The Talmud (study or learning) is a compilation of ancient teachings regarded as sacred by Jewish people. It’s the link between the Torah and Jewish practice and beliefs. The Talmud is also a way to see and comprehend discussions between thousands of rabbis spanning centuries before the work was compiled and put onto paper. The Talmud states that the Torah was mostly written by Moses. That’s a LOT of historical documentation to absorb and think about.
I studied both the Torah and the Talmud at Sunday and Hebrew school, even learning to read and write in Hebrew, but I remember virtually nothing. However, with recent tragic events, this quote from the Talmud seems appropriate.
(The kind of things I remember is to look at the calendar and note that Hannukah comes early this year, December 7!)
The Talmud states, “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly now, love mercy now, walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.”
This year’s theme for World Kindness Day is “Be Kind Wherever Possible”, to highlight the significance of kindness to be practiced all over the universe and in each part of our lives.
The motivation behind World Kindness Day is to focus on the positivity and empathy that joins all of us. A crucial part of the human experience, kindness rises above political, racial, religious, gender, and geographical limits.
One of the themes of the Angels’ bedroom is “kindness” and I’ve hung these quotes on the wall, to persistently, if not also subliminally, get my message across.
I don’t know how many times I’ve had the same conversation with Angel Boy 2.0 about Rumi’s Three Gates, especially regarding his little sister…
Before you speak, let your words pass through three gates At the first gate, ask yourself, “Is it true?” At the second gate ask, “Is it necessary?” At the third gate ask, “Is it kind?”
Best of all, Krispy Kreme is giving donuts away to the first 500, so I better leave now so I can get in line. I could use some of that sort of kindness!
Virtue signaling: a public expression of opinions or sentiments intended to demonstrate one’s good character or social conscience or the moral correctness of one’s position on a particular issue.
Take note of how often virtue signaling consists of saying one “hates” things.
It’s another way to convey that someone feels superior to another.
I recently experienced being victimized by virtue signaling, which I feel is REALLY annoying.
Here’s the story:
I attended an event and a couple of women and I were chatting well after it was over. We decided to get together the following week for coffee/tea and continue the conversation since it seemed as if we had common interests.
When we met, we started talking about all the usual things: our personal histories, our children, education, and what we like to do for fun.
When it was my turn to share, I mentioned how much I love to shop. For me, shopping is truly therapeutic. I don’t necessarily mean I have to spend money to reap the benefits; I enjoy looking at pretty things whether it’s for me, for someone else, or finding special presents for the Angel Kids.
And it’s the truth. While I love to garden and bake (for the kids) and a (sometime) community activist, going to stores brings joy.
Well…my innocent confession set off a chain of negative comments…”I hate shopping.” “I never shop if I can help it.” “Shopping is a waste of time.” “I wear my clothes until they’re worn out like rags.”
Virtue signaling 101.
“Shopping is buying into the patriarchy.” OKAY, they didn’t actually go that far, but the spewing of hatred for my pastime wasn’t very nice at all. I felt personally attacked.
What I detected by those comments was their close-minded conspicuous, self-righteous, lofty, superior moral viewpoint with the intent of communicating their BETTER-than-me attitude.
The subtext was that I was a frivolous naive one-dimensional superficial fairy-like creature who doesn’t dwell nearly enough on the somber, grim, seriousness of life. Like they do.
To look down on someone with disdain and contempt for sharing what they do as a leisure activity or distraction is judgmental and close-minded.
I didn’t ridicule THEM for NOT liking retail therapy, although the snarky side of me privately thought that they could both benefit from some (teehee).
I have found this experience to be something I’ve endured several times in my life, and recently. It’s like a moral badge of righteousness for some women to declare how much they hate shopping. “I don’t shop.” “I don’t care what I wear.”
Well, I DO. I love treasures and bargains as much as l love to look at Gucci handbags and Chanel jewelry, not with envy and longing, but with appreciation for the beauty of the craft.
The lesson I learned that day was that I didn’t really have anything in common with mean-spirited people, so they won’t be my new BFFs and I won’t be joining them again for coffee. That wasn’t the only personality difference, though. They had detached parenting styles while mine is more drone-like and very much attached. Their own parents weren’t like mine; they both had complicated and angry issues with their mothers and lots of complaints. I couldn’t relate as mine has been dead for a long time but I miss her every day.
“A child who reads will be an adult who thinks.” Unknown
I always have a book with me, my son always has books with him, and I always have books in the car.
Any time I hear, “I’m bored”, my response is “go read a book.” I said this even before he could actually READ, to encourage the good habit.
Later, I’d tell him to pick out all the sight words he’s learned; it, he, she, the, but…and then we built on those skills by sounding out other words phonetically.
I love functional reading too, and often pretend (lie) that I don’t have my glasses on so I can’t see a recipe or directions and ask him to help me out. He takes the bait every single time and that makes me very happy. To be completely accurate, almost every time. There is that one time he brought my reading glasses to me and that kinda sorta called my bluff, but I simply thanked him for finding them and found a better hiding place next time.
Even his Pokemon cards spark reading skills. “I can read this, Grandma” and I honestly didn’t believe him (there were some big words). Of course I didn’t reveal my skepticism and when he read the back of the cards, truly read them, I gave him a giant hug.
Recently, driving home from the airport with everyone in the car, we heard Angel Boy’s voice in the back seat. He had picked up one of the books I leave on the seat and was reading to his sister.
We all looked at each other in wonderment because this hadn’t happened before. Angel Girl was intently listening to the story and we were speechless with the joy of it, as we’re all big readers who know the importance of learning to read.
When the book was finished, we praised his ability and kindness toward his sister, who asked for the story to be read to her again. And he did. It was a win-win for both of them. And us.
Reading is everything.
“Reading is the gateway for children that makes all other learning possible.” – Barack Obama
At one point, Angel Boy 2.0 would often ask me to do something for him; for example, he’d ask me to reach something or make him breakfast or a snack or to play MagnaTiles, anything really, and he would become incredibly impatient if it didn’t happen RIGHT THIS MINUTE.
As an impatient type myself who wants everything RIGHT NOW, I totally understood.
Instead of getting angry or telling him to wait, I started to say, “BLINK.”
It was enough of a distraction the first time I said it that he stopped and said “WHAT?”
I repeated myself, “Blink.” I mean do it, really BLINK YOUR EYES, OK?”
He blinked and looked at me.
I said, “Did anything happen? Am I magic? Do I possess magical abilities?”
He slowly shook his head…nope. (I’m sure he thought his grandma was totally cray, and he might be right, but he was engaged and interested.)
“Well, I wish I could blink my eyes so that what you want would happen in the blink of an eye, and since it obviously did NOT, it’s going to take as long as it takes. What do you think about that?”
He laughed and I did, too.
It must have been the perfect response for him because we’ve continued the tradition.
“BLINK! Did it happen? Nope, not for me either. I’m still not magical, I guess, still only human.”
It was a more fun way to get my point across that he could be a LITTLE more patient. I think I got the idea from watching Bewitched. Although I can’t twitch my nose like Samantha, I can blink my eyes.
Angel Girl recently did the same thing as I mended a torn dress for one of her dolls. Watching me, she kept impatiently repeating, “Are you finished, are you finished, why is it taking you so long?”
“Blink, girl. Blink your eyes. Is your doll all sewn up yet?”
She blinked and shook her head while her brother nodded with all the wisdom of his 7.5 years.
“See”, I held out my hands. ” I’m not magic. These hands of mine can only sew one stitch at a time and if you want me to do a good job, it’s going to take as long as it takes.”
It’s not like I have the powers of Bianca in Wishenpoof, the story about a young fairy girl who grants children’s wishes, although SOMETIMES I do swirl my arms around and say “Whish” like she does in the show, but sadly, I’m still not magical. Not at all.
No matter how many times I blink MY eyes, I’m only human.
It’s all going to take as long as it takes. Lesson learned. 🪄
The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved in return.
I just learned the most incredibly interesting backstory about “Nature Boy”, Nat King Cole’s first big hit.
George Alexander Aberle (1908-1995), known as eden ahbez, was a songwriter and recording artist of the 1940s to 1970s, known to friends simply as ahbe.
In the late 40s, there was a rumor that there was a sort of hermit, disenchanted and disillusioned with the world, living in California in a cave under one of the Ls in the Hollywood sign.
No one really cared about this strange man until one night in 1947, he entered backstage at the Lincoln Theater in Los Angeles where Nat King Cole was playing. The man said he had something for Cole and he gave whatever he had to Cole’s manager.
Later, Cole tracked him down in New York City [no explanation about how he got from LA to NYC]. When Cole asked him where he was staying, the man declared he was staying at the best hotel in New York – outside, literally, in Central Park.
He said his name was eden ahbez (spelled all in lower-case letters). The song he gave Cole was titled “Nature Boy.” It became Cole’s first big hit, and was soon covered by other artists through the years; Frank Sinatra, Sarah Vaughan, Tony Bennett, and Lady Gaga.
The media went crazy about the mysterious man who handed Nat King Cole one of the biggest hits. Everyone tried to find out more about him.
What little they found was that he was once an orphan who never stayed at one place very long, living in various foster homes. He explained he just never fit in and was always searching for something.
“They say he wandered very far…Very far, over land and sea…”
They found out he would hop freight trains and walked across country several times, subsisting solely on raw fruits and vegetables.
“A little shy and sad of eye…But very wise was he…”
ahbez would eventually get his message out when the hippie movement began, with other artists such as Donovan, Grace Slick, and the Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson sought him out. He also wrote songs for Eartha Kitt and had another song recorded by Sam Cooke.
IIn 1974, ahbez was reported to be living in the Los Angeles suburb of Sunland. He owned a record label named Sunland Records, recording under the name “Eden Abba.” From the late 1980s until his death, ahbez worked closely with Joe Romersa, an engineer/drummer in Los Angeles. The master tapes, photos, and final works of eden ahbez are in Romersa’s possession.
Ahbez died in 1995 at the age of 86, of injuries sustained in a car accident.
“You said you would and you always keep your promises, right, Grandma?”
“I know I did, and isn’t that exactly what I’m doing? Aren’t we on our way to the special Pokemon card store? Am I keeping my promise?”
He often says that to me, referencing my statements about keeping promises to him or his sister. Or to anyone, really.
“You promised!”
I think it’s important to be honest and if I promise to do something or take them somewhere, I’ll keep my word. If I’m not sure, I say, “I’ll try but I can’t promise.” That way, they’re prepared to accept a different outcome. I don’t want to let them down.
The key to my success is not to promise anything I can’t deliver. With the kids, it’s simple–promises to go to the park or a special store or bake whatever they request (kugel or cinnamon rolls) or play Candyland.
Why is keeping promises important?
Keeping a promise lays the foundation for trust and respect. Trust is vital. When our behavior is consistent, it allows others to build faith and trust in us. Nurturing this behavior in children early in life begins a pattern that leads to reliability and personal integrity. It’s all about responsibility, commitment, and accountability.
Have I ever broken a promise to the kids? So far, the answer is no. Because it means so much to me to be a person they can always trust, who will always be there for them no matter what. As they get older, hopefully I’ll never let them down. They can count on me.
It was a serious deja vu moment for us; me and Angel Boy 2.0 playing endless games of Candyland in the exact same location that MY mom used to play endless games of Candyland with the original Angel Boy.
They played so often — marathon sessions — that the first game pieces wore out and we had to buy a new one. I’m not sure what the actual appeal is of Candyland, as it’s such a simple concept with no reading involved, but it’s incredibly mindful it its simplicity. Maybe that’s the key to brilliance.
After a very early breakfast of fresh pineapple and buckwheat pancakes, we went downstairs to play on the table where we kept the board set up in anticipation of laughter and great conversation.
In the afternoon, we hung out at Dad’s former elementary school playground and looked in all the classrooms that he attended during his six years there. It was a surreal and very happy rush of memories for us, watching his own child on the very same monkey bars he used to climb.
Later, at the end of the day, freshly bathed and having eaten a night snack of applesauce and yogurt, it was back downstairs for the final game before bed.
These are the building blocks of joyful shared experiences that create a lifelong tapestry of love that spans generations.
This is the kind of legacy I’m grateful to be able to share with these precious Angel Kids.
I haven’t done this in a while; here’s a compilation of random high energy Angel chat…read all the way through to learn about Squishies.
“Grandma, watch me brush my hair! Grandma, watch me, no, right now! Looklooklook!”
“Grandma did you put the picture I drew for you on the refrigerator?”
“Mom, I totally freaked Grandma out!”
“Grandma Princess Rosebud, I totally freaked you out, right?”
OMG she really did (and yes, they really call me Grandma Princess Rosebud). We were at the park and seemingly for no reason at all, she took off running and was headed OUT of the playground gate faster than I have EVER seen a four-year-old run. What I didn’t know was that she had spotted Dad and was breaking all land speed records to jump in his arms.
“You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“T, remember how I totally freaked Grandma out?”
As a reminder, this is a verbally precocious four-year-old and she was absolutely astonished at my “freaked out” reaction.
All I know for certain is that I guard those kids’ lives with a fierce laser-focused intensity, and I had no idea why she was running OUT and away, as that had never happened before. The kids stay close to me and I have my eyes on both of them at at all times. Their safety is my number one priority.
“Grandma, how long do I have to hold your hand to cross the street?”
“Until you’re ten, ‘cos that’s when Daddy stopped holding my hand, but if I ever say it’s super important to hold my hand, please agree to do it because it’s my job to keep you both safe, right?”
“Oh, okay.” (Insert teenagerish eye roll.)
“Grandma, look at this Pokemon card. Is it real or fake?” How about this one? How come you always can pick out the fakes?” “I played chess with my friend.” “Why don’t you play chess Grandma?”
“Grandma, do you know what? You haven’t been very annoying for a few days.” “I just thought I’d tell you that.”
“Well, my little friend, thank you for sharing because now I will work extra hard to be annoying!”
“Grandma, did you send more puzzles? Really hard ones? How many pieces?” “T, I sent you two Pokemon puzzles, one with 100 pieces and a really hard one with 300 pieces. Do you think you can handle it?”
“Yes, I can handle it, Grandma!”
“DAD, GRANDMA SENT ME A POKEMON PUZZLE WITH 300 PIECES!”
“How about ME, Grandma?” “Your two puzzles each have 48 pieces, my smart little angel.” “But that’s not hard enough!” “When you’ve completed those a few times, we’ll see about moving up to the next level, OK?”
“Grandma, did you send us more Squishmallows?”
“Yes, I absolutely did. Don’t I always?”
Are you dialed in to the Squishmallow craze? You probably are if you’re a mom or grandma. It started a couple years ago when the kids received one of these very soft, very squishy stuffies and the addictive desire for more multiplied. It seems to have become a worldwide phenomenon. I admit I love them too and can’t stop collecting the new releases. If I had to count, I’ve probably bought the kids each about thirty-five, so that equals a grand total of SEVENTY Squishmallows. (Since they MUST have the same ones. I always buy TWO.)
I know, I know, I know it might seem excessive, but that’s what grandmas DO!
I just found these ADORABLE giant Halloween Squishmallows and yes, these will be presented soon…
Some stay here to be loved while others are held on the flight home. I send a new one pretty much every month which is the reason for the question.
They come in smaller sizes too, and brilliantly branched out into other merch — I’ve even gotten Angel Girl Squishmallow socks.
Pineapples, tigers, and dinosaurs, but I really love the enchanting unicorns, don’t you?
“Grandma, Daddy was on his skateboard and didn’t wear his helmet AGAIN!”
“Yeah, Grandma, here’s Daddy, you need to have a talk with your little boy about that!”
(FYI, that’s how they refer to their dad…as MY little boy, It’s really cute.)
This is not the first time I’ve lectured him about this subject.
“Darn it J, you know better, why are you doing that? Stop laughing, it’s not at all funny. Your children tell me EVERYTHING, so WEAR YOUR HELMET! You are a ROLE MODEL! Do you want them to do it because Daddy does? Come ON, you are so smart, be smart with this too.”
“Grandma, did you throw out all of Daddy’s skateboards when he was little?“
And there it is, one of my Angel Boy’s worst traumas. How did they know about that?
Even Mom chimed in; “Yeah, what was that all about? You never throw anything away!”
It’s true. I don’t. I saved every report card and every paper he wrote and every single piece of art he created. Crazy me, I saved the shoes he wore all over Europe when he did his year abroad. I don’t dispose of anything!
Except for those darn skateboards!
To give a little background, this incident happened about fifteen years ago, maybe a bit longer. When he was in high school, he (and his friends) helped build a fairly large skate ramp in our backyard. All during high school and up to when he was in junior in college, it was well used and maintained. I supplied everyone with smoothies and cookies while I kept a watchful eye from the kitchen window.
After AB graduated from college, he went to graduate school on the east coast. His visited home less frequently and the ramp deteriorated from sun and rain.
It was requested of him that he help to remove it as it was now an eyesore and falling apart, that it was a rite of passage and he SHOULD help.
I can’t remember if he helped a lot or put in slightly more than zero effort which was what he usually did when he wasn’t too interested in a project.
His many skateboards were sitting around, also unused, gathering dust.
Here’s where things get a little fuzzy. I literally don’t throw ANYTHING away. I’m an admitted hoarder. I don’t recall the specifics of how and when these skateboards disappeared, but they definitely DID.
I spent the last fifteen years apologizing to my angel boy for throwing out his beloved skateboards, which I know memorialized a meaningful time in his life.
I’ve offered to buy him a new skateboard or several — to make up for my horrible parenting.
I never want to cause him pain, but it’s obvious that he’s still bothered by all of it.
So, this last time, most recently, when the conversation opened up, in front of everyone, I formally apologized AGAIN and asked how or what I could do to make amends.
I’m genuinely sorry that I tossed out (or gave away, I can’t remember) a happy piece of his childhood. It’s really so unlike me and I didn’t do it with malice or anger, but the fact remains that those boards are gone forever.
Anyway, he accepted my apology (again) and said he doesn’t want a new skateboard but I think I’m going to go to his favorite sk8 shop and get him one anyway, or get him a gift certificate so he can choose all the parts that he wants: deck, wheels, bushings, trucks…yes, I was the mom of a skater. It’s language I can speak.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 