Out of Sorts

I know what you’re thinking. I’m still bugged by the “Pluto thing.” And I am. Just the other day I was at the mall, and there were these teenagers handing out brochures in support of the discriminated against planet… “Jews for Pluto”, apparently they were looking for folks to sign some sort of petition, or maybe to join a club?

Jews for Pluto, Jews for Jesus… yeah, we got Jews for everything. I’m waiting ’til it’s “Jews for Scallops Wrapped in Bacon” before I sign anything.

But my ill mood goes further than Pluto. Maybe it has to do with only having two left socks in my drawer this morning.

Or how ’bout this: We don’t have enough doubleheaders. When I was a kid Sundays were filled with doubleheaders… now they are added to the schedule to make-up for earlier cancellations (and not usually on a Sunday). It’s no longer a premeditated thing. I have never gone to a doubleheader; but I liked knowing that they were there. Fewer doubleheaders… that could be enough to send me into a funk.

No, that ain’t it.

Labor Day? That’s probably the cause. Even as a kid I didn’t like the day. It marked the end of the Summer and the beginning of school… and who wants to go back to school? Not even teachers want to go back to school! Just ask Sandy.

Let’s take a closer look at Labor Day.

Labor Day had its origin in the 1880s. The Knights of Labor organized a Parade on September 5, 1882 in New York. Subsequently there was some debate as the appropriate day to honor those in the work force. For the rest of the World (read that as Europe), the day was May First. For us it became the first Monday in September. And somewhere along the path a “day off” was added to make it official.

Then consider this… if Labor Day marks the end of Summer, and it can fall as early as September 1 or as late as September 7, and if the Autumnal Equinox doesn’t fall until September 22 or 23, it means that we have 15 to 22 days of seasonal purgatory when we are in neither Summer nor Autumn.

Well, hell… that’s upsetting.

Then add this… many school districts start before Labor Day! So much for Labor Day acting as the conclusion of the Summer vacation… it is now reduced to the status of just a day off. And it’s not really as much fun as St. Patrick’s Day which, while not a day off, at least features great food and great whisky… and everyone wears something green and carries on singing songs and getting into fights.

Labor Day? It’s no longer a big deal. Maybe it would be better if we all wore blue, watched a doubleheader, drank beer and got into fights while someone played the bagpipes.

Or maybe if we changed Labor Day to “Hurrah for Pluto Day”. We’ll get Burt Bachrach to change the lyrics of the song to: “when you get caught between Pluto and New York City…” Then we could move the celebration to the Eve of the Autumnal Equinox… then move the day of honoring the work force to May 1 (when the rest of the world does)…

This is beginning to make some sense…

I feel better already.

What do you think is a better way to celebrate Pluto… with Bourbon, or with Bourbon and a splash of branch water?

Posted in The Ash Creek Bourbon & Conversation Corner | Leave a comment

Time in a Bottle

I could hear Mommie Soph outside my bedroom door. It was well into my bedtime… maybe I was having trouble falling off to sleep. She was murmuring her prayers through the quiet of the darkened hall.

The summer when I turned 7 I moved across our upstairs’ center hall from the bedroom we shared, to share the bedroom with Paul. That Fall Paul would enter Union College and I would have that room with its large tropical fish tank & wonderful club chair (which I still have) to myself.

Two years later Lynn would enter Western College for Women (now a part of Miami of Ohio), and our upstairs would be quieter still.

And on a given weeknight in the Fall when my Mother would go into New York to stay with my Father at our pied a terre In Tudor City… our 2nd floor census would decline to Mommie Soph, our two Bedlington Terriers and me (Bessie’s room being on the 3rd floor).

That did not deter Mommie Soph from saying her blessings at the door of each of the bedrooms… even the ones that were vacant.

The central prayer for the Jewish Faith is called the Shema. It’s quite simple really. It professes the radical concept (in the days of its inception) of monotheism. Our lengthy worship services are nothing more than an adornment to this very eloquent and brief prayer… “Hear O Israel (in this context “Israel” refers to a “people” and not the Nation State): the Lord our God; the Lord is One.”

This prayer is immediately followed by a passage from Deuteronomy called the V’Yahaftah which translates: And you shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart and with all your Soul, and with all your means. And these words, which I command you this day, shall be upon your heart. And you shall teach them diligently to your children and speak of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk on the way, and when you lie down and when you rise up. And you shall bind them for a sign upon your hand, and they shall be for frontlets between your eyes. And you shall inscribe them upon the door posts of your house and upon your gates.”

This concluding injunction “upon the door posts of your house”, is the reason Jews place a mezuzah on the door frames of their homes… a mezuzah being a small casement containing a tiny scroll with the prayers noted above (and others).

In our home a mezuzah was not only placed at our front door; but at each of our bedrooms. The custom is to touch the mezuzah, and then kiss your fingers, and possibly say a prayer.

It is this custom that brought Mommie Soph to my bedroom door each evening on her round of bringing a blessing to each of our rooms.

I know not her specific prayers, nor her words… just the surrounding soft, barely audible chant that cushioned the strength of the sentiment. There was a sense that our home had just been infused with a helping of emotional chicken soup. There was a protective calm, and it felt as if I had just been tucked in… I could close my eyes, listen to the bubble of the tropical fish tank in my room, and drift into sleep.

I didn’t fully appreciate the force of her feelings then. I have a better understanding now. And there are nights when I lie down in the evening I can hear her whispered cadence and tones of reassurance… It’s like I have released some precious time from an even more precious bottle. And it is a bottle as fine as any wine I have ever experienced.

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What the Hell!

You know… you get up in the morning, shit, shower & shave expecting the Universe to be pretty much the way you left it when you went to sleep. Sound reasonable? I think so.

Wrong!

I went to bed one night and Pluto was a planet. I wake up the next day to find out that it’s not! For fity-six years I have been living with a lie! A group of Astronomers, nay important astronomers, meeting in Prague have now determined that Pluto, originally discovered in 1930, is not really a planet after all. Pluto’s status has been down graded to a dwarf planet.

How do you think dwarves of the world feel about this? Do they want their identity associated with “down grading”? I don’t think so.

And Mickey Mouse can’t be happy about this either!! What of his companion? Pluto is probably lifting-his-leg-on-the-wing-chair mad! And can you blame him?

Well maybe these know-it-all astronomers had too many Pilsner Urquells, or smoked too many of those funny cigarettes… I can see it now… “Pluto? Such a small freakin’ planet! That ain’t no Planet!!! Hah! Anton… another Pilsner and pass me the Jose Cuervo!”

Maybe if this where the changes ended I would feel less on edge. But no. There are more changes that will affect our daily lives. I have spent the weekend scouring the world (thank God Al Gore invented the internet highway) for other changes.

Here is a small sampling… you decide whether it’s good or bad.

Department of Weights, Measures & Timing, Washington, DC. No Monday morning blues! As of January 1, 2008 Mondays will be removed from our calendar. We will add six hours to Friday Night (party!), six hours to Saturday (yippee!) and twelve hours to Sunday!! Goodbye dreary Monday! We will have more time for our leisure pursuits. Just think… on Sundays we can put another football game in, play 18 holes and still have time for brunch with the family! And when we finally start our work week, we’re one day closer to the weekend! It’s about time that the Government did something for the simple citizen!

 

The USDA, Washington, DC. The eggplant is no longer a vegetable approved for human consumption. It can only be used to feed swine, prisoners on death row, or as bait for lobster (only if there is a shortage of rotting fish or old tires).

Department of Transportation, Bismarck, ND. North Dakota has experienced a twenty year decline in its population. In an effort to stem the tide of migration out of the state, and encourage migration into the State, it was announced that each citizen of driving age will be permitted  three “optional” lights (red lights that can be ignored) per day. These optionals are not accumulative. The slogan that the Department has featured on prominent bill boards… Use them or lose them!

The Central Conference of Rabbis, Cincinnati, OH.  The dreidl game has been abolished. The Rabbis felt that it gave a wrong message to the young and promoted gambling. There will be no more spinning of the dreidl on Channukah (the holiday that is impossible to spell correctly… but that is a matter for a different occasion). Concurrently it was announced that Fox Woods was opening “Dreidl Gaming Tables” in their Casino. Also announced, the Lubovitchers would be granted the concession for running Tour Buses from Brooklyn to the Casino. When questioned about this, a spokesman for their Rebbe said that it was perfectly appropriate since their Rebbe has identified the Mashantucket Pequots as the “Lost Tribe” of Israel.

New England Journal of Medicine. Bourbon taken in moderate amounts (something less than 750ml per day) is good for you. Taken with either a small addition of branch water & ice, or sipped straight it settles the nerves, promotes a friendly demeanor, the jokes are funnier, people are better looking (& smarter) and, in general, bourbon makes the world a better place.

Posted in The Ash Creek Bourbon & Conversation Corner | Leave a comment

Haiku

In the 7th Grade Mr. Hirata introduced me to the world of Haiku… the distinctive Japanese poetry form written in three lines consisting of five syllables, seven syllables and five syllables. It is the only form of poetry I took to. The form requires a concise use of words to project an image or thought. I loved its brevity. The fact that I enjoy something where brevity is a key feature may come as a surprise to you. But in fact this is consistent with my entire academic experience… as far as I was concerned once I left Miss Caulkins’ 4th Grade, everything connected with the learning process, the briefer the better.

This was coincidentally the year I also had to begin Hebrew School… an endeavor I found as painful as anything connected with Science and Math. Check that… it was worse. There are no dinosaurs in the Torah.

Well, here we are… just before Labor Day and the start of school. It’s a seasonal thing really… Jews begin circulating articles, stories, jokes and the like just before the High Holy Days that loom around the corner. It’s our way to prepare for our Days of Awe. You see… we need all 364 Days to prepare for a Fast Day, as it says in the Bible “ready yourself as if you were going to Mars,” and also, “they had no victuals and could not hold on to the Mah Jong tiles.”

What follows is a selection of poems that I first came across two years ago. With apologies to Mr. Hirata, here are some Haiku for your consideration.

 

JEWISH HAIKU

After the warm rain
the sweet smell of camellias.
Did you wipe your feet?

Today I am a man.
Tomorrow I will return
to the seventh grade.

The sparkling blue sea
reminds me to wait an hour
after my sandwich.

Tea ceremony–
fragrant steam perfumes the air.
Try the cheese Danish.

Yom Kippur– Forgive
me, Lord, for the Mercedes
and all that lobster.

Like a bonsai tree,
your terrible posture at
my dinner table.

Jews on safari —
map, compass, elephant gun,
hard sucking candies.

The sparrow brings home
too many worms for her young.
“Force yourself,” she chirps.

Our youngest daughter,
our most precious jewel.
Hence the name, Tiffany.

Seven-foot Jews in
the NBA slam-dunking!
My alarm clock rings.

Quietly murmured
at Saturday services,
Yanks 5, Red Sox 3.

A lovely nose ring —
excuse me while I put my
head in the oven.

On Passover we

Opened door for Elijah

Now our cat is gone.

 

Her lips near my ear,

Aunt Sadie Whispers the name

Of her Friend’s disease.

 

The same Kimono

The top Geishas are wearing:

I got it at Loehman’s

 

Sorry I’m not home

To take your call. At the tone

Please state your bad news.

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