Hard life

This past month reminds me of an old joke:

An orthodox Jew trains to become an astronaut and after many years of waiting and praying, is finally selected for a mission to orbit the Earth. The mission is a success and the astronauts are welcomed as heroes. The rest of the crew comes off the shuttle beaming, but the Jew is the last to come off, and he looks like hell. He is dishevelled and gaunt, with bags under his eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.

"What happened to you?" His wife asks, "What was it like orbiting the Earth?"

He looks at her with weary eyes. "Shacharit, Mincha, Maariv! Shacharit, Mincha, Maariv!"*

These past few weeks have felt similar: Shabbat, Rosh Hashanah, Shabbat, Yom Kippur, Shabbat, Sukkot, Shabbat, Shmini Atzeret, Shabbat!

If you don't know what that means, try to imagine that each of those foreign words represents an average of cooking and eating three Thanksgiving meals. You'll get the idea.

The five pound weight gain between Thanksgiving and Christmas? I wouldn't be surprised if we put on fifteen.

There's a Yiddish saying: Shvertz azayan Yid, it's hard to be a Jew.

But it's great, too. We have been so fortunate to spend each meal with the wonderful friends we've made here. They have welcomed us into their homes and their huts with warmth, kindness, and enormous meals.

This year has been particularly interesting due to its proximity to the general elections. Tentatively, the subject is broached: "Do you follow politics?", "Did you watch the debate?", "Can I ask you? Who are you going to vote for?"

It's a charged topic. Emotions run high. I answer even more cautiously, hoping to avoid an awkward moment. Invariably, my liberal leaning friends are timid and shy about bringing up politics, while my conservative leaning friends tend to put it out there as a challenge. I enjoy it either way.

I'm a political junkie. I watch the debates, I listen to the news, I read the magazines, I troll the blogs, I've even read the policy papers. I've compared health care reform, contrasted tax policies, scrutinized foreign policy, judged character and temperament. And I have come to a conclusion: democracy is hard.

Picking a presidential candidate is a piece of cake. All the information you can ever hope to glean is out there for the picking with the entire spectrum of analysis to color your views. I don't understand people who say they haven't decided because they haven't heard enough about each candidate. Would their shoe size make it any clearer?

But how do you vote for Water Reclamation District Commissioner or Recorder of the Deeds when you don't even know what they are? The latter sounds like a jester in a Medieval lord's manor! For several hours this evening I poured over the internet researching the positions and the candidates. I even checked on the Chicago Bar Association website to find their recommendations for Circuit Court judge retentions. I have to admit, I am making one selection based on the candidate's goofy grin in his homemade website. He'll make a fine court jester.

Now I'm ready, my choices in hand, to perform my civic duty. Democracy, like Jewish holidays, takes a lot of work to get right, but it's so satisfying when you do get out there and vote.

But if you think being a Jew or a member of a democratic society is hard, try owning a hamster.

Day two of hamster stewardship, and I say to my hubby: We (I use the royal "we" loosely, to connote "you") need to pick up the little guy more, he needs some affection. My husband, whose idea it was to get the rodent in the first place, says. "Go ahead and take him out for a bit!"

So I do.

I hadn't cleared ten paces when the thing leaps from my arms, flings himself to the ground, and dashes under the oven. I panic and call to my husband to help me retrieve the overglorified rat. There we are, two grownups, sprawled on the kitchen floor; one with a flashlight, the other a broom, trying to draw a pea-brained hamster out from his hiding place. But in a moment, he completely disappears. My heart stops.

My husband coolly pulls the oven out from the wall, and unplugs it. We look around and notice a large gap between the kitchen cupboards and the wall. Using a mirror and the flashlight, we try to find a black-furred creature behind a long cupboard in a dark kitchen. At this moment I begin sobbing hysterically at the thought of telling my son I have lost his first pet on its second day here. For an hour we try to lure him out with treats, but to no avail. I go to bed, crying myself to sleep with guilt and self-recrimination.

The next morning I awoke with a heavy heart, dreading what I'd have to tell my dear son. As I passed through the kitchen to his room, I saw the oven still pulled out with the hamster's cage behind it, opened with a little treat in the middle. I saw a pile of books, like a ziggurat, leading to a bucket with a towel tucked in the bottom and peanut butter crackers on top. I saw flour sprinkled on the floor of every entrance to help detect little hamster prints, should he try to escape. My husband had been busy all night researching hamster rescue on the internet, and setting little traps to recover the rodent.

But there was still no sign of the missing pet. I solemnly went in to wake up my boy.

My son bolted upright when I told him his beloved Chompy had escaped. We cried together as he came out of his room to inspect the mess his father had made. He gingerly stepped behind the oven to see, and asked me, "Is that where he went?"

At that very moment, old Chomp poked his head out from behind the cupboards, and dashed out. I scooped him up, quick as lightening, and in no time we had him safely back in his cage. Crisis averted.

Hamsters may be hard, but one thing is really easy - spending time with my kiddos on a warm autumn day. On Sunday, after soccer games and piano practices, we headed out for an adventure to the sculpture gardens to explore the new sculptures and enjoy the fall foliage.

We weren't disappointed. The children marvelled at the glowing crimson

and saffron leaves.

It was the perfect day: warm, sunny, and vivid.

We strolled, imagined fairies and elves hiding behind the bushes, and saw real bunnies hopping along the path.

With kiddos as great as mine (ptui, ptui, ptui, hamza, hamza, bli ayin hara'ah, masha'allah!), making an ordinary day magic, is easy as pie.

*Shacharit: morning prayer services; Mincha: afternoon prayer services; Ma'ariv: evening prayer services.

Life's surprises

It happened suddenly, without any warning. I stepped outside and shivered. Fall arrived with a dull thud, like a newspaper thrown to the stoop. No gradual cooling, gently turning leaves, or warm days followed by nippy nights. One day it was warm, the next day it wasn't.

Life seems to happen like that as well. Day after day, my husband and I are in a rut, working, cleaning, cooking, chasing kids into bed. Then without warning, the babysitter arrives, and I'm being swept out the door to pick up Chinese food to go, and to race downtown to catch the last architectural boat tour of the evening.

These are the surprises I don't mind. The city is so beautiful at dusk. The buildings majestically rise up from the banks for the river.

Some stand rigid and no-nonsense, some prance and flout their curlicues and embellishments. Others stand unpretentious, aware of their uncommon beauty, but not boastful.

My favorite are the unabashedly gaudy and fantastical.

Some buildings rise to dizzying heights,

others are dazzlingly down-to-Earth. Most plant themselves somewhere in between trying hard not to be too obtrusive, but clearly appreciating the admiring glances from passersby.

And even as bundled up as I am, I have to grudgingly admit, this is a beautiful city. Sometimes I surprise myself.

Many more wonderful surprises were in store for us this week. In one day we joyously welcomed two new cousins into our family. My big cousin and his wife in New York announced the birth of their second little girl, and my little cousin and his wife welcomed their first son in Florida. Our hearts are full to bursting with the happy news of eagerly awaited, and enthusiastically loved and adored new babies. We can't wait to meet them in person.

Almost nothing tops the pleasant surprises of a friend visiting from far away. Months ago, I got a call from a neighbor from Kibbutz Shalom letting me know she'd be in town with her son for a weekend. Could she stay with us for Shabbat, she wondered. Aaaah, I thought, San Antonio sunshine in October. What could be better?

Smack-dab between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur falls Shabbat Tshuvah, the sabbath of repentance. It's the cornerstone of the ten days of repentance before the day of atonement. On this weekend my friend came to help me shed the spiritual trials of my past year, and usher in a clean slate of forgiveness and piety. I cleaned and cooked, and invited along a new friend replete with musical, literary, and artistic talents. It was a symbolic meeting of past and future.

In an all too symbolic moment, nothing was ready. I was still mopping the kitchen floor and dicing up veggies for salads when my guests arrived. I finished up as quickly as I could, refusing as many kind offers of help as I was able, and rushed into my room to change into something a bit less hausfrau-ish.

Dinner was a colloquial affair. The kids bubbled over with curiosity and personality, and friends, new and old chatted about music, art, and politics with fiery passion and warm respect. It was a lovely evening. And as I walked my friend home, I smiled knowing the year was off to a good start.

Or, so I thought.

Life is full of surprises. Some are wonderful, like a magical boat ride on the Chicago river, or a new friend. Some are not so welcome, like the sudden arrival of cold weather. Or the kind of surprises only a child can pounce on you.

I went to sleep Friday night, tired from staying up late catching up with my San Antonio Sistah, but happy. At 6:30 am I was awoken from my deep sleep by shrieking girls. It was impossible to tell if they were happy or agonized shrieks. But they were certainly loud enough to wake up the sleeping guest in the living room, not to mention the landlord downstairs. I hauled my exhausted body out of bed and confronted the inappropriately gleeful children. It's too early to make so much noise. I informed them sternly. This worked to settle them down for all of half an hour. For the next two hours, my husband and I took turns shushing the alternately silly and sobbing sisters who were exhaustingly giddy and out of control when the rest of the world was trying to sleep in.

I finally dragged myself out of bed once-and-for-all, and got the girls ready for synagogue. I sent my husband off to shul and proceeded to get myself dressed. My guest had somehow managed to fall back asleep. Moments later, a small knock at the door caught my attention. "Mommy, the baby got to the scissors. She's cutting her hair." Ayyyiieee! The adrenaline that had finally subsided, rushed back into my brain. My temples throbbed as I threw on a robe and set foot out the door.

My baby looked back at me innocently. I could see some hair missing, but it didn't look too terrible. I didn't see any hair lying around her. "She threw it away." Informed the older sister, with no small satisfaction. The blood drained from my face as I retrieved a large bundle of golden brown curls from the garbage can. My sleeping friend heard the panic in my voice and got up to see me clutching the curls in my hands. The horrified look on my face said it all.

"At least she didn't cut herself." My friend offered weakly. Hmmm. Was all I could muster. The rest of the morning was spent reading the bewildered child the riot act, and dragging her to synagogue with steam pouring out of my ears.

Hours later, I could almost laugh about it. Barely.

That evening I wished my friend and her adorable son goodbye. We laughed about the unpredictable nature of children, and the timing of my daughter's Vidal Sassoon moment during the ten days of repentance (back to square one for me!). And then she left me to my Chicago life.

The next morning was a whirlwind of activity. After piano lessons I dragged the baby to the hair salon. The hairdresser chuckled as she snipped away at the bewildered toddlers curls. "Next time, "she told her in a thick accent, "Tell your Mama when you want your haircut. Don't do it yourself, sweetheart. Nancy will cut it for you!" My baby nodded solemnly, and smiled at her new style.

It wasn't perfect, but the jagged lines were pretty well camouflaged. And I had to admit it. She looked really cute with her short 'do.

The baby and I rushed home from the salon to pick up the rest of the family for the rainy Sunday afternoon soccer games that naturally overlapped. We got home that afternoon cold, wet, and tired. I was ready to draw the kids their baths, and prepare their supper, but my husband had one more surprise in store for me.

"We promised our son a pet for his birthday. I'm going to run him over to the pet store to look at some animals and get an idea of what he likes."

Hours later we welcomed a small, black furry hamster into our home. My son called him "Chomp" since he nibbled his way through the box he came in.


My husband spent the waning days of the afternoon putting together Chomp's cage while the girls giggled gleefully at their new playmate.

One part of me is ready to get back to my rut. It was safe, quiet and predictable there. But John Lennon put it best: "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

I wish you all a happy, healthy, sweet new year. May you be inscribed in the book of life, and may all of life's surprises be the kind that make you smile.

Even if it takes a while.