Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 2

The Saga of 699 Jean Jackets

Most of you probably know by now The Story: one of my best buddies sent me a message about my 75th birthday present: “It’s something to wear and you are going to love it. Arriving shortly in the mail.”

Hmm, what could be so enticing as I inch closer and closer to age 80 and further and further from age 70: a gold studded thong? Pasties for my drooping boobs? I couldn’t come up with ANTHING even remotely captivating.

The much-anticipated package arrives.
I rip it open with wild enthusiasm.
I am not disappointed.
Wrapped in tissue is a dark blue jean jacket.
Not just ANY jean jacket….
My jean jacket is emblazoned on the back with a massive sequined hamsa.
I am hooked. 



That was three years ago. 
 
Here’s an update in poem form:
 
699 Jean jackets
I’ve got 699 jean jackets 
In a storage unit down the street
Hanging on multiple garment racks 
All labeled and sized and neat.
 
699 jean jackets 
Ready for patches 
And lace 
And letters
And pearl studs 
And braid 
And embroidery 
Embellishments galore 
699 jean jackets 
And I’m hoping to buy more.
 
It’s surely an addiction
based on my prediction
that upcycling 
will be the new rage. 
And those who now think I’m foolish
will soon regard me 
as a very wise sage.
 
My plan is eco friendly 
and kind to Mother Earth. 
I firmly believe 
my 699 jean jackets 
will soon prove their own worth. 
 
So I’m researching shops on Etsy
Setting up an engaging web site 
Dabbling in social media 
Convinced that I’m clever 
beyond measure 
and absolutely right.
 
I’ve sought out seamstresses 
and hired an admin too 
and learned how to take a payment 
when it’s totaled and due. 
 
Jackets are carefully curated, 
designed, enhanced and sized.
I’m ready for:
trunk shows and holiday markets 
private parties 
and orders customized.
 
I’ve got a logo.
I understand bogo.
I’m serious.
 
My new business is not a hobby. 
It’s a genuine enterprise. 
It will spew forth 
with a myriad of sensations.
It is named 
Funky Creations. 
And it will take all those naysayers
by surprise. 
 
My business plan is detailed, 
but my hopes and dreams quite clear.
This is what I’m envisioning
in the coming year:
From storage bin
to someone’s closet 
No longer solely mine 
Sold, paid for, delivered 
All 699!
 
My first real retail foray is tomorrow, Saturday, September 13th, at the Tampa Bay Women’s Expo.
 
Come Pamper Yourself for a Ladies Day Out!
Presented by The Tampa Bay Times, this Ladies Day Out will feature exhibits, interactive booths and education on a wide range of women’s interests –  fashion, travel, beauty and self-care. 

Free Admission. 
Click Here to Reserve Your Ticket

Date and Hours

Saturday, September 13, 2025
10a.m. – 3p.m.

Location 

Florida State Fairgrounds
4800 US 301
Tampa, FL 33610


    (PYB LLC DBA FUNKY CREATIONS)

My FUNKY CREATIONS booth will be showcasing one-of-a-kind jean jackets, vests and kids’ denim apparel. 
If you are in driving distance of Tampa, COME ON BY! 
GET FUNKY 
Tap into that wild woman inside you 
It just may be the beginning of 
a very rich and rewarding new chapter in your life
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Stuttering – Roll With It or Try to Fix It?

Courtney was at a crossroads.

She had a choice when it came to how she approached her ever-present stuttering: Roll With It or Try to Fix it?

So Where Did Courtney Find Hope?

Her last-ditch efforts to face her speech issues and help herself climb out of her self-created basket of Hell came when she applied to The Successful Stuttering Management Program (Boot Camp for Stutterers) at age 20 and received a full scholarship to attend. She flew across country from Virginia to Cheney, Washington for three weeks of intense study. 

One of the key components of the program involved going up to strangers in a shopping mall, announcing to them that you stuttered and then asking them to complete a short survey. It sounded to me like a Massive Cringeworthy Experience – how could my niece possibly do this? I shuttered to think about her there.

In her own words, Courtney’s boot camp tale: 

The survey is four questions and should take around 2-3 minutes to get through. My first interview took me over 45 minutes. I remember choosing to stop a particular person because she “looked friendly” – whatever that means. The sun was setting and the evening chill was approaching. One by one, I read each word on the script. 

“My name is….” 

I hate my name. The harshness of the C gets me every time. The tension rises up in my throat, making it impossible to get any sound out. 

Finally I croak out, “Courtney and I am a stutterer working on my speech in speech therapy. Can I ask you a few questions about stuttering?”

“Sure,” she says casually, but can we sit down? I have a condition where I can’t stand for too long.”

We sit on the steps of a nearby hall. The questions came out easier than the initial ask, but the tension and shame remained. By now, the sun had set and the moon was emerging. I came to my final question: “What do you think a stutterer should do to overcome his/her stuttering?” 

Without missing a beat she said, “Nothing, you are perfect the way you are.”

After the interview, she told me she has a brain condition. Her doctors kept telling her she is going to die. She is not supposed to be living right now. I live in constant fear of speaking and she lives in constant fear of death. 

We said goodbye and she told me it was so great to meet me. I thanked her profusely for her time and patience. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes as we said goodbye – it was a look of encouragement, belief, and pure unabashed pride. There was no pity, no pretend empathy, no uncomfortable feelings or impatient stares. It’s a look that’s a rarity in the stuttering community – one we don’t encounter too often. 

The wind blew harder, but with a warm air I hadn’t felt before. I walked back to my dorm.

Talking to this person changed everything for me. It forced me to believe that it is okay to stutter. I don’t think I would have continued if I hadn’t received this response the first time I approached someone. It allowed me to keep going. 

Courtney’s experience at boot camp marked the beginning of her fully embracing the fact she stuttered.

“I now advocate learning to live with stuttering in a healthy way – an acceptance of sorts,” notes Courtney. “There is no cure for stuttering or no quick fix so we can’t shame people who don’t overcome their stuttering and who don’t become more fluent. It doesn’t mean they’re not trying. “

That realization, coupled with the support professionally and personally of those who stuttered too, allowed Courtney to emerge out of the depths of her isolation, manage her fears and participate fully in life.

Courtney is presently enrolled in a PhD program at New York University in Communicative Science and Disorders and expects to graduate in May, 2027. Her research is focused on the social factors that influence stuttering. 

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Courtney says that if you know someone who needs help for their stuttering, please contact the NSA. Courtney is on their board.
https://www.westutter.org/

My Niece’s Secret

How would you like it if every time you opened your mouth to speak you were terrified? 

How would you like it if you had to tell your teachers you were just too shy to publicly speak when that wasn’t the case at all?

How would you like it if every time you had to read out loud in school or give a report orally you were flooded with fear?

How would you like it when every single time you were asked “What’s your name?” your words simply wouldn’t come out and then the person who asked you that question would either laugh nervously or walk away shaking their head with puzzlement over what a weird girl they had just encountered – a girl who didn’t even know her own name?

How would you like it if you dreaded every milestone event even when you weren’t the focus or large family holiday functions where everyone talked fast and furious around you?

How would you like it if teachers and friends and relatives didn’t understand you?

How would you like it if when your parents sent you to a speech therapist, she couldn’t figure out what was “wrong” with you?

How would you like it if you went through life with the only relief being solitude?
 
That was my niece’s world.
     Courtney stuttered. 
     Courtney couldn’t get her words out.
 
“So much of life requires talking, especially when I was growing up before texting and e mail,” she readily admits. “My speech issues impacted every decision I made and every situation I faced.”

“My life,” relates Courtney, “was filled with fear and confusion and a great desire for not wanting to be different from other kids. And I wasn’t great at talking about it because talking about it meant it was real – and if it was real, I had to deal with it.”
 
The years passed. 
There were always so many unanswered questions rattling about in her head:

Where does stuttering come from? Is it a result of trauma?Why is it so variable?Why are all the systems in the brain not interacting in the most optimal way? Is there is a physical cause?Why, in many cases, does stuttering as people grow-up just “go away”?

She began to search for and find some answers.

There are all sorts of triggers that can cause people to stutter:      Talking about something linguistically complex 
     or when social demands are intensely high
     And often, the more you try not to stutter, the more you do.
     And yet, people don’t stutter when they sing.
     People don’t stutter when they talk to themselves out loud.

Courtney describes her stuttering as similar to losing control of a car on the ice. ‘Your first reaction is to slam on the brakes to get control. And that’s the worst thing you can do,” Courtney stresses emphatically. “You are supposed ‘to go with it.’” 
 
And the question Courtney continually pondered throughout her growing-up years was just that: “How do you roll with it?”
 
Next week: Courtney’s Breakthrough
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor

 
PS: Monday is Labor Day – a day to focus on, appreciate and recognize the hard work of all individuals who contribute to our communities, our economy, our health, safety and well-being.
Enjoy a day of leisure.

What’s a good antidote to “The Blues”

What’s a good antidote to “The Blues”? I found myself frequently obsessing over that question in recent weeks. 
 
I utilized Artificial Intelligence to see what it prescribed to get back to a sunnier frame of mind: 
     Physical activity
     Connection with others (party anyone?)
     Relaxation
     Surrounding yourself with music 
  
Then I asked AI what are some good ways to celebrate a milestone event because this summer marks fifty years since my husband and I met up again at our 10th high school reunion.
Top of the list for celebrating a special event: 
     Host a Party.
 
So we did. 
And not just any party. A party that checked all the above boxes. 
 
A KARAOKE PARTY!
 
After my husband and I welcomed everyone the evening of our karaoke party, I cranked out the following little vignette to add some context and some humor: 

Steven and I began steadily dating after our reunion. My father, having put up with my love life dramas, was quite explicit in his advice. And after one failed marriage, I was more open than usual to taking my father’s advice on what seemed to be a promising relationship with Steven.
Bluntly put, my father’s message was,
“Iris, don’t f-ck it up!”

 
I guess I didn’t, because we are still together. 
  
But back to the KARAOKE PARTY…..
There was a downside.
 
The largest private karaoke room I could find in Tampa only held 25 people. Whittling my lust – whoops, I meant list – down to 25 was an exercise in both social nuancing and tact. Those two attributes aren’t usually present in my personal bag of tricks.
 
I did the best I could, but many were left out. To those, I profusely apologize.
 
The venue: La La Karaoke in Tampa. 
 
It made me slightly nervous when quite a few people I invited gave the following response: “Oh, I don’t do karaoke, but I’ll come.” I figured the open bar might break down some of their hesitation to belt-out a few bars of their favorite ballads.
 
My friend Lynne and I spent some late-night hours singing along with Internet music videos – songs from our junior high and high school years that could be classified as swoon-worthy. In addition, we concurred that for a song to make the cut it had to be easy to sing to and upbeat in both message and tone. 
 
After listening to our renditions from an adjacent room, my husband snuck up close behind me and whispered with a chuckle: “Don’t even think about giving up your day jobs to start a singing group.” 
 
We both laughed. We knew how bad we sounded. 
 
Here’s a partial list of some songs we went ga-ga over during the night before the big event:

Dedicated to the one I love
Bad Bad Leroy Brown
Benny and the Jets
Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright
50 Ways to Leave Your Lover
I Can’t Get No Satisfaction
I’ll Have to Say I Love You in a Song
I Say a Little Prayer
Louie Louie
Love Will Keep us Together
Mack the Knife
Mrs. Robinson
Pretty Woman
Puff the Magic Dragon
Stop in the Name of Love
Sweet Home Alabama
Take it to the Limit
Truckin
Wake up Little Susie
Wedding Blues
Can’t Hurry Love
That’s What Friends are For

 
Did the shy people sing?
Some did and some didn’t.
 
Did the not-so-shy live up to their potential to belt out a song with verve and enthusiasm? I’d say, “Yes”.
 
How many REALLY had fun?
I think we hovered around 90 percent.
 
Would I do it all over again and throw another Karaoke party?
Absolutely.
 
In closing, a big shout-out to La La Karaoke in Tampa: www.lalakaraoke.com
The food was terrific – so was the alcohol – and the staff functioned like a well-oiled machine allowing me to sing with my buddies to my heart’s content
https://www.icloud.com/photos/#/icloudlinks/066Ydk9RJVIYFfJBu3eMhTLmg/

And that’s how to beat “The Blues”!
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

PS: And major kudos to my son, Max, who also contributed to our Karaoke playlist. Unlike Lynne and I, he chose text only to communicate his choices. And, BTW, he’s wisely keeping his day job too.

Today Is Our Anniversary

Today is our anniversary. My husband, Steven, and I have been married to each other for 49 years. 
The operative phrase is “to each other”.
 
We both had been married before.
We both had gone through a divorce.
And we both had learned that if it’s not right, get out. 
 
When Steven and I first re-met at our 10th high school reunion, I was immediately smitten. I never really had the courage to ask him if the feeling was mutual. It’s probably more accurate to say, I grew on him!

There was ONE thing upon which we agreed as soon as we started seeing each other steadily and that was that if our relationship wasn’t making each of us happy, we would end it.  

So, does that mean that every day over the last almost five decades we have made each other happy every single day? I think not. 
 
Has anyone aggravated me more than he has?
HARDLY.
And I know I have aggravated him more than anyone else ever has because he tells me so countless times.
 
What has kept us together – besides shared finances, homes, cars, and lifestyles?
Chemistry? FOR SURE.
Similar values and political beliefs? MOST OF THE TIME. 
Kids? HEE HEE! THAT COULD BE A WHOLE OTHER BOOK, MUCH LESS AN ADDITIONAL COLUMN!
A firm belief, as cheesy as it sounds, that we are soul mates? ABSOLUTELY.
And a core realization that if we couldn’t make it with each other, we couldn’t make it with anyone.
 
We still have our frustrations, our annoyances, our wanting-to-pull-our-hair-out-of-our-heads impatience with each other.

He’s very, very clean, but also very, very disorganized and messy – piles of papers, clothes and toiletries everywhere.I can easily function amid dust and crumbs, but am extremely organized. There are no piles I can’t dismantle. My lists have lists.

He is NEVER on time.
I am ALWAYS on time or too early. 
Therefore, whenever we leave the house together for a shared event, we always start-off in a fight. He accuses me of being rigid and inflexible. I accuse him of being deliberately passive-aggressive and slow moving.
 
He likes bland, plain food. 
For me, the saltier the better; the saucier the better, the cheesier the better. 
 
He is never hungry.
I am hungry all the time.
 
He tells me I harp on things way too long and in too much detail.
He tells me I have a long memory for hurts and disappointments and a too short memory for joy.
 
I tell him I get tired of looking for things he has lost or forgotten where he has put them, that he has no sense of direction and won’t look at a map and I still can’t understand that for someone so logical how he can’t remember the difference between texts and e mails! Geez.
 
However, we have:

overcome hurdles,survived profound losses,and re-surfaced after waging fierce battles,still together.  

My husband is:

the wind beneath my sails,my profound sense of security,my most consistent source of support,and I think he would say the same about me. 

We are each other’s ROOTS:

We started-off being born in the same hospital six days apart.We spent second, third, fourth and fifth grade in the same classroom.And we attended the same high school.

Long live “The Pastor Pair” and

long live all the other marriages that flourish and endure among impossible odds too.
 
And Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

PS: I finally plowed through one of the romance novels I promised myself I would read. My choice: 28 Summers by Elin Hilderbrand. I enjoyed the plot’s twists and turns, but I still don’t understand why the two lovers didn’t leave their respective partners and get together initially, thus saving all the drama????

When the Unthinkable Happens

In one of my April columns, I wrote about my very, very best friend, Andrea. She perished in a car/train collision 50 years ago at age 28 on April 15, 1975. She left a husband and two little boys, ages five and three. And she was also survived by three brothers, a mom and dad and grandparents. Little did I know I’d soon be writing about her again.

Five young campers – aspiring sailors – wake-up on Monday, July 28 eagerly looking forward to another fun day of sailing camp on Biscayne Bay in Miami, Florida. It is a hot and humid day – typical for summertime in the Sunshine State. 

I imagine the five of them, accompanied by their nineteen-year-old counselor, pulling away from the dock heading toward the open water for another lesson in sailing. I can just hear their excited words. I can just see their smiling faces as the wind swirls around them. I can picture their yet-to-be fully developed little bodies wrapped in life jackets in case of mishap. 

No one knows – even now – exactly how their sailboat and a massive commercial barge collided, but the sailboat ended up submerged under the barge and witnesses shortly after the collision said, “All the kids went flying off.”

The counselor and one camper were thrown clear and survived without injury. Two died instantly and two little girls were taken to a nearby hospital. One of the two hospitalized was later released. The last little girl, age 10, lingered for a few days. She passed away on Saturday without regaining consciousness. She was buried on Sunday. 

The young lady’s name was Arielle Mazi Buchman and she was the  granddaughter of my very, very best friend Andrea and named in her memory. 
 


The family rabbi, Eliot Pearlson, conducted the burial service for Ari. When he was interviewed, he said that it was “one of the hardest weeks of his life.” And added that Ari was “a remarkable child – an old soul always helping others.” 

How do we live in a world where our biggest nightmares can come true?

How do we go on after unspeakable loss?

How do we push forward with such a heavy burden to carry?
 
William Wordsworth’s poem “Ode: Intimations of Immortality” comes to mind. It expresses that while we can’t return to the joyful moments of the past, there is value in finding strength from those memories:

Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, but rather find
Strength in what remains behind. 

I turned for guidance to several people who have lost children.

One suggested that it helps to both rage and mourn – to express  emotions openly and without fearing judgment.Another said, “No books, no philosophizing, no commiserating really helps; but people who both care and show-up is comforting.“ And if you have other children, all agreed you owe it to them to not abdicate your role as a loving and supportive parent.

 
I know Ari’s parents, siblings and grandparents will continue to be supported by their community, friends, family and neighbors. And I know they will take care of themselves and each other. 

I know they will find comfort in their Jewish faith and that its religious rituals will provide structure and a sense of order. 

Maybe, given time, some future legacy project honoring the cherished memory of Ari will help them carry on also. 

And, as we often say in Judaism to honor a person’s legacy and acknowledge the impact they had on others:

“May their memory be a blessing.” 

I hope that for them too.
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Baseball’s Life Lessons

My favorite person to go to a professional baseball game with is my husband.
Having played college baseball, he teaches me all the finer points of the game – which make watching it a much richer experience. And he provides me with “color commentary” which includes things like past historical feats of some of the players we are avidly watching, entertaining anecdotes and his own personal insights. 
His gems of wisdom following each new facet of professional baseball always strike me as useful.
For instance, who knew a pitcher could throw so many different types of pitches?
     Sliders     
     Sinkers
     Cutters 
     Sweepers 
     Four-seam SB and 
     Change Ups
And at such variance of speeds: from 70 to over 100 MPH.

“See Iris,” my husband says, “there are many ways to approach a specific situation in life and with varying degrees of speed and intensity. If you are in charge, keep them guessing.”

He reminds me not only to watch the speed of the opposing pitcher and the type of pitch he throws, but to heed the bigger picture:

How many pitches has the pitcher on the mound thrown thus far in the game?How many strikes? How many balls?Does he throw right or left-handed?What type of pitcher is he? Starter? Relief?Closer?

“See Iris,” he points out, “you need to thoroughly know who you are up against and both what his repertoire and role is.”

And then there are all those acronyms, such as:
OBP – On-Base Percentage. It’s a statistic that measures how frequently a batter reaches base by any means, including hits, walks and being hit by a pitch. 
SLG – Slugging Percentage is a statistic that measures a hitter’s power by calculating the average number of bases a batter reaches per at-bat.
WHIP – Walks and Hits per Inning Pitched is a measure of how many base runners a pitcher allows per inning.
ERA – Earned Run Average is the average number of earned runs a pitcher allows over nine innings.

“See, Iris,” my husband reminds me, “it’s not enough to just study the competition, you have to make use of all accessible information so you can sharpen your own game plan.”

At the beginning of each game, we may still be sitting in the dining area finishing up a pre-game hot dog and Coke. Or we may still be hunting for our seats. Or we may already be in the stands chatting quietly with other nearby fans. No matter. As soon as the first strands of our national anthem, “The Star-Spangled Banner” rings out, we immediately cease what we are doing. We rise. We place our left hand over our hearts. And we sing out loudly and proudly. 

And on this, my husband doesn’t have to instruct me at all. Pride in our country is a given.

And when the Reds start trailing the visiting team, my husband relates the following: 
It’s 2004 and the Boston Red Sox have lost three straight games to the New York Yankees in a best-of-seven series to clinch the American League Championship. Unbelievably, the Red Sox win the next four games and advance to the World Series. In game 4 of the World Series, the Red Sox are down 3-0 in the eighth inning. A pivotal home run by David Ortiz culminates in the Red Sox winning the World Series which breaks an 86-year championship drought for the Boston Red Sox.

As Steven tells me, “Iris, never lose hope. It’s not over ‘til it’s over.”

His gems of wisdom following each new facet of professional baseball always strike me as useful.

I was in the stands July 8, 2023 when Cincinnati Reds rookie shortstop Elly De La Cruz, known for his exceptional speed and athleticism, stole first base and second base. Then, with the Milwaukee Brewers pitcher preoccupied, De La Cruz stole third base as well. When the pitcher was walking back to the mound, De La Cruz took off for home and slid in safely. Stealing second, third and home in the span of three pitches was a feat which hadn’t been witnessed since 1961. 

“See, Iris,” my husband earnestly entreats me, “always keep your eye out for the extraordinary.”

And my bit of advice: Roots are roots. And no matter how great or how dismal their record, always root for your “home team.”

And Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

PS: My husband and I were in the stands last night when the Cincinnati Reds played the Atlanta Braves. In the top of the eighth inning, the Braves had the audacity to score EIGHT RUNS – breaking a 3-3 tied ballgame.

My husband was totally disgruntled and implored me to leave the game as there was little chance of a Red’s win. I reluctantly – very reluctantly – agreed and gathered up my purse and half-eaten bag of peanuts. We headed home – causally turning on the radio to listen to what we perceived would be a very heartbreaking end for the Reds as we headed down I-75 North.

It was heartbreaking, but not in the way we anticipated. 

The Cincinnati Reds came back in the bottom half of the eighth inning to score EIGHT RUNS too!

The game was tied at 11 to 11 and we were listening to it on the RADIO; not watching it in the stands surrounded by wildly cheering fans. I was livid.

The Reds ended up losing in extra innings by one run. That was okay because they played with gusto and determination.

What did I learn? My husband knows a lot about baseball, but not even he can predict when the extraordinary will happen. 

And I am never leaving a game early again.

A Deeper Look into a Familiar Thing

Most of you probably know by now The Story: I started an up-cyled jean jacket business when my best buddy sent me a jean jacket for my 75th birthday. It wasn’t just ANY jean jacket – my jean jacket was emblazoned on the back with a massive sequined hamsa.

That was three years ago and, since then, I’ve been embellishing gently worn jean jackets with a plethora of designs: butterflies, hearts, pirates, evil eyes, and roses. My most favorite, however, is the HAMSA. What a rich and expansive history this object has – spanning cultures, contexts and religions. 

Hamsas are known by two other names too: the Hand of Miriam and the Hand of Fatima. A Middle Eastern and North African symbol, it is primarily considered a protective device to ward off the “evil eye.” However, it is also thought to bring not only good luck, but happiness, to the wearer.

So captivating do I find these amulets that not only do I hunt for them, buy them, covet them and wear them, but I hang hamsas all over my home. Often accompanied by this prayer, hamsas focus on themes of protection, love and harmony within the household. And who doesn’t need that?

Hamsa Home Prayer“May this hamsa be a source of protection and blessing for our home,  
Shielding us from harm and negativity,  
Filling our space with love, joy, and peace.  
May our family be united in understanding and support, 
Nurturing each other with kindness and compassion. 
May laughter and happiness echo within these walls, 
And may we find comfort and refuge in each other’s presence.  
As we gather here, may we be blessed with health and prosperity,  
Guided by this hamsa to create a sanctuary of love. 
With gratitude for our shared moments,  
We invite blessings to flow freely in our home.”

Less well known is the Hamsa Workplace Prayer – a prayer that hangs in a job setting – often focusing on themes of success, harmony and protection in professional endeavors and promoting mutual support. 

Hamsa Workplace Prayer“May this hamsa be a shield of protection in our workplace, guarding us against negativity and obstacles.  
May it bring blessings of success, creativity, and collaboration to our efforts.  
May we work together in harmony, fostering respect and support among colleagues.  
May our endeavors flourish, leading to growth and prosperity for all.  
May we find joy and fulfillment in our work, and may our contributions make a positive impact.  
With gratitude for the opportunities we have, let this hamsa guide us on our path to success.”And if you are wearing a hamsa?
Not only does it protect you from the “evil eye” but also from negative energies and harmful ill intentions. 
It provides strength during difficult times.
It symbolizes a desire for peace and unity.
It attracts good luck and positive vibes.
It enhances spiritual awareness.

Hamsas hang in my bedroom, my living room, my front hall, dining room and gazebo. 
     Who can resist a hamsa?
     Or for that matter, a jean jacket?

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

A Letter to my Five Sons

July 14, 2025
9:28 PM

Dear Harry, Frank, Max, Sam and Louie, 

My 78th birthday is fast approaching, hence this letter.

When I look back at the many things I have experienced in life, I am filled with such gratitude for the opportunities for adventure and engagement and challenge that have come my way:

My weekly column, which began 38 years agoMy stint as the managing editor of my hometown Jewish newspaper, The American IsraeliteMy radio show – Sunday Nights with IrisMy two books: Slices, Bites and Other Facts of Life with your grandmother and The Secret Life of a Weight Obsessed Woman My motivational speaking career And, at present, my forming a company, PYB LLC, to upcycle jean jackets for both funky and not-so-funky women

BUT, of all the many hats I have worn, none has consistently provided me with more pride, more joy and more sheer pleasure (and more angst and more aggravation and more worry!) than raising the five of you. 

I have closely watched each of you dig deep to mine your potential, face challenges that could have easily shattered others and, in doing so, methodically carve-out your own individual path. You have worked diligently, hard and smart. And, in the process, you have matured into men that any mother – anywhere – would be proud of.

I ‘d like to take ALL the credit for the fine men you have become, but that is not possible. Throughout your formative years, you were molded, influenced, guided and mentored by a plethora of wise, kind and remarkably scrappy people – your fathers, your grandparents, your aunts, your uncles, your cousins and, of course, each other. (However, I do take some credit, you can be sure!)

On this birthday, I am making you a promise that I will continue to do all in my power to remain healthy, vital, engaged and independent. You are all way too busy to be dealing with caring for me. 

In return, however, I am asking each of you to do two things for me on my birthday: 

Please write me a note about something I don’t know about you – maybe an experience that you had, maybe a dream you hold close, maybe a philosophy that resonates with you or a quote that inspires you. And send it! Please take an intention that you have not followed through on and put in the time, thought and effort to set it in motion and keep it going. Please pick something that will enhance either your physical, emotional or mental health. And please share your Good Intention Journey with me.

Many kisses, massive hugs and much love,

PS: I apologize for not being the greatest cook, never learning how to iron and, at times, being maddeningly illogical. 

PSS: I am sending each of you a copy of this letter in the mail because I know most of you rarely read my newsletter.  

Joy in the Little Things

BEFORE you start reading this column, answer these two questions:

Where are you?And how many other things are you planning on doing while you read this week’s column?

IF, before beginning to read this week’s column, 
you have poured yourself a glass of wine or brewed yourself a cup of coffee,
if you have sought out a favorite spot in your house to sit,
if you have lit a scented candle,
if you have leisurely gazed around at your surroundings and felt appreciative for what you have,
you are on the right track to finding joy in the little things and the little moments.

And I commend you.

On the other hand, if you are going to read this while you empty the dishwasher, when you are stopped at a traffic light, at the same time you berate your kid or while making a grocery list, I urge you to read the rest of this column in one quiet setting NOW.

These are not random questions.  

If you are a regular reader of my weekly musings, think about where, when and how you read it. Do you sandwich it in between other tasks or give yourself an enjoyable pause in your routine to fully enjoy the experience? 

How we go about the dailiness of our lives – the small moments that comprise our day – says a great deal about how we live our lives. How we go through our day is how we go through our life. 

I used to write a 900-word column. Now my norm hovers at 600 words. Why? Because our attention spans are getting shorter and shorter as is our ability to sustain prolonged concentration.

I’m as guilty as you are. I skim through articles in The New York Times – articles I should be reading in depth in order to gain more nuanced knowledge of pivotal world events. And even when I do find something vastly enjoyable to read and not intellectually over-challenging, I usually peruse it while leaning against my kitchen counter, sipping a lukewarm cup of coffee – rather than STOPPING and putting in the energy to indulge fully in a moment of leisure.

Why? 
Because I am hyper focused on productivity – on completing my ridiculously long to-do list every day and equating my self-worth with the level of my output.

What happened to bygone days?
My family on weekends would jump in the car simply to “go for a ride” or to visit nearby relatives and sit on their front porch, enjoying meandering, inconsequential chats with each other.

My mother’s favorite magazine was Redbook – but not for the fashion trends or guidance on homemaking and recipes. Her pleasure emanated from Redbook’s short stories. 

I ask you: when was the last time you read a short story just for sheer pleasure?

Every morning, I wake-up faced with a long to-do list. I rush through the list – hoping to finish it. But as fast as I cross something off, something else replaces it.  

I never finish it.

Why can’t we approach each task with the attitude of making it as pleasant as possible? 

Twenty minutes of physical therapy to strengthen my core and hips is how I start my day. I usually run through the set of exercises as quickly as possible – not really concentrating on tightening my muscles as I gyrate around. This morning, before commencing, I took the time to light a candle, turn on some classical violin music on Pandora and center my mind on being fully present for each extended movement. 

And when it was over? I felt like I had accomplished something noteworthy: I performed my morning routine more effectively and I savored doing it. 

For those of us laser-focused on PRODUCTIVITY, think about this:  
THE BIGGEST WASTE OF TIME IS NOT LIVING IN THE MOMENT.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,