I was at a party last Thursday. A celebration. Celebrating the latest big step in the life of someone who takes chances. She is now the VP Human Resources of a major corporation. Pretty cool.
The people invited to this celebration were the extremely bright and chance taking people she knows. Many of these people she hired at one place or another. They made her look good. In return she made them better. They are off doing great things. Some running their own business and others with much bigger jobs than before.
I have one foot in this group. I am fairly bright and while maybe not the highest IQ of the bunch, I can hold my own. Risk taking however is not what I do. Not the big ones anyway. At least not often.
I get inspired by my friend, what she has achieved and by this group of people. They are special.
But taking a change is not only about making the Big Bet. It is also about the little ones. The ones where you could call it a night but you take one more little chance. The ones that lead to pleasant surprises. That lead to smiles.
The topper on this night of great conversation with amazing people happened at the end. Many had left the bar where we were celebrating but a small intrepid band was not done for the night. I let my self be cajoled into checking out the band upstairs.
There I discovered the Neverly Bros. Band. Three 40 something guys, rhythm guitar, stand up bass and stand up drummer. They played early rock and roll and British Invasion music. For just the three of them the sound was rich and full. This was fun. I do not get enough fun.
So I took a small chance and won. Thanks Sarah and Agent 94.
Between being inspired by these people and some changes at work, I am seriously considering taking a big chance. New job maybe. Maybe. I know that I should. I should take a chance.
Autumn. The beauty of leaves changing colors. Leaves falling to the ground.
In the forest these leaves provide a natural blanket for trees and other plants ahead of the snow and cold of winter. They are a sight to behold. Over time they dissolve and become a natural food for the trees they came from. Circle of Life.
In the suburbs the beauty of the leaves becomes transformed as they change from picturesque to chore. In the suburbs they are not a blanket, they are a pest to eradicate. Eliminating fallen leaves can go in many directions.
In my youth we would pile the leaves into the street and burn them. I can still remember the aroma of burning leaves.
When I was a younger man and my son was little we would rake leaves together. Kids at that age thought of these types of activities as fun not chores. We would build large piles of leaves and before just putting them in bags we would jump in the piles and throw leaves at each other. There are some ways of having fun that are not connected to new technology and can be handed down from father to son for generations.
We have had two bad experiences with autumn leaves. One year was especially busy with work, my son’s sporting events and life activities. We apparently did not rake our leaves soon enough to suit our neighbors– well at least one. As I pulled the car into our garage I noticed something by our front door. I discovered a rake. The rake had a note attached. “This is a rake. Use it.” How neighborly.
Last year without asking, our lawn service cleared the leaves for a couple of weeks in a row. My initial reaction was how nice to not have to do that chore this year. My son was 17 and no longer found raking leaves with dad to be fun. My reaction charged to anger when I saw the bill for several hundred dollars for leaf clearance and a special charge for hauling them away. (In my suburb you can place your bags of leaves ain the alley and the city takes them away for free.) For $30-$40 I could have had some neighborhood kids do what I was charged hundreds to do.
This brings us to Fall 2009. Last saturday was Halloween. I was home passing out candy and decided to start on my leaves. It was a cool, crisp fall day. Perfect for some outside activity. I made several piles of leaves and filled the five lawn bags I had in the house. i was not close to done but by now it was dark and I could not take off to get more bags because trick-or-treaters were still coming to the door.
I finished 90% of the job yesterday. Nine more bags. A couple of hours of work. Raking leaves is one of those activities that can become Zen-like. When I started yesterday the neighborhood was relatively quite. The re were sounds of people moving around, the occasional dog barking and the sounds of children. At that time I was in a zone. Me. The rake. The leaves. The task at hand. I was getting an old fashion workout (I was working), my mind was at ease (which it rarely is). No thought of work or responsibilities. Me. The rake. The leaves.
Today our back yard. After that I will need to wait until the ground is covered with snow to find the same Zen-like experience. Maybe I can go around the neighborhood and ask to rake leaves. Nothing like an extra $30 bucks burning a hole in your pocket.
A few weeks ago I began to share with you the uncommon experience that is JRC on the high holidays. My intention was to share the stories but I got wrapped up in setting the stage. Now it is time for the stories.
The first is technically from Rosh Hashanah. Howard, our cantor, shared his experiences from his extended time off earlier in the year. Howard chose to visit services from the vast variety of Jewish, Christian and Muslim services in the Chicago area. One of his main themes was despite the great differences in the services in form, substance and god across religions and even within the different sects of Judaism, he was consistently welcomed warmly by both clergy and congregation wherever he went. His stories were often hilarious and I can not do them justice attempting to repeat them here. The telling of the stories lent two impressions. First that of the personal warmth and humanness of the storyteller. Second,common are our bonds as people no matter the specifics of what we believe and how we choose to seek an understanding of our universe.
There were two deeply moving stories. First, a man shared his experiences from within the walls of Folsom Prison. Yes the same prison made famous by Johnny Cash. Today it houses men convicted of the worst of the possible violent crimes. This man was not a prisoner but part of an annual program in which men from all walks of life share three days with 30 hardened criminals discussing their lives. Not just the lives of the prisoners but all the participants.
The first amazing part of this amazing story is that agreeing to do this was not enough to get you in. This man needed to be accepted by convicted killers and rapists. All would be sharing their darkest fears and secrets during the three days. Acceptance required standing up in front of 30 prisoners and being asked why they should trust you. At one point a prisoner got directly into his face. He spoke of weeping openly as he thought about his life and the mistakes his regrets. He was accepted.
The second amazing part is what he learned about the prisoners as men. That even those who had committed horrible crimes still had bits of humanity. One man spoke of his sadness that he would not be there for his young son and that he was afraid that his son would end up following a similar path to his. Even more interesting was what the JRC congregant discovered about himself. He discovered that he had built his own prison. One made of fears that kept him from becoming the man he wanted to become and from doing things he wanted to do. He had turned down for several years the opportunity to participate in this program. The thought of three days in the heat and discomfort of Folsom being with hardened criminals did not seem appealing. Yet in the end it is what set him free.
I was in tears listening to this story. I know that I have let the enormous pool of fears that engulfs me keep me from doing and being more. I could definitely relate. This was not the type of experience I would have had in the synagogue I grew up in. Yet it was extreme but not out of the ordinary for JRC.
While I like to tell stories. I am not a professional. At JRC there are several people who make their living as storytellers. Who even knew this was profession? On each day of the High Holidays one of our storytellers shares a story, typically a one of Jewish tradition with a meaning relevant to the holiday. I don’t particularly care for professionally told stories. I prefer ones that come from the heart told in less than perfect manner by a person. The sing-song cadence of the professional storyteller tends to bore me rather than pull me into the tale.
One exception was the story told on Rosh Hashanah about becoming a grandfather for the first time. This story was well constructed as one would expect from a professional but this was indeed from the heart. It sang with honest emotion. Contrast that with the storyteller on Yom Kippur. I had heard her many times before and as I said I tend not to enjoy a story told professionally. Yet on this day she seemed off her game. The sometimes faulty delivery actually brought me more into what she was saying than if she had been “perfect” as defined by the union of professional storytellers.
During the Torah reading portions, there will be three different readers. On Yom Kippur one of the readers was an elderly lady who actually read from a card rather than the Torah scrolls. The rabbi made a point of commenting that an exception was being made for Shirley. Shirley mad one small error during her reading but was generally great. I turned to my wife to ask how old she thought Shirley was. I had thought late seventies. My wife suggested eighties. More on Shirley later.
After the morning services, JRC has a long-standing tradition of having an “open mike” session. Anyone who signs up gets three minutes to talk about anything. We had never stayed for open mile. In the past our son would be anxious to leave. However, being empty nesters does provide extra freedom. So we stayed.
The talks covered a variety of subjects. Several people discussed the recent loss of loved ones and often spoke of the assistance and kindness provided by members of the congregation that helped them through. One poor man lost four close relatives in the past year. One man spoke on behalf of Israel and while acknowledging the flaws of this kindred nation was asking for continued support.
(As an aside, while I was growing up, the state of Israel was the just and righteous country. It was the little Jewish state just trying to exist among powerful countries that on multiple occasions tried to drive the Jews into the sea. Somewhere along the way many mistakes were made and horrific acts of violence perpetrated on the Palestinians. Israel is no longer without blemish. This is a difficult conundrum for Jews wanting to show support for a Jewish homeland.)
Other open mike topics fell into the general category of “I am doing good things and I am publically patting myself on the back”. OK, this may be a bit harsh. I am sure that these people who are doing very good things just want others to know about them.
The second speaker during open mike and normally the first was Shirley the Torah reader. She walked with a cane and needed help climbing the stairs. Her first words were “I am 92 years old”. That led to several moments of applause. She went on to say that in the past she would share statistics about her exercise routines. Miles walked, number of push ups done, etc. I am guessing that I have missed years of entertaining milestones from a woman much older than she looked. This year she spoke about the trials she had been through. She had been through several illnesses and injuries and for months had been in constant, considerable pain. Only fairly recently had a doctor, a JRC member no less, figured out how to relieve much of her pain.
Shirley spoke of how she began to doubt if she wanted to fight after being so worn down with so much. Maybe at her age it was time to let go. She had lived a good life, a long life. (I suspect that many people would think of themselves or anyone above the age of eighty in that way. Yet with someone younger they would be encouraging the person to kep fighting. Age discrimination?) Fortunately for anyone within the sphere of Shirley’s life she is still kicking. I for one look forward to next year when I suspect we will again be regaled with stat after stat of her exercise achievements. I certainly hope so.
We did not stay for the various discussion groups that followed the open mike session.By then we succumbed to the early hunger pains that are a part of Yom Kippur. It was time to go home and nap.
For those of you who grew up in and/or live in a Jewish tradition I suspect that JRC is not the norm. Yes we do say prayers, read Hebrew and the like but the connections to G-d, good works, and community are done in a way that is unique and special.
More accurately the tyranny of the train schedule. I have not taken the commuter train for over four years now. But tonight one of my former employers was having an alumni reception. I hadn’t been to one for several years. Thinking I was smart I drove from my far north suburban office to the train near my house. I would avoid fighting the traffic going into downtown Chicago. And since the reception was 2 blocks from the train station it was to be easy in, easy out.
Except for one thing. the trains leave infrequently. Starting with the 7:35 pm train they run once an hour. The event started at 5 and I did not expect to see many people I know and even fewer people I care about so I thought I would catch the 6:44 train. After all since I left the office early, I had work to do tonight. Well 6:44 came and I was still there. In fact while I had been checking my watch periodically it was 6:43 when I noticed the time. No worries. I was still having a good time and the next train was in less than an hour.
You would think that maybe I would have learned my lesson about checking the time more frequently. You would be wrong. I glanced at my watch at 7:32. I had been ready to go for at least 20 minutes and now I had three minutes to catch the train. Possible if I hurried. Except that I could not find my coat check slip and the two women working the coat room would not let me just take mine. Finally find the slip, grab the coat and run as fast as I can. Too late by 3 minutes.
My choices were to hang out at the station for 57 minutes or take the L. For those unfamiliar with Chicago the L is the peoples form of transportation while the commuter trains are for the well to do suburbanites. Actually, with the CTA raising fares on the L the price difference is less than $1. It is just slower, makes more stops, is more crowded and less comfortable. But trains run every 15-20 minutes.
I felt the need for movement so I walked the 5 blocks to the L only to find that the train that goes directly to my stop quit running 25 minutes ago. I would now have to start on one train and transfer to two others. Now I remember why I hate to take the L. There were at least 27 stops from the one I got on to the one I got off at. It would quit moving or stay at a station for several minutes for no apparent reason. I pull into my stop 90 minutes later (it would have been a 25 minute car ride) only to see the 8:35 commuter train pull into its station at the same time. I saved 0 minutes.
When I worked downtown and took the train every day I had developed a sixth sense as to when I had to shut down my computer pack up and run to the station. In 8 years I missed my train 3 times. Now I lack all sense what-so-ever.
BTW. The alumni reception. It was worth an hour of my life at most, not the 4.5 hours it ended up taking to interact with people I once had a connection with. Despite my best efforts the conversations never exceeded polite triteness. “Life is good. I now work at ____. Nothing really new. Good to see you. You haven’t aged a bit.” OK that last comment had depth but the rest was shallow. I would rather be by myself with a book or music than spend time interacting at that level. I had no expectations of gut spilling but I always hope for a nugget of something meaningful. Nary a nugget to be found.
Contemplating getting the shot doesn’t count. Being at a client site on the day they are administering shots to the people you are working with doesn’t count. As proof, just two days before I came down with the seasonal flu I did both.
To put things in time perspective that would have been Thursday October 8. By Saturday my body was telling me that something was wrong. However I attributed the tiredness and the achy feeling to my workout– these have been so infrequent that I just figured it was all due to being out of shape. By Sunday the combination of aches, pains, fever and congestion worse than a Chicago rush hour made me realize that it was the flu. If only I had taken the 45 minutes to go to our company clinic. 45 minutes seemed like such an inconvenience. Or better yet if my company had made flu shots available at my work site more than the two days I was traveling on business. As it turned out the 45 minutes would have been a great investment.
Speaking of business, while clients can be very understanding of your illness on a personal level (rest, go to the doctor, take care of yourself were consistent comments) that does not mean that their work product can be late! So Monday with fever raging I was working at home trying to delay what I could and think well enough to deliver on all that remained.
Then to add to my personal pain, literally, I coughed. This was one of those violent, retching body shaking, come out of nowhere coughs. You could hear the sound of the tendon in my lower back rip. It ripped even more when I coughed again 2 minutes later. I now had screaming level, constant pain in my lower back. It hurt to sit. It hurt to stand. It hurt to breath.
By this time I had time for one, and only one doctor appointment. I had to choose. internal medicine for the flu or orthopedic for the back. No contest. I made an afternoon appointment with the orthopedic surgeon. Fortunately no disk damage. I left with prescriptions for steroids, muscle relaxers and narcotics. If I were to take the latter two there would be no driving or even thinking straight. I skipped the narcs so I could work and because I have an aversion to excess drugs.
By the next day the fever broke and the constant pain left. However for the remainder of the week I had bad cold symptoms, could not stand up straight or walk stairs without pain and was exhausted all of the time.
Next year I take the flu shot and as soon as it is available I am doing the H1N1 vaccine. The pain/time trade-off makes it worth while.
I have written about our time at the Jewish Reconstructionist Congregation, better known as JRC. It is time to write again.
Though my family was not overly religious I grew up in a very traditional synagogue. By that I mean long services, prayers mostly spoken in Hebrew (for which I can sound out words but do not know what they mean), and professional shushers that would roam the aisles should any congregant attempt to chat with his neighbor. Shhhhsh.
The Rabbis’ sermons were of the hell-fire and brimstone variety. He would either be telling us what we were doing wrong as sinners or alternatively to telling us to support the state of Israel, there were no other topics. Women had no role in these services. They were lucky not to have to sit in a partitioned off area as they do at an orthodox service. These were serious and stern services. The dress code was suits and ties, though admittedly this was decades before business casual changed our sartorial expectations.
It’s not that I disliked my family synagogue. I knew of nothing different. The cantor had a beautiful voice and many of the tunes I learned there are hauntingly beautiful. This was my opportunity as a terrible but enthusiastic singer to belt out songs under the cover of prayer and of being one of hundreds of voices. I learned to pray solemnly–even if I did not understand the words I was pronouncing.
The JRC has a radically different approach to the holiday services and to the ideas of community and the role of a synagogue and its congregation. It did take me awhile to get past what I consider to be “prayer–lite” and the relatively casual dress of the congregants. (Yes, I can be shallow enough to judge people on how they dress as opposed to who they are.)
Once I saw past the superficial the substance of what Rabbi Brant Rosen and Cantor Howard Friedland brought to me as a Jew and a human it was hard not to like this place. Our time as a congregation on Yom Kippur, one of the holiest days of the year will be a good example of what JRC is all about.
Throughout the night and next day that make up this holiday, Rabbi Rosen communicated themes of community, commitment to the improving society, finding a connection to G-d both individually and collectively and understanding the spirit, not just the law of the holidays. The individual prayers are shorter than the tradition I grew up with (which bothers me at times) but the level of spirituality is higher.
If you are looking for a stern lecturer spewing fire and brimstone, you are in the wrong place. Rabbi Rosen– Brant– is passionate about many things but his delivery is that of an everyrabbi. He is calm, casual, caring, and funny (including a willingness to laugh at himself). He sets the tone for the service and for the service and for the community. Or perhaps JRC found a rabbi that reflects his congregation. I am not involved in the congregation though we have been members for 12 years. But during the high holidays I get a sense of the long time and involved members and they appear to share Brant’s characteristics and the desire to do good as well as be good.
Then there is Cantor Friedland–Howard. I have a strong distaste for people who pretend to care but are clearly insincere. I have come to refer to these people as the anti-Howards. While many care only if a cantor has a great voice, I care about whether the cantor has a great spirit. Howard brings both. He is a perfect complement to Brent. I have not yet found the “team” to compare them to. Certainly not The Lone Ranger and Tonto for Howard is not a in a secondary role. Perhaps Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, at least as we know them from their portrays by Paul Newman and Robert Redford. Both men of substance who work well together. ( I am not sure that the characters fit completely but Brant/Howard any objections being compared to Newman and Redford?)
Since the set up has taken so long I am splitting this story into parts one and two. Part Two will discuss the wonders of this particular Yom Kippur.
Before I go, let me share two more things. First, below is JRC’s self-description form its website which can be found here.
JRC is a Jewish community known for our joyful spirituality, life-long learning, and a deep commitment to social justice. Located in Evanston, Illinois, our members come from all parts of Chicago and its suburbs. We are an inclusive congregation, reflecting the rich diversity of the American Jewish community – our JRC family includes interfaith families, blended families, young people, senior adults, people of color, and gays and lesbians.
JRC is much more than a synagogue – we are a community committed to a Judaism that makes a difference in our lives and in the world.
The second is a point I found out when I went to the website . Rabbi Brant Rosen has been listed in Newsweek as one of the “Top 25 Pulpit Rabbis in America” . Read more about this here.
Tiger and other top golfers are playing in the Tour championship tournament with a $1.3 million prize. It is also the last of the tournaments that are part of the FedEx Cup which provides a $10 million prize based on finishes in select tournaments over the course of the season. Tiger comes into this tournament as the number 1 seed. If he wins the Tour Championship he wins the extra $10 million as well regardless of what any other golfer does. (Depending on who wins the tournament, Tiger could finish in the top 4-5 and still collect the $10 million.)
I read an article a few days ago talking about the pressure of an $11 million prize. What if it all came down to the last put? How would Tiger react?
The author was discussing that despite the pressure of a large money prize, Tiger has the ability to block everything else out and focus on what he needs to do on the course. To me his basic premise was wrong.
All I could think of was that despite the normal pressures of playing in a professional tournament and being expected to win each one you enter, for Tiger the money would not add any pressure. The chance to win $11 million not add pressure? Let that role around in your head for awhile.
$11 million would dramatically change the lives of the vast majority of people. It would certainly change mine. But Tiger is already worth a few bizzilion dollars and earning many more all the time. Not that he couldn’t buy a nice trinket with the extra money but…
Some day I hope to say that an extra $11 million would not change my life. Working on it. Only about $10,999,999 to go.
Luxury, amenities, walk-in-closet, view of the river, privacy, heated pools. What do all of these words have in common? They are not meant to be associated with college dorms. And yet…
Purdue, Boston University and Arizona State University among others offer luxury dorm living for the already spoiled college student. It is bad enough that these kids all had rooms of their own at home and got to drive daddy’s (or mommy’s) luxury sedan while going through high school. College is where turning into an adult is supposed to happen. That means, along with other things, getting along with others. Learning to make it on your own. Living in less than ideal conditions.
What can you learn living in your own room with a jacuzzi nearby? I am sooo glad that my son’s dorm is just basic housing, bad mattress, used furniture and fairly small room shared with another. Bathrooms down the hall. No air conditioning. Really, this is not like being in a third world country walking a mile to the river for clean water.
I know why the colleges build these luxury dorm facilities…because someone will pay for it. According to an article in the Chicago Tribune these are the first rooms to go.
What are these parents thinking? I will never get constantly spoiling your kid–just ask my son. When will these kids grow up?
Friday night began Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. A common greeting on the holiday is L’ Shanah Tovah which roughly translated is “To a Good Year”.
I send wishes for a happy and healthy year to all my Jewish or not friends.
This has become a bittersweet time of the year since my mother died a year ago the day before Rosh Hashanah. Due to my people’s use of a lunar calendar I get to remember this event twice, once on the day before the holiday and once on the english date of September 29.
I will try not to be too maudlin but her presence has been felt all week and it was hard for me to watch friends with their moms or worse yet grandsons with their grandmas. I know that this too shall pass.
I also miss not having our son with us on the holiday. This whole college, separation thing may be good for him but it is hell for me. I feel as if the family is no longer together, at least not in the same way.
Moving on. This is the time for atonement. It is traditional to ask for forgiveness of our sins from both our G-d and from all nongodlike creatures whom I transgress from time to time. While this is meant to be done on a personal basis, I am asking forgiveness from any of those of you whom I have wronged. You know who you are.
And if I have butchered the English language with incorrect use of whoms then I also ask forgiveness of both Merriam and Webster.
Despite what Ben Bernanke recently declared, the economy is still in the crapper. People are unemployed, companies are struggling and I already know that my bonus will be dramatically lower than last years’ number.
I do find some comfort knowing that others are troubled too. This article from The Economist highlights another industry that is struggling and the impact on its specialized workers has been particularly dramatic and is in a part of the Country hit particularly hard by the recession, Los Angeles.
This article titled, “Hard Times” addresses a large industry currently on its knees. Actually, on knees or back is common in the industry. Here are a few exerpts from the article.
“EVEN Nina Hartley, who became a pornographic actress in 1984 and continues to be one of its most sought-after performers at the age of 50, is feeling the recession. “Last year I did a scene a week, this year I do a scene a month,” she says. As a sex celebrity, she has not dropped her fees, charging about $1,200 for a “straight boy-girl” scene.”
“Pornography had been immune to previous recessions, so the current downturn has come as a shock.” (Bold added by this author for affect–or is it effect–I can never get that right.)
If the Valley used to make 5,000-6,000 films a year, says Mr Kernes, it now makes perhaps 3,000-4,000.(Why would we need 3 thousand new porn films a year let alone 5 thousand. It isn’t like one is all that different than another — or so I have heard.)
For the 1,200 active performers in the Valley this means less action and more hardship. A young woman without Ms Hartley’s name-recognition might have charged $1,000 for a straight scene before the crisis, but gets $800 or less now. Men are worse hit. If they averaged $500 for a straight scene in 2007, they are now lucky to get $300. (First of all I am shocked at the reverse gender bias in the industry. Second, $1,000 per scene!!)
Pornography in general has become “like potato chips, everywhere and cheap, to be consumed and tossed,” says Ms Hartley. It’s not the same as in the golden age…( I love the potato chip analogy. As for the golden age, what is as good as it once was?)
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