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Tossed Salad Friday

~~ In Dementia-ville, the word “NO!” is used more frequently than if there were toddler triplets trying to pull pots of boiling water off the stove. The patient yells it and so the aide returns the volley. Neither has volume control and both seem to delight in screeching. I guess I should be grateful the patient hasn’t shrieked Shiiiiiit! in a few days, but I just can’t seem to muster any appreciation.

~~ Two weeks ago, the aide asks my spouse to go to the dollar store to her buy canned mackerel, saying she can’t find it in her home area. He’s an agreeable guy, so the next thing I know, there’s a dozen cans of murdered fish in the cart for her. At the beginning of this week, she places another order for a dozen. Did she eat the first 12? Hell, no — she’s planning on making a killing in the mackerel market when she goes home! [If you spy an extremely loud woman on the train schlepping 24 cans o’ fish, say hello or change seats. Your call.]

~~ Did you ever notice how the densest of people jump to the flimsiest of conclusions?

~~ Overheard this conversation between two men: “I dunno about getting married to any of the girls we know.” “Right? None of them has a clue.”

~~ I recently attended a trade show and had a chance to study the attendees over the course of the entire day. Why do some men of a certain age think wearing a skintight white V-neck tee shirt over an exceedingly pudgy belly looks even better when they tuck it into shorts and cinch their waists with a belt? Maybe it’s me, but these tubby tucks aren’t working for them.

~~ I caught a typo the other day that could have been most embarrassing. Instead of promoting going by boat to see fall foliage, I was about to cajole magazine readers to engage in “nautical life peeping.”

~~ The yoga teacher was telling a story about how we all have the seeds within us to achieve our goals and desires. My favorite part of the story was when she called these “internal kernels.”

~~ A tall older man approaches us in a parking lot about 8:00 pm. “Excuse me, but I’m not a bum,” he says. “That’s my BMW there and these are my keys. See?” He proceeded to tell us a sob story about getting out of the hospital after being bitten by a spider and not having enough gas money to get home. About 99 percent of my instincts said this was a scam, but that other itty-bitty percent wondered if it was legit. I had $6.00 in my wallet and offered it to him. He blessed us on behalf of his deity and took off. If I did the right thing, he got home, the gas station made a few bucks, and I’m out the coral lipstick I really wanted to try. If I got scammed, I hope a real toxic spider bites him in his lipstick-depriving ass.

~~ We needed to find a new synagogue for New Year’s services. The last temple we attended was lovely but the average age of the congregants was Betty White and the cost was prohibitive for us. So I did a bit of googling and came up with one synagogue that fit the spiritual and budgetary bill.

On the first day of Rosh Hashanah, I dressed with trepidation. Did we make a mistake bailing out of our old (literally) shul? Whatever, the deed was mostly done, so why not give it a try?

Services began to a sanctuary full of people ranging in age from babies through Jimmy Carter. I was immediately enraptured by the rabbi and the cantor — they looked like me! Well, they were younger, but we shared the same gender. And when the first congregant went up to read the Torah, I whispered to my son, “I know her. We protested together a long time ago.” (I reached out to the woman later via Facebook, and sure enough, it was indeed her.) The service talked not about the perils of failing to beg the heavens for forgiveness, but examining how we can be more aware, more involved, and more compassionate. The Hebrew hymns were familiar but the beauty of the cantor’s voice and her modern(ish) spin on the arrangements was energizing.
When we left services, we were each given a large bag to fill with donated food and a rock. The rock had a “C” written on it, standing for “Courage.” We were challenged to break out of our comfort zones to do more for ourselves so we could then aid the world.

Prior to the services on the second day of Rosh Hashanah, there was a mindfulness and meditation session with the rabbi. I felt so at home being led through stress-reduction breathing and a guided journey to relaxation before being part of another invigorating holiday service.

I cannot wait to go back for Yom Kippur!

~~ Speaking of Yom Kippur, if you observe, have an easy fast. G'mar Hatima Tovah. I hope that this new year brings you joy and health, and that the world sees more delight and less despair.

Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend.



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