Page Thirty-One.
I'm technically not an artist. When all is said and done, concerning my secondary education, I ended up taking so much studio art that I was only two classes shy of a B.F.A. in 3-D art, (think: arts & crafts); this, on top of my first two majors: Interpersonal Communications and Art History. But I eventually got tired of going to school so I stopped. Guess that makes me an art-school drop out. So, I'm not a real artist, 'cause I don't have a degree in it. What am I then? Good question. I'll let you know when I find out.
In about '89, I received a cute little envelope in the mail from my friend, Filomena, on Valentine's Day. It was a charming construction paper valentine reminiscent of the the third grade. I called her and inquired and she explained that she simply felt like sending out cards that year. She made these retro cards and sent them to her close friends. I was thrilled and stunned. It was just too cool and I loved it. So the next year I did the same thing. My closer friends, clients, nieces, nephews, Shapiro kids and various stragglers all got home-made construction paper cards. They loved it and so did I. That had to have been about '90.
The next year I got a little more elaborate with my materials: lace, felt, silk flowers, etc. and I started including chocolate. Within a couple of years the things took on a life of their own. Every year since, it's a completely different design, using a totally new medium. There's always a heart shape involved somewhere. And there's always chocolate. A few years ago, I painted all the canvases in one of four colors. Then I glued on plastic jewels in a variety of shapes and colors, outlining the heart. Each canvas was completely different.
Some years ago, I went to a metal shop and commissioned then to cut small, rectangular shiny metal plates. I then made a heart-shaped template and placed the template over each metal plate. I proceeded to spray on glue and pour over shiny, tiny, red and silver glass beads. So the whole things had the feel of a child's typical glitter card, but on steroids, what with no glitter, instead glass on metal. Every year it's something completely over the top.
At some point in the '90's I also began including a child's store bought card in the package. Scooby-Doo, Superman, Barbie, Sponge Bob, Mickey Mouse etc. have all been included in the bag of chocolate at different times and they've contained the personal greeting as there's no place on the card itself.
Ever year, I insist that "this year's is the most frustrating". But I keep on doing 'em. I send out an average of four to five dozen per year, with the list always changing to reflect who's in my life presently. These are really my yearly greeting card, but in February, not December. (This year's edition involves hand-painted, hand-cut rigid plastic hearts which are then given a Christo treatment.) Every January and early February I insist that I won't survive 'till the fourteenth, but I always do. I don't know how.
The adults let me know how much they appreciate them, in no uncertain terms. But, my nieces and nephews and any children probably enjoy them the most. I'm perfectly okay with that.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
The Flyers of 1982
Page Thirty.
On page twenty-nine, I referenced some flyers I put out in '82. Let's chat about those today.
I'd been living with the Van Myms for a few months. and was still quite new at Salon: Alpha-Omega, having just started there in July of '81. I had no money. Let's repeat that. I HAD NO MONEY. One more time with vigor... BROKE!!! And I was twenty years old.
What are all the things that a twenty year old can do to earn money? Just for fun, let's list, comprehensively:
1) prostitution
2) drug sales
3) steal
4) beg
5) become pope
6) become a major movie actor
7) become president
8) landscape
9) child-care
10) paint
11) clean
12) odd jobs
13) sell shoes
That's it. Nothing else. I researched thoroughly. There were no other things. Now, let's go down this list, shall we? Numbers 1-4, seemed unsavory, just not my style; 5-7, I was certainly qualified for these positions but upper management didn't think so, else I would've gotten the jobs; 8, well... I hate doing yard work; 9, I was a live-in nanny so I didn't think more kids would be kind to my soul; 10, 11 and 12, I could do; 13, not interested.
So... how does one go about getting jobs painting, cleaning and doing odd jobs? The Van Myms told me I should make up a flyer advertising myself, then she would make copies at work. I could then put them in neighbors' front doors and wait for the phone to ring. So I did, then she did, then I did, then it did. She printed up four hundred flyers, of which I put out about three hundred seventy five. I still have the remainders. It's really a lousy flyer - very amateurish - but not too many neighbors seemed to care, apparently. Honestly, I didn't get that many responses, but the ones I did get really made a difference in my life.
As previously mentioned, Dr. Hanson's wife responded and inquired about elder-care. I also got a few responses for cleaning and painting, (I've been told that I'm a good cleaner and painter). I received a few unexpected phone calls for party help!?!? Gee, where would that lead? As these things went out in July, there were the phone calls for yard work. I didn't want them but accepted them. I also got a number of calls for child care. The child care I absolutely said no to. After I explained why, most people understood; that is, all did except for one lady named Lena. That's a separate story. Brother, is that a story!
I'd employ the flyer concept again, later in life. Sometimes you just have to let people know you exist.
On page twenty-nine, I referenced some flyers I put out in '82. Let's chat about those today.
I'd been living with the Van Myms for a few months. and was still quite new at Salon: Alpha-Omega, having just started there in July of '81. I had no money. Let's repeat that. I HAD NO MONEY. One more time with vigor... BROKE!!! And I was twenty years old.
What are all the things that a twenty year old can do to earn money? Just for fun, let's list, comprehensively:
1) prostitution
2) drug sales
3) steal
4) beg
5) become pope
6) become a major movie actor
7) become president
8) landscape
9) child-care
10) paint
11) clean
12) odd jobs
13) sell shoes
That's it. Nothing else. I researched thoroughly. There were no other things. Now, let's go down this list, shall we? Numbers 1-4, seemed unsavory, just not my style; 5-7, I was certainly qualified for these positions but upper management didn't think so, else I would've gotten the jobs; 8, well... I hate doing yard work; 9, I was a live-in nanny so I didn't think more kids would be kind to my soul; 10, 11 and 12, I could do; 13, not interested.
So... how does one go about getting jobs painting, cleaning and doing odd jobs? The Van Myms told me I should make up a flyer advertising myself, then she would make copies at work. I could then put them in neighbors' front doors and wait for the phone to ring. So I did, then she did, then I did, then it did. She printed up four hundred flyers, of which I put out about three hundred seventy five. I still have the remainders. It's really a lousy flyer - very amateurish - but not too many neighbors seemed to care, apparently. Honestly, I didn't get that many responses, but the ones I did get really made a difference in my life.
As previously mentioned, Dr. Hanson's wife responded and inquired about elder-care. I also got a few responses for cleaning and painting, (I've been told that I'm a good cleaner and painter). I received a few unexpected phone calls for party help!?!? Gee, where would that lead? As these things went out in July, there were the phone calls for yard work. I didn't want them but accepted them. I also got a number of calls for child care. The child care I absolutely said no to. After I explained why, most people understood; that is, all did except for one lady named Lena. That's a separate story. Brother, is that a story!
I'd employ the flyer concept again, later in life. Sometimes you just have to let people know you exist.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Doctor Hanson
Page Twenty-Nine.
My mother's best friend was named Virginia. This blog isn't about her. It's about Doctor Hanson. He was my very first elder-care client. The reason I bring up Virgina is because she was sort of like my grandmother. I helped her a great deal around her apartment and running errands and so forth. From her I learned the concept of "companionship" as it relates to aiding the elderly. But she wasn't a client in any sense of the word. She was family. She merely prepped me for the profession.
Summer, '82 is when I passed out flyers looking for clients, the first time. This is a separate story for another time, but it's how I met Dr. Hanson. One of my responses came from a woman who lived in one of the very large homes on Fairmount Blvd. here in Cleveland Heights. She had an ex-husband who lived over near Shaker Square. He was a retired surgeon who was ill and needed help. She wanted to know if I was interested. Of course I was.
For the next three years, I helped him, usually twice a week, in the afternoons. We ran errands then we'd go back to his place. I'd make dinner and we'd sit, eat and chat. He died in '85 from his heart condition. He wasn't old, perhaps mid-sixties somewhere.
In spite of a very successful career in surgery and a loving family with four kids he wasn't really a happy man. He had a history with alcohol which wasn't resolved. Many people though he was sober through A.A. but he wasn't. I watched him drink. He was also very concerned over the health of his mother, much more than over his own health which was, in fact, far worse than hers. In fact, he minimized his own illnesses. He had a very large ulcer on his foot which he refused to take care of. One day he said to me, "it's not that bad. It isn't like you can see bone or anything." Maybe I couldn't see bone, but I sure saw stuff I shouldn't have. It was really large and deep. He also needlessly worried about money, to the point that the last six or eight months of his life he took to calling me only occasionally to save cash. But he had enough of it, believe you me.
It was a very valuable and positive relationship to me, though. He mostly was very nice, kind and helpful. At one point he even put me up for a few weeks 'cause I was waiting to move into a new place. He lent me his car on numerous occasions and always took me out for my birthday. He took his frustrations out on me only once, and it was a really bad scene. But he apologized quickly.
I was getting ready to quit my day job at Salon: Alpha-Omega and move out of town. The night prior to my last day at work he informed me that I'd need to help him out the next day. He wanted to fly home to see his mother and needed me to take him to the airport. I couldn't 'because I was booked solid at work doing hair, again, on my last day in Cleveland. He went ballistic with particularly cruel verbage. I didn't budge. Fifteen minutes later he apologized after calling his sister. She laid into him apparently and he showed sincere remorse.
That was really the only hiccup in our relationship. That was when I realized how angry he had to have been at his own life. I've always assumed that those few moments must've been similar to what his kids might have experienced growing up.
His ex-wife called me at work when he died. I went to the funeral and was struck by the lack of grief his family expressed. Well, they had to have been expecting it and they certainly knew how miserable he was in his illness. I think they thought, "now he's out of his misery". That is where some people go when their loved one dies.
Dr. Hanson was in my life for only a few years, thirty years ago. But here I am remembering him vividly. Isn't that amazing? We never can predict the long-term effect others will have on us or we on them. We never know when or how a single little act, positive or negative, will change a life. I hope I distribute positive ones more than negative. I think I do. (Please forgive me. I'm sounding a little like John-Boy crossed with Doogie Howser here.)
My mother's best friend was named Virginia. This blog isn't about her. It's about Doctor Hanson. He was my very first elder-care client. The reason I bring up Virgina is because she was sort of like my grandmother. I helped her a great deal around her apartment and running errands and so forth. From her I learned the concept of "companionship" as it relates to aiding the elderly. But she wasn't a client in any sense of the word. She was family. She merely prepped me for the profession.
Summer, '82 is when I passed out flyers looking for clients, the first time. This is a separate story for another time, but it's how I met Dr. Hanson. One of my responses came from a woman who lived in one of the very large homes on Fairmount Blvd. here in Cleveland Heights. She had an ex-husband who lived over near Shaker Square. He was a retired surgeon who was ill and needed help. She wanted to know if I was interested. Of course I was.
For the next three years, I helped him, usually twice a week, in the afternoons. We ran errands then we'd go back to his place. I'd make dinner and we'd sit, eat and chat. He died in '85 from his heart condition. He wasn't old, perhaps mid-sixties somewhere.
In spite of a very successful career in surgery and a loving family with four kids he wasn't really a happy man. He had a history with alcohol which wasn't resolved. Many people though he was sober through A.A. but he wasn't. I watched him drink. He was also very concerned over the health of his mother, much more than over his own health which was, in fact, far worse than hers. In fact, he minimized his own illnesses. He had a very large ulcer on his foot which he refused to take care of. One day he said to me, "it's not that bad. It isn't like you can see bone or anything." Maybe I couldn't see bone, but I sure saw stuff I shouldn't have. It was really large and deep. He also needlessly worried about money, to the point that the last six or eight months of his life he took to calling me only occasionally to save cash. But he had enough of it, believe you me.
It was a very valuable and positive relationship to me, though. He mostly was very nice, kind and helpful. At one point he even put me up for a few weeks 'cause I was waiting to move into a new place. He lent me his car on numerous occasions and always took me out for my birthday. He took his frustrations out on me only once, and it was a really bad scene. But he apologized quickly.
I was getting ready to quit my day job at Salon: Alpha-Omega and move out of town. The night prior to my last day at work he informed me that I'd need to help him out the next day. He wanted to fly home to see his mother and needed me to take him to the airport. I couldn't 'because I was booked solid at work doing hair, again, on my last day in Cleveland. He went ballistic with particularly cruel verbage. I didn't budge. Fifteen minutes later he apologized after calling his sister. She laid into him apparently and he showed sincere remorse.
That was really the only hiccup in our relationship. That was when I realized how angry he had to have been at his own life. I've always assumed that those few moments must've been similar to what his kids might have experienced growing up.
His ex-wife called me at work when he died. I went to the funeral and was struck by the lack of grief his family expressed. Well, they had to have been expecting it and they certainly knew how miserable he was in his illness. I think they thought, "now he's out of his misery". That is where some people go when their loved one dies.
Dr. Hanson was in my life for only a few years, thirty years ago. But here I am remembering him vividly. Isn't that amazing? We never can predict the long-term effect others will have on us or we on them. We never know when or how a single little act, positive or negative, will change a life. I hope I distribute positive ones more than negative. I think I do. (Please forgive me. I'm sounding a little like John-Boy crossed with Doogie Howser here.)
Friday, January 25, 2013
Restrictive Diets And The Very Old
Twenty-Eight.
I created quite a controversy in my nursing home some years ago. I gradually got more and more disgusted by the policy of dietary restrictions among the very old and I got vocal. Putting an old person on a restrictive diet is very cruel, I believe.
Those people have diminished hearing and diminished sight. They've lost their spouses, friends and sometimes children. They've usually lost sexual partners. Many things they're comfortable with - the world they know - is gone. And now... the ultimate insult... they're not allowed to eat what they want because some doctor, nurse or dietician believes that something isn't healthy.
Let's get this straight...
"My name's Joseph. You can call me Joe. I was in the South Pacific, under MacArthur, during the war. But, let's talk about today. I'm eighty-nine and thirty pounds overweight. I admit, I've always been a little chubby. My cholesterol is too high and I have high blood pressure. I have stable diabetes and all my other organs are okay, knock wood. My wife, Vivian, and two of my three children are gone. One of my sons died in Viet Nam and my daughter died a few years ago of cancer. I never really got over the loss of my son. All my siblings are dead. I'm still at home on a limited income so I can't do most things I wish I could. Even if I could go out once in a while, who would I go with? All my friends are either dead or they've moved away. Everything hurts. You wouldn't believe how vigorous I used to be. I played tennis twice a week. Now, I can't even walk to the mailbox without getting winded. My macular degeneration has advanced so I'm not able to drive anymore and hearing aid batteries are very expensive so it's hard for me to hear sometimes. I don't remember things so well anymore, either. I have to write everything down so I don't forget."
"I'm not complaining though. I've had a great life. I was a machinist and married to the most wonderful girl in the world. You could never have asked for a better wife. Boy was she pretty! All the guys wanted her but I got her. Life's different with her gone. Now, I have to rely on my son and daughter-in-law for everything. They pick up my groceries and pills. I'm grateful for them, don't get me wrong, but they're too bossy."
"For instance, I used to love Stouffer's frozen mac 'n cheese but they won't buy it for me because the damn doctor told them I should eat less fat. They also won't buy me real butter or even 2% milk. I'm stuck with cheap margarine and imitation milk made from almonds of all things. I can certainly afford real milk and butter, dammit. When they do get me pasta it's this whole wheat sh**. Why won't they get me good food? I tried to be a good father. I really did. I sacrificed like they don't know. Who worked while they took vacations? Who scrimped and saved? When I was a child my mother could stretch a dollar better than anyone you ever met. We always had food on the table. And it was good, too. Now, they won't even let me have the peanut butter I like and I don't even know why. They buy me this strange peanut butter that has no flavor.. Why doesn't everybody just leave me alone, God Dammit? I have no independence at all any more. SH**!!!"
I knew men just like this, and women too. And I agree with them. In the nursing home It's even worse because we had TOTAL control over what they ate. And if the doc, nursing staff or dietician decided that Joe shouldn't eat something, he basically had no control over it, especially if he had advanced dementia. And his kids would feel obligated to agree with us. In reality, Joe and his children absolutely have the right to refuse any dietary restrictions. The right to disagree with any nursing home decision is a law, it really is. But modern life teaches that medical workers are not to be disagreed with so Joe is stuck eating food he doesn't like.
As I became vocal about my displeasure with this concept, more people I worked with took sides too. On one occasion I actually got into a shouting match with our head Dietician (whom I was very friendly with). I also occasionally received anonymous notes and articles in my mailbox concerning this very topic. One anonymous party left me an article about a doctor in southern Ohio who completely eliminated all restrictive diets in his nursing home. This would have been about 2004 or so. He felt as I do... they have nothing left. Let them enjoy what little pleasure they can find in life.What are we proving by trying to make a very old person "healthy"?
What is life without joy? If food is one of the very few joys they have left, then why deny them that pleasure. In the rule book somewhere it says that if somebody's cholesterol is too high then they should lower it. Period. End of sentence. Except I don't buy that. I think that if somebody should be allowed to die with have high cholesterol if they want.
Redd Foxx used to talk about a friend of his. This friend gave up alcohol, tobacco, women, gambling and unhealthy foods. Redd said, "He's gonna feel like a damn fool layin' up in the hospital bed dyin' from nothin'.
I created quite a controversy in my nursing home some years ago. I gradually got more and more disgusted by the policy of dietary restrictions among the very old and I got vocal. Putting an old person on a restrictive diet is very cruel, I believe.
Those people have diminished hearing and diminished sight. They've lost their spouses, friends and sometimes children. They've usually lost sexual partners. Many things they're comfortable with - the world they know - is gone. And now... the ultimate insult... they're not allowed to eat what they want because some doctor, nurse or dietician believes that something isn't healthy.
Let's get this straight...
"My name's Joseph. You can call me Joe. I was in the South Pacific, under MacArthur, during the war. But, let's talk about today. I'm eighty-nine and thirty pounds overweight. I admit, I've always been a little chubby. My cholesterol is too high and I have high blood pressure. I have stable diabetes and all my other organs are okay, knock wood. My wife, Vivian, and two of my three children are gone. One of my sons died in Viet Nam and my daughter died a few years ago of cancer. I never really got over the loss of my son. All my siblings are dead. I'm still at home on a limited income so I can't do most things I wish I could. Even if I could go out once in a while, who would I go with? All my friends are either dead or they've moved away. Everything hurts. You wouldn't believe how vigorous I used to be. I played tennis twice a week. Now, I can't even walk to the mailbox without getting winded. My macular degeneration has advanced so I'm not able to drive anymore and hearing aid batteries are very expensive so it's hard for me to hear sometimes. I don't remember things so well anymore, either. I have to write everything down so I don't forget."
"I'm not complaining though. I've had a great life. I was a machinist and married to the most wonderful girl in the world. You could never have asked for a better wife. Boy was she pretty! All the guys wanted her but I got her. Life's different with her gone. Now, I have to rely on my son and daughter-in-law for everything. They pick up my groceries and pills. I'm grateful for them, don't get me wrong, but they're too bossy."
"For instance, I used to love Stouffer's frozen mac 'n cheese but they won't buy it for me because the damn doctor told them I should eat less fat. They also won't buy me real butter or even 2% milk. I'm stuck with cheap margarine and imitation milk made from almonds of all things. I can certainly afford real milk and butter, dammit. When they do get me pasta it's this whole wheat sh**. Why won't they get me good food? I tried to be a good father. I really did. I sacrificed like they don't know. Who worked while they took vacations? Who scrimped and saved? When I was a child my mother could stretch a dollar better than anyone you ever met. We always had food on the table. And it was good, too. Now, they won't even let me have the peanut butter I like and I don't even know why. They buy me this strange peanut butter that has no flavor.. Why doesn't everybody just leave me alone, God Dammit? I have no independence at all any more. SH**!!!"
I knew men just like this, and women too. And I agree with them. In the nursing home It's even worse because we had TOTAL control over what they ate. And if the doc, nursing staff or dietician decided that Joe shouldn't eat something, he basically had no control over it, especially if he had advanced dementia. And his kids would feel obligated to agree with us. In reality, Joe and his children absolutely have the right to refuse any dietary restrictions. The right to disagree with any nursing home decision is a law, it really is. But modern life teaches that medical workers are not to be disagreed with so Joe is stuck eating food he doesn't like.
As I became vocal about my displeasure with this concept, more people I worked with took sides too. On one occasion I actually got into a shouting match with our head Dietician (whom I was very friendly with). I also occasionally received anonymous notes and articles in my mailbox concerning this very topic. One anonymous party left me an article about a doctor in southern Ohio who completely eliminated all restrictive diets in his nursing home. This would have been about 2004 or so. He felt as I do... they have nothing left. Let them enjoy what little pleasure they can find in life.What are we proving by trying to make a very old person "healthy"?
What is life without joy? If food is one of the very few joys they have left, then why deny them that pleasure. In the rule book somewhere it says that if somebody's cholesterol is too high then they should lower it. Period. End of sentence. Except I don't buy that. I think that if somebody should be allowed to die with have high cholesterol if they want.
Redd Foxx used to talk about a friend of his. This friend gave up alcohol, tobacco, women, gambling and unhealthy foods. Redd said, "He's gonna feel like a damn fool layin' up in the hospital bed dyin' from nothin'.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Back To School Shopping
Twenty-Seven.
Two of my four sibling are sisters, one in Cleveland, the other in North Carolina. This blog takes place in N.C.
She has three royal offspring: eldest is a princess, then two princes. Every year for perhaps half a dozen I went down for a summertime excursion. My first visit, in '95(?), saw me being received by a Princess who must have been around ten, The Crown Prince of eight and the Younger Prince who would have been maybe six or so. The kids and I were very comfortable with each other as we lived a mile apart 'till they moved down South in 93. There were numerous visits at other times of year as well, but these summertime excursions took on a specific tone over time.
That first year Sis convinced me what a joy it would be to take them Back To School shopping. Have you ever taken three young kids to the mall all at the same time? If you have, we speak the same language. If you haven't, oh, it's a joy!!! Thankfully, the kids and I just loved each other (still do), so their behavior wasn't as horrid as it could've been. But still, it was rough.
For some reason though, my sister liked the idea so much that every summer itinerary thereafter included my taking them clothing shopping.
Over time, a few patterns emerged: concerning the Princess - Of all my nieces and nephews she's the style maven. She inherited my interest in fashion and design. Thankfully, her current career in finance is well paying. The Crown Prince - if it was ever clean, he'll wear it. If he has a date with a young lady, perhaps he'll tuck his shirt in. He's in school to become a nuclear engineer; engineers are known for their jeans. The younger Prince - he hates clothing. He hated it then and he still hates it. If he could spend all day in the buff, he would. He was the most difficult to shop with 'cause he was simply offended by the whole concept of clothing. A few times he's left Western civilization to go surfing; when you're surfing by yourself in Indonesia or Nicaragua you don't wear clothing. He's also in engineering school, so he'll be stuck in jeans too. Pity.
I do believe though, that bonding at the mall can be very fun. We really did have a blast. When developing a relationship with a kid, you simply have got to go to them. If you wait for the kid to meet you halfway, the relationship won't ever exist. Back To School shopping is a perfect excuse to hang out with your kids.
Two of my four sibling are sisters, one in Cleveland, the other in North Carolina. This blog takes place in N.C.
She has three royal offspring: eldest is a princess, then two princes. Every year for perhaps half a dozen I went down for a summertime excursion. My first visit, in '95(?), saw me being received by a Princess who must have been around ten, The Crown Prince of eight and the Younger Prince who would have been maybe six or so. The kids and I were very comfortable with each other as we lived a mile apart 'till they moved down South in 93. There were numerous visits at other times of year as well, but these summertime excursions took on a specific tone over time.
That first year Sis convinced me what a joy it would be to take them Back To School shopping. Have you ever taken three young kids to the mall all at the same time? If you have, we speak the same language. If you haven't, oh, it's a joy!!! Thankfully, the kids and I just loved each other (still do), so their behavior wasn't as horrid as it could've been. But still, it was rough.
For some reason though, my sister liked the idea so much that every summer itinerary thereafter included my taking them clothing shopping.
Over time, a few patterns emerged: concerning the Princess - Of all my nieces and nephews she's the style maven. She inherited my interest in fashion and design. Thankfully, her current career in finance is well paying. The Crown Prince - if it was ever clean, he'll wear it. If he has a date with a young lady, perhaps he'll tuck his shirt in. He's in school to become a nuclear engineer; engineers are known for their jeans. The younger Prince - he hates clothing. He hated it then and he still hates it. If he could spend all day in the buff, he would. He was the most difficult to shop with 'cause he was simply offended by the whole concept of clothing. A few times he's left Western civilization to go surfing; when you're surfing by yourself in Indonesia or Nicaragua you don't wear clothing. He's also in engineering school, so he'll be stuck in jeans too. Pity.
I do believe though, that bonding at the mall can be very fun. We really did have a blast. When developing a relationship with a kid, you simply have got to go to them. If you wait for the kid to meet you halfway, the relationship won't ever exist. Back To School shopping is a perfect excuse to hang out with your kids.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Kosher Foods
Page Twenty-Six
Now for a life skills lesson.
Kosher food. What is it? What isn't it? I occasionally get asked those questions for few good reasons. Mostly I think I get asked for the sake of conversation, but maybe not. Just in case you ever wanted to know*.
Kosher food laws are found in the Torah. They're spelled out very clearly with little room for interpretation. In fact, there are probably few things in all of Jewish law which leave less room for confusion, loop holes or inconsistency. In a nut shell:
1) any seafood that has fins and scales has the potential to be kosher;
2) any animal that chews its cud and has split hooves has the potential to be kosher;
3) the birds which are listed in the Torah as being kosher are potentially kosher;
4) any fruit and vegetable has the potential to be kosher;
5) no bird or animal may ever be eaten along side or prepared with a dairy product;
6) any thing prepared in the wrong pot or served on the wrong plate isn't kosher.
That's it, no more. You got it? Huh? What's that? You still don't understand? Oh for crying out loud! Okay, let's take this one at a time.
1) Fish. That one actually is self-explanatory. It's all about the fins and scales. Therefore, no shellfish, no creepy-crawly things... only swimmy fish is kosher. And only the swimmy fish that has the necessary fins and scales. So, no shark as they don't have scales. Sorry, no Lobster Newburg.
2) Animals that chew their cud and have split hooves are kosher if they're killed properly and even then only certain sections of the animal may be eaten. A special dude named a shochet has to do the ritual slaughtering. He kills the animal very quickly by cutting its throat. And then no skin or certain sections of the hind quarters are kosher. Also, ALL blood must be drained from the animal as blood isn't kosher.
3) Most of our normal American birds are kosher but allegedly some kosher-keeping Jews won't eat turkey because turkeys were unknown in bible days. Therefore it isn't on any list in the Torah, yeah or nay. Some Jews don't want to take a chance; therefore they won't eat it at all. Again, the bird has to be killed properly by a shochet and all blood drained.
4) Fruits and vegetables are all kosher if they've been rinsed and inspected for little insects 'cause little insects aren't kosher.
5) No animal or bird may be cooked with any dairy product or served with any dairy product. Therefore, no Beef Stroganoff (beef/sour cream), no Chicken Paprikash (chicken/sour cream), no cheese burgers (beef/cheese), for lunch, no chicken salad sandwich with a glass of milk on the side (chicken/milk), no pot roast with ice cream for dessert (beef/milk) and no lemon meringue pie while watching TV after dinner 'cause of the butter in the lemon curd. If meat is consumed, six hours must pass prior to dairy being consumed; if dairy is consumed, thirty minutes must pass before meat.
6) If a meat dish is prepared in a pot which was used for a dairy meal, both the meat and the pot are no longer kosher. Therefore, separate pots, pans, dishes, glasses, flatware and so forth are used for meat dishes and dairy dishes. Sometimes, you'll see two microwaves, two ovens, two 'fridges and so on.
That's basically it. From here it starts getting complicated. You'd be shocked at how many dairy products show up in prepared items that really should have no dairy, and vice-versa. That jar of chicken bullion cubes on your pantry shelf? It may possible contain a dairy derivative. That's a no-no. For this reason, food which has been prepared in a kosher facility, under the watchful eye of a religious dude, has a special little symbol on it which means it's kosher. Sometimes next to the symbol, there will be another symbol or two which signify if it's dairy, meat or neither. Dairy is milchek, meat is fleishik and neutral is parve. Interestingly, fish and eggs are parve but don't ask me why. So, chicken bullion which really only contain fleishik products and is prepared properly can be kosher. You'd be REAL surprised at how many items on your shelf right now have these little symbols. It's in Big Businesses best interest to have as wide an audience as possible. So many average, American companies have kosher certification. You may have never noticed 'cause it didn't occur to you or you didn't know what to look for on the label. Something like 75% of all prepared food in the US is certified kosher.
Almost all the laws pertaining to flesh consumption have to do with animal cruelty. Having an animal suffer while it's dying isn't nice, so quick death is kinder to it. Also, milk is for a calf and cooking a mom cow in the food intended for it's offspring is cruel. These are the very real origins of many of these laws.
I won't take up space right here and right now talking about Passover. Those dietary laws are off the hook. I'll address Passover food in anther blog.
Technically grasshoppers are kosher. Some people dispute that, but look it up. Food that isn't kosher is called traif. Pepperoni pizza is traif. So is shrimp cocktail, McDonald's and ham and cheese on white with mayo and mustard (dijon) - traif. A well-meaning neighbor inviting a rabbi over and preparing a meal with all kosher food but in a pot that was used the day before to prepare split pea soup with ham? Traif. I'm ubber traif.
*But didn't know whom to ask.
Now for a life skills lesson.
Kosher food. What is it? What isn't it? I occasionally get asked those questions for few good reasons. Mostly I think I get asked for the sake of conversation, but maybe not. Just in case you ever wanted to know*.
Kosher food laws are found in the Torah. They're spelled out very clearly with little room for interpretation. In fact, there are probably few things in all of Jewish law which leave less room for confusion, loop holes or inconsistency. In a nut shell:
1) any seafood that has fins and scales has the potential to be kosher;
2) any animal that chews its cud and has split hooves has the potential to be kosher;
3) the birds which are listed in the Torah as being kosher are potentially kosher;
4) any fruit and vegetable has the potential to be kosher;
5) no bird or animal may ever be eaten along side or prepared with a dairy product;
6) any thing prepared in the wrong pot or served on the wrong plate isn't kosher.
That's it, no more. You got it? Huh? What's that? You still don't understand? Oh for crying out loud! Okay, let's take this one at a time.
1) Fish. That one actually is self-explanatory. It's all about the fins and scales. Therefore, no shellfish, no creepy-crawly things... only swimmy fish is kosher. And only the swimmy fish that has the necessary fins and scales. So, no shark as they don't have scales. Sorry, no Lobster Newburg.
2) Animals that chew their cud and have split hooves are kosher if they're killed properly and even then only certain sections of the animal may be eaten. A special dude named a shochet has to do the ritual slaughtering. He kills the animal very quickly by cutting its throat. And then no skin or certain sections of the hind quarters are kosher. Also, ALL blood must be drained from the animal as blood isn't kosher.
3) Most of our normal American birds are kosher but allegedly some kosher-keeping Jews won't eat turkey because turkeys were unknown in bible days. Therefore it isn't on any list in the Torah, yeah or nay. Some Jews don't want to take a chance; therefore they won't eat it at all. Again, the bird has to be killed properly by a shochet and all blood drained.
4) Fruits and vegetables are all kosher if they've been rinsed and inspected for little insects 'cause little insects aren't kosher.
5) No animal or bird may be cooked with any dairy product or served with any dairy product. Therefore, no Beef Stroganoff (beef/sour cream), no Chicken Paprikash (chicken/sour cream), no cheese burgers (beef/cheese), for lunch, no chicken salad sandwich with a glass of milk on the side (chicken/milk), no pot roast with ice cream for dessert (beef/milk) and no lemon meringue pie while watching TV after dinner 'cause of the butter in the lemon curd. If meat is consumed, six hours must pass prior to dairy being consumed; if dairy is consumed, thirty minutes must pass before meat.
6) If a meat dish is prepared in a pot which was used for a dairy meal, both the meat and the pot are no longer kosher. Therefore, separate pots, pans, dishes, glasses, flatware and so forth are used for meat dishes and dairy dishes. Sometimes, you'll see two microwaves, two ovens, two 'fridges and so on.
That's basically it. From here it starts getting complicated. You'd be shocked at how many dairy products show up in prepared items that really should have no dairy, and vice-versa. That jar of chicken bullion cubes on your pantry shelf? It may possible contain a dairy derivative. That's a no-no. For this reason, food which has been prepared in a kosher facility, under the watchful eye of a religious dude, has a special little symbol on it which means it's kosher. Sometimes next to the symbol, there will be another symbol or two which signify if it's dairy, meat or neither. Dairy is milchek, meat is fleishik and neutral is parve. Interestingly, fish and eggs are parve but don't ask me why. So, chicken bullion which really only contain fleishik products and is prepared properly can be kosher. You'd be REAL surprised at how many items on your shelf right now have these little symbols. It's in Big Businesses best interest to have as wide an audience as possible. So many average, American companies have kosher certification. You may have never noticed 'cause it didn't occur to you or you didn't know what to look for on the label. Something like 75% of all prepared food in the US is certified kosher.
Almost all the laws pertaining to flesh consumption have to do with animal cruelty. Having an animal suffer while it's dying isn't nice, so quick death is kinder to it. Also, milk is for a calf and cooking a mom cow in the food intended for it's offspring is cruel. These are the very real origins of many of these laws.
I won't take up space right here and right now talking about Passover. Those dietary laws are off the hook. I'll address Passover food in anther blog.
Technically grasshoppers are kosher. Some people dispute that, but look it up. Food that isn't kosher is called traif. Pepperoni pizza is traif. So is shrimp cocktail, McDonald's and ham and cheese on white with mayo and mustard (dijon) - traif. A well-meaning neighbor inviting a rabbi over and preparing a meal with all kosher food but in a pot that was used the day before to prepare split pea soup with ham? Traif. I'm ubber traif.
*But didn't know whom to ask.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Missing Your Children
Page Twenty-Five.
Do you want to know one thing they don't warn you about prior to becoming a parent (or surrogate parent)? You'll end up caring almost as much for your kid's friends as for your own kids.While living with and taking care of the Shapiro boys I came to care for many of their friends deeply. I've already mentioned Spanky. There were, of course, many more. I found out last month that another friend whom I saw frequently, Eliza, was pregnant. I heard this news through the grapevine.
To hear news of weddings, births and new jobs of your kids' childhood friends is glorious, it really is. It's also bittersweet. It just re-enforces the life cycle. Believe me, I know the life cycle. I take care of many old people in addition to the childcare I provide.
You know what? Today's blog is rambling. I started out writing about children's friends and now I'm talking about the life cycle of the human being. Perhaps I'm in a mood. Watching children grow up and move away is depressing as hell. It just is. When the Shapiro boys come home and then leave, I have deep psychological difficulties. I've also told the Queen Mother (mom of the three princes and one princess whom I currently nanny ) that she really needs to savor all the time she has with her kids now 'cause one day in twenty years she's going to look back and cry, wishing they were little again. With all their fights, with all their screaming and yelling, with all their tantrums and foot stomping, in twenty years those memories are going to bring tears. At least they will for me. Yeah! I'm so lucky.
Love your kids while you have 'em. Love your children's friends while they're around. They grow up so fast, it leaves your head spinning like a roller coaster, wondering... when did they enter middle school? Five minutes ago they were in Kindergarten. Before you know it they're away at college. It really does happen that fast.
I was very lucky, I became really good friends with the Shapiro boys. This, in spite of that darned teenaged era. I basically lived with very good friends for those eight years. Perhaps that's one reason I miss them so much. Because I don't know how it's going to play out with the princes, I really chose to just value my time with them like it's my lasts moments on earth. If, hypothetically, I end up nannying them until Fauntleroy graduates from Shaker Heights High in 2023, I'll have that many more memories to be grateful for.
A friend recently asked if I ever missed having children. Was she kidding? All the parental energies that could possibly have dammed up in my male system never even had a chance. Not a single molecule of unspent parental desire exists in me. I became a live-in nanny at age twenty for crying out loud. Then I continued off and on (mostly on) until age thirty-one. More recently, I was asked to get back into nannying at age forty-six. And the potential exists for me to continue until age sixty-two (depending upon what my future holds). That's a million years of memories and worries and concern and joys and jubilations... all about children: children whom I've been deeply involved with.
And time with kids really does go that fast. I know this. Value the seconds, even the rough ones. In fact, twenty years later, it's the rough ones make the best Thanksgiving Day stories.
I think some future blog will be about the fact that I'm not a normal nanny. And parents and bystanders have noticed this. I don't actually even stop and acknowledge the term baby-sitter. I go straight to "Foster Parent", without passing Go, without collecting $200.00. But really, that's for another time.
(My God, today's blog was aimless. Oh, well.)
Do you want to know one thing they don't warn you about prior to becoming a parent (or surrogate parent)? You'll end up caring almost as much for your kid's friends as for your own kids.While living with and taking care of the Shapiro boys I came to care for many of their friends deeply. I've already mentioned Spanky. There were, of course, many more. I found out last month that another friend whom I saw frequently, Eliza, was pregnant. I heard this news through the grapevine.
To hear news of weddings, births and new jobs of your kids' childhood friends is glorious, it really is. It's also bittersweet. It just re-enforces the life cycle. Believe me, I know the life cycle. I take care of many old people in addition to the childcare I provide.
You know what? Today's blog is rambling. I started out writing about children's friends and now I'm talking about the life cycle of the human being. Perhaps I'm in a mood. Watching children grow up and move away is depressing as hell. It just is. When the Shapiro boys come home and then leave, I have deep psychological difficulties. I've also told the Queen Mother (mom of the three princes and one princess whom I currently nanny ) that she really needs to savor all the time she has with her kids now 'cause one day in twenty years she's going to look back and cry, wishing they were little again. With all their fights, with all their screaming and yelling, with all their tantrums and foot stomping, in twenty years those memories are going to bring tears. At least they will for me. Yeah! I'm so lucky.
Love your kids while you have 'em. Love your children's friends while they're around. They grow up so fast, it leaves your head spinning like a roller coaster, wondering... when did they enter middle school? Five minutes ago they were in Kindergarten. Before you know it they're away at college. It really does happen that fast.
I was very lucky, I became really good friends with the Shapiro boys. This, in spite of that darned teenaged era. I basically lived with very good friends for those eight years. Perhaps that's one reason I miss them so much. Because I don't know how it's going to play out with the princes, I really chose to just value my time with them like it's my lasts moments on earth. If, hypothetically, I end up nannying them until Fauntleroy graduates from Shaker Heights High in 2023, I'll have that many more memories to be grateful for.
A friend recently asked if I ever missed having children. Was she kidding? All the parental energies that could possibly have dammed up in my male system never even had a chance. Not a single molecule of unspent parental desire exists in me. I became a live-in nanny at age twenty for crying out loud. Then I continued off and on (mostly on) until age thirty-one. More recently, I was asked to get back into nannying at age forty-six. And the potential exists for me to continue until age sixty-two (depending upon what my future holds). That's a million years of memories and worries and concern and joys and jubilations... all about children: children whom I've been deeply involved with.
And time with kids really does go that fast. I know this. Value the seconds, even the rough ones. In fact, twenty years later, it's the rough ones make the best Thanksgiving Day stories.
I think some future blog will be about the fact that I'm not a normal nanny. And parents and bystanders have noticed this. I don't actually even stop and acknowledge the term baby-sitter. I go straight to "Foster Parent", without passing Go, without collecting $200.00. But really, that's for another time.
(My God, today's blog was aimless. Oh, well.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)