Brains and all that

So Gabi has been accepted to a gifted program that will take her out of school once a week - supposedly they chose the top 2% of students, which includes 3 kids from her 2nd grade class and we saw 2 others there from other 2nd grades. She proudly wore a "geek chick" T-shirt she had received as a birthday present to the introductory event.

To say I have mixed feelings about this is an understatement. Gabi is about 6 months older than I was when I was put ahead from 2nd grade into 3rd grade, also presumably because people thought I was smart. Already a late birthday December child, that placed me 18 months behind many of my classmates in age and maturity. Smart, however, they define it, does not mean socially able or able to cope with such a gap.

It also seems to me that many people I know who have not been defined as gifted have much cleaner houses than I do. In my imagination, they do not wake up in the morning thinking "how will I possibly cope with this day", nor do they scream at their children. In short, whatever intelligence I have has not necessarily served me so well. As my sister's best friend's mother said when she was in high school, "Judy may be book smart, but she lacks common sense." (Sorry Judy - she said it about you but I'm quoting it here about me.)

At some point, after I graduated college, my mother told me something that rocked my world. She said something like this, "It really doesn't matter how smart you are, it's how hard you work and apply yourself that makes a difference in life." You're kidding???? Why didn't anyone tell me this when I was a kid?

My friend Doug in college liked to say, "We are the uniquely gifted of our generation." Maybe he didn't like to say it, but he wrote it to me once. Another piece of information that even if true has not done me much good - it seems to me many people of my generation have done much more than I have - of course spending my college years and much of my 20s wasted probably didn't help my lifetime productivity.

So I'm not going to deny Gabi the opportunity to participate in this program, but if anything I feel like it is sealing her doom - she will be doomed to a cluttered home filled with books, where instead of putting away laundry, washing dishes and making kids lunches, she'll spend her time like me writing blog posts and wondering what being gifted means anyway. And then wondering why her house isn't cleaner. Duh.

Totally worthwhile dessert

My friends are going to say this has way too much sugar - adjust as you wish.

We have a big plum tree in our yard with these tiny plums. This is the first year I made something with them - it's called Plum Pudding Cake from the Betty Crocker cookbook.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F/170 C

1 cup flour
1/2 cup sugar (she said 3/4 cup)
1/4 tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder
Mix these
Add
3 tablespoons oil
1/2 cup milk or water
Mix
Put in a square pan - she says ungreased but I'm thinking greased might have worked better
On the top put
2 cups sliced plums

Mix one packed cup brown sugar (I only had demerara but brown would be better)
with one teaspoon cinamon
spread this over the plums
Now pour 1 cup boiling water on top

Bake for 60-70 minutes until the cake part is done.

Sounds weird, but it's delicious. I'll let you see yourself how it turns out.

The last time I saw Grandma

Yesterday was my grandmother's yahrzeit. Around the time she died, I wrote in my journal about my last visit with her. I wanted to publish it but couldn't really work on it. These days publishing is so much easier. But I'm not sure where my journal is.

And I'm still afraid, perhaps more afraid because this is more public than some small lesbian journal. A friend describes the "rolling the grave factor" and how she will do things that would cause her parents to roll once, but not more than once.

My grandmother was not shy to state her opinions. But I'm not sure I can convey the love and the pathos of our last meeting, or do justice to who she was when I describe it.

So let me start here - I had one grandparent for 22 years. Grandma was larger than life in part because encounters with her never ended there - they were always the subject of extended family conversations, often long after the visit and certainly for the first week or so. A certain amount of decompression was always necessary, and analyzing, describing and talking about Grandma was a family pastime.

Grandma was formidable. My dad explained to me that she had strong opinions but no higher education and that when one doesn't have higher education, convention becomes more important. I'm sure that's part of it. Grandma left school to work at either 12 or 14 - my aunt says it was age 12. But prior to that also, Grandma was highly alert for what it would take to succeed in America and absorbed every possible lesson available. I wrote more about this at her yahrzeit last year - you'll find it under family history.

Grandma lived to be 93. In the last few years of her life, she lost some of her fight. It was a great relief and at the same time very painful to see. Grandma had always been able to shoot to the heart, as she did when she said to me when I was in college, "you should get Judy your sister to show you how to put on make up so you can get more boyfriends" and when I said, "I have plenty of boyfriends Grandma" she had the perfect retort "yes, but they aren't Jewish."

But at the end, the zingers were gone. The stories were gone. I went to see her in Florida in 1995 and I knew it would be the last time I saw her. I gathered my courage, and I told her about Alen.

It goes without saying that Grandma was homophobic, with the reflexive homophobia of her generation and of someone who cared so much for convention. The gender issues raised by the women's movement were a constant challenge to her, along with her career-oriented daughter-in-law (my mom). When my brother and sister went down to visit her and my brother was about 11 or 13, Grandma said he should not use creme rinse on his hair and told my mom it would make him gay.

So talking to Grandma took some courage on my part. It went something like this, "Grandma I've met someone I want to share my life with, it's a woman, her name is Alen. We are going to have a wedding. I hope you will come."

"Grandma, remember so-and-so, who I brought to Florida a few years ago. You really liked her. She was also my girlfriend. I'm a lesbian."

I don't remember the responses to this part, but they weren't real positive.

At one point I said, "Look Grandma, you have lots of different kinds of people in your family. You have lawyers, you have dentists, you have lesbians". Grandma said in a wry tone, "Well the lesbians I could do without." She didn't mean me she could do without. She meant me being a lesbian. I got that. I'll never forget her tone, her laugh. It wasn't a criticism of me, it was a statement about how much change a person can handle in nearly 100 years of living.

The next morning I tried again. "Grandma, I hope that you can be happy for me. I have found someone I want to spend my life with." She said something like, "Well I don't see why you have to have a wedding."

As I write this, I'm only thinking two things. One is how much I loved Grandma and how I still miss her after 16 years. And the other is a kind of awe of myself that (after I had been out for more than 6 years), I actually had the guts to come out to her. I'm so grateful that I got to tell her I found my life partner before she died.

Grandma, as I sat crying in bed telling you this on the morning of March whatever it was 1995, I had no doubt in my mind how much you loved me and how much I loved you. As I sit crying writing this now, I miss you still.

Uncle Jack found

For those of you who followed the family history thread, I do feel I have been remiss in not reporting that my new found cousin Andrew (from my grandfather Julius's side) found my missing great Uncle Jack (from my grandmother Zena's side) in a 1930 census, living in New York, and married to an English woman named Edith who had a son, Robert Anglin. Oh how I wish I could find Robert - he was 6 in 1930 - he would be now 87 if he's still alive. Edith was from England, probably not Jewish, thus perhaps the reason for the estrangement.

In memory of Lucas (with the author's permission)

Today is 12 weeks since Lucas died. The following was written by Rosally Saltsman about last week's Torah portion:

These are the names of the sons of Aharon, the first born was Nadav, and Avihu, Elazar and Ithamar. Nadav and Avihu died before Hashem and they had no children.
(Bamidbar 3:1-4)

It is a sad fact that too many parents outlive their children. In Israel the situation is worse because of all the soldiers who have died protecting the country and the civilian 'soldiers' who have died living in it. This probably would not have occurred to me in this context if not for the fact that I met Yehudah Wachsman, the father of Nachshon Wachsman, Hashem should avenge his blood, at a shiva. We weren't actually introduced but someone pointed out to me who he was. He and his wife Esther entered the hearts and consciousness of the nation when their son was abducted several years ago and the entire country was united in prayer for him until they received the tragic news that he had been murdered.

Those men and women who die young die without leaving children, a legacy to their parents. Many people, when confronted with parents who have tragically lost children often feel uncomfortable and don't know what to say. They are afraid to bring up the subject trying to avoid seeing the pain in the eyes of the parent. But there's a certain insensitivity inherent in that. Parents don't want to forget their children and they don't want others to forget them either, to act like they never existed. G-d mentions all four sons of Aharon in the verse. Although they have died and the circumstances of their death are additionally painful, it would have been much more difficult for Aharon had his sons not been mentioned at all, as if they had faded into obscurity.

When people die, they live on in our memories, in our hearts and in our consciousness - if we let them. It is very important that we do their memory honor by talking about them, about the importance of their lives and the significance of their sacrifice with their parents. It is a great chesed (kindness) to show parents that though their children may be gone, they are not forgotten.


From Rosally Saltsman's new book, A Portion of Kindness, now available for order.

Still in the game with prayer

For those of you who think I've given up, I'm still in the game with prayer.

I found this quote sent by my colleague Elliot Skiddell:

"Prayer cannot rebuild a broken bridge or make a desert bloom, but prayer can rebuild a broken will or water an arid soul.”

According to the source he found, it's from Bahya ibn Pakuda though he did find it also attributed, variously, to Gates of Prayer and also to Heschel.

In memory of Lucas and before getting permission

I told my friend I'd get her permission to write this but it's too late to call her. I hope she'll tell me if she wants me to take it down.

Tomorrow is 11 weeks since Lucas died. I think I'm going over the edge. Please pray for his parents, his sister, his grandparents, aunts, uncles and his caregiver.

I was looking for a 10th person for a minyan for mincha and when I asked my friend and colleague who happened to be passing through the building she was reluctant and said she'd do it if I raised some money for a project near and dear to our hearts.

I told her to come do it so we could resurrect Lucas and she said I was giving her a guilt trip.

I told my students that she was accusing me of a guilt trip I had not meant in any way. I told them I was just commenting on the total worthlessness of our prayers to do what I want done in the world right now.

After we got a minyan without her, she left and I sobbed my way through the first part of mincha. When I got back to my office I wrote her an email entitled "What I meant"

And I told her that what I meant is that I feel like I get up every day and stand at the edge of an abyss and that nowhere do I feel that more than when I am trying to pray. And in addition to just trying to make things work at my job, I was asking her to stand with me there for five minutes.

So she called and asked me for coffee and she said, in that beautiful understated way the British have, "I read your email and it sounds like you could use some chocolate cake."

I don't want chocolate cake. I want the world to go back to the way it was on March 7. And according to Jewish tradition (Mishnah Brachot, last chapter, hatzoek lesheavar), that's not even something I can pray for.