But I’m aware that I’ve left people hanging and that I have friends, good friends who care. I am lucky to have them. And you (twice, if you are in both categories, and of course you are). So I’ll state it plainly: my father has cancer. I’m really, really depressed. Those who have had ill parents (and I am one) know what this entails, especially when that parent is alone. But I feel better than I have the last few weeks in the sense that the normal idiocies of life, like a cab ride that was too expensive and a back-ordered cell phone, have begun to irritate me again. One small step for mankind! That is, I am losing that “who cares, my father has cancer” and occasional “fuck off, my father has cancer” sensibility. Everything becomes normal after a while, even when you’re depressed. You lose the compunction to punch the guy on the street from Amnesty International who asks “hey, how are you today!” or the person on Facebook who posts, “major disaster, burned the latkes, lol!!!” Or maybe not.

And I want to be kind, because people have been kind to me. But it’s hard. So I’ll give it a shot, and if I find that I am not kind, then I’ll take some more time off. Because I hate “don’t take it personally.” I always take it personally; why shouldn’t you?

There won’t be a holiday song post this year but the title of this post is from a Neil Finn song that I thought of when I heard my favorite Christmas song, The Waitresses’ Christmas Wrapping, this year. It will tell you what frame of mind I was in when I heard it that I immediately remembered that the singer had died young, of cancer. But then I remembered the Neil Finn line.

Here’s the comic relief, and you’ll have to be a Waitresses fan (or at least know their two biggest songs) to get it: She did know what boys like – cranberries. Har. Happy holidays!

Neil Finn – Truth

Things are not OK right now and I won’t go into it but it has consumed my life lately and will for a while. Not only has normality been shorn away but other people’s normality irritates me which in turn makes me feel like a tone-deaf jerk. So I’ve been staying away from places where people are normal and living normal lives. The one bit of normality in my life is work.

Today, just a couple of days before the start of what is supposed to be a vacation, I wandered into a main area just outside my door where the Kindergarteners were having a session with their 4th grade “mentors.” Each kid had a partner from the other grade and the 4th graders were explaining a project they had done, which was displayed on the walls, to their Kindergartener. Each K child looked completely absorbed and inquisitive and eager. Each 4th grader looked serious and engaged and you could feel their sense of importance and responsibility. It choked me up inside, I was so full of emotion at seeing all these children I teach in these roles, their connection and transformation. I went inside my lab to pull myself together when I saw the clock and this is what it looked like: the sweep hand would stop completely for a few seconds and then suddenly jerk forward to catch up. All the way around the dial. And I had this overwhelming sense that this clock was not broken but perfect in the way it illustrated my life and maybe life in general… not in a smooth, calm flow but in utter stillness and then sudden action. And then I let it take hold of me.

The blog will be on hiatus for a while. Thanks for not emailing because I would not write you back and then further feel like a jerk. I’ll rejoin you sometime.

Title is from the Editors’ Escape the Nest but this is the song from that record which I feel just now.

It’s been a bittersweet week for me. I finished the job that I hated at TC which, for obvious reasons, was great, but it’s also the end of my nearly two year stint at the school, and just like two years ago, I say goodbye to a routine and a neighborhood and a subway stop and so much more. I think, more than my actual graduation, I felt like I had finished what I never did when I went to grad school the first time, accumulated a bunch of credits, and wandered around dazedly for a year. I don’t remember how I felt when I left the school for the “last” time but it wasn’t anything like this time, I’m sure. I kept seeing echos of that experience as well as the last two years as I walked around the buildings for the last time this week. The classroom where my psych professor in the 90′s told us how she had been childhood friends with Perry Farrell and they had made a pact that they would marry each other if no one else would (eighteen years later, I had my financial aid exit seminar in that room so I could find out how my loans will follow me around forever, yay). The office where I had my interview for last year’s job – I was still at The Record Label and had bought a suit the day before (my office this year was just a few doors down – I passed the other one almost every day). The lounge where I hung out the first time around because I was commuting and needed to be there early to grab a parking space and the second time the scene of ice cream socials and collaborative groups. The classroom where the first time around, one day, I suddenly realized I had left my keys in the car, couldn’t concentrate, left in the middle, and called a locksmith to break into my parents’ car. I didn’t have a class there the second time, but again, I passed it it almost every day.

I received the seventh degree in my immediate family from Columbia. My dad has two graduate degrees from there, my mom had a BA and an MA, and my brother has two graduate degrees as well. Next year my niece starts college and will hopefully get the eighth. The university is also two blocks from the seminary to which my family is closely connected. In sum, the neighborhood always felt like home and I’m sure I’ll be back, but not on a daily basis. Every year on my mom’s yahrzeit we go to the cemetery but I don’t feel her there, probably because I rarely went there with her when she was alive (it’s a family plot, but decently far away). Where I have always felt her most was at Barnard, which I walked past every day. My mother loved her time at Barnard. She wasn’t from New York but she loved it and made the most of her time and education. She kept scrapbooks through her years there, which I found after her death and took home with me. In them she kept programs from ballets and Broadway shows, handouts from committees and activities she took part in, notes from friends and boyfriends, letters from my grandparents, and many other things. She kept up with her group of friends all throughout her life (without Facebook!) and wore only one ring besides her wedding rings: her Barnard class ring. She felt there was a certain type of “Barnard woman:” a woman who accomplished important things, and she tried to be this woman in her life. She succeeded.

I almost went to Barnard. It was my first choice until I visited Hopkins. My mother never showed any disappointment that I didn’t go there and I’ll never know if she felt any. But we did the tour together and I’m glad I had that experience with her, even though I barely remember it. I recall one thing supremely well, though, and it was when I was away from her, having my interview. The interviewer was trying to give me a sense of the sort of network that alumnae enjoyed. She described how Suzanne Vega, a graduate, had called the school recently looking for a student to assist her. You see, the woman told me, Barnard women want to work with other Barnard women. I don’t know why this stayed with me through my life but when I first heard the song Tom’s Diner, I knew which diner it was, because I knew Suzanne Vega had gone to Barnard.

Every day when I went to school these last two years, every day, I paused as I walked by Barnard and made “eye contact” with the gate and the main building, which is called Barnard and says Barnard in great carved letters. I wanted to tell my mother I would finish and I would become an educator, as she had been. I was on the Barnard campus three or four times in the last two years and I always, always thought about how my mother had walked down the exact pathways and maybe sat on the step on which I was sitting. It wasn’t until this week, when I was totally finished that I realized that going into education wasn’t the thing that would have made the greatest impression on my mother, it’s that I finally obtained the love of learning. And I have. I love to learn and would go back to class in a heartbeat. I think this thirst for knowledge was my mother’s hallmark and legacy and I’m glad I finally inherited it. Now I too will spend my days trying to inspire it in others.

בזכות מרים נחמה בת הרב יצחק
זכרונה לברכה

Title is from Tom’s Diner, a song by a true Barnard woman, and the cathedral referenced is the one in which I finally graduated.
Suzanne Vega – Tom’s Diner (the version most people know)

When my mother called me to tell me she had breast cancer, I was sitting in my new office at my third and last label, full of cocky confidence, and told her a long story about a bad date before proceeding to weigh the pros and cons of saying yes to a second date. After all that, I finally asked, “oh yes, what were you calling about?” I’ll go to my grave wishing I had just asked that question first. You can say it doesn’t matter but somehow it still does and always will.

When my father called me today to tell me that the third of the three sisters has breast cancer, he had to leave a bland “call me back” message because I was busy helping teach a 4th grade technology class. I have no office there and I went outside to call him back afterwards. There, in front of a giant picture window of high school students sitting around a library table, I stood on a lovely downtown side street, hearing the news and forced to not show any emotion at all. Then I had to get on the train to go man a table and greet people at a technology fair for three hours. You can be sure that even if this blog goes into the ether with its written record of events, I will always remember that moment and this day and what it felt like.

Sometimes when I see a particular look in a face on the subway, I wonder if that person was told bad news and has nowhere to go to cry. Then it all bunches in their face and it’s just as naked but without the release. But it was the wrong time and the wrong place and even if it wasn’t, it will always feel as if it were.

Title is from Psalm 130, traditionally said by Jews in times of distress to ask for God’s help.

First off, the bake sale is over but thank you so much! It was hugely successful and we’ll have another one late this year with a different kind of treat (maybe rugelach will make a repeat appearance). Sorry for the lack of posts but I wanted that one to stay on top, plus I was busy baking. And will be for a while!

Second, for those who are interested in the aftermath of the Station Fire, there is a special tonight at 10pm on VH1. There was a tribute concert and excerpts of that will be shown as well.

Lastly, I did not, in fact, win the contest on Randa Clay’s site for my Just.Do.It post (boo! hiss!) but I think it was more meant for tech and practical blogs, rather than personal ones. As well, I was going to write that post anyway if not exactly framed that way, so it’s OK. And I was glad to inspire and get inspired by the various comments.

Oh, and an update on something I mentioned on a Page: Nalby lost at Indian Wells this week. But I don’t mind! He lost to Chokemaster Mardy Fish, my second favorite player who then went on to beat… Roger Federer! He’s in the final today. Godspeed, Chokemaster!

That’s a lot of dough!

Maybe we’ll do this again next year. Or sooner but with easier cookies.

Supertramp – Give A Little Bit

But Becca, I thought they were so labor intensive?
They are. Indeed. But I am off all next week. And did I mention? I won’t be in London. I will be right here.

What’s Doctors Without Borders?
To quote them, Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières is an independent international medical humanitarian organization that delivers emergency aid to people affected by armed conflict, epidemics, natural or man-made disasters, or exclusion from health care in more than 70 countries.

To quote me, they are completely non-political and help poor and needy people who need healthcare all around the world.

You can read more here.

Who pays for the ingredients? Who pays for the shipping?
I pay for the ingredients. That’s my donation. And it isn’t even tax-deductible! You pay the shipping. That isn’t tax deductible either.

Shipping will be via USPS priority mail, otherwise they will be stale. If you want to pay for faster, be my guest. You can calculate your shipping here:

http://postcalc.usps.gov/

It will be about 1.5 pounds in a package from 10025. The average seems to be $6-$7.

But I don’t want you to know where I live.
Unless you would like to meet me on the west side of Manhattan, you will have to give me an address to ship to, sorry.

So how much of a donation?
Whatever you feel comfortable with. Let’s say, minimum $15. This part is tax-deductible.

I don’t like raspberry. Can you make another flavor?
Sure, anything they sell in jelly. Preserves don’t work. I hear apricot is good but I don’t like apricot. It’s my understanding that there are different strokes for different folks, though.

I’m allergic to nuts. Are you nuts?
Yes, I am. But the rugelach have no nuts. Or eggs. They do have wheat and milk, though. If this matters to you, they are suitable for vegetarians and are kosher-dairy. If it doesn’t matter to you, they are still suitable for vegetarians and kosher-dairy.

How many calories?
It’s for charity!

What’s your deadline? I mean, what if I want them in January? I have a lot of cookies in my world right now.
I’d like to be done by New Year’s But I can’t say how busy I’ll be later on; maybe we can work something out.

How do I pay?
I have a charity page set up at firstgiving and it all goes through them. It’s a secure website and you will get proof of your donation for tax purposes. They’re slow on FireFox, though, sorry about that.

Shipping goes directly to me through my PayPal account.

I’ll send you all the details when I get your e-mail. So that’s it! Drop me an email at becca at magicjewball dot com and place your order today. Feel free to ask any other questions in the comments area or through e-mail. Thanks for your interest in Jewish pastry!

PS, invest in good coffee beans in advance.

a. You know what movie you should see? ______.
b. This one time at band camp ______.
c. ______ will win the ________ party nomination for President of the United States.

Thanks and see you soon.

Anyway, it’s only a couple of days until you experience the void in your life that means “I don’t know if I’ll be able to post on vacation or not.” And no one volunteered to guest post. I should really have e-mailed you all personally which is what the blogs I guest posted for did. But they’re more organized than I am. And who isn’t, really? So I’d like to point you to a new blog by my friend Maureen who goes by the name Veruca Salt and likes to review atrocious horror movies. Now, I don’t even like this kind of movie but I tell you, this is my favorite kind of blog. No “I went to the store today and bought milk,” just concentrating on one thing and doing it well. I love these reviews! It’s in my blogroll but please check it out here.

Also, something I’ve forgotten to mention is that I will be away for my birthday (oh no, Becca!). Yes, it means Kosher McDonald’s hamburgers in Jerusalem for me, no post for you. But I can imagine what you’re thinking. “Why, Becca, you give this blog free of charge all year, no advertising, no ‘Amazon wish list,’ no ‘donate here’ button. What can we give you for your birthday?” I’m so excited you asked! I enjoy cheap, meaningful presents and so, here’s my idea. You can gift me a song on iTunes. Any song! A song you like, a song you hate, a song you think I’ll like, etc.

Here’s how it works (you have to have iTunes, sorry): You simply click on an the album with the song you want to send and then on the “Gift this music” button. Then all the songs magically change from “Buy Song” to “Gift Song” and you can follow the directions from there. My e-mail address is in the “About Me” box on the right. Of course, I will still love you just as much with no gifts, but here’s your chance to force your taste on me and pay me back for 18 months of me forcing mine on you. Don’t pick anything from the album below, however, I already have like three copies.

(click to enlarge)

Voila! (click to enlarge)

Oooh, I love that song, thanks!

Anyhoo, I’m here for another couple of days. Don’t do this yet or I’ll get it before my birthday. And if I’m too happy before I leave my plane will crash. I learned that from Lifetime movies.

Sugar – Gift

Except my Mom, really, she wasn’t especially funny at all. Her idea of a good joke was, “who was the shortest man in the Bible? Nehemiah! Get it? Knee-high miah!” Oh bwahaha, Mom. But one thing she was was an appreciative audience. She’d really laugh at your joke and say “verrrrry good… did everyone hear that?” in a way that made you think you were on your way to doing stand-up.

On the last day of her life, when she was barely coherent, we knew she was still “there” because she laughed at a joke that Sister2 made from this show, one of her all-time favorites. Even though she couldn’t speak, you could tell from her eyes that she was saying, “verrry good… did you all hear that?” Tonight, just before I went off to synagogue to say my last Kaddish of the day, I flipped around the TiVo guide and found I had a new channel (AmericanLife TV Network: your Baby Boomer TV choice, speaks to the interests and values of the unstoppable Baby Boomer generation… er, OK) and that this show was actually on! I had no idea that when they said God worked in mysterious ways they meant that He worked at Time Warner Cable. And so, I downloaded it to my computer so that I could capture the opening sequence and dedicate it to you, my readers and commenters. Thanks for all your good thoughts and know that you are the appreciative audience that makes telling the jokes such a joy.

Click here to view the embedded video.