumbled and fell straight down the stairs. When I got home he was shivering pretty intensely and giving my husband dirty doggy looks. He wouldn't even go near him. He sat down next to my leg and became my best buddy - glued to me ever since. I immediately thought he had ruptured his pancreas or something because NO accident in MY house is ever fixable with a band-aid and so I called the vet. They didn't seem all that concerned and penciled me in for the next afternoon. Frequent Fliers will remember how Tuckie went all vicious and everything the last time he had to go to the vet and had to be muzzled. Not a very tantalizing idea and besides, they certainly didn't think he was a "emergency." So I went out and did what any self-respecting Jewish mother would do. I bought him some Alpo London Grill - doggy comfort food and came home and practically spoon-fed him. Then I gave him two baby aspirins and put a blanket by my bed for him to sleep on. About twenty minutes after the aspirin he started to perk up so I think he'll be okay. I mean, face it, if I had fallen down the basement stairs, I would be pretty sore and miserable too. The next day, after his morning "fix" of baby aspirin, he was playing with his toys when I left for work. He was still pretty stiff going up the living room stairs but this morning he seemed a whole lot better. The second thing that is new and interesting is a phone call my sister received from my father last night. Seems that while the Squeeze is not quite history YET, she soon will be. Apparently, he caught her making out with a gentleman of a different ethnic persuasion at the bar - or somewhere else which I think is actually worse. And he's also pretty upset that while she made HIM quit drinking, she hasn't made any effort to clean up her own Mary Jane habit. And she can't get up in the morning so he has to drive her 17-year old daughter, who now apparently has moved in, to school which is one county away. And her 20-year old son committed suicide a week after his twin sister gave birth to her illegitimate baby and moved in and the Squeeze naturally had no cash to spring for the funeral or the plot. Hasn't anyone heard of cremation for heaven's sake??? So...yep, my Dad paid for the whole thing PLUS hosted her entire family and all of her kids' loser friends for the funeral "weekend" including providing them with an open tab at his bar for both Friday and Saturday nights. My Dad actually moved out for the weekend and went back to his apartment over his club. Mary Lou, his Brazilian spitfire bar manager, was PISSED OFF! My sister said she told them it was a BUSINESS not a flop house for their family to leech off of! You go Mary Lou! I always liked her! Anyway, after he caught her making out with Jamal (or whatever his name was), he decided her "problems" were out of control and so they went to visit a "relationship" counselor. At some point he must have told the relationship counselor that they wanted to get (gasp...dare I utter it???) married. After getting a load of the Squeeze, the counselor apparently took him aside and told him in no uncertain terms to pretty much run screaming into the night rather than marry that skank. HA! Well, my waste-of-skin sibling, who, by the way, has redeemed herself by making sure I know ALL the dirt AS and WHEN it happens even if that means she has to call at 6:15am to clue me in, called and the Squeeze, who had been telling her how much she loved her and how much she loved the boys for the past week, suddenly had nothing to say. She just passed the phone to my, now miserable and completely morose, father. When Tami asked if he wanted to see the boys he perked up and said he sure did, and then snarked so the Squeeze could hear - "Yeah, I haven't seen MY grandkids in a MONTH!" Well, he hasn't seen ONE of them (mine) since July 4th but that's another subject. He said he thought he'd be eating pizza alone that night and invited her and the kids over but then called and said he wanted to get the hell out of there so they all went to Pizza Hut. He was all upset because, I think, Mary Lou has finally convinced him that sleeping in until 1:00 every afternoon and bloodhounding the Squeeze from morning to night is killing the business and Lord knows, we can't kill the business! And above all else he hates lazy people and it was becoming pretty clear that the Squeeze's kids were all a bunch of freeloading layabouts and he was NOT into this nor was he into raising her kids while she slept off a pot party and then spent three hours making herself presentable. He said that he was going to have to start "shuffling" her out or else the whole house would be destroyed. NOT THE HOUSE!!!!!!! So, while he vacillates daily between wanting to get her GONE and not wanting to be a complete Neanderthal when he does it, I predict the end is coming and soon for Miss Thang. I told Tami I'd buy her a drink when she's gone - we'd toast and our Dad would never even know why but WE would. And finally, the third NEW and INTERESTING thing was that my best friend called yesterday afternoon. Afterwards I wondered why I hadn't been quicker to make that call to Seton Hill University (to ask about babysitting for the boy - and of course I had been sitting there daydreaming instead of actually DOING it) because as I figured she started to sniffle and, I suspect, cry even though she denied it. And it's hard getting your thoughts together when you're being confronted and you don't expect it. Not that I think my position is wrong or that I plan to change anything because so far, it's ALL good. But I did agree to meet her next week to have dinner and we could discuss it. Her issues seem to be mostly with my portrayal of her here. She still doesn't "get" the real problem and for some reason, I really doubt she will. She seems to feel that a 22-year old friendship should transcend anything and took great offense that I would even suggest she hated any particular group of people. She maintained she is just "not" religious and that's what this is really all about. Well, for the record, no, that's not what it's really "all" about. Unless I am hallucinating, I don't think that is even remotely what it's all about. But I'll address that later.

Scratch that Itch! Our dog is supposedly a cross between a cocker spaniel and a beagle. What this translates to is that Tucker has long blond hair that matts and bays like a hunting dog going after a downed duck. It ALSO means he gets lovely and very bizarre diseases like his eye disease. I can't remember the name of it. I just know that every time we get a check-up for it, it costs me no less than $100 for a test that makes his eyes turn green under a black light. And then they give me a script for prednisone drops that are giving him glaucoma and off we go for another year. Eventually, unfortunately, he'll probably go blind. He can't go out on high UV days or be exposed to bright sunlight. He's like Dracula Dog. This summer we were so careful to keep his eyes in check. To give the pred when we needed to and to lay off when we didn't. He's only four and already slightly seeing impaired as it is. And did I mention slightly psycho? He gets a little weird at times, which we attribute to his visual problems. So here we are making sure we're on the ball with everything and suddenly he starts to itch. And I mean like ITCH! He smelled doggier than usual and he was always hot and breathing like he just ran the Pittsburgh marathon. I felt badly for him. At first, we figured it was critters and this was, of course, right after we found the infamous head lice on Evan. I am pretty sure that the itching of the dog is what elicited the "Evan has fleas" remark from my sister-in-law. Well, neither Evan NOR Tuck had fleas but what the hey, something was making this dog go insane and scratch himself to death....we figured it was time to get groomed. The groomer verified what I already thought - no sign of vermin but she did tell me that all the dogs in the county were going nuts because of pollen allergies. Well, that was something I understood. So she bathed him and clipped him pretty short...no long hairs to pick up nasty pollen spores. Anth trimmed the vagrant weeds that had grown between the concrete squares in his kennel. We figured we were given a second chance. And about ten seconds after we got home, there was Tuck...scratching to beat the band. What was UP with that???? Well, finally, I had had enough. I figured we'd have to take him to the vet (who would probably want to do the black light thing too) or we could find something at PetSmart first. You can imagine what I did. His groomer, Jay, recommended hydrocortesone spray. Like, why didn't I think of that??? The internet had suggested changing his diet. So I found some lidocaine wipes - they were cleaned out of hydrocortesone spray - and bought them and a bag of all natural lamb meal dog food. No soy. The internet said soy was bad. Another trip to Target and I found the elusive spray in the doggy aisle. I hurried home...okay, so I stopped at Wendy's for baked potatoes for dinner on the way...and proceded to spray hydrocortesone all over the hot, smelly dog. It was like a freakin' miracle!!! The dog just STOPPED scratching. I realized his eyes looked bad too so I gave him his drops. He actually wanted to play with his toys and then stretched out for a snooze. I swear to G-d this is the first time I have seen him relax in two months! He's asleep now in his little crate in the next room. No sounds of hind legs pounding the metal crate as he scratches himself silly. Hopefully we'll ALL get a good nights' sleep tonight. I have heard them say that CASH is king, CORN is king and even CATTLE is king, depending on what state you're in. But tonight in a little city in western Pennsylvania, HYDROCORTESONE spray is king. I wish I'd had enough sense to think of this sooner. Sleep tight Tuckie.

A Perfect Weekend This weekend was absolutely PERFECT. Not that it started out that way but it sure did pick up steam at some point and ended on a resounding high note! Friday, Evan and I went to services. I have to tell you...he was so perfectly behaved, I was just SO proud. One of the ladies brought him a kippah clip for his Harry Potter kippah...I took it as a sign that he was accepted and it made me so happy. It's hard enough with a kid that's different but to see the whole congregation embrace him and love him, well, it definitely warms my heart! He chanted all the prayers in Hebrew with the best of them. Yeah, he didn't have some words right but he didn't care and he sang loud and proud. Shoshanna, who gave him the kippah clip and sat with us, looked at me as he chanted and mouthed, "How does he KNOW that???" I almost started to cry I was so proud of him! Afterwards, we went to the sukkah and did the blessing of the four species - etrog, myrtle, willow and palm. We helped serve kiddush. Marla came over to us and asked us what size Evan wears and told me to meet her at 10am sharp on Sunday for the handoff of ten pairs of practically new jeans. THAT was enough to rock MY world!!!! Ten pairs of Lee jeans??? Come on........!!!!!! Afterwards we had our usual ice cream and again, no television....Evan was actually the one who reminded me! Again...can we all say together, PROUD!!!! Saturday we had a reunion with an online group of friends from a group called WE CAN. It was beautiful - a classic autumn day in Pittsburgh - and we had a ball. The night ended at a Japanese steak house....what fun to go with eleven of your friends???? And today, we helped with the synagogue Sukkot party (I helped the kids make harvest themed pins out of craft foam and the Hubster ran the 7th grade class). I sit here now with a content smile on my face. Things have certainly changed for us and as is always the case, we want the change! We have a religious organization we REALLY like and one in which we REALLY enjoy participating. We're making new friends, people are starting to know us and our son...we realized that if we wanted, our entire social world could pretty much revolve around the synagogue! And actually, we're kind of going with the flow and allowing that to happen. We joined the book club and if we don't find a sitter by Wednesday, one or the other of us (probably him this time) will be hitting the Rabbi's house for our first meeting. I think the book - The Bus Driver Who Wanted to be G-d is more down Anth's humor alley than mine so he can tell me all about it and then hopefully we'll BOTH go to the next one. We have youth group in a couple weeks (pumpkin patch trip) and then the Craig Taubman concert in Pittsburgh a couple of weeks after that. And then, of course, we're into the holiday season - Hanukkah! Of course, in between are services and Religious School and family dinners before Shabbat services and kosher cooking lessons and hopefully, some more Hebrew lessons. The bottom line is we are ALL happy. I can see such a huge improvement in Evan's behavior over the past week or so. I am not sure what caused it...maybe sitting for 4.5 hours straight through Yom Kippur but whatever it was, well, I just wanted to share our happiness for once. I even bought him a book he's been wanting. With the television being off for 24 hours, he's actually started to READ! G-d answers our prayers when we are ready and of course, in a way of His choosing. I am thrilled mine have been answered in this way. Oh yeah, that and I finally found a way to stop the dog's itching but that's another post!

"I" Before "E" except after "L" ... right??? Yesterday the boy came out of the school building in tears. He's a sensitive kid...and apparantly also got busted cheating on a test. We're not exactly sure HOW he cheated...but he somehow thinks that's what the teacher thinks and in his assignment log there's a note. It says (and I quote) that the boy must write 25 times... "I will not LYE to my teachers." What do you SAY about something like that??? Experience has taught me that to say ANYTHING would get a rebuke from the teachers' union who thinks that writing down assignments for a child in learning support is entirely outside of the realm of customary duty. The principal would most likely give her an excuse like, she was too tired or something. So...do I get him to write it EXACTLY as they wrote it and say NOTHING, leaving this glaring spelling error for them to see and HOPE they realize my latent sarcasm at not pointing it out? Or do I correct it and hope I don't look snarky for doing so? Decisions, decisions. In the meantime, from what I can gather, they gave him the test and the answers were either attached to it or within reaching distance. I always had to put my books under the desk... And my son did what any red-blooded American 10-year old would do when confronted with material he didn't know well and was being tested on with answers within reach...he looked. Now I DID discuss how we have to do our own work and when taking a test it's not proper to peek at the answers no matter how tempting that may be. So I am NOT excusing him. But really, GEEZ! Come on, if I left a plate of wet cat food on the counter with my two cats in the room and left to go outside for a 15-minute walk, should I expect that it would be there when I got back? So, I suppose besides not being able to spell...these teachers are also sorely lacking in simple logic as well. Sigh.

And now for something completely different... For those who may like their political satire and current events news a little bit (okay, a LOT) left of the center, may I recommend JewView. This Blog is a little racy for the fainthearted but if you like a no-hold-back approach from someone who "says what they REALLY feel" - CHECK IT OUT!!!

Belly Up to the Bar and Say Howdy! Yesterday was a banner day at Sun-Dried Tomato. I feel like standing here at the mike and saying "You like me! You really like me!!" We topped out at over 77 readers yesterday, which is about triple what I get usually!!! Of course, saying you actually are liking this soap opera I write may be taking a lot for granted but I wanted everyone to know how much it strokes my ego to have you stop by sometime during your day to see what I happen to be griping about! So, in honor of the 77 people who visited yesterday...I'd like to ask everyone a favor. Frequent Flyer here or no, please take a second and sign in under the Comments section. It's below every post. You just click on it and say your piece! I'd love to meet those who stop by everyday and those who are just first time Tomatoes for a Day. In any event, thank you for making me feel like I am entertaining you because it truly entertains me to do so.

Some Good News for a Change Here's a tidbit a lot of my frequent fliers have been waiting for! According to my sister, my Dad has decided it is OVER with between him and the Squeeze!!! WOOHOO! Unfortunately, her 20 year old son OD'd on oxycontin and heroin on Tuesday night (I'll say it again...nice family!!!) so he doesn't feel now is a good time to break it to her. HA! I told my sister we had waited out the storm and now victory was ours! The other night I called my Dad and at the end of the phone message I left I said "Love you." I never say that. I mean NEVER! It is not in our family's vocabulary unless we're dead drunk. But, I said it and I wasn't even drinking. He told my sister it was a "VERY nice message." And four days later, he wants to dump the Squeeze. Whatever it was.... it's Millah time!

Day of Judgment Redux My review was today. Let me preface that by saying at one point in my life I had the cruelest, most sadistic boss imaginable. I actually had to file sexual harassment charges against the creep when he hired a stripper for my birthday and had the guy tie me up and then filmed it all. I won that time. But for the two years he was my boss before that, my employment was a reign of terror for him. He constantly belittled me, threatened me, intimidated me...well, you get the picture. Annual reviews were a time of inner turmoil, I got ulcers and bit my nails to nothing. They made me physically ill. That was over ten years ago and I still bear the scars. So you can imagine, my annual review, despite the gentle nature of my boss whom I love and admire the hell out of, makes me panic. And today was no different. Overall it went well. My successes completely balanced out my failures with a giant glob of "atta girls" in the middle for good measure. His comments were fair, his criticism was constructive and wise. I know he set out to let me know I can do this job and I do it well. But I am not perfect and I can do it better. Fair enough. And I will do everything I can to do it better. Like I said, I love the guy....I can't let him down. It's obvious he believes in me. But there IS the matter of our controller....henceforth known as the Troll. Every month for the past year our executive assistant and I spent numerous hours during our day typing his papers for his Masters' degree. Time we could have been doing other, more productive work. Time we really shouldn't have spent doing HIS homework. But we did it for him. Were there thank yous? Was there acknowledgement on secretary's day or a little gift around the holidays to thank us for doing his homework and not telling our boss that we did it? I am sure my faithful readers will recognize sarcasm when they see it. Well, no, there weren't any of those things. Until the review today. And, I find, he dropped bombs on the both of us. Criticising us for mistakes and implying we didn't take our work seriously. I was advised to take classes, to read more technical papers. In reality, when policy had changed the Troll simply told me he would let me know all I needed to know and most of that was in passing. No papers were offered or policy circulars given. And suddenly in my review, he laid it all out. The homework is done and the degree about to be granted. And he told my boss I am basically an incompetent, lazy buffoon who doesn't care about anything further than my paycheck. Fortunately, my boss knows better than that and simply said I need to read more about the policy changes than simply taking the Troll at his word. But I also see this as war. And if there ARE any papers in his future, I certainly won't be the one typing them. Unless, of course, my boss directs me to after I ask him if I can.

Lament for an Old Friend This past weekend was a landmark in my life. Just as August 30 was always the day a friendship was born, so, now, October 4 will be the day that friendship died. We had been friends through all sorts of events in our lives. Her father dying, my mother dying...graduating from college and getting our first apartment. She was the maid of honor at my wedding and my son's godmother when he was born. When I didn't have money for milk when I was pregnant, because of weird pay schedules or whatever, she would send $5 to make sure I had some. When she had an aortic dissection, she stayed with us until she was well. Our friendship was rich, vast and varied. We didn't share much in common as far as interests: I was a rabid reader, devouring books like some people ate food. She preferred television and reality shows at that. But somehow we connected and that connection lasted for 22 years. Until now. In the summer of 2002, I made a life-altering decision to convert to Judaism. I honestly feel, after much soul-searching and prayer, that it was what G-d wanted me to do. My husband understood. But my best friend? No, she could never understand. Instead, she belittled my efforts as well as my sincerity, telling everyone that it was a "phase" and there was no way I would take it seriously. But I DID take it seriously. I spent two hours every week with my Rabbi. When she had surgery and was too sick to meet with me, I enrolled in weekly classes in Pittsburgh - classes that were an hour each way and two hours for the class. I went in snow, rain, cold. And my best friend? She feigned support. Maybe she really believed once I finished the classes, I would stop this crazy nonsense. I wanted so much to share what I learned with her so she could experience what I was. I didn't want her to convert with me...I really wanted her to just learn a little about what was important to me. At first, I would call her when I got to class as I sat in the parking lot and then when I was on my way home, raving about the lesson we had learned that night. At first, she listened. Then she started to complain that the calls came too late or that she had a television program to watch. Eventually - I stopped calling. I would invite her for Shabbat dinners which I was struggling to find a niche with. She came once and acted as if it was some regal ceremony instead of a family dinner at which we all gathered. She couldn't - or wouldn't - understand it. After one or two dinners, she just started to refuse the invitations. I will give her credit, she did come to a Passover Seder we had with my sister in law and her family but other than that, she made it clear, our holidays were JEWISH and she was not a Jew and would NOT participate. In June 2003, my Rabbi called and told me my mikveh and bet dein had been scheduled. By this time, it was clear, I could not discuss Judaism with my best friend, she simply refused to acknowledge it as a part of my life. Eventually, though, I did ask her to attend these life-altering events with me. She refused. She was too busy. She had to work. If I had just asked sooner... If I had just respected HER schedule... So, I went alone - with my husband and my niece to the one event which I had worked so hard to arrive at. My best friend called to congratulate me after but it was cold, stiff and forced. When I told her my new Hebrew name - Elianah Aviya Sarid bat Abraham v'Sarah - she recited my full name, including my old confirmation name and including my new Hebrew name together. She never even took the time to realize that a Hebrew name is separate and apart from your English name - she never even cared to know. Her only concern was to make it clear she thought I was a flake and that this, too, would pass. She even told me that since my old confirmation name was "Christiana" that my Hebrew name should he "Judah" and that way I could have one of each - what would the next one be? Things got worse over the summer as our whole family adjusted to the change. Honestly, it was a change for the better for all of us. Initially, we had thought we'd allow our son to choose between our two faiths. But he was too clever and started to play us against one another. On Fridays he was Catholic and on Sundays he was a Jew. Taking the advice of one of the rabbi's on the bet dein, we decided he would be raised as a Jew. No choice necessary. Indeed, my husband attends Friday services with us and all of the holidays. It is HE who brings Shabbat to our house...cooking, cleaning and making sure the white table cloth is on the table and the candles ready to be lit. Of course, this was what torpedoed the friendship. Now we had a "Jewish" home. We observed Shabbat by turning off the television for 24 hours. We attended services regularly. We prayed at the dinner table. We provided our son with Jewish books and toys. One of the biggest moments of controversy came up over our foregoing of Christmas and our embracement of Hanukkah. We decided that if our son was to be raised a Jew that we could NOT have a tree this year. No dual holiday. We would celebrate Christmas with our family that observed it but in our home, it was not our holiday. To that end, I thought we'd make THIS Hanukkah an especially joyous celebration with lots of special food, decorations for the holiday and presents, lots of presents. But my best friend dug her heels in. She saw it more that we were denying HER her holiday celebration since she usually spent that holiday at our house. I explained that we would still give her a big holiday dinner - we just wouldn't have a tree. But she said that that wasn't enough. She would spend her holiday alone since that was what we apparently wanted. She would get our son on Christmas and take him to her house and have a small Christmas party just for the two of them. She would give him presents then. And that was where the fatal break occurred I think. I told her no. He was a Jew now. His choice had been made for him. And to take him out of his home to give him a holiday he could no longer have was confusing and, in my opinion, cruel. No....she could bring his presents to our house. We'd prefer if she'd work with us to make Hanukkah very special for him this year. "I am not giving him Hanukkah presents," she said. "That is a Jewish holiday and I am not a Jew." "Well," I replied. "Then I won't give you Christmas presents. That is a Christian holiday and I am not a Christian. Is that what you want?" "No," she said. But apparently it was a bigger problem than she let on. And rather than ramble on and on about every comment and every injustice, I'll just conclude here. This past weekend was culmination of our High Holiday season. My son and I were to be ark openers. I consider that to be an honor and I was excited and wanted my son to feel proud. She just couldn't grasp that and refused to discuss it. As with everything, her approach was if she refused to acknowledge it, it couldn't possibly be. She called to say she was coming over and I reminded her that we weren't watching TV over Shabbat so I asked her to please remember not to turn on the TV. "You have always wanted me not to come over on the weekend," she said. "And so this is how you're doing it. I NEED the TV to be ON. I NEED noise. If you don't have it on, I will not come over." Suddenly, the image I had was of a four year old throwing a fit because she wasn't getting her way. And that was pretty much it. There were some more ugly words said but they aren't important. In the end, she got in her car and left. At first I thought she just hated Jews but then I realized it's not really the Judaism so much as the change. And while this change has been nothing but good for my marriage, my family and my life....in her mind, it hurts HER and for that reason, and that reason alone, it is a bad change. Rather than embracing this, learning all about it and continuing to be a part of OUR family, she has decided that unless we do things HER way, in a way in which she feels most comfortable...then, I guess, they are not worth doing. There have been fights about my Sabbath observance and the way in which we, as a family, choose to observe it. How I expect her to bow to MY Sabbath but do not bow to hers. Even though she is basically non-religious and is Catholic in name only. Sundays, HER Sabbath, involve watching NASCAR all day while laying on my couch. Afterwards, she leaves. The rest of the week we don't talk, we don't socialize, we don't do anything. And she says, because I won't go shopping on Saturday (even though we always go to lunch together and then read books at Barnes and Noble in the afternoon), I am ruining her life. She said this is MY choice. I told her I am doing what G-d has told me to do. She said again...you're CHOOSING to NOT do things with ME. In my heart I know, it's not that simple. Yes, my son is devastated but I see clearly that if I want to nurture his identity as a Jew, I need to back away from this destructive friendship. To allow someone, anyone, to tell him he is not good enough because of the religion he practices and the culture he identifies with is evil. After she left, he turned to me and said "I don't want to be a Jew anymore, it means she won't love me!" And then I knew... it was over. Our friendship withstood many things. Life, death, birth and a lot of happiness and now, a lot of pain. We may be friends again but it will never be the way it was. And for that, I cry.

Hell has frozen over It's true. Hell has, indeed, frozen over. Frequent Fliers here on Sun-Dried Tomato remember my entry about the road to hell being paved by Golden Eagle Construction of Uniontown, PA and how the mere fact that it was being paved was making MY life a living hell. Well, if that was the road to hell, then what I saw when I got to my destination this morning affirms that hell has, absolutely, frozen over. The golf course that lays on the road across the street from the school where I work was glistening white in the morning sunshine. Sparkling with a layer of ice about half an inch thick. It is October 3, 2003 and in western Pennsylvania...winter has arrived. We now face seven months of more of the same only worse. By this time in February, I am sure I'll be fondly remembering the half inch of glistening ice as I trudge through six or seven inches of fresh snow. Everyone says western Pennsylvania has a moderate climate. There is a legend that once there was a spring AND a fall in the same year! I can't even imagine that. It stuns me speechless to think that just 45 days ago it was nearly 75 degrees when I woke up. Today it was 27. All I can say is RATS!

On the road of life... On Monday I had to go on a short business trip. To be quite honest, I HATE to travel. No, I mean I LOATHE to travel. I am always worried I'll lose my wallet or the car won't start or I'll have a breakdown on the turnpike and be stranded for seventeen years. I hate to eat out alone and the tv is always bad. I never sleep well...not that I do ANYWAY, but when I am in a hotel, I am always worried that the place will burn down or I'll be the episode of the week on the next Law and Order. This trip, though, was amazingly good even for a business trip. The trip THERE was uneventful. I found a mall on my way into Dodge to stop and have Subway for lunch and then found my way OUT of the mall easily. Surprising. Usually I end up in some cornfield three hours west of where I started. My mapquest directions were good...nay, GREAT. There was NO traffic in and around Harrisburg on Monday at lunchtime (what was up with THAT?) and despite predictions that parking would be non-existent, I found a spot in the parking garage across the street from the Department of Labor and Industry. Right where I wanted to be. But did it end there? No!!! It got better! When I left L&I to head to my hotel, again, no traffic! I swerved around corners and went through intersections like a seasoned pro. I actually started to believe I was getting GOOD at this! A slight faux pas as I parked in the hotel's garange BEFORE I registered but that was quickly and easily corrected with a quick trip down in the elevator after I checked in. I wasn't even towed! And delight of delights! The chinese place down the street delivered for FREE right to my room!!! I assure you, it doesn't get any better than that!! I was starting to think I could really start to like business travel. When I got home, my little boy had stuck a note in my pillow case. He loves me and missed me terribly. Okay....so I was wrong. How could ANYTHING beat that? It was good to be home.