The Sound of Music

Music as sacrifice – I don’t think that’s a very novel idea. Yet, it’s something I haven’t thought a lot about in the past. By Jewish tradition, you’re not supposed to dance or listen to music while you’re in mourning. As I type this, a line from an old comedy routine at the Comedy Cellar just seems fitting, “I too am a Jew, but I’m not as Jew as you.” That aside, music was never a huge part of my life, or so I thought. I’m tone deaf. I have two left feet. Our wedding dance was a disaster, which thankfully was edited pretty well. Since August 18, I haven’t (intentionally) listened to music, but I don’t live in a box and every time you walk into a store or see a movie or go to a party, you hear music. Sometimes you can’t help but tap your foot to the beat, but now I’m very conscious of it. This awareness is very strange, especially at a party when you have to explain yourself, since people don’t know, don’t understand or simply don’t care. We have at least two weddings to attend early this summer of very close friends. I won’t be dancing and I am not sure what will feel more strange – not dancing, or dancing.

I don’t have a favorite artist, or even a favorite song really. I always listened to whatever was playing on the radio, popular at the time or that my friends made me listen to. I always liked songs with meaning. Whether it was an old Alla Pugacheva song or a Nautilus Pompilius ballad, or some pop trash that had relatable appeal, I always paid more attention to the lyrics than to the music. While we were packing and moving “Painted Black” was whirling in my head and while writing my last post, all I could think about was “Proschay Lumibiy Gorod.” Maybe music is a bigger part of my life than I thought. There’s different music – happy music and sad music. Music is a means of artistic expression and usually the best art comes out of bad emotion. When you’re happy, you find better things to do with your time then compose, draw, write.

Back to work.

21 Grams

How many lives do we live? How many times do we die? They say we all lose 21 grams... at the exact moment of our death. Everyone. And how much fits into 21 grams? How much is lost? When do we lose 21 grams? How much goes with them? How much is gained? How much is gained? Twenty-one grams. The weight of a stack of five nickels. The weight of a hummingbird. A chocolate bar. How much did 21 grams weigh?

-Paul Rivers, 21 Grams

Шереметьево - JFK: 17 years ago, today.

As hard as it was, life was simpler then - for me anyway, I was 9. I was a kid full of hopes, dreams and a promise of a bright future. I remember a lot of things about our voyage because I've always been very impressionable and even more sentimental. I remember waking up on a cot completely surrounded by suitcases and huge bags (баулы). There was a lot of scurrying since everyone was already up. It was about 4 am. All of a sudden there were a lot of people taking bags and bringing them out of our 3rd floor apartment - the only home I've known until that point and the only place I've really ever felt at home (now that I think about it). There were even more people in our yard all waiting their turn to say their goodbyes. I remember leaving and a strange guy ripping out our beautiful hardwood floor which my mom managed to sell for a few dollars.

We got to the train terminal (what's it called in English? station?) (The same one that they shot in Everything is Illuminated, yes that's L'vov) and we boarded the train. I remember being in the suite (is that how you say it?) with mama and grandma and the three of us hysterically crying and my dad running in with a grin and yelling at us for crying. As the train moved, the crowd of familiar and strange faces just burst into "proschay lubimiy gorod," a song which has made me cry since the day I realized we'd be leaving my beloved L'vov.

We got to Moscow and there things got blurry. I remember being afraid of wearing my gold earrings since they may rip them off with my ear and later (after passing security) telling my mom I could've put "all the gold" in my pockets since they didn't check me. The "gold" is probably worth $500, if that. I remember them searching us like we were trying to smuggle worldly possessions out of what was no longer the USSR. A bag with coins (specifically collected for calls) somehow fell into one of our huge bags and they had to completely unpack it (read: dishevel it). A suitcase which was specifically sent by my sister from the US to meet the size requirements, didn't and we were fined $100. That $100 is probably the equivalent of $10,000 or maybe even $100,000 for us today. Unlike many people, we didn't sell our apartment, because there was yet no privatization in L'vov. On the contrary, we had to pay them to leave two beautiful apartments, one at the city center and ours with complete capital improvements (and now, without parquet floors). We didn't have gold or money - we came with sheets and towels and pots and pans that can probably last us another 17 years.

Somehow, we finally passed security and boarded the chartered plane heading to NY. Because of my grandmother's heart condition, the plane was full of old and sick people. During the flight, when my dad (who hasn't been on a plane since that journey) took me to walk around a bit, I saw things that have stayed so imprinted on my young mind that to this day they give me chills. There were beds suspended from the ceiling. And religious men in black hats (not a common sight in Ukraine) were praying. There were all kinds of crippled people. It was scary.

We landed. It was a sunny and beautiful New York morning. It was about 50-60 degrees (yesterday's weather but with sun instead of rain) and I remember thinking to myself, it must always be warm here. It seemed wondrous and wonderful. I was ecstatic to see my sister and couldn't stop hugging her! She looked great in her purplish/pink shirt with a black zipper and curly (then still dark) hair. I think she had flowers, or maybe balloons and my dad yelled at her for spending money. As Dyadya Monya drove us to Bensonhurst (we stayed with my uncle and grandma for 3 weeks) the ride on the Belt with the sun beaming and the water glistening seemed surreal, warm and wonderful. I've never since enjoyed that road like that again, having made the trip probably 1,000+ times. I had on rose-colored glasses of both childhood and innocence as well as the expectation of a better life for my family.

I'm glad we're here, but I don't know that it's a better life. I think I've blogged about it before, immigration was extremely difficult on our family. Hardship after hardship followed. Yes, good things happened too, but it's hard to concentrate on that, especially now. Шереметьево - JFK: 17 years ago today, the day my childhood ended. Now, starting the 18th without mama, 7 without grandma Mira and the 2nd without Zilpa. How I wish I could be on the Belt in my rose-colored glasses.

-
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Blueberries, Raspberries and Blackberries...

So you get it, I like berries. I especially love my BlackBerry. It's a phone, a camera and a browser. It allows me to always stay connected (which is not always a good thing). For more specs on the BB, go to their website. Blackberries tend to malfunction - sometimes the trackball doesn't scroll, sometimes they delete your data, sometimes they freeze. In a conversation with E today, my BB froze. Having been a BB user for some time, I know that the best way is to take out the battery, blow and reboot. It worked like a charm. Sometimes it doesn't. In those cases, you call your service provider and have them send you a replacement. Within 2-3 business days you have a shiny new (or refurbished) model to sms, bbm, fb, email and talk on.

Well, all of this got me thinking of how nice it would be if people were like berries, provided that you're a loyal customer. If a person is misbehaving or freezing up on you, just take the battery out and restart. The valuable data that you share with that person is backed up on your pc and in the case of a crash, easily recoverable. In the chance that you didn't have it backed up, well that you'll just have to live with. In the instance of broken trackballs, they can easily be replaced in your local store. In the event that you and this person are constantly fighting, they are shutting you out and forgetting important events in your life, first upgrade the software, then reinstall the OS and if all else fails, call your service provider for a replacement. Every 2 years (or sooner if you're willing to spend the cash) you're eligible for an upgrade for a better
looking, faster and smarter phone errr person.

--
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Looking for inspiration . . .

People have been complaining and I've been uninspired. Today is my grandpa's 89th birthday. During the last year he lost a child, had a heart attack and ended up in the hospital for the first time. Prior to the events of the last few months, I always wished that all of grandpa's offspring (3 children and 6 grandchildren) have my grandfather's genes and my mother's will to live. I still wish that for all of us. I'm the only one here. My aunt and uncle and their children are all in Israel with my grandfather and I'm here, now, alone. I'm not really alone. I have my daddy and hubby and sis and nephews and uncle and wonderful friends, but the emptiness is unavoidable and there are not enough words to fill this blog with.

My aunt just got back to Israel after spending the last week in Vegas for most of which I joined. Vegas was fun, expensive, filled with more than one adventure like getting conned out of $300 and proved yet again that I have no luck when it comes to cards.

Vegas, much like everything else, keeps changing (pix to follow). The things that don't change is your family, for better or worse, they are there to stay. I just wish some of them were at least a little bit closer to help me feel a little less alone. . .

ALL you need is LOVE . . . not the BB commercial, but the Beatles song . . .

In the meantime (while I'm looking for inspiration), help a great cause or two by simply clicking to help raise $1M for research from Chase . . . I love their new slogan, "Chase what matters":

A New Year, A New Decade, Same Ol' Me . . .

I started this blog post weeks ago, but just haven't had the energy, strength, time or inspiration to finish it . . .

So, I've gotten more than one complaint for not updating my blog the past few weeks. Despite the constant thoughts and ideas whirling around in my head, there just hasn't been anything exciting worth sharing . . .

In Russian there's a saying, "Как отметиш новый год так его и проведёш" (how you celebrate New Years, is how you'll spend the entire year) and this year was fairly quiet and surrounded by kids. I can finally deal with quiet. For many of my friends, I've been known as "having a propeller," "cup of coffee" and "always out and about." Well the propeller isn't working with quiet the same speed and while I still enjoy good coffee and more importantly, good company, I'm also content watching a good movie under the covers with a glass of wine. Yes, wine, "Wine a little, you'll feel better," and usually I do.

My Mom, The Style Icon: Cruise control

My Mom, The Style Icon: Cruise control

As promised, my mom was featured on the website and the pictures that Piper chose were some of my favorites from the cruise. . .

Posted using ShareThis

For Deda . . .

Click here to view this photo book larger

Happy Holidays!

Wishing you and your family

May health, happiness and good times

greet you each day of the new year!

My Mom, the Style Icon

My friend, D turned me to an interesting blog by having her mom's photo published in it, My Mom, the Style Icon. The blog publishes photos of uber chick moms and of course as soon as I heard about it, there was no doubt that my mom's picture is getting submited. It took a while for me to scan the photos per Piper's (the editor's) request and chances are all of them won't make it to her blog, but I decided to pot them on mine since my mom was the prime example of chick and trendy. By this this collage alone, you can see that my mom didn't wear her hair the same way twice. (She was blessed with thick, lush locks for most of her life, or rather before chemo). As a student at the University of Culture in St. Petersburg, (right), she was the trendiest of her friends. (Far Left) is her at work in heels (and of course) with a manicure climbing at work. Even when I was born, my mom was the epitome of class and style (and you can't see that my carriage was blue on the black and white photograph because there was a deficit of carriages in USSR when I was born). If you didn't grow up in the former USSR, you will never understand what it's like to stand in line for hours for a loaf of bread or to get a cake from "under the counter" in a vegetable store, to see empty shelves in a supermarket or to find gloves and have a coat made to match. But, it was fun and with taste, even with limited resources, people stayed stylish. Imagination was key, without Ricky's on every other corner my mom dressed up as a Geisha for a costume party at work and I think she was a lot more believable than in my "trendy" Geisha costume last Halloween. (Bottom right) is the picture of my mom in a dress that my grandmother sewed for her. My mom, the style icon - the epitome of class and elegance not only by what she wore, but also by what she said and the kind of person that she was and for me, will always be.

(will post updates and link to the blog once it makes it there.)

One Third

"I tell you everything that is really nothing, and nothing of what is everything, do not be fooled by what I am saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I am not saying." -Charles C. Finn

Because really, what's there to say?

Strength

The ideas for this post have been whirling around in my brain for a few days now, but the words didn't seem to come out and the time has been somewhat scarce. Here I am on a 9 p.m. train heading back from a 1st holiday party at a new job and the thought won't let me go - so I will try to jot it down as coherently as is possible before it escapes. Hopefully, it'll make some sense...

I come from a family of strong women. Both of my grandmothers were extremely brave, strong and loving. Then there's my mom and there's not enough words in any language I know to describe her courage. My aunt is another prime example. This is not to say that the men in my family are weak, but quiet the contrary. It takes a very strong man to be with a strong woman. In my house, my parents always had equal voices. Maybe my mom knew more about this and my dad knew more about that, but every decision was made together. Yes, there were arguments. Those happen quiet often between two strong people, but as I got older I realized that it only reinforces the love and respect you have for your partner. If you never fight, one person in the relationship is a weaker, more agreeable one. That doesn't make him bad, but it's just impossible to agree on everything.

None of the aforementioned women, have had an easy life. Both my grandmothers lived through WWII, one by working in a factory, the other in an Uzbek family. They lost a father, a brother, a train full of classmates and many other friends and relatives like so many jews during the war. Luckily, they didn't lose their lives. My maternal grandmother raised my mom on her own by working (often two jobs) to make ends meet. My paternal grandmother lost her husband and the love of her life fairly young. She continued to raise her family and be the ultimate matriarch to two sons, five granddaughters and four great-grand-kids. We all immigrated and the struggles continued for them and began for me.

I hear from both friends and acquaintances, "you're so strong." I am not. Strength doesn't come from choice. I don't want to get any stronger, but somehow these walls keep building and the terror is felt only from within. You cannot explain the pain or the hurt or the rumbles that you feel inside. You go on pretending to be uninflicted, smiling even, laughing sometimes. You work, you eat, you sleep, you celebrate birthdays and holidays, you spend time with friends. Each day you die a little more. Each day there's a needless argument, there's an urgent return to be done, a phone call that must be made and someone you love is in the hospital, yet again. Where do you find the strength? Unfortunately, I don't have women to ask anymore (besides my dearest aunt, who's always had more on her plate than she knew what to do with) and as for the men, they are men. They don't talk about feelings. They shy away from doctors. They love with their actions. Their physical strength is only a fraction of the inner strength it takes to fight a war and get deeply wounded, to lose a child, to lose a mother and wife a year apart.

Strength isn't something you develop by choice. It isn't how many arm-wrestling tournaments you can win. It is your ability to get up every morning and to keep fighting, to keep smiling, to sing songs, to celebrate birthdays and holidays, to love and to keep living.

--
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____________________________________________
"We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand."
-Randy Pausch

"Бог дает одному наперсток ума и кувшин счастья, другому — кувшин ума и наперсток счастья."

Inspiration . . .

a TXT conversation between myself and a good friend [edited for grammar & language]:

Dec 3, 2009 1:31:47 PM
“She [her almost 4 year old daughter] is better. Unfortunately, we missed the tree lighting ceremony so hopefully we will go next week to Manhattan”
Dec 3, 2009 1:32:33 PM
“:-( da, will be nice to see all the displays and stuff. Trust me, it’s better to see tree lighting on TV, in reality, you can’t get through there.”
Dec 3, 2009 1:33:47 PM
“I know. So we are going to see Christmas Spectacular on Monday and I want to take her to the Disney store and Rockefeller Center next Friday.”
Dec 3, 2009 1:34:57 PM
“Awesome! You remind me so much of my mom! It’s really heartwarming…she used to take to all these things and everyone thought she was crazy.”
Dec 3, 2009 1:35:48 PM
“Actually, when I read your blog, it was a huge inspiration for me.”
Dec 3, 2009 1:37:09 PM
“You have no idea how big my smile is right now :D”

So, thank you mama for not only giving so much to me, but also for inspiring others.

I can't get this image out of my head

Stuffed but empty

It was a lovely family dinner. Happy turkey day! Gobble gobble.

--



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Giving Thanks

With the holidays quickly upon us, it’s the time of year to reflect, to give and to make resolutions. The last few years have been extremely difficult, but there’s still a lot to be thankful for. Unfortunately, my family has gotten smaller, not bigger, over the last few years, but I’m truly blessed to have these people in my life. Every family has its quirks and mine is no exception, but luckily its loving, nurturing and nothing short of amazing. At the top of the list are my wonderful parents who have devoted so much time, put so much love and instilled values. I’m thankful for hubs, who often misses on the brownie points on the small things, but always makes up for it on the things that matter. My older sister always makes me feel less alone and is there to give advice or just to chat and to tell me what I don’t always want to hear. While my nephews are going through a tough age and have an answer for everything, I love them for the smiles they always bring. My extended family of aunts and uncles, cousins and second cousins are caring and always there through the best and worst of it. Then, there are my friends, many of whom have become family over the years. At a recent bridal shower for one of my closest friends, I remember our moms discussing how different we all are and how lucky we are to have each other and to have built these friendships that have already survived the test of time. We’ve laughed together and cried together. We’ve partied until the wee hours of the night and often into morning. We’ve also held each others hands through the painful days and nights. We’ve celebrated birthdays, graduations, jobs, engagements, weddings, births and we’ve cried over broken hearts, school, work, loss of grandparents, parent(s). We’ve shared lunch, clothes, secrets, joy, sadness, friends, advice, sleepless nights and happy days.

Despite the difficulty that often arises with living, I’m thankful to be alive, to be healthy and to be surrounded with such wonderful people, even though some left much too soon. I’m thankful to be human and remain humane. I love you all.

Three Months

of eating, of crying, of job hunting, of sleeping, of moving, of starting a new job, of house hunting, of Facebooking, of raising $ for Race for the Cure, of not sleeping, of random blogging, of emptyness, of smiling, of celebrating, of drinks, of shopping, of cooking, of waiting for the train, of talking, of traveling, of procrastinating, of dinners, of emptyness, of living...without my mamochka.

MY Mamochka, a woman of incredible courage, infinite wisdom and undying strength. I love you.

--
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The Yankees Won

Winning is awesome even when you don't really win anything. It's a sense of pride that arises from being a part of something, from being a fan. I am rather surprised that I actually got into baseball this year. I guess the 8 years of hubs' subliminal messaging paid off. Also, I've been spending a lot of times with my nephews between their constant Yankees versus Mets feud. I remember the last time the Yankees won the World Series (funny, how it's called "world" when
really it's a US pasttime) a bunch of my guy friends showed up at my house with "Y", "A", "E", "S" written in huge letters on their backs and chests. It seems like a bazillion years ago when in reality it's only been 9. Most of them, I lost touch with. The last time I saw one of them was at my wedding and one of the others I recently caught up with on FB.

Time flies, people change and yet so much remains the same. I recently caught up with another friend on FB. We went to elementary and Junior High school together. Finally, we met for coffee today and despite completely different lives and an absense from each others' for the last 10+ years, we had a lot to talk about, to gab about and to reminisce about. Life takes you in such strange circles and really the one thing most of us win are friends. Some are won over with
charm, others with personality. Sports are a great example of teamwork, friendship and the reality that you can't conquer the other team (or the world) on your own.

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The grass is always greener - I'm looking for a career, not a job.

When it comes to just about anything it always seems that "the grass is greener on the other side" or as that saying goes, "marriage is like when you go out to dinner with your friends and wish you had ordered what your friend is having (or something along these lines.)" In life, at least in mine, "when it rains, it really, really pours." For hope of getting away from cliches for at least part of this post, let me elaborate. I've been actively and not so actively with obvious slumps and as many as three interviews a day looking for work since June. The market was dead. Suddenly, when I have an offer, the calls keep pouring in. They may or may not be other offers, but they areopportunities. What happens when you're faced with choice? Decisions. I hate them! How do you make the right one? When I'm set on something, I have no problem going for it, fighting for it and ultimately (hopefully) getting it. Yet, it's not often that I'm 100% certain of what I want.

The only thing that ever came easily to me was school. That's not to say I had straight A's or a 4.0, but I did well enough with minimal effort and always had time for a social life and work since age fifteen. By the same token, I had two classes my senior year of High School - accounting (because of the two-year commitment of the Academy of Finance program) and gym (which apparently I needed to graduate); I completed my undergard in 3.5 years and my masters in 1. Where was I rushing to? I was playing catch-up, with myself. Regardless, it wasn't a struggle. Everything else, was/is.

I don't like to complain (I can picture several people snickering at this comment), but I don't. It happens, yes, but never in regard to the important things. At least I'd like to think so. I also hate
asking for help, even when I need it, even when I feel suffocated without it. Through the years, I've learned to rely only on myself. If someone lends a hand in the process, its greatly appreciated and never gone unnoticed. I've learned to ask for help from people that I know Ican count on. Those relationships took years to build, but I am confident in their strength. I've learned to say, "no." Now, I have to learn how to make the best decision for Me and not for the world around me. Tips/comments are always appreciated and hard to come by.

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I won the parent lottery

So, I finally began reading The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch and after I read the chapter, "I won the parent lottery," I can't seem to get the phrase out of my head. Randy's story is truly inspiring as are hundreds of cancer stories. He had a mass audience. Each of us does, if we want to be heard. I truly believe that I won the parent lottery. Yes, I've fought with my parents. Yes, I've had the adolescent stage where I wished they would get divorced. Yes, I wouldn't trade them for anyone in the world. My parents invested their life into me (and my sister and nephews), but primarily me. I hope that I have the strength and courage to give my kids at least half of what my parents gave me. My mom and dad are very different, have a very different approach and both love me infinitely. My mom was the artsy one. She took me to the theater and to the ballet. She took me to Bulgaria on my 5th Birthday and to Moscow before I started school. She read me a bazillion stories and kept a diary of my perls of wisdom. My dad was the athletic and mathematic one. I knew the entire multiplication table before I started school. I played badminton and walked for miles "zagorod" [upstate] to pick berries and flowers. Hence, my love of walking and perhaps my profession, although, I enjoy reading a lot more than doing tax returns. But, I did minor in English.

Anyway, those are the little things. And right now they are incoherent, but I'll keep writing. Every day on the way home from school or on the way to Grandma's my parents would recite a new poem. By the time we were on the way back (or closer to home), I was retelling it. My parents invested all their time and energy into me. I was never too young or unimportant. My opinion always mattered, whether to buy flour in Minsk, to wear gold earrings while passing customs while immigrating to the states or buying an apartment which I'm now again sharing with my dad.

It always amazed me, but lately it's become a lot more evident for some reason how I remember a LOT more things from my childhood than most of my friends that immigrated around the same time and around the same age. I remember the streets, the way to school, to grandma's, to home (I have never been back). I remember my friends, my teacher, my doctor. I remember a ton of detail. I remember my grandpa. I remember my feelings.

Now that my mom is gone, I notice doing certain things that I was never taught, but I realize that those are things that she instilled me and they are inherent. My dad and I folded the duvet cover today. I didn't have to say anything, I just gave him the other end and we pulled in opposite directions. I remember when my parents used to do that when I was small and I would run underneath with bouts of laughter. I remember seeing my dad on TV and coming to his office. I remember him making me photocopies of a book his co-worker gave me as a souvenir. In 1980's Ukraine, that was a BIG deal. I remember visiting my mom's small library while "Дом учёных" was undergoing renovations. I made Borsch and Golubtsi last week, to taste, without a recipe. I did well in school without ever feeling pressured to. I wasn't "supposed to be" anything, despite my dad's big dreams of having a doctor in the family.

As usual, I notice that I'm rambling. Perhaps, I'll make this entry more concise when I focus, but I could write volumes about how the only thing I ever won in life is the parent lottery. I wish my mom had better luck in the longevity lottery, but she left a huge imprint on many people and the world.

Nothingness

I want to say that I feel nothing, but in reality I feel everything.
I don't know how to put all my emotion into words, partly because I'm
not that good a writer, partly because its all too much.

--
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Yesterday

Having visited Anyway, 3 days in a row and having heard "Yesterday" played two days in a row led to an interesting thought. Two and a half years ago, at twenty-three, I felt very young - too young for the responsibilities that I had and the problems that I was then dealing with. I felt too accomplished, if there's ever such a thing. Two and a half years later, with more responsibilities and even more problems, two very tremendous losses, I suddenly feel old. I feel that there
are a lot more things that I could have and should have accomplished. Yet, that same out of place feeling persists. I can't help but wonder if it'll follow me through life, if my over-analytical brain will ever give me a rest, if I'll ever come to peace with myself and my life.

What's two years on the grand scheme of things? Then again, life is all about the little things. It's about seizing the day and living a life worth living, whatever that means. It's about returning calls (I just made 4 notes in my calendar). It's about...who knows what it's about?

Maybe it's not about yesterday or about tomorrow, it's about today - just another day I spent in the kitchen. At the same time, I spent it with my nephews. I cooked for my family. I did homework with them. I got my nails done. I had a drink with a friend. I blogged. And the only unfitting sentence at the end of this pointless ramble is, I miss my mom.

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Dot Dot Dot

The NYC subway is good for a few things (besides getting you from point A to point B). It is good for talking (on the phone if you're above ground, or traveling with someone), playing BrickBreaker, reading a good book or blogging. Some of my best blog posts have been written while riding through the tunnels of NYC at all kinds of hours of day and night. Today, I've tried talking, reading and playing BrickBreaker, the only thing left to do is blog.

I'm stuck. I need a subject matter. While 36,287 thoughts are surging through my mind at any given moment, I can't seem to concentrate. I can't pinpoint what it is I feel or need to express. . .

. . .Are people closer because of distance? Do family friendships survive generations? Is everything really fated? Hmm...maybe I'll have more concrete thoughts on the ride back...

. . .Nothing's changed now that I'm on my way back home. Home, that's such a strange word. Home isn't really tangible. When I was little, I didn't understand the expression, "home is where the heart is." Now, I realize how much I've missed having one. I've been living out of boxes for what seems like forever now, really it's only much of my "adult" life. What makes you an adult? Age or experience? If it's age then I'm only 26 going on 57. If it's life experiences, I may as well retire. But before I veer off on another tangent, back to home. . .

. . .My heart is my home. It is filled with love for people close and not so close to me. It is filled with fond memories and deep wounds. It is warm and there's always room for me, my thoughts, my happiness and my sorrow. My mom is my home. She is no longer tangible, but I always go there. Even now, I don't want to make her worry an extra time, even though I now understand that she does and always has. She always made me feel welcome, wanted and loved. That's what home is. It's not about the size of the condo, house or mansion, the furniture and trinkets that you decorate it with, the curtains that you lug through all of Italy on your honeymoon (because buying them in Israel made so much sense at the time) or even the comfortable bed that is yours. Home is often where your family is, but more importantly it is where you find inner peace. I've been house-hunting for quiet some time now, but while riding on the Brooklyn bound, now local B train, I realize that what I've really been searching for is a home.

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Chai

I've been AWOL from my blog for a few weeks now because I was traveling and didn't have the time to sleep let alone write and also because I've been extremely lazy. I was in Israel. I love Israel as a country, but more importantly I love the people there. My mom's entire side of the family is there as are her closest friends. The experience can be summed up in three words: short, emotional, good. It was a big decision for me to go, especially now, but in the end I'm glad I went. There were scheduling issues, there was Yom Kippur, there was my cousin's Bar Mitzvah. There wasn't nearly enough time with anyone that we saw, but had we stayed a month it still wouldn't be enough with people that you love. As I'm typing this I realize that I still don't have the strength to write everything that I want to say, so I won't force it. I'll focus on Chai.

The letters "Chet" and "Yod" add up to the number 18, therefore a spiritual number in Judaism. I gave my cousin multiples of 18 as a gift for his Bar Mitzvah. More simply, "Chai" means life. When Jews drink, they often toast, "L'Chaim", to life. What's the significance of 18 in my life? My mom passed away on the 18 of August. She knew how to live and lived for each day. It is fitting that she was taken away from us on a day that signifies life. As much as I miss her each and every minute of every day, she's everywhere. She lives within me, within the tons of photographs, within the stories that her siblings, friends and relatives keep sharing, within our home, within all of our hearts.

Потери

An article graciously written and sent to me by mom's close friend, which was published in Israeli-Russian Magazine, "Силуэт".

Все уже круг друзей…

Эмилия Корытная

«Неправда, друг не умирает, лишь рядом быть перестает…» (К.Симонов)

Перейдя определенный возрастной рубеж, мы вступаем в полосу потерь. Собственно, полоса эта может возникнуть и раньше, но, «земную жизнь пройдя до половины», мы обнаруживаем вокруг себя разреженное пространство, где, даже если никаких катаклизмов не случилось, любимых и знакомых лиц осталось не так уж много… Это, конечно, естественный ход событий, но всякий раз смерть близкого, как разрыв снаряда, - потрясение.

Две недели назад умерла моя подруга – мы дружили почти 35 лет, хоть и жили последние двадцать лет в разных странах. И то, что я пишу сейчас, - единственное, что я могу сделать для нее, в память о ней. И мучаюсь, что не сделала этого, пока она была жива.

Мы познакомились с ней при довольно забавных обстоятельствах – в очереди на собеседование, на курсы экскурсоводов. Мы стояли в коридоре, сосредоточенно разглядывая свои руки. Потом подняли глаза, встретились взглядами, и Лера спросила: «А что, без маникюра сюда не берут?»

Нас взяли, хоть маникюр у нас был тогда совсем не яркий…

На курсах, у нас сложилась веселая компания, которую по имени одного из нас, Леня Колкера, стали звать «колкеры». Мы учили теорию, а потом ездили во всякие учебные поездки, где, как сейчас говорят «оттягивались» по полной программе. Нет, мы не пили и не бузили, мы просто доводили некоторых преподавателей до исступления своей абсолютной свободой – тогда, вероятно, это в самом деле не только мешало, но и ужасно раздражало. Мы позволяли себе говорить то, что еще не было принято говорить, а знали некоторые из нас много больше того, что полагалось…

Как-то, завершая учебу на курсах, мы с Лерой вместе повезли одну группу, кажется, в Минск. Рассказав все, что полагалось по ходу движения, мы стали развлекать своих туристов стихами, рассказами, песнями. Помню, как вдохновенно мы, сменяя друг друга, читали стихи-притчи-сказки Феликса Кривина, которого обожали. И что удивительно, все нас слушали, хотя это была группа с какого-то местного завода… Наверное, мы были так увлечены, что и им стало интересно, отчего белый бычок ищет по белому свету белую ворону… Кривин сейчас живет в Беэр-Шеве, но имя его и его дивные творения помнят сегодня только те, кто любили его когда-то… (Впрочем, на похоронах Ренаты Мухи – еще одна страшная потеря – я увидела венок с лентой «От Кривиных»).

Первым из нашей группы ушел Юра, по прозвищу Граф, длинный нескладный очкарик, который был всегда объектом шуток и розыгрышей – они с женой погибли на «Нахимове» по время того страшного круиза...

Потом не стало Вити Курсанова, самого старшего из нас, вечного студента, который - по легенде – проучился в университете двадцать лет, а потом его же однокурсники ему диплом вручали, вместе с глиняной медалью, на которой был запечатлен его усатый профиль…

Исчез их поля зрения самый респектабельный их нас – Юрка Екимов, эдакий супермен, похожий на молодого Пьера Ришара, теннисист, горнолыжник, фотограф, меломан, бабник, а по совместительству кандидат технических наук…

Кто знает, где сейчас Леня, подаривший группе свою фамилию, – он уехал в Израиль еще тогда, когда не было Большой алии, здесь я его не встречала – видно, продолжил путешествие в пространстве. А в те времена он был архитектором, замечательно знал наш город и здорово о нем рассказывал. Впрочем, в нашей группе было много отличных рассказчиков, и многих уже, увы, нет в живых. Умер недавно Борька Завельский, который был директором музея этнографии и народного творчества – такой деревянный городок из резных карпатских домиков, под открытым небом… При последнем нашем разговоре Лера с завистью сказала: - Вот счастливый, уснул и не проснулся…

Из ее уст услышать такое я не ожидала – она, проболев больше 15 лет, сохраняла удивительный оптимизм и жизненную силу. Видно, действительно, болезнь так измучила и изменила ее, что она смогла позавидовать чьей-то смерти.

Лера заболела, едва только приехав в Америку, обнаружили это случайно, во время обычной проверки. Операция, тяжелый период реабилитации, а потом регулярные обследования и опробование всех возможных методик – обычный путь онкологического больного.

У Леры был мощный стимул – дочка была еще маленькая, ее надо было поднять, дать образование, довести до той границы, где она уже сможет существовать самостоятельно, без мамы. Хотя где она, такая граница?.. Судя по самой Лере, ее мама была для нее и поддержкой, и подружкой, и необходимой частью жизни – до конца.

И Лера держалась. Она работала, почти все это время, без перерыва – это тоже был стимул, ощущение востребованности. Дочка подросла, закончила учебу – теперь нужно было дождаться ее свадьбы, а потом помочь растить внуков. Свадьбу сыграли знатную, по высшему разряду – впрочем, Лера всегда все делала со знаком качества. В школе училась отлично, вуз потом выбрала - из лучших, закончила его с блеском, потом спокойно и уверенно продвигалась по карьерной лестнице. А если она устраивала дома какой-нибудь «сабантуй» можно было быть уверенным, что все будет необыкновенно вкусно. Они с мамой накрывали полянки с такой изобретательностью, что даже лучшие хозяйки – они, как правило, очень придирчивы и ревнивы, не могли не оценить этого… Точно таким же перфекционизмом отличается и Аленка, ее дочка: у нее всегда изысканная стрижка (роскошные блестящие волосы достались ей от Леры, которая тоже всегда была модерново подстрижена), стильный прикид, фирменная обувка… Все должно быть лучшим!

Уже когда первая операция была позади и Лера немного пришла в себя, она затеяла первое путешествие - в Израиль. Волосы, почему-то начавшие виться после лечения, только-только отросли легким пушком, еще не прошел болезненный отек, но Лера была полна оптимизма, превозмогая усталость, ходила и ездила по стране, восторгалась красотами и радовалась общению со старыми друзьями и родными. Она привезла тогда с собой чемодан подарков, впрочем, это тоже была фирменная фишка – у нее всегда был специальный подарочный фонд, и никакое мероприятие не заставало ее врасплох (если Лера видела какую-то вещь, которая могла пригодиться, она покупала ее, даже если в данный момент это было ей совсем ни к чему).

А еще она всегда использовала любую оказию, чтобы передать что-то приятное друзьям. Иногда мы злились: вот, приехал какой-то чужой человек из Штатов в гости, а нам теперь за подарками от Леры приходится тащиться черт знает в какую даль, да еще ведь и ей нужно что-то передать, а попробуй сочинить подарок тому, у кого все есть! Но когда разворачивали с любовью сложенный пакет, всегда поражались точному попаданию – она знала, какой цвет и фасон кофточки (помады, теней для глаз, лака для ногтей) подойдет каждой из подруг, угадывала, какой именно флакон духов очень удобно расположится в сумочке каждой из женщин... А потом она стала везти и слать подарки и для наших детей и внуков, и снова – всегда точное попадание!

На каждый день рождения неизменно приходили поздравления, традиционные, на ярких открытках – всегда с остроумными пожеланиями, навевающими ностальгические воспоминания, цитатами, которые для нас были знаковыми, связывающими с каким-то событием. А на каждый семейный праздник они общими усилиями выпускали газету… Написала эту фразу и вспомнила, что и мы когда учились на курсах, пару разу сделали замечательные стенгазеты, одну из них я даже привезла с собой (и куда она подевалась во время переездов с квартиры на квартиру?..) Она была выпущена к какому-то сходняку: на листе ватмана были приколоты разные предметы от каждого пришедшего, что в кармане завалялось, у кого этикета от водочной бутылки, у кого записка с напоминанием купить картошки. Помню, была даже увольнительная, ее прикололи курсанты нашего политучилища (это уже когда ряды «колкеров» стали шириться). Жаль, что потерялась – замечательная была память о тех временах…

Примерно раз в месяц раздавался звонок от Леры – она была в курсе всех наших дел, мы подробно обсуждали с ней все происшедшее за прошедшее время. Даже с друзьями, которые живут в получасе езды, мы не поддерживали таких плотных контактов. Более того, через Леру мы узнавали о новостях друг у друга, находили потерянные связи – имя ее служило почти шпионским паролем: «Я знаю о вас от Леры…»

Тогда, в свой первый приезд в Израиль, она была полна надежд. А потом изо всех сил рвалась сюда снова – ей после приезда стало ощутимо лучше, или так казалось. И она приехала еще раз, через пару лет, снова полная оптимизма, опять с чемоданом подарков. А потом все телефонные разговоры завершались, почти как в молитве, фразой: «Я приеду…»

С такой же радостью приезжала к нам Аленка, сначала с мамой, а потом с мужем – при каждой возможности. В последний раз они был здесь в начале года, снова проехали всю страну, не забыли никого из родственников и друзей, раздавая подарки и рассказывая вновь и вновь, каким молодцом держится мама. И почти клятвенно было сказано: «Маме станет получше, я куплю ей билет в бизнес-класс, чтобы можно было лежать во время полета – она так хочет в Израиль…» И мы поверили, что еще немного - и мы снова увидимся.

Я поставила эпиграфом к этому тексту строки Симонова, очень оптимистичные и светлые. А, дописав, поняла, что на одном оптимизме и силе воли продержаться очень трудно. И как раз книга подвернулась современного, даже, я бы сказала, модернового писателя, работающего в стиле нестандартного фэнтези, Джаспера ФФорде (это у него такая фамилия), и прочла фразу: «Я не завожу слишком много друзей – они имеют обыкновение умирать, как только привяжешься к ним». Да, слишком много друзей мы теперь не заводим, но те, кто уже стал другом, тоже почему-то умирают. А после смерти остаются только в наших воспоминаниях…

Traveling

Traveling is usually exciting and with the intent of vacationing. Whether it is to relax, to sightsee or to spend time with family/friends, it is usually a pleasant experience. Yes, the process of getting to your destination of choice is usually annoying and cumbersome, but the stay itself makes it all worthwhile. I've gotten on a plane many times to travel all over the place. There were bumpy rides and easy fligths. There were those with baggage and those with just carry-on. I came to America on a plane. (Duh!) It was exciting and scary at the same time. America was my new home and in my over-analytical 9 year old brain it meant a lot of change and change came. We adjusted. America is home. I've gotten on a plane twice to come to a funeral. Today I'm getting on a plane and nothing is the same. I'm not going to a funeral, but I'm in mourning. I will attend a Yom Kippur fast and a Bar Mitzvah. I will see my family and family friends and yet I feel so uneasy, so restless. I don't know what this trip should bring. I don't know whose moral support I'm going for, mine or someone else's.

first birthday

No, it's not my first birthday, but it's my first birthday without mom, the person that gave me life and so many of its lessons. Many moms do many things for their children. I don't think there are too many that write their child a letter on the day they are born. I wish that I could explain the emptyness or the pain to someone, to anyone. I wish someone would understand. I wish someone would let me talk about it, without making me feel guilty for putting a damper on their mood. I know they always say "be careful what you wish for," but this birthday I have only one wish which will never come true.

My mother is a poem
I'll never be able to write,
though everything I write
is a poem to my mother.
-Sharon Doubiago

Shana Tova

I'm a big fan of Dry Bones. Happy New Year. May the year ahead be full of gain and not loss. May everyone remain healthy and in good spirits. All else we can buy.