Shabbat musings

Today I had a visit at NYU's Multiple Sclerosis Center. I've been going for a few months, because of this tremor and associated symptoms. I have a clean MRI but was diagnosed with an Essential Tremor. But there are symptoms he can't explain, so he is sending me to a movement disorder/Parkinsons specialist, whom I see next month.
So I'm walking to the Shuttle to get back to Times Square, and I had just cried openly on the streets of NYC on the phone to both my mother and my father, because I'm hoping this med combo decreases them and because they are REALLY bad. It's noticeable. Anyway, I'm walking and I'm sure I didn't look super happy, and I saw the Chabad people and somehow got into a conversation with one. He asked if I was Jewish and I said yes - I'm not going to lie - and we got to talking. He asked me if I light the Sabbath (Shabbos) candles and I said no, so he pressed some into my hand and asked me to light them tonight, because it's a mitzvah. He also gave me the parsha of the week. For some reason, I am taking this as a sign. I usually ignore those people. but I cannot lie if I'm asked my religion - I can't, I won't - and somehow I was reminded today of the simple joy of lighting Shabbat candles. So at 4:46pm, I will be saying the Sabbath blessing and having some challah.

Sometimes I do miss being "more Jewish." I miss not going to synagogue, and I really should read the portion of the week. There are some Orthodox traditions that are beautiful. I went to an Orthodox kindergarten and Conservative day school until high school. We welcomed the Sabbath every friday at the end of the day. I understand the modesty traditions of the more Orthodox; when I was in Israel I didn't hesitate to pull on the long gauzy skirt I bought for the occasion over my shorts, and take one of the shawls to cover my shoulders and arms. That was at the Kotel.

For some reason, I am taking this as a sign. A sign to hold onto hope and faith, and not get too discouraged. And maybe stop and light she Shabbos candles every week.

headin' back

Headed back to the city tomorrow. Mixed feelings. All I really want to do is go back to North Carolina, and I am hoping a job comes through. I can't see myself in NYC much longer - it is killing my spirit inside and out, and taking a toll on my body. I'm looking forward to classes - I have some awesome teachers, including Sheila Heti and Honor Moore. It's a full load, so it's gonna be nonstop. And then "fake" graduation and then thesis time and job time. good times. :)

And you know, people can say what they want, but I have had two years to do what I love - read and write - with the added bonus of a hefty fellowship covering much of tuition. I have talked with some of the brightest and most interesting people to me, and I wouldn't trade that for the world. Yes, the MPH was practical.....but this, the MFA....this was my heart. And it has filled me with such joy, that even during frustrating or angering times, I am always glad I took this chance. Even when the thought of the new student loan payments hits me, I try to achieve a Zen state and think everything will work out. Karma, you know?

home stretch.

Classes start Monday and already I have to finish a book for Wednesday. I would expect nothing less from this program. I'm excited for this semester - Mary Karr is coming to speak, I'm applying for fellowships and jobs, it might mean my time in the city is coming to an end......the possibilities are endless! Last semester was disillusioning for many reasons, and maybe it was my own naivete and foolishness that added to it. I had assumed simple manners; apparently that's optional nowadays. I haven't read nearly as much as I've wanted to, nor have I writtten....almost at all. here's to hoping I kick it into high gear.

one month later.

It's been a month since the Sandy Hook shootings. Not many news things affect me like this one has. Yesterday, my nephew was playing around and then fell on the floor and said, "I'm dead!" and immediately I said "G-d forbid" and explained to him that that's not funny. But for a split second, I could see those tiny bodies laying in classrooms or next to a teacher. Mickey Mouse shirts or little Uggs. His little body, sprawled on the floor, hit it home for me. I cannot even begin to fathom what the first responders had to witness and work with. TIME magazine voted Obama as "Man of the Year." Give me a fucking break. Aside from politics, The 6 teachers that died protecting the school and students have done more than he will ever do. The teachers who hid their students in closets and locked them into bathrooms and huddled under desks with them - these are the real heroes. In Judaism, there is a saying that if you save one life, it is like you have saved a world - because of all the things that person will do to create a ripple effect. 26 worlds were destroyed a month ago. Countless others are still picking up pieces, trying not to panic while walking in school, or saying goodbye to their other children while an empty bedroom continues to whisper.

I'm volunteering at my nephew's kindergarten class for a little bit as a "teacher's aide" on Wednesday. For the first time ever, I feel stirrings of nerves about going into a school. Has it really come to this, getting buzzed in at elementary schools, metal detectors in middle and high schools, requiring students to wear ID badges......my school days were very different, and I'm thankful for that. It seems like such an innocent time period. Well, it WAS before Columbine.

I guess I'm just trying to sort this all out in my head; I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about those who were killed, and what their families must be going through. Maybe it's my psychology background, I don't know. Maybe it's my love of children. But I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the horror of that day.
Pura Vida bracelets are handmade bracelets that create jobs for local Costa Ricans and donate money to various charities. They have a Sandy Hook bracelet for $5 and 100% of the proceeds go to the Sandy Hook Family Foundation. This provides ongoing support for the 26 families who lost loved ones. Unfortunately, it's not green and white, the school colors, but it is a light aqua color. When asked, PV replied that the color reminded them of angels. So why not, instead of that latte you were gonna buy, buy one of these instead. Things can change in an instant. A month ago, 26 families found that out in the most brutal way ever.

Warm Whispers and Precious Things

I'm lying on my bed, trying to finish "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn," because I've somehow managed to evade it all through my English classes. I love it; I'm almost at the end but it's one of those books that you don't want to end, you want to stay with the characters a little longer.
I'm listening to a playlist on Spotify, and what should come on is Missy Higgins's "Warm Whispers." I love this song. I found it while at UNC and I can't tell you how many times I sat at my desk, trying to figure out biostatistics while listening to music that kept my spirit intact. The song reminds me of my running group, who, to this day, I think about often - the runs on the concrete, the trail runs, the sprints, everything. How veneers slowly came off as we sweated and pushed out bodies to keep going.
The next song is "Precious Things," one of my very favorite Tori Amos songs (but let's be real, I kind of like all of them). I love the angry pounding of the piano, the righteous anger in the song. There is a force to that song.

Music has always been a part of my life. It's been there when I felt hopeless and my family was turned upside down. It was there when, in high school, I listened to Sarah McLachlan's "Angel" at Lilith Fair, and decided I wanted to live, and made up my mind to agree to try antidepressants. It's been there during frat parties where we drank semi-warm beer from cups and thought that these were the days we'll remember, these are the days  - singing "Livin' on a Prayer," "Glory Days," and so forth. I can't help but smile when I hear those songs. Study sessions with Manda, with Ani DiFranco or Sarah McLachlan in the background. "Build Me up Buttercup" was our unofficial sorority song. Norah Jones got me through the move to Florida and the confusion I felt that I made the wrong choice. Guster was a big deal in college. Phish - man, I saw them in concerts a lot. Now those are great memories.

lately, this is my life soundtrack:
"Dirty Love" by Ke$ha
versions of "Hallelujah"
"Hot Topic" by Le Tigre
"Napoleon" by Ani DiFranco
"Carolina in my Mind" by James Taylor
"Skinny love" by Birdy
"Come Alive" by Jes Hudak
"Let it Be" by the Beatles

What are the songs that define us? Or add color to the mosaic that is yourself? What songs do we turn to in moments of sadness, or joy, or anger? How does our personal soundtrack change over time? Interesting thought.
Here's Missy Higgins, with "Warm Whispers." The video is just a picture with the song going - all the live videos I saw weren't that great.

2013

A new year, a new start. First, some good news - I am going to be an aunt again! The baby is due in July, and I'm very excited. I've been collecting materials for my thesis and writing (though not as much as I should be) and I was able to do some freelance work. I have found a mentor for my thesis, and I plan on taking no more than a year of Research Arts. (hopefully just a semester). I'm applying for jobs down South that I am very excited about, and I continue to have blind faith that things will work out. Things happen for a reason.

A blog reader sent a nasty comment, which I chose not to publish - if I'm not mistaken, this person has done so several times before. You know what I was always taught? "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say it at all." What good comes out of putting other people down? Does it boost one's self-esteem? If so, that's a problem. All too seldom do we see kindness anymore, and hiding behind an anonymous name and screen makes it that much easier to hurt people. Whatever happened to the Golden Rule? sigh. I guess some of us just never left kindergarten.

Speaking of which, my nephew is doing wonderfully in kindergarten, and I am so proud of him. We went to the library and got some books, and now he wants to go again, which makes me happy. I like sharing the love of reading with him.
And of course, the Sandy Hook shooting - I still can't get it out of my mind. How do you tell your kids that their sibling has been shot? How does someone go into a school and shoot ANYONE, much less kids 6 or 7 years old? I admire the teachers who protected their students that day - those are the real heroes, TIME magazine. The special ed teacher who was found slumped over several students. The teacher who locked herself and her class in a bathroom and helped them stay calm and survive? And the students themselves - what courage it takes to go back to school. A place that was a safe haven, changed forever. Yes, it's a new building, but a class is missing. My heart breaks everytime I think about what those children must have been thinking.

The medicine for the tremors isn't working as well as I'd hoped; I fell down the steps twice in NC and my hands still shake. The good thing is, I get out of handling dishes and food! haha. No, seriously, I am hoping he maybe increases the dosage and it'll work out.

Happy New Year, everyone!