The boot

May be drawing near again.  I finally was able to make an appointment with someone at East Lansing Orthopedics Association, kinda the legal team of orthopedists.  However my appointment is Friday at 8 a.m. (sorry JB) and depending on the outcome, which I think will either be another MRI or PT or both, we may proceed to breakfast and then back to work for me.  But the foot, like Cinderella's slipper and the striking of the midnight hour may turn me back into a booted pumpkin.  I am just sick unto death of the pain and the awkwardness.  And I need to change the bed AGAIN as someone has taken it upon himself to soil the sheets with, how do you say, an emetic substance.  But the sheets are soiled.  Off they go this afternoon.  But first I pick up my MRI CD to take to my orthopedic appointment tomorrow and I must come home and to meet with a Glickman about Jammin' Jews.

 Now I have a slight problem with playing.  Seems I have been playing so much after not playing for several weeks that my callouses are now mere blisters causing me some degree of discomfort when playing.  The mandolin teacher thinks I should pop then to hasten their return to callousness.  I say moderate playing will turn the mush to a callous faster.  We shall see who is more correct in their approach to the problem.

As for the Glickman, well, I don't know what to expect.  What I am hoping is that we can get two sets of a music playlist that I can practice and rehearse.  Maybe the first set more traditional and old school and the second 20th century folk music, from Yip Harburg (Brother can you spare a dime?) to some from Fiddler on the Roof (oh, don't make me do Sunrise, Sunset) and then some Steve Goodman ( a nice Jewish boy who wrote City of New Orleans) to Carole King and Paul Simon.   And then have the planned dessert in between the two sets.  So that is how I see it happening.  I have a whole slew of music books we can go through, plus online via the reliable iPad.  But say learning twenty to thirty songs in two months, well, all I can say is I will need some help and some good callouses.

And now it is off to the library...

So now I am at the library listening to Bach and just over the sound of my headphones, which, by the way, are not noise cancelling (oh, why, oh, why) is the lovely lilting sounds of MPT clearing her throat every few seconds (or so it seems).  MUST MAKE MUSIC LOUDER (or get noise cancelling headphones, which would make hearing the phone ring a near impossibility).  Besides, the only sound that truly annoys is the constant throat clearing.  Maybe she should smoke a little less of the wacky tabacky at night.  I am just saying...

Ah, Bach...

Day 2 Sans boot

My ankle is achy but not as much as I thought it would be based on all the walking I did yesterday.  1.78 miles just by going to the LR and the Cyber Cafe in the library.  It is no worse today so another day without the boot.  I did FINALLY get a referral to a new orthopod but I can't make an appointment...they have to call ME to make the appointment.  That sucks.  I feel like I could benefit from a course of PT and a lighter brace but I may not be able to get in for a month and then WHAT'S THE POINT???  I will be healed by then.  An x-ray is not going to show a thing and I really could use another MRI, but then I am not a doctor, I only play one on TV.  So it is day 2 without the boot.

I didn't get to talk much in therapy about closure issues.  We did talk about my upcoming Jammin' Jews session and also Holocaust denial literature, which she was blissfully unaware of and also of the MPT and her impact on the workplace.  Finally in the last twenty minutes we began to talk about closure regards Jerry and I want to bring that issue up regards Hyphen 1.  Even if Hyphen 1 fully recovers and resumes practice in a year I doubt if I am going to go back to her so I need some closure.  Also I would also like to address my fear that if Hyphen 2 goes on vacation that she might not come back.  That kind of closure I don't want again.  But I really need to deal with Hyphen 1's accident and the fear of losing my safety net.  Need to be more focused with Hyphen 2.  I get the sense she enjoys our sessions.  She wants to see photos of my home and backyard so this weekend I will take the phone out and get her some photos.  I would really like to clean off the overburdened counter to the right and left of the stove before taking those pictures.  I am hoping Sophie's son can help me get two bookshelves up from the basement to be used in a pantry.  If I can do that I would feel less antsy about all the accumulated clutter in the house from my confinement in the boot.  Clutter, clutter everywhere and not a spot for Dink.

Last night I kinda fell asleep watching a baseball game and woke up about 10:30.  I thought "why not play the guitar for an hour and stay up and watch the new Late Show with Stephen Colbert".  So I did.  Wrote part of a new song and actually wrote that part down so I won't forget it.  Got out my book of music that I write and put it in next to my hit single "My Yiddishe Cowgirl".  Ah, there's a song for the ages.  Fell back to sleep at about 12:30 and got up this morning at my usual time of 4:15 so I can practice the mandolin, which I did, and also got out the guitar to work on The Parting Glass.  Why not?  Both a guitar and a mandolin part. 

Alright, kiddies, time to take a seat and engage in my occupation of being the Authority Czarina.  MPT is clearing her throat to her heart's desire and, sorry, it gets to me and I shouldn't let it.  But she has this annoying method of constantly clearing her throat that involves a little lilt at the end.  Very annoying and there she goes again.  Why, oh why???

Adieu

A laborious weekend...not

I had a great weekend.  As promised the new guitar was waiting for me when I arrived home, as were four dozen Kosher hot dogs.  I played one and cooked the other.  As hot dogs don't play well with others it was the Guild guitar I unpacked and cradled in my arms.  It is a concert size, a smaller guitar, as opposed to a dreadnought, which is more than a mere sailing ship of a guitar.  I played and played and played.  My fingertips, unaccustomed to playing for almost eight weeks, screamed as they tried to accommodate my hour long jam session.  Yes, the Hebrew Jammer is in da house.  And I will tell you that before I sat down to play I did unpack the Vienna Brand (not style but brand)  all beef Kosher hot dogs shipped that day from Chicago, city of the big shoulders and the best Kosher hot dogs, and place them in the freezer, leaving out two for dinner that night.  I made Chicago style hot dogs, sans the poppyseed buns, but dragged through the garden as it were.  It was the first time I had cooked since my confinement in the boot.  Heartened as I was by my new found mobility I hobbled around in the boot without the aid of the crutches.  And by Monday night I had decided to try to wear both shoes and go to work with the boot but not wearing it.  I put a brace on that ankle and we will see how the day goes. The break feels healed but the ankle is very tight and a little achy.  If I get tired or more achy I will put the boot back on.  But I will, in general, take it easy regards walking all week.  Just trips to the LR and the Cyber Cafe will be it.  And not too often.  Certainly it does not help that the weather is so blasted humid and rainy.  A drier and cooler day and perhaps the ache would be minimal.

I played both my new guitar and my lovely mandolin this weekend, preparatory to resuming lessons and getting ready for Jammin' Jews, now scheduled for Novemener 21st.  I meet with a musical mentor this Thursday and we will draw up a playlist and that I will rehearse and practice until I have achieved a level of confidence.  If I have to do songs in Hebrew I will need a great deal of help but Yiddish I can somewhat handle as that is what my grandparents spoke, especially when they didn't want the kids to understand what was being said.

So, this weekend brought a resumption of music, a resumption of cooking and a resumption of a less hobbled approach to walking.

And...away I go...

Shine a little light...

As indicated yesterday, amid the noise and light of the morning, today is new guitar and laundry day.  My pal, Brody's former mom, AKA Phyllis Edelman, is coming to my abode to, dare I say it, strip, (you should pardon the expression) my bed and gather up my laundry and take me to her abode for a dinner and laundry opportunity.  Percy will be there as well and that is great as I need to speak with him about the tree ceremony for my late friend Jerry, and for the planting of said tree (a sugar maple) and the planting of his ashes along with his tree, in the shadow of Beaumont Tower, close to the library he so dearly loved.  Percy is not an Edelman, and how long Phyllis stays one is a question for the ages.  Before that my guitar student and his mom and younger brother will come to my house for a tour and maybe a lesson as I show off my yet to be delivered but to be delivered today Guild Guitar. 

This weekend promises to be a gluttony of Kosher hot dogs, clean laundry, music and sports.  Today MSU, my alma mater, is playing powerhouse (NOT) Western Michigan University at 7:00.  This is the first Friday opener in a number of years not to be played at MSU.  In years past they asked employees to be off campus by 3:00 p.m. to accommodate the onslaught of tailgaters.  Today, for some reason, a number of library departments wanted full staffing (which they are not getting)  Sophie is off for the second day with a headache (as I suspected she would be so I made arrangements on Thursday for a ride home today).  Her department was one that wanted full staffing.  And so it goes.  Unfortunately I can't shine a light on that situation.

I will resume mandolin lessons on the 21st of the month.  Until then, and especially this weekend, I will practice both the mandolin and the new Guild Guitar to be delivered today (had I mentioned that yet?).  I have my therapist on Tuesdays now so Monday lessons will not be as onerous with the haze of a therapy session and Valium hanging over me.  No, I shall be clear eyed.  Speaking of therapists, have I spoken about Hyphen 2 and how much I am enjoying working with her?  She is very engaged and gives a great deal of open and honest feedback.  I don't dread going to therapy, as I did with the Bird (for fear she would spring re-birthing on me or some other hyped up trendy treatment).  No, Hyphen 2 is very well grounded and does treat hypersensitivity in people, formerly known as introversion.  And, yes, I do tend to be introverted, save for these ramblings.  I feel much more in my element when I write then when speaking.  But I am much more verbal than I was, say ten years ago.  I used to be afraid to speak to an "adult" (who are persons, unlike me, who have grown to a certain maturity I feel I lack).  Now I am better at it.  Perhaps it is the practice of speaking with Aunt Marilyn.  But I do feel child-like as compared to my peers.  I feel as if I have never grown up.  As Margaret Atwood opine:  “I believe that everyone else my age is an adult whereas I am merely in disguise.”  I am so inclined.  Adding Maya Angelou to the mix: “I am convinced that most people do not grow up...We marry and dare to have children and call that growing up. I think what we do is mostly grow old. We carry accumulation of years in our bodies, and on our faces, but generally our real selves, the children inside, are innocent and shy as magnolias.”  Indeed that is how I feel.  And when you find someone who expresses your innermost self in a slightly more eloquent fashion you are obliged to quote them in the hopes of giving a more fulsome expression of yourself.  Thus Spake Czarina.

So I indicated hot dogs would be the order of the weekend.  I did order a mess of Vienna all beef hot dogs from Chicago this week, yesterday as a matter of fact, and I anticipate their arrival concurrent with the arrival of the Guild Guitar, however, I will only grill the dogs and not the guitar.  The Guild Guitar I will treat tenderly and lovingly and confess my excess to Hyphen 2 on Tuesday.  That will shine a little light on me.  Hyphen 2 is of the opinion that I ought to enjoy myself and not belittle myself into a deep and dark depression (and that is really for the winter months...but #gottalovewintersolstice).  Dinner with friends tonight, as well as clean laundry, and dinner with dogs on Saturday.  Hopefully Sophie is well enough to shop for me this weekend.  Sophie is older this week having celebrated her old birthday.   We shall see.  While we are two juvenile together if truth be told she is more grown up than I.  I am amazed that such people hang with a child such as myself.

Let us turn our thoughts today to things both juvenile and immature.  The burp and fart, the warp and weft, of life.  That will be me on my deathbed.  Alone (as that is my choice) laughing at one last fart. 

Shine a little light...

Lights out!

Gotta love smart phones.  Here I sit in the dark illuminated by the glow of my soon to be outdated iPhone 6 and I get to blog. We, that is as far as my eyes can see, lost power over an hour ago. I have my emergency light on but at 3:34 a.m. I am unable or rather unwilling to go back to bed only to wake up who knows when  in spite of the alarm on my phone.

What I am thinking now that I and most of East Lansing has phoned the BWL to report the outage is how absolutely quiet it is without the hum of electricity. I have a big camping style light on and there is a clip on battery operated light on my music stand so I might as well practice my mandolin and make a joyful noise. I have nothing else going on.  I am still able to check my email and surf the web.  #gottalovesmartphones

The cats are shaking off the fear of the last storm that came through. It was a beaut.  Now as the overhead fans are off the house is heating up like an oven maybe too warm to play.  

Speaking of play this jamming Jew took some of the proceeds of the condo sale and (oh no you didn't) bought a new guitar.  A Guild. Not unlike the one Tommy Smothers (dating myself here) used to play. I had no intentions of getting a new guitar when I went to work in the morning it just kind of happened. And I see by my app that it will be here Friday, oh joy of joy. A nice long weekend to give it a workout. 

So Friday will be music and laundry with friends. Oh by the way it is still dark, humid and warm. I have a purring Simcha cat on my shoulder. Yankel is off snuffling in the music room and Gonif has settled in on the couch.  Coming up on 4:00 a.m.  Music to follow.  I almost hate to break the spell of the quiet.  Wait...I thought I heard the sound of a phone ringing.  Aurical illusion 

Well no time like the present. Off to make musical scale fall from my eyes or rather fingers

Happy Birthday Sophie Handelman

It being the 1st of September it is an auspicious day as Sophie turns another page in the book of life.  A major page, if you will, mayhap a chapter.  Sophie and I have been friends for over thirty years and the ties keep growing.  Perhaps you have known her in the past as Gastric but she has since morphed into Sophie Handelman after an equally relevatory trip to West Bloomfield where she became her own true self. 

We share much the same sense of humor.  To quote Chuckles the Clown "A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants".  No, truly it is verily a puerile sense of humor.  That being said, what could be more giggle worthy that a well place burp or, even better, a fart.  I know Mrs. Smith is chuckling at the mere thought.  So at our advanced ages (she more so that I) find true humor is the most likely places.  Now let it not be said we don't have a mature side (we really don't) but she of rapier sharp wit and me of witty repartee make the best of weird situations.  Like work.  We had once a friend, hereafter referred to as the Soul Sucker, who after years of our juvenile humor (and laughing at it) found pleasure in cutting us off saying what a poor example we set for the students (as opposed to her good example of being dense and  a racist (not mutually exclusive)).  So Soph and I go on our merry way of being childlike in out humor (not merely childish) and laugh out way home every night where we call each other repeatedly and laugh some more.

Happy Birthday Mrs. Handelman. 

Ruminations of a Ashkenazi Jew

Here it is, the 28th of August and I have gotten myself into a minor "jam" with my Synagogue and the ad hoc music committee, which has the brilliant Marjan Helms on it, as well as a few lesser luminaries, such as myself.  The Rabbi wanted to have a night of Jewish folk music, traditional and modern, and I volunteered my services.  On November 21st after Havdalah ( the celebration of the ending of the Shabbot) we will have a jam session with me in the lead.  In two weeks I have to get my playing up to an acceptable level of skill and meet with one of the Glickmans to work out a program of music.  I am in WAY over my head.  I am basically a cultural Jew of Ashkenazic origin who was not raised in an observant tradition and come to the party rather late in life.  But I jumped at the chance to help the Synagogue do this jam session.  Oh, why, oh, why, oy vey!  I haven't pulled out my trusty Martin in about a month and the mandolin not so long ago.  I have got to really put the skids on my skid real soon. This nasty leg business has to come to an end with me on two instead of four legs.

In any event, I am learning more about Jewish observances and traditions than I expected to.  Aunt Marilyn said to "affiliate" with a Synagogue and I would feel like I belonged.  I don't...yet.  And the Yet part is what is compelling me to go to services and be among my people.  It is a comfort as it reminds me of growing up, surrounded my my grandmother's large family and the telling of stories and, more important, Uncle Jack Epstein telling dirty jokes with the punch line always in Yiddish so the kids wouldn't understand.  My Yiddish is better than my nonexistent Hebrew, which really isn't saying that much.  

My real journey to Judaism began when I went to a Jesuit university as an undergraduate.  I minored in Religious Studies and I took a few courses taught by Rabbi Richard Hertz.  And that was the first time I went to a High Holy Days service.  Thus my journey began.  We had a Passover Seder put on the the Honors College and the Jesuits were all in attendance as well as all seven Jews at the university at that time.  A friend from school whose mother was a survivor of the camps prepared the whole meal we served and it made for a more memorable evening because of this.  Forty years later I went to Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen and realized the true horror and the sense that I didn't think I could have survived the conditions the Jews were made to live and die in.  All the past, and the past is prologue, lead me to my "affiliation" with my little schoolhouse synagogue and my brazen attempts to belong.  Music is my in and I hope my salvation. 

Maybe not so much an Ashkenazi as an Ashcan Jew.  Whatever has been tossed on the heap, that is what I am.  The sum of my parts, my gestalt.