IT’S NOT TV…IT’S HBO!

Yes, another dry spell with nary a blog to read.

I’m only doing this one because I heard, from cousin GerryP, that Blood Relative and License to Injure Slightly were worried about me because there hasn’t been any exciting entries lately. 

In that convo, my cousin demanded “Tell me all the news about The Wedding!”  I was confused.  “What wedding?” I asked.  “’What wedding’?  William and Kate.”  I had to cogitate for just a minute ‘cause I didn’t think I had any friends named William or Kate, but, hey, who knows?  “Oh, yeah.  That wedding.  It’s a bank holiday here so everybody’s off.”  To head off her gushing, I cannily changed the subject.  “I read The Dog Murderer is starting in the Pro Bowl.  How impressive is that?”  And we got into a discussion that was at least interesting.   

I’m fine; just busy.  And I hate WordPress; it’s not Jeano-friendly.  In fact, it’s positively hostile and keeps losing my personal settings.  It assigned me a password of it’s choosing: %2v>KYJELLY>&*$@wibg.  Okay, let’s see you sign in with that.  I have trouble with the four digit code at the cash machine.

After my week in Eretz Israel, it was back to my dashing, dashing, dashing.  Israel Group, Haderach, Senior Centre committee, Sam Beare Fund Raising Team, BuyDesign, and, of course, JDavid. I did squeeze in a few lunches, dinners and coffees, too.  And shul.  Plus a Singles Do with Adriana.

Not much to report on that.  Scanning the men present, I inquired just to hear my own voice, I think, “Which one do you think is the Jewish dermatologist of my dreams?  The one with all the tattoos or the one with, like, four teeth?”  I think you get the picture. 

I got to Film Club, however; it’s too stimulating to skip.  It was an Israeli film called ‘Ajami’.  I highly recommend it, unless you are even a smidge depressed, in which case you will want to go home and hang yourself in the shower after it.  What was really cool was that I’d actually been in Ajami when I was in Tel Aviv.  It’s a neighborhood; kind of like 8^th & Butler if you’re a Philadelphian.  Fortunately, I did not get shot, stabbed, or stomped to death like everybody in the goddamned film.  Did I spoil it for you?

But I also saw ‘Watermarks’, a documentary about a Jewish swim club in Vienna pre and post-anschluss, the annexation of Austria into the Third Reich.  It was a beautiful film.

I chaired another Do for Sam Beare (I know; I’m still not real good at that ‘N-O’ word).  It was an Evening With a Famous Mystery Author.  No shit.  Her name is Meg Gardiner.  Stephen King is a huge fan.  You can buy her books at Amazon or at your local Sam Beare Hospice Bookshop (if you live in Horsell or Weybridge.)

Or you can get them from me.  I have all of them and have yet to finish one.  I hate them.  I find myself thinking “I wish somebody would shoot, stab or stomp to death every single character in this book.”

This week is the Holocaust Observance Memorial at Christ Prince of Peace.  It’s on Thursday night.  I got talked into taking part.  I’m reading Psalm 132.  In English.  Another person from shul is reading Psalm 142 in Hebrew.  Big Whoopee for her.

There’s a Sam Beare Do on Friday night, a party on Saturday night and then, next week is My Anniversary!  Three years ago I slinked back into the UK on my magical Passaporti Italiano.  Where did three whole years go?  BooBoo is planning some sort of celebration, but she won’t tell me what exactly.

I was talking to my friend Georgia in Cleveland the other night and we reminisced about the phone call from Stuart while I was visiting her for Thanksgiving to say my citizenship papers had arrived.  I am off to Cleveland in June for a wedding, plus Eric’s graduation from high school in Philly.

And because I miss Princie, I’m doing a quick trip to the City of Brotherly Love in early March.  Just for ten days; I couldn’t manage a longer stay because of my commitments here.  Of course, my social calendar while I’m there is already filled up.  But I will find the time to shop.

Ending on a positive note, I have some thrilling news!  Mazel Tov to me and everybody else who has Sky TV.  We’re getting a new channel on February 1.  It’s called Sky Atlantic.  Apparently it’s every program HBO has ever shown, including the Sopranos, Big Love, Six Feet Under and more.  It is a welcome relief to know that I never have to watch ‘Udder Disease in Shropshire Cows’ again for the 35^th time on BBC1.

THIS LAND IS MINE; GOD GAVE THIS LAND TO ME

Another year has come and gone.  At the risk of sounding banal, how did it fly by so quickly?  A few- very few- not great but not really terrible things happened in 2010, but overall it was another ‘very good year’ for me.  Happy New Year!

After being done practically to death attending Christmas Dos, the Salvation Army on Christmas Day with Netta was rewarding as always.  It’s hard work and a long day (from 9:00 in the morning until 5:00) but I get a tremendous boost of satisfaction and accomplishment.

This year I declined several Christmas Dinner invitations.  I had to get home and pack for Israel.  The days just prior to Christmas saw more snow, resulting in more cancelled flights and stranded travelers.  I was a tiny bit freaked. Okay, I was totally hysterical that we wouldn’t be able to get out of Dodge City.  Superstitiously, I didn’t want to pack and jinx my trip.  So I held off until the last minute.  I had cheated a little and pulled out several stunning summer outfits which I put on the bed in my guest room.  But it wasn’t officially ‘packing’ so it didn’t count.

Terminal One at Heathrow was a zoo on Boxing Day morning.  El Al requires that you’re there three hours before departure and they ain’t fooling around.  Security and check-in are intense.

When I handed over my passaporto Italiano and e-ticket, the first question the agent asked was “Do you have another passport?”  Hmm.  Was that a lucky guess?  Or do I look like the sort of person who just has to have two of everything, like Louis Vuittons? 

“Um…” I stalled.  Then, “Yes, I do.”  Fortunately, that was the right answer.

“Can I see it” he asked.  “I’m not carrying it” I explained earnestly.  “When I leave or enter the UK, Italian law says I have to use the Italiano one.”  Again, he already knew that and, again, that was the right answer.  Phew.

Then the questions got kind of… well… silly.  “Do you speak Hebrew?”  “Nope.”  “What is the purpose of your trip?”  “To bomb the Golan Heights, if Mohammed got caught before he finished doing it.”  I mean, like, really.  “Do you belong to a synagogue?”  “Yes.” “Which one?”  “The third one on the left from the corner.”

But my absolutely favorite question was “Are you carrying a weapon?”  Silence, while I processed the question.  Nope.  I didn’t get it.  “Excuse me” I said.  He repeated it.  I must have had a funny look on my face because he said “I’ve heard every sarcastic answer imaginable already.  Just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”  Hell.  I didn’t know I could have brought the Uzi in it’s Louis Vuitton black multi-colore Alma carrying case.

Anyway, he was satisfied, and after the bomb-sniffing, snarling dogs had a whiff and another agent had a little peek inside my suitcase, I was permitted to go to the counter to grovel for a seat inside the plane.

“Do you have a preference” intoned the grouchy reservations clerk.  I knew she really didn’t care if I did.  “Yes, please” I said winsomely smiling. “Next to a Jewish doctor.  Preferably one who’s already divorced.”  Ha. Ha.  I was squashed between two Orthodox rabbis who prayed all the way to Tel Aviv.  

Israel!  What can I say?  It’s beautiful and exciting, and every goddamned thing works better than Britain.  In sixty-odd years, it morphed into a Super Power despite the obstacles.

I stayed with a friend of Adrianna’s in a residential neighborhood near Allenby Road that reminded me of Society Hill in Philly or Tribeca in New York.  Lots of coffee shops and restaurants, and fantastic boutiques.  Not to mention a five minute walk to the beach. 

That’s where we spent the first day; sprawled under umbrellas with our feet in the sand drinking iced coffee.  I spared a moment to think of poor Princie in Philly suffering in 30” of snow.  But only a moment… as long as it took me to text ‘it’s 30 degrees and I’m on the beach’.  He misunderstood.  Back came ‘It’s 30 degrees here too and snowing.’  ‘No, silly.  The other 30 degrees.  The hot one.”  I sometimes forget not everyone is as cosmopolitan as me.

I had a sightseeing agenda loosely planned, but that was the key element – loosely.  If the choices for the day were: (a) shopping, (b) a museum or historic site, guess what I was going to pick?

And I was selective.  I took the bus to Jerusalem and went to the Wailing Wall and Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum, but I shopped too.  I took another day trip to Haifa, did some sightseeing and shopped some more.  I went to Jaffa to the Spice Bazaar and the Arab Market, and shopped.  I went to the Art Museum in Tel Aviv – I saw a wonderful exhibit of an Israeli artist called Dayid Rubin.  I went to the Diaspora Museum – one of the scale reproductions of famous synagogues there is Beth Shalom in Elkins Park, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.  (I didn’t spoil it for the tourists admiring it by sharing that the roof leaks like a sieve and it’s impossible to heat.)

And I shopped.  And shopped.  And then did some more shopping.

Friday night was New Year’s Eve; it was also Shabbat.  Everything closes at 4:00 and doesn’t reopen until Saturday at sundown.  I had a nap.  I was exhausted from all that sightseeing.  I was invited to a Shabbat dinner and then a New Year’s party.  Another first for me: a completely different New Year’s celebration in an even foreigner country than Britain. 

It was so cool.  Although a lot of the guests didn’t speak English, I found enough people to chat to and had some interesting conversations.  A house party is so much more my style than a raucous pub.

We had a final day at the beach on Saturday (since the shops were all closed anyway). 

My aliyah went so damned quickly!  Staying in someone’s home instead of a hotel made it really memorable.  As did meeting so many Israelis.  It was a fantastic vacation.

Getting out of Israel is just as tough as getting in.  I thought they’d think “Well, she was here; now she’s leaving.  Nothing important blew up.  Just put her and her suitcases on the plane.”

Uh uh.  Same security, same dumb questions, plus special bomb detecting machine for suitcases, and a pat-down. 

But my passaporto Italiano and I made it back to Weybridge.  What an awesome end to 2010 and start to 2011.

I LIKE IT!

It’s certainly beginning to feel a lot like Christmas here.  Do’s, do’s, do’s.  I had three parties in one day, a luncheon, afternoon tea, and a posh dinner.  I confess; I only changed twice.

I trained it up to London to meet JDavid to go to the party at the American Embassy on Tuesday night.  The tube from Waterloo to Bond Street was mobbed.  Actually, London was packed.  I was a bit worried about finding David in the undulating mass of commuters, but it worked out okay.  Mobiles do serve a purpose.

I was really sort of glad that I got up to the city at the holidays.  London is really pretty at night with all the decorations, almost as nice as New York.

The Embassy looked really pretty too, especially after we got through the queue outside and made it into Security, where it was warm.  Security was stringent this year; they made me take off my watch to go through the metal detector and hand searched my purse.

The party was great: fantastic food, fabulous wine, and friendly Americans. I met a couple from Philly.  David expected a concise biography of every former US Ambassador whose portrait was hanging in the Great Hall.  The only one I even recognized was Joe Kennedy.  After the party we strolled Bond Street before stopping for a nice meal.  Then it was on to Waterloo and our train home.

The Sam Beare Fundraising Team had a luncheon at Anne’s house on Friday.  Somehow I had committed myself to making Wedding Soup – for 25 people.  I slotted the time to cook it for Thursday night, after my shift at Sam. 

I was busily rolling teeny weeny meatballs when the phone rang.  It was Adrianna, saying she’d pick me up at 7:45 for Book Club.

“Is that tonight?” I whinged. “I put it on my calendar for next Thursday.”  Another Jeano moment.  I had struggled through the damned book – ‘Reuben Sachs’ – absolutely detesting it, and I wanted to hear what the rest of the group had to say.   At some event or other at Syn, I’d mentioned to someone how much I disliked it.  His reply was “Well, it’s a very English book and you’re a foreigner…”

However, the wedding soup prevailed and I missed the (possibly) scintillating discussion on Reuben.  I believe they compared it to ‘Daniel Deronda’.  Gee, I didn’t read that one either. 

But on a Facebook test that’s going around, I’ve read 92 out of 100 ‘classics’.  So it must be them, not me.  And I’ve traveled to 43% of the world.  And I’m the sixth hugged person among all my friends.  Facebook is insidious.

But I have to give Facebook a Like!.  I found a long lost friend.  I’d emailed all my Incollingo cousins in Colli asking if they knew a cousin of mine who’d moved back to Colli from Philly in the early ‘70’s.  We’d been best friends, but these things happen, and you lose touch.

I got a lovely message from a young man.  After I translated it, he’d said he was Maria’s son and yes, she remembered me and was dying to talk to me.  He provided her phone number and I immediately rang her.

We talked for two hours!  Her English is a little rusty, but we managed.  She was most impressed by the saga of my Italian citizenship.  Anyway, she invited me to Colli for Christmas, but I’m going to Israel, of course.  What better place to spend Christmas?  But I didn’t have anything special planned yet for Easter, so I’m going to Colli to stay with mia cugina Maria! 

And a real big Like! to the Dog Murderer this week.  I love that he beat the ‘Boys in the House that Jerry Built and that the Eagles are in first place in the NFC East.  Did you know that he’s leading all NFL players in the voting for the Pro Bowl?  I read on Fox Sports that his kids really want a dog for Christmas, but he’s banned from ever owning one again.  Come on.  Favre sexted pictures of his willy to women.  Is he banned from owning a mobile? Somebody with time on their hands (the ones who post every stupid thing that crosses their little minds) should start a campaign on FB to get the poor little Vick children a puppy.

 Does anybody know?  Is Favre … like … you know… circumcised?

SNOW IS A 4-LETTER WORD

Following the wise advice of BooBoo and Toots, I’ve started saying ‘no’ a lot more.  So I actually had some down time for myself.  I didn’t think either of them meant that saying ‘no’ thingy with regard to social engagements, so I haven’t… declined lunch, dinner or coffee invitations, that is.

I had a fairly light week on tap, other than hosting a Girls’ Night to wrap pressies for the Senior Centre’s tombola, Cheese Boy’s birthday dinner, Film Club, a Hanukkah party at shul, and a date, plus work work to finish.

The Girls’ Night was fun.  As I was hosting (and I can’t wrap for shit) I just had to refill the wine glasses and pass around the nibblies.  I made my famous Philadelphia Cream Cheese dip, which was a huge hit.  Honestly, if one more person says something stupid about ‘cream cheese’ and ’Philadelphia’, I’ll …  I don’t know; probably start saying I’m from Baltimore or somewhere.  We don’t even call it ‘Philly’ in Philadelphia.  We call it ‘cream cheese’ ‘cos that’s what it is!  Who goes to Hymie’s and says “An everything bagel with a shmear of Philly?”  The Counter Guy might stick a Tastykake on your bagel.

Wow!  I just started jonesing for a real American onion bagel with a shmear.  I don’t like everything bagels.

Cheese Boy’s birthday was way more subdued than mine.  We went out on Monday night because the weather forecast was for snow from Tuesday until eternity. 

It’s hard to please everybody, especially the ‘everybody’ who doesn’t eat pasta or anything that ever laid near cheese.  So we went to an Italian Restaurant in Staines called Momma Mia.  Did I mention that if I’m not happy, nobody’s gonna be happy?

It was fantastic!  The best Italian food I’ve had in England.  That’s probably because they were Italian, not English.  We had dinner and then went back to mine for dessert and coffee (they didn’t have cannoli, but assured me if I rang that I was coming, they’d whip up a few).  The Boy, in true Birthday Boy/Honored Guest status, parked in front of the telly to watch Barcelona and Real Madrid kick a round white ball up and down the field for what seemed like days.

I woke up Tuesday morning and shrieked.  UnIntellicast had got it right for a change.  It had snowed in bucolic Surrey.  A couple inches.  And in true British valour- you know, surviving The Blitz blah blah blah-  the entire country surrendered as usual and came to a standstill.  Déjà vu all over again.  This was another third for me… never mind firsts.  The third bloody year in a row a killer blizzard pummeled England and I was stuck in the house.

I watched BBC News for a while for entertainment as terrified people proclaimed the end of the world and whinged plaintively about flights to Anywhere Besides England cancelled and rioted over the last loaf of Warburton’s bread at Sainsbury’s.

I nixed Tea Lady duty and hunkered down to ride it out.  Film Club was cancelled due to the hazardous roads.  Maybe Elmbridge should buy a plow and some salt?  Nobody shovels.  The only people who seem to actually own a shovel are farmers. 

I asked BooBoo very seriously if Daniel, Son of BooBoo and Head Lawn Guy, would be coming over to clear my walk.  Her reply:  “Tee hee hee!  Are you having an American moment?”

Well actually the rest of my week pretty much got cancelled, my date, plans for dinner with friends and the Hanukkah party.  I was looking forward to homemade latkes.  I was not a happy camper; I had major cabin fever.

But I have been faithfully lighting the candles in my Menorah each evening.  And just as religiously checking out the weather in Tel Aviv.  It’s 75 degrees and sunny there; and the men are all circumcised.  Hey, I think I just described my Promised Land.

If the Blizzard of ’11 is over, the coming week should be a busy and social one, thank goodness.  Dinner at Carol’s, Book Club,   meeting a friend in London for Afternoon Tea, and the (now) Annual American Embassy Cocktail Reception with JDavid. Plus meetings and work.  Tombstones is crossing the pond on Sunday, and when HRH and PP are otherwise engaged, hopefully we’ll manage to meet up.  I’m really excited.  A whole evening with Mr. T…  Talking football.

I APPRECIATE YOU

Well, here’s hoping my life will now return to normal; Thanksgiving, Weybridge-style, has been and gone.

It was an intense week leading up to the dinner- shopping with Anne for decorations and supplies, shopping with Booboo for ingredients, shopping with Brenda for last minute must-haves, and shopping with Carol for … well, no particular reason, just that I deserved it.

Plus it was a crazy busy JDavid work week. He was due to pick me up at 10:00 on Wednesday morning to go to a meeting.  At 9:30 my doorbell rang.  “Wow” I thought, “He’s having a compulsive moment.”  Of course, it wasn’t David.  It was his mom, dropping off some raffle prizes for the Dinner.   I invited her in for a coffee, recommending that she be careful negotiating the bags of stuff all around the kitchen. 

“Your boychick will be here shortly” I told her.   “Oh!” she said,”How is he?”

Sure enough, a few minutes later the phone rang.  “My mother is there?”  David inquired from the car.

“Ten-four” I told him.  “She says since you don’t call and you don’t write, she has to hang at mine to catch a glimpse of you.  You’d better come in.”

I was very happy to have facilitated that Hallmark Moment.

Due to so much else going on, I got myself into another Haderech jam- three articles overdue.  Cousin Bernie is mean if your copy is late.  “I’m kinda distracted” I apologized via email.  “I’m doing Thanksgiving Dinner for 100 people on Friday.”

Bernie was hardly sympathetic. “I hope you’re not deep frying the turkeys” he snarked.

Although Sunday night in Weybridge is Proper American Football Night, Boo and the Boy came over to hang out.  Boo had wisely inquired “Are you getting the Eagles game tonight?  Will you be yelling and swearing and throwing things?”

“Nah” I told her sadly, “The Birds are the Monday night game.  I have to watch fucking Farve and the Vikings. Again.” 

My bestest ever friend insinuated that I’m not a true fan because I wasn’t planning on staying up until 2:00 in the morning to watch the game.  I couldn’t; I had too much going on on Tuesday, including two more radio interviews on local stations. 

But to brag for just a moment, the Birds beat the revolting ‘Skins and Donovan McNabb 59 – 28!  The Dog Murderer threw for 4 TDs and ran for 2 more.  Several records were broken, including total yards (592), points in a half (45), and the biggest lead after one quarter by a road team (28) since 1950.

And if that wasn’t wonderful enough, those amazing guys from Futsal Colli a Volturno beat the pesky Poggio Sannita guys 11 -1!  I’m not sure how you score ‘1’, or’ 11’ for that matter, since a TD is 6, a PAT is 1, a 2 point conversion is 2, and a FG is 3.  Well, they’re in Italy, of course; maybe they can’t add.  As a loyal supporter, I get invited to the game every week.  I think.  Their Facebook page is in Italian.  The players are certainly hotter than American ones, especially that Domenico Incollingo guy, who is very likely one of my cousins.

What can I say about the Thanksgiving Do?  It was amazing; it gets better every year.  We fed 86 guests and 8 volunteers and raised ₤1800.00 for the hospice.  And we actually had 20 Americans this year!

JDavid thought we needed some pizzazz this year and dragged me to Chertsey to the costume rental shop.  I was willing to be a Pilgrim, but they didn’t do Pilgrims.  I was not keen on being an Indian.  David is less picky; he ended up going as Uncle Sam.  (Pictures will definitely be provided.)

No band this year.  I did a playlist of American stuff, including all the songs with places in the titles- yes, including Sweet Home Alabama.  I started the event off with the Star Spangled Banner, ‘cause I was in charge and I felt like it.  And I made them all stand.

When one of the American families came in, I just had to hug their kid.  He was wearing a Phillies jersey.  Turns out they’re from Newtown Square!  See?  I keep saying Weybridge is a small town. 

In closing, I’m grateful.  For so much.  Happy Thanksgiving.

UP A WALL

I know; tardy with a blog again.

My schedule was as frenetic as usual this week, coupled with the fact that this week is always, unquestionably, the worst time of year for me:  Jerry’s and Matt’s yartzeits on almost the same date.  They could have arranged that better.  Although, as a friend pointed out, it is a relief in a way to deal with it once and try not to obsess the rest of the year.

The occasion always makes me introspective and nostalgic, and more than a little grumpy.

Kimberly’s comment on Facebook remembering Matt brought me to tears.  It was so sweet.  She was due to have her first child any day now, a mitzvah that caused me happiness and sadness in equal measure.  I was frightened that she might actually deliver on the date, which would have been awful.  Analise Danisi McCann arrived on Monday, November 1.  Mazel tov to Kimberley and Pete.

I lit the yartzeit candles on Friday night and said Kaddish, the ritual mourning prayer.  Then I went out to dinner with a friend.  Jerry wouldn’t want me to sit home moping, would he?

When I arrived at shul on Saturday morning, it was packed.  Wow.  Did all those people come just to hear me read the Haftorah? 

Of course not.  There was a baby naming ceremony after services and they had lots of relatives.  Interestingly, the mother is from Georgia, and I enjoyed talking with her parents, who have pronounced southern drawls.

I had two aliyahs, really an unusual honor.  I did the Study Passage, which I got to choose.  I read Kahlil Gibran, from ‘The Prophet’, (no surprise there, I know) the poem ‘On Death’.  It’s a beautiful piece, reaffirming the concept that death is just one step in our journey.

I love the part “…For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?”

 

It goes on to say :

“Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.”

I got a bit teary as I read it.
To the two people I loved most in the world: I hope you’re dancing.

The Haftorah went okay.  I aced the prayers – in Hebrew; I’d practiced diligently, even though I chickened out on the bimah and said them rather than chanted.  Avril, the syn’s Hebrew teacher, gave me an ‘A’, even for my chai’s, the Hebrew letter I have a lot of trouble pronouncing. 

The passage I read was another matter.  It was about King Solomon and David and Bathsheba.  It was kinda sexy in parts.  But…  But a lot of people popped in and out of the story, including

Abishag, Abiathar, Adonijah, Benaiah, Haggith, Jehoiada and Zeruiah.  No kidding.  I had to pronounce all those bloody names.

After services I got tons of compliments, both for my Haftorah and, especially, the poem.  So many people asked for a copy, I was quite full of myself.

I was invited to friends’ for lunch after services, and had friends over on Saturday evening, so I survived another yartzeit without excessive melancholy or melodrama.

I managed to go to the movies again, too.  We saw ‘The Social Network’ and I’m sure Mark Zuckerberg didn’t intend Facebook to be crammed  with fatuous public posts that are cringe-inducing.  Here’s one that’s especially obsequious and insulting to cancer patients and their families:

‘Every person has 1000 wishes. A cancer patient only has one: to get better. In honour of those who have died because of cancer and those who are still fighting it…xx ♥ xx Nine months tomorrow. Miss you all the time xxx’

 

I won’t comment on the ‘miss you all the time’ pap; it’s more than a little unctuous.

What I do find offensive is the effrontery to presume to speak for cancer patients.  Did she take a survey and ask all of them if that’s what their wish is?

 

Cancer patients have many wishes and a roller coaster of emotions at various times. Their focus shifts from regrets and do-overs to taking care of personal business to concern about their loved ones’ futures without them.  If you haven’t dealt with it up front and personal, don’t pretend you know anything about what they’re wishing.

It was a busy JDavid work week, plus a dinner hosted by Elmbridge Council for the Senior Centre Social Committees in Cobham.  But I managed to squeeze in the time, twice, to train up to London for luncheon engagements.  One was with Bea Green, the kindertransport lady, and Carmen, the Chair of the HolocaustMemorial Committee. 

We had lunch in a Persian restaurant, which was a bit strange, but also a rare First for me, as I’d definitely never eaten Persian food before.  Afterwards, we went back to Bea’s for dessert.  On the advice of her American daughter-in-law, she’d bought a New York cheesecake.  We were having such a good time chatting that we stayed way too long and didn’t get home to Weybridge until after 7:00.

The Thanksgiving Feast is rapidly approaching and that’s taking all of my ‘spare’ time.  Ticket sales are very brisk and we’ve some novel entertainment and an auction planned.  I did another appearance on BBC Surrey Radio to promote the dinner.  I’m sure you all listened.  Or at least you’d better.

There will be a quiz.

Congratulations to JoPa on #400, to the Dog Murderer and the guys for beating Eli and Colts, and a special ‘Well done!’ to Wade Phillips for the ‘Boys sixth straight loss.  Who would even dare to dream something so wonderful could happen?  Too bad ole Wade got fired on Monday.  I hope this doesn’t mean the Boys are going to start winning.

BRUSHSTROKES

No time to even pause and take a breath this week.  Thankfully, I’ve discovered the joys of Tesco’s grocery shopping on line and delivered right to your door.

Since I haven’t done anything especially Jeano-ish lately, (read: really stupid), I’ll share one. 

I had a dentist’s appointment, but just for a cleaning; fortunately, no nasty infections or anything.  It was positively humiliating, however, to have to have a lesson in Teethbrushing 101 with some Hygienist who’s, like, 20 years old. 

I pulled out the tried and true ‘But I’m handicapped’ excuse, but she brushed that aside.  (Hey!  I made a toothbrush joke.)  I had to practice with my Oral B Dual Action Five Speed in front of a mirror while she critiqued my technique.

A few days later, I was digging around in my pocketbook, probably for one of my phones which always end up on the bottom under the Mack Truck or the microwave.  At least it’s congested enough in there to be toting one of the two.

Anyway, I yanked my hand out quickly when my fingers walked through some white goo.  “Eew!” I thought.  “Did somebody barf or much worse in my Louis?”

Not very likely, I  reassured myself, since I took an ex-friend’s advice and started socializing with a better class of people.  I mean I never go to revolting pubs anymore or hang with people who get sloshed as a hobby.

Nope, the chirpy hygienist had given me some sample mini tubes of toothpaste as a reward for learning how to brush my teeth.  I tossed them in my purse and, naturally, forgot all about them.  I guess the Mack Truck ran over one of them; it split open.  At least both mobiles (and the Mack Truck) are clean, shiny and minty fresh now.

Otherwise, it was just stuff- the usual stuff.  I arranged, with the shul’s Caring Team, for the senior centres in Elmbridge to have a ‘school tour’ of the synagogue, modified for a slightly more ‘mature’ audience, followed by a lavish tea.  I didn’t actually bake anything; I was put in charge of beverages.

Jackie gave a fantastic talk on Judaism and it’s history.  As an illustration, she talked about the tribes, explaining ‘Cohenims’ as the priests and their role.

My seniors from Weybridge were suitably impressed.  One of them commented to me the next morning during my Tea Lady duty, “I didn’t realize you were a High Priestess, Jeano.  I should be making you tea.“

Weybridge Centre hosted a Link Meeting for all the Social Committees, there was a Gauguin lecture in aid of Sam Beare to coincide with an exhibit opening in London this week, and Film Club.  The movie was ‘A Serious Man’, the Coen Brothers’ hysterically funny but poignant homage to growing up Jewish in the Midwest in the ‘60s.  And, of course, meetings, meetings, meetings.

Carol, my Buy Design partner and I, have formed a collaboration with the relative of a friend from shul in Hampshire.  It may prove very lucrative.  I have a new client, too; again, someone from shul whom I’m going to be working with on marketing.  So you’ll probably start reading about KPeter, in addition to JDavid.

There was an Editorial Board meeting for Haderech, the syn newsletter, and I’ve been given my own column, but it probably won’t start until after the Thanksgiving Dinner, which is rapidly approaching.  Somehow I’d been assigned three articles to write for this month’s issue, which I’d forgotten about.  That wasn’t fun.

If all that sounded too philanthropic, there was also Tom Tuesday, and lunches, dinners, and coffees in a strictly social capacity too.  And shopping.  I’m still decorating the Lounge.  Tanya, my cleaning lady, was blown away when she came to clean on Friday.  She rang to tell me; I was at JDavid’s working.

Saturday, 30 October is Jerry’s yartzeit.  I have a double aliyah!  I’m reading the Study Passage and doing the Haftorah.  This anniversary is particularly meaningful to me, so I want it to be absolutely perfect: meaning chanting the Haftorah blessings in Hebrew. I downloaded them to my mp3 player and I’m reciting them whenever I have a spare minute.  I got very nostalgic remembering Boo and me searching for the synagogue the first time I was in England so I could buy yartzeit candles.  I’ve come a long way, baby!

I did have one of those pesky 3:00 AM visits from himself; something about was it really necessary to buy new clothes for the occasion.  “You bought a new outfit?  For my yartzeit? Did you really need it?  How much did it cost?”  Personally, I thought he over-reacted, and I will look absolutely stunning on the bimah.

Which reminds me.  Some other news.  I’m going to Israel for Christmas this year.  Well, I’m actually leaving on Boxing Day, as I’m doing my usual thing on Christmas Day volunteering at the Salvation Army in Addlestone followed by dinner at American friends’.

I’ll be staying with friends on the beach in Tel Aviv, and there are several parties and New Year’s Dos already planned.  I work really hard.  I think I deserve a vacation.  I’ll let you know what Jerry thinks.

NIGHTMARE ON REDE COURT

No dark clouds on the horizon here, and nothing else had to move in reality or cyberality, so everything is, as always, fab.

Another busy week of the usual- social and charity commitments,  although I did have a teensy adventure on the Dark Side.  Naturally, I prevailed.

Living in England is generally fine, as long as one never, ever has to deal with a bank, a utility company or the government.  Then it’s just a frustrating exercise in futility.  I’ve certainly blogged some of my experiences, particularly when I was moving. 

This trip to the Dark Side was with the Garden Waste Disposal Department.  Yeah, that’s what it’s really called.  Sorely missing the cheerful efficiency of John and His Band of Merry Mexicans in King of Prussia, this year I had Daniel Son of BooBoo as my Lawn Guy.  The house did come equipped with a lawn mower, but I don’t do lawns.  Or dispose of the stuff the mower produces.  Daniel was stubbornly unwillingly to sneak the green stuff- I believe they call it the aforementioned ‘Garden Waste’ – over and stick it in the neighbors’ bins when they weren’t home.  So it kind of piled up.

The damned stuff kept scarily reproducing, like the Blob, only in a flattering shade of dark green instead of pink and I finally consulted PPeter on what to do.  Elmbridge charges – money – to come and take it away.  Seriously.  It rains 390 days a year, the shit grows, you cut it, and then you pay to have it schlepped away.  Is that fair?

We bickered, but PPeter finally agreed to foot the bill.  Hey.  It’s not my garden; I don’t encourage it to grow.  I just happen to live here.  The jokers from Garden Waste Disposal dropped off the special, custom garden waste disposal containers and Daniel came over to fill them.  Then he placed them in the front garden for pick-up whenever they passed by Rede Court.

I admit that I get confused about which Monday is Trash Day and which is Recycling.  They don’t take anything if I put the wrong bin out.   Which is most weeks.  But they didn’t pick up the Garden Waste for, like, six weeks. 

Big sigh.  Obviously, I had to ring them and actually try to communicate with somebody in that department.

Me:  ‘Yo!  Garden Waste Person.  You are not picking up my Garden Waste.  Whassup?”

Recipient of My Council Tax Dollars:  “Duh?  What Garden Waste?”

And I meant to say Council Tax Pounds and a Bloody Lot of Them.

Me: ‘The big green sacks saying ‘Garden Waste’ that I put on top of the lilies every week ‘closest to the fence but inside’ just like your instructions say to be picked up.’

Clueless Elmbridge Employee:  ‘Are they hidden by your bins?  They won’t take them if they can’t see them from the truck as they speed by at 160 MPH.  They obviously didn’t see them.’

Me:  Getting a bit American – ‘Do you have blind people on the Garden Waste truck?  They’re huge green sacks, with brown  and a darling shade of heather green stuff sticking out of them.  They say ‘Garden Waste Refuse Only’ on them in yellow.  They’re kind of hard to miss.’

Stubborn silence on both sides. 

Clueless:  ‘Well they obviously can’t see them where you’re putting them.  Are they outside your fence?”

Me:  ‘Of course not!  The instructions say ‘do not place outside fenced area or on sidewalk..”

Clueless:  ‘Really?  It says that?  No wonder they didn’t empty them.  They didn’t see the bright green sacks or yellow lettering through your slatted fence right at the gate which is very low.”

Okay.  She didn’t say that last bit, but she said the ‘really; it says that’ part.

She is probably one of the many reasons England is no longer a Super Power.

Me, getting tired of the whole subject:  “I am placing the Garden Waste Sacks outside the fence as we speak, dead center on the sidewalk.  I sure hope nobody trips over them before the truck makes a special trip back to Rede Court and empties them.”

Sometimes you just have to be firm with these people.

I’M MOVIN’ OUT!

I guess everybody knows by now that I’ve moved.  And I am not a happy camper.  I want my old blog space back.  I wanna go home to Windows Live.

The rift has been boiling for months.  Windows got bored or tired of hosting the site and they started the war by ceasing to capture statistics from our blogs with no warning.  The Message Boards were inundated with vociferous complaints about that and then other widgets on the site  ‘mysteriously’ stopped functioning.

Then came the Eviction Notice: Move to Word Press subito or you’ll lose your entire site.  Gee.  What ever happened to negotiating a new lease?  So I relocated under extreme duress.

I guess it could just be me, but Word Press is complicated.  I haven’t figured out how to ‘decorate’ my new home.  BooBoo actually said “Gee, your new space is pretty boring … looking.”  She added that ‘looking’ part when I got pissed off at her. 

“I know” I had to agree.  “I can’t figure out how to use any of the bloody widgets and my lists and pictures have disappeared into the Black Hole.  Windows Live lied; moving wasn’t ‘One-Two-Three’.  It was more like X-X-X.”

And get this.  They charge for some stuff if you want to have it on your page.  Money.  People should be paying me to get a glimpse of my deeper, most meaningful thoughts. 

It makes me think of Facebook and the rumors that sweep it from time to time that FB is going to start charging a subscription fee for the dubious privilege  of reading ‘So and so is having a large glass of wine’ or, even worse ‘International Clearasil Day! Cut and paste this if you know and desperately miss someone who died from acute acne even if they were rather unattractive’.  

You can bet I am surfing for another, more convivial home.  And trying to figure out how the hell to get the widgets to work in the meantime.

Speaking of moving, my sofa moved too.  Right to the Dump-  courtesy of JDavid and PPeter, whom I charmed into schlepping it over to Chertsey for a Viking funeral.  I finally got a new one. 

I bought that sofa – sofa bed, actually – 2-1/2 years ago.  For 20 quid.  It was meant to be ‘temporary’, sort of like my sojourn in Blighty.  ‘Temporary’ is a very elastic measurement of time.  Although I sure got my 20 quid’s worth.

The new sofa is stunning, but then, of course, everything else in my lounge looked tatty.  Whoopee! Time to redecorate.  Lots of consultations with my Interior Decorator (Carol) and lots of search and seize missions shopping for fabrics, cushions and drapes. (I really, really needed those navy blue drop dead gorgeous suede boots.  I swear.)

I spray painted the wicker chair acquired from my late friend Pat to coordinate with the sofa. (Yes, I did it.) If I ever find the perfect fabric, I’ve got someone who’s going to make custom cushions for it.  Five fabric stores and counting…

When my lounge is utter perfection, and I figure out how to use the damned Word Press widgets, I’ll post some pictures.

This part’s a little embarrassing.  I’d told Tom about the new sofa.  What I actually said was “I got a new ‘playpen’ … Wanna help me Christen it after Il Ponte Tuesday night?”  Tom thought that was a mighty fine idea.

The reality was quite different.

I am absolutely certain that in my wild youth I’ve done the deed on sofas before, not to mention in cars- at the Tacony-Palmira Drive-in.  (Oh, stop tut-tutting!  With Jerry.  And we were married.  I guess he just liked doing it in uncomfortable places and munching popcorn post-coital.)

The dialogue in my lounge kinda went like “This arm is too high; I’m getting a crink in my neck” and “Sorry, Sweetie, but my knees haven’t bent like that since approximately 1975.”  And lots of giggles.  I’ll stop there.

The weather here again has been frighteningly gorgeous, real Indian Summer.  (Not a reference to the fact that every second person in England is from Bombay or wherever.)  Blue skies and sun, with pleasant temperatures.  JDavid and I were scheduled for a serious work session.  We took everything into the garden but mostly basked in the sunshine and just nattered.

Another frantic week of commitments and appointments is on tap, including an Israel Panel Discussion at Kingston Synagogue, a Link Meeting with Elmbridge Council, and a Turkey Meeting with the famous Max Clifford.  But there’s also Tom Tuesday and a ultra posh private art show with JDavid on Friday night.  I really needed those navy blue boots.

YOU SHOULD SEE THE OTHER GUY

Fortunately the Eagles-Skins game is the late game on Clueless NFL tonight (I’m watching the Steelers-Ravens game now) so I have a few hours with no other commitments, so voila … a blog.

 

So.  What have I been up to?  The usual.  Sorry, but even I’m bored with reporting on this or that meeting or the various  ladies who lunch lunches or dinners, and so on.  But that’s what I’ve been doing.

 

In my weekly convo with Toots last week, she advised “Just stop!  You’re doing way too much and you’re going to burn yourself out.”  She may have a point.  So I said “No!” to two separate requests this week.  No, I can’t teach a class at Chedar at synagogue.  That one was actually funny; I am so not patient enough to teach anything and I hate children.  And “No!” again to my Womens Institute chapter’s offer to be Secretary.  (It was more like abject pleading.)

 

My picture was in the local paper last week (that would be the Surrey Herald).  It was a flattering shot working at the Sam Beare booth at the Thames Riverfest.  I was gobsmacked at the number of emails and calls saying “I saw your picture in the Herald, Jeano!”

 

I did hostess a dinner for my Turkey Committee last week.  Maybe I’m being unrealistic but I’m not even frantic about this year’s dinner.  I probably will be, when it gets closer.  But everybody knows what they’re meant to be doing and it’s all getting done.  I’m booked to appear on three radio programs already and the Surrey Herald is going to do a feature on it. 

 

I also had a really remarkable experience.  As a member of Christ Prince of Peace’s Holocaust Memorial committee, one of my charges was to try and book a First Person survivor as the main speaker that evening, not an easy task.  Initially, I was invited to join to make sure the rabbi would be able to eat — no sausage rolls and paper plates!

 

Anyway, I’d heard a survivor speak at NWSS who was one of the Kindertransport children.  She’s featured in the Holocaust exhibition at the Imperial War Museum and in a documentary called ‘The Children Who Cheated the Nazis’.  I rang the member from shul who knew her for her number and called her.

 

She is amazing.  We talked for ages on the phone about all sorts of things, she agreed to do the talk, and invited me to come for lunch to discuss it. 

 

So, intrepid traveler that I am, I hopped a train to Barnes to have lunch with Bea.  Sadly, what with the Travel Warning just issued by the Americans about being on alert for terrorist attacks in European capitals on public transportation and tourist infrastructures (do you think that includes Marks & Sparks?), I will probably be limiting my trekking to the 457 bus to Woking for a while.

 

Moving on to other exciting news, my old friend Tombstones is crossing the Pond!  In December.  He’s attending some posh thingy at Sandhurst, the UK’s equivalent to West Point.  He sent me an email saying that he was personally invited by ‘HRH’ and ‘PP’.

I wrote back inquiring ‘Who dat?”

 

“Prince Charles and Prince Philip, you twit” he replied.  “Don’t you know anything that doesn’t relate to football?”  I had taken the opportunity to rant for several pages in an earlier email about the Dog Murderer and Rapist Guy, and my disappointment in JoPa and the Nittany Lion’s disappointing ranking of 22^nd place.  Okay.  You’re not interested either.  Too bad.  I made some salient points.

 

It will be fun to entertain Tombstones on this side of the Pond.  I wonder if there’s a deli that serves Ruebens and cabbage soup in Golders Green?

 

Finally, I have been a bit under the weather.  Sort of.  Actually, I should have been under the open garage door instead of walking into the sharp corner face first.  Wow!  What a mess.  I bled all over that really stunning black and grey sweater I bought at the Church of St. Annie Sez.

 

It wouldn’t stop bleeding and I got a little concerned.  I had no desire to queue for a few days at the Emergency Room in a British hospital.  So I braved it out.  I also felt extremely sorry for myself; all alone and injured in a strange country.  It is a strange country.  Trust me.

 

I also rang BooBoo who dashed over with some first aid equipment, including some miracle Thai remedy to stop blood gushing out of one’s forehead every time one moved and dripping onto one’s favorite Brian Westbrook jersey.   (It was on Sunday; I always wear my Westbrook on Sundays, even if I’m injured.)

 

I had a Hederach meeting at shul on Monday morning, but I was so banged up I rang Cousin Bernie and begged off.  I looked awful.  Big mistake.

 

Small towns.  Small communities.  JDavid showed up.  Jenny showed up.  Carol popped in.  The rabbi rang.  And on and on.  When I showed up on Tuesday morning for Tea Lady duty, Sanjay said “I heard about your accident. Are you okay?”  He lives in Walton, for Christ’s sake and he’s Indian.  Jenny had sent out an email to the world, well at least the Surrey world.

 

I was basically just embarrassed.  It was a clumsy, stupid mishap.  When I talked to Jackie, I told her I’d prefer that she spread the rumor that it happened in a bar brawl and I got whacked by a beer bottle.  That sounded a lot more exciting than walking into the garage door.

 

So people brought goodies and flowers, and food parcels so ‘you don’t have to cook’.  As if.

 

I am truly blessed with devoted loyal friends. 

 

Another full week is on tap with meetings, social engagements and yummy Geordie Guy Tom.  But I will try to eke out more blog time.  Promise.