Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 21

Holiday letter 2016 updated 2021

Happy Holidays and here’s my first annual holiday letter to go with it.

       The Pastor Pair (Iris and Steven) didn’t take any exotic trips this year – to foreign countries and mysterious ports of entry, that is. We did take a few unscheduled and unforeseen excursions to the hospital though.
       Five different hospitals over the course of three months were visited to be exact. For just one purpose: KIDNEY STONES.  The service, food, accommodations and staff were all satisfactory. Prices varied, amenities were spotty and room service sometimes took a long time.
       One hospital definitely had the best view, though. An unimpeded, panoramic view of the downtown skyline from the ninth floor – unfortunately we had no deck on which to observe the sights. Didn’t matter though. If we were able to block out the reality of the IV pole, the constrictions of a catheter, and the inconvenience of a hospital bed, both my husband and I agreed it could have been a most romantic setting even without the deck.
       As for the kids:
            Summer camps and summer jobs
            Fun and frolic was their reality buffer
            Trips to Israel and Europe
            After all, why should the children suffer?
            And still no engagements, marriages, nor grandchildren
       None of us climbed Mt. Everest nor won the lottery. None of us repaired the peeling bathroom wallpaper or cleaned the insides of the storm windows.
      The Cuisinart is still broken. The video camera is too. The Internet hasn’t been explored and using a TV remote control is still beyond my capabilities.
       I still haven’t learned how to speak French fluently, prepare rack of lamb with flair, and effortlessly and with grace, entertain.
       To be perfectly honest, I still haven’t learned to speak even a smidgen of F’rench, broil a lamb chop or entertain on the most basic level, much less with grace.
       I’m still bitchy when I get tired and cranky when I’ve overeaten and sleepy when I should be romantic.  And lately, all fresh vegetables give me gas.
       My husband hasn’t taken off one Wednesday to spend JUST WITH ME like my friends Gloria and Alter routinely do and he forgot to send me 12 perfect red roses for my birthday this year – a mere oversight I’m sure.
       I didn’t get another book published nor my Visa balance down. I haven’t learned the art of growing perfect African Violets, nor lost the five pounds I gained last holiday season. My knees still jiggle in spite of walking, biking and using The Fast Trak II machine. And my arms sag worse than ever above my elbows.
       We haven’t remodeled our bathrooms, expanded our kitchen nor moved to a more splendid location. We haven’t invested wisely, inherited a bundle or robbed a bank, so we are postponing our retirement move to Provence for a short time.
       We haven’t read The Bible, any books other than those on sale at the grocery store, or any classics whatsoever.
      We haven’t dared to be different and dye our hair green, though I must admit my husband did completely shave his head in January and one of the boys had their ear pierced. And their tongue. And they have now all made it through their Bar Mitzvahs with dignity and grace. Whew.

     As for our kids who are still in school:
          Not in the top 1 percent
          A few after-school DT’s
          Homework incomplete
          A predominance of C’s
     As for our kids who are out of school:
         Working
         Partying
         Moving
         Partying
         Finding themselves
         Partying

      The Pastors are still planning on learning how to sail, surf, and hydra plane. And The Pastors are hoping one day soon to catch up on the gardening and develop a reliable filing system, and take more family getaways, and organize the photos, and take a formal group portrait. 
      Like our cohorts, we’ve had our losses this year and unfortunately too many much-loved and familiar faces are no longer with us. For those, we mourn.
      In short, this year, in spite of what YOU may write US, was a pretty run-of-the-mill year. We had our share of triumphs, joys and championships. But in between the highs, there were a lot of days of treading water, fighting just to maintain the status quo and settling for average growth, average achievement and average production. And who wants to hear about those?
      Happy Holidays to all and to all, a Good Night.


PS: The above family holiday letter was written 23 years ago in 1998. We have since been blessed with three lovely daughters-in-law and seven grandchildren. And I have gained an appreciation for my adult sons, who in addition to their responsibilities and obligations, continue to “party hearty”.

What’s changed? 
Facebook, Instagram and Tik Tok have replaced the holiday letter so that 24/7 we can be reminded how “ideal” everyone else’s life is compared to ours. And Covid continues to wreak havoc.

What hasn’t changed? 
Our reverence for life.

Happy New Year and Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Sugar cookie moments

The time between Christmas and New Years is a unique chunk of days when business obligations are more relaxed and proximity to family and friends is maximized 

It`s a time when many of us look through old photos to remind us of those we have lost and those magical times we have shared

Let’s wrap up this crazy year on a positive note 
Send me a picture of a “Sugar Cookie Moment” worth preserving in your life and I will publish in a later newsletter 

Please include your name,
permission to publish
and the story behind the photo

Keep preserving your bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Life Lessons From The Temptations

Crowds are swirling on the sidewalks – billboards are flashing merrily – theatres are filled to capacity. I hear the excited hiss of the audience as the opening notes from the orchestra reach our ears and the stage set is exposed. Even our ever-present masks can’t dim the thrill of being among a live audience after so many months of COVID darkness.

Amidst re-openings and re-awakening, BROADWAY IS BACK – a celebration of resilience, transitions and breakthroughs. 

It’s December 1, 2021 and I’m part of this joyous moment in time. I am actually in a low lettered row in the 98 year-old Imperial Theatre – just off Times Square – to see up close and live  Ain’t Too Proud: The Life and Times of the Temptations . The 1417 seat theatre is filled almost to capacity. The crowd claps wildly as the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame band appears before us. 
According to Wikpedia, Ain’t Too Proud debuted in 2018 as a jukebox musical with music and lyrics by The Temptations and a book by Dominique Morisseau. The Temptations, whose roots scream Motown, opened at Broadway’s Imperial Theatre in March 2019 after a series of regional productions.
 
The production closed down for COVID and re-opened on Oct 16 of this year. 
 
Not only did I thoroughly enjoy the 2 hour and 30 minute show, but I learned a few hefty life lessons too – life lessons worth repeating: 
 On-the-road touring as a band has a price.Otis Williams, the only original Temptations member still performing with the band, married and divorced numerous times over the decades. In 1961, his wife, Josephine, gave birth to what would be his only child: Otis Lamont. Otis laments that he missed a lot of time with his son when he was growing-up. He never re-captured that time. Otis Lamont died on a construction work site in 1983 at age 23 from a freak accident.  
 Don’t blindly trust anyone.Wikipedia reports that The Temptations were the original vocalists of the anti-Vietman, protest song “War.” After Motown began receiving repeated requests to release “War” as a single, a co-writer of the song and producer decided to re-record the song with Edwin Starr as the vocalist. Motown withheld The Temptations’ version from single release so as not to alienate their more conservative fans. Starr’s version of “War” was a No. 1 hit on the  Billboard Hot 100  chart in 1970, and is not only the most successful and well-known record of his career, but it is also one of the most popular protest songs ever recorded.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=dQHUAJTZqF0
 
 Stay open minded.Otis Williams thought the lyrics to “The Way You Do the Things You Do” were kinda trite:You got a smile so bright
You know you could’ve been a candle
I’m holding you so tight
You know you could’ve been a handle
The way you swept me off my feet
You know you could’ve been a broom
And baby you smell so sweet
You know you could’ve been some perfume
Well you could’ve been anything that you wanted to
I can tell
The way you do the things you do
I like the way you do the things you do 
Luckily, he recorded it anyway. The 1964 hit single written by Smokey Robinson and Bobby Rogers became The Temptations first charted single on Billboad Hot 100 and went on to become an America top 40 hit in four successive decades. Remember: Everyone is replaceable.The Temptations, called by the editors of Rolling Stone, “Indisputably the greatest black vocal group of the Modern Era…,” started with five core members and claims 26 performers came and went over the years, constantly shaking up the make-up of the group. Out-sized egos and drugs led to fragmentation. Their nickname became “The Temps” because of the large number of performers cycling in and out of the band over the years. 
 The power of music is the one lasting component.The product rules – not the people – in the group or cast.  
Throughout Ain’t Too Proud, Otis keeps referring to “the 
whole being greater than the sum of its parts.” (I learned that in my college freshman Psych class as the Gestalt Theory). Broadway certainly reflects that philosophy.
 
I’ve already marked down on My Broadway Bucket List my desire to see Billy Crystal in Mr. Saturday Night – a new musical comedy previewing March 1, 2022 at the Nederlander Theatre. 
 
I ain’t too proud to admit that at times life can be pretty damn grand.
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom, 
 
Iris Ruth Pastor
 
PS: Late-breaking news – the December 14th performance of Ain’t too Proud was cancelled due to a breakthrough COVID case. The theatre appears to have re-opened on Dec 15th.

So Weird How Things Happen

In the middle of a phone conversation with a good buddy, on my way to the airport to fly back to Tampa from New York City,  my friend happens to suggest I check out a columnist in our local paper whose writing reminds her of mine.
 
The columnist’s name is Stephanie Hayes.
Once on the plane, I proceed to google her with the intent of reading a bunch of her columns. I never get past her bio. 
 
Why? 
Because, in her bio, she mentions that she is syndicated world- wide.  
I stop cold in my boots: World Wide Syndication????
I’ve been dreaming of that for decades!
 
I quickly google Creators Syndicate and click on submissions. Pretty straight forward: submit 4-6 columns, 500 to 600 words in length. And wait 6-8 weeks for an answer 
 
The last time I actually submitted columns for consideration, Huffington Post accepted me six hours later. This makes me feel Creators Syndicate is worth a shot. After all, I’m not a newbie.
 [image error]
I’ve written for scores of parenting magazines, newspapers across the country and websites galore. And not to toot my own horn, but I was cited as one of the most popular columnists at the The Huffington Post until they eliminated the category under which I wrote. 
 
Dilemma: Penning pieces for over 35 years, I literally have well over 1800 columns! How in the heck do I pick my favorites when I’ve written on such a wide range of topics and over such a broad spectrum of time?
 
My work is:
Personal
Informational
News worthy
Strictly bitching/venting 
Topical
Rambling 
Random as hell
 
 
My subject range:
Big boobs to bad hair days
Loving tributes to my husband and a few angry tirades to him too 
The joys and challenges of: raising five sons, being the sandwich generation, aging, the empty nest and moving to a new city 
The experience of: losing your parents, becoming a grandparent, parenting adult off spring and feeling – as I age – both irrelevant and grateful – sometimes at the same time. 
 
How do I choose? 
How do I choose wisely?
 
So dear reader, here is where YOU come in
 
Tell me your most memorable “Incidentally, Iris” column – the one that resonated with you, made you laugh, made you cry or did all three. 
 
Send to irisruthpastor@gmail.com
 
Thank you, in advance, for both your feedback and time. Both are very much appreciated. 
 
Becoming a world-wide syndicated column has been a life-long dream. I’d love for you to be a part of making it happen.
 
Thank you and Keep Preserving Your Bloom, 
 
Iris Ruth Pastor

The Lens Through Which We Perceive

The lens through which we perceive 
colors everything.

When I’m happy, 
I take things in stride
and put things in “proper” perspective.
“Proper” meaning realistic –
not distorted 
not over-blown 
not leaning toward the negative.

But….
Oh my….
When I go to my dark place,
When I look for things 
to make me sad
and mad
and despairing,
it’s so easy 
to go down the unlighted rabbit hole 
and clutch the demons to me.

This year,
I was haunted by the ghosts 
of Thanksgivings past.
This year,
I failed to revel in the moment.
This year,
I obsessed over what was,
not the joys of what are.
 
Dwelling on the fact
that I’ve got 
more yesterdays than tomorrows –
Missing my husband over the weekend  –
who was recovering from pneumonia
1000 miles away –
only intensified my funk.

I know I’m not alone.
Visiting the local liquor store 
the night before Thanksgiving,
the aisles are teeming with shoppers.
The lines are long.
The carts are overflowing.
All are intent on finding the right brew
to induce the right mood:
Tito’s Handmade Vodka
Malibu Coconut Rum 
 
Clearly, I’m not the only one
yearning to be free of loss and regret, 
itching to cut loose, 
itching to have 
a rip-roaring grand time 
with our nearest and dearest, 
as we break bread – 
but not our bond – 
during the holiday weekend
of Thanksgiving.

I aspired to rise to the occasion. 
To be:
more accepting of the ravages of time,
more adaptable to what is, not was,
less reflective and more participatory.

Most years I manage
to carry it off.
This year, I didn’t.
But next year….
Well, next year….
might very well be different.


Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

PS: As memories of the holiday weekend faded, my spirits began to rise. You might say, “My mojo returned.”

Once more, I’m smiling. I’m energized. I’m excited. And why not? Tonight starts the beginning of another family-filled weekend: my grandson’s Bar Mitzvah. 

For me, the reality is there ARE less tomorrows than yesterdays. That’s why I’m no longer squandering a single day.

No Substitute for Hard Work and Gratitude

There is no substitute for hard work, as these quotes reflect:
 
“It doesn’t matter how great your shoes are if you don’t accomplish anything in them.” 
―  Martina Boone, Compulsion
 
“Logic will get you from point A to point B. Imagination and hard work will take you everywhere else.” 
―  Albert Einstein
 
“Maybe the cure for any burnout is to work harder.” 
―  Phil Knight, Shoe Dog: A Memoir by the Creator of NIKE
 
“Work smartly, diligently and silently; One day your introduction will be “Google Me.” 
―  Kayambila Mpulamasaka
 
“If you trust in yourself. . .and believe in your dreams. . .and follow your star. . . you’ll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren’t so lazy.” 
―  Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men
 
“The difference between ordinary and extraordinary is that little extra.” 
―  Jimmy Johnson
 
And what happens after we do the heavy lifting? After we achieve the level of success we were striving to reach? What then? How important a component is gratitude among the super successful?

I recently came across an intriguing article by Ruth Umoh on how some of the most successful business minds live a gratitude-filled life. (Ruth Umoh is editor-in-chief of The Filament and a veteran business journalist.)Umoh states that taking the time to be thankful and appreciative for things you have received – tangible or intangible – makes you feel more positive emotions, relish good experiences, improve your health, help you deal with adversity and build strong relationships — all crucial both in and out of the workplace.Umoh mentions Oprah Winfrey, who tracked the things she was grateful for in a “gratitude journal” for a decade. Here’s what Oprah was grateful for on October 12, 1996: 
1. A run around Florida’s Fisher Island with a slight breeze that kept me cool. 
2. Eating cold melon on a bench in the sun. 
3 . A long and hilarious chat with Gayle about her blind date with Mr. Potato Head. 
4. Sorbet in a cone, so sweet that I literally licked my finger. 
5. Maya Angelou calling to read me a new poem.  In 2014, Mark Zuckerberg challenged himself to write one thank you note a day to counter his critical nature, social awkwardness and to express more gratitude. “It’s important for me, because I’m a really critical person,” Zuckerberg told Bloomberg Business Week. “I always kind of see how I want things to be better, and I’m generally not happy with how things are, or the level of service that we’re providing for people, or the quality of the teams that we built.” Former PepsiCo CEO Indra Nooyi revealed in an interview with Fortune that she sends letters to the parents of top Pepsi executives. She began doing so after a trip home to India, where she witnessed her mother’s pride at all the praise she received about her daughter’s success.There is no substitute for hard work, just as there is no substitute for being thankful for what we have and having others give credence to our contributions too. And on this day – the day after Thanksgiving – many of us are fortunate to wake up in comfortable surroundings, with full bellies and full hearts filled with gratitude as well. And that consciousness of gratitude – for what we already have and what we already have achieved – can go a long way in upping our chances for both happiness and success – in and out of the work force – in the coming days and months.

Especially if we spread the message of conscious gratitude around – genuinely, thoughtfully and frequently.
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
 
Iris Ruth Pastor
 
PS: Thank you to my social media gal, Irna Skoljik, for finding the quotes on hard work.  

The December Dilemma

I’m traveling with a friend. We stop at an artist’s cooperative in a university town on our way back home. We spot a dizzying array of Christmas tree ornaments. As always, we ignore them – they have no relevance in our Jewish lives.
 
Abruptly, my friend stops in her tracks. “Actually,” she notes, “a Christmas tree does have some relevance in my life because one of my kids puts one up yearly. Do you think I should buy her and her family an ornament as an inclusive gesture of good holiday cheer?”
 
Confusion reigns down upon me. I have no idea how to answer her. What if she bought that adorable bagel Christmas tree ornament and sent it to her daughter to hang up as her kids decorated the tree? Would it be welcomed? Would it be in bad taste? Would it confuse her grandchildren? Would it chip away at her daughter’s commitment to raise her kids Jewish even though she is in an inter-faith marriage and has made a concession to her husband to yearly put up a tree?
 
My friend passes on the purchase, but the questions linger as we head home. 
 
Ah! The December Dilemma – that treacherous time of year when multiple holidays collide and even people with good intentions can become embroiled in toxic misunderstandings. 


 
And it’s no wonder so many of us wonder. From the Pew Research site, I gather the following information:

About four-in-ten married Jews (42%) have a non-Jewish spouse… intermarriage is almost nonexistent among married Orthodox Jews (2%), while nearly half of all non-Orthodox Jews who are married say their spouse is not Jewish (47%). Intermarriage is more common among those who have married in recent years: Among Jewish respondents who got married since the beginning of 2010, 61% have a non-Jewish spouse, compared with 18% of Jews who got married before 1980. 
 
My friend and I jokingly rattle off a random list of 15 Jewish friends who have married children. Eleven of them have kids who have married non-Jews.
 
Days pass and a barrage of thoughts continually assault me on how to both approach and celebrate the holidays in mixed marriage households with children. 
 
I approach one of my favorite rabbis for counsel and guidance.
 
Rabbi Gary Klein is Rabbi Emeritus at Temple Ahavat Shalom in Palm Harbor, Florida. Below are his thoughts: 
     It is important that Jews in interfaith families do not become confused and come to believe that both holidays can be theirs.  A Jewish child growing up in an interfaith home can enjoy celebrating Christmas with his or her Christian parent, aunts and uncles and grandparents; but should not be taught that Christmas is his or her holiday. The same should hold true for a child being raised as a Christian in an interfaith family. They can enjoy the holiday of their Jewish family members; but not be expected and should not be taught to view it as their holiday; as there are huge differences in the fundamental teachings of Judaism and Christianity. 
     Children, at least as early as the time they reach middle school, can see that some of the major teachings of one religion contradict some of the major teachings of the other. It’s important for a child’s self-esteem that they feel that a certain synagogue or a certain church is their second home, that they belong there. But children will soon come to see, especially if they are raised believing that they are both Jewish and Christian, that they are neither, and won’t feel at home anywhere. They can, however, be Jews who love Christians and respect Christianity; or Christians who love Jews and respect Judaism. 
 
Eight more days until we light the first candles on the Menorah, with Christmas closely following. Here’s to peace, tranquility and mutual respect during this holiday season.
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
 
Iris Ruth Pastor

Not a travel writer, nor particularly resourceful

Through a series of events I could not entirely control, my husband and I find ourselves vacationing on Amelia Island last weekend – near Jacksonville, Florida. 
 
Confined in a neck brace, he is still in the throes of post-surgery recovery. Because the proprietress of the bed and breakfast where we had reservations was adamant about us not re-scheduling a second time, we drive to our beachy destination on Saturday, watching the outside temperature drop from 70 degrees, to 60, to 50 to 45 as we barrel further north. Amelia Island is shrouded in darkness and cold slivers of rain, coupled with shearing wind, pounding our windshield as we pull up to Williams House.
 

 
“What a delightful beginning to our two-day get away,” I glumly mutter out loud. 
 
As we lug our suitcases up the brick path, a lovely woman greets us at the door, announcing Happy Hour in the formal living room in 15 minutes. My husband falls asleep as I hastily unpack. I slash on some bright red lipstick and black mascara and slip into a flowing flowered caftan. I descend the huge majestic mahogany staircase eager to socialize – knowing I look rather stunning and dramatic – if I don’t say so myself.  
 
The fireplace is lit. The wine is laid out. Classical music plays softly in the back ground. I seem to be the first guest to arrive. I drink two generously sized glasses of wine, fall fast asleep on the settee. and awake an hour later.
 
The lovely woman is back. 
 
“Oh no! Did I miss all the guests?” I ask petulantly. 
 
“No, Ma’am,” she replies politely. “You and your husband are the only ones staying here this weekend.”
 
I don’t know whether to rejoice or cry. 
 
I re-climb the stairs, wake my husband, we order a pizza, eat too much of it and then sleep soundly til morning. When the tantalizing aroma of maple syrup and strongly brewed coffee drifts up past the majestic stain glass windows lining the staircase and eases into our room, we rouse and gaze out the window. 

                          
 
And then we head downstairs. We feast on buttery croissants, fresh fruit, an eggy soufflé and linger over the coffee, while we learn about the urban legend in regard to the Williams House. 
 
Built in 1856, the original owner sold the house to Marcellus Williams, a Northerner, who proceeded to free his slaves. Local lore boasts that this majestic Greek Revival mansion then became part of the Underground Railroad. The present owner, an architect from New York, refutes that claim. 
 
“I have searched for secret doors to the crawl space. There are none. And I literally crawled on my belly beneath the house in search of a hidden space large enough to hide a runaway slave. Sadly, none exists.” 
 
Though it remains unseasonably cold, the sun is peeking through the clouds. What should we do? Even in our best of times, we don’t golf. And we don’t play tennis. Biking and hiking together is out of the question due to my husband’s post-op limitations. Ditto for touring the Kingsley Plantation or walking on the hard-packed sand of The American Beach. And exploring the famous dunes named “Nana” in search of gopher turtles – not happening either. 
 
My hubby heads back to our room to relax.
So I default to what I always do when visiting a new locale. I seek out:
     Independent bookstores, 
     Art galleries featuring local artists
     Boutiques 
 
In other words, he naps and I shop. 
 
And my best find – that takes the sting out of the limitations of our getaway weekend? A wooden, shabby chic, oversized plaque that fits perfectly on my front porch:
 
         
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
 
Iris Ruth Pastor

P.S. This nifty little periodical features Bed and Breakfasts across the country that have passed comprehensive quality inspections in the industry. For additional info, go to 
www.selectregistry.com

I Wonder If This Is Normal

I wake up in the morning and gaze in the mirror. I can’t believe the 74-year-old face peering back at me.

  

Mirrors aren’t the only mile markers to remind me of my place in the universe.

  Glass Canisters 

When I first married – in my junior year of college – I bought a bunch of glass canisters to grace our Formica kitchen counter. I filled them with red licorice, black licorice, giant gum balls, marshmallows, M&M’s and malted milk balls.
 
Over the years, the canisters remained, but their contents changed. With the birth of my kids, I gradually replaced the candy with Fig Newtons, raisins, and peanut butter crackers.
 
Formica gradually gave way to granite. The kids flew the nest and the canisters contents evolved yet again: a vast assortment of nuts, chia seeds, Grape Nuts cereal, brown rice and mini Kind Bars.

 
    Shoes 
My array of shoes is another reflection of time passing from one delineated stage to another. 
     Then: Booties to high top baby shoes to saddle shoes to penny loafers to training heels to high stilettos 
     Now: Flats, sandals, and lots of sneakers – with one common theme: LOW TO THE GROUND. 

 

Parents 

Another mile marker is how my attitude, priorities, wishes and dreams have changed after burying both my parents. My dad died right after my 65th birthday and my mother died after my 70th birthday.   With their departure, I feel compelled to surround myself with people who knew me in my beginning years. It’s manifesting itself in a weird compulsion – reminding me of the nesting instinct that kicks in when pregnant. Nesting is an instinct or urge in pregnant animals (think cats, hamsters, and birds) and humans to prepare a home – to make it safe and comfortable and inviting.   My nesting instinct has surreptitiously sneaked in – without the accompanying pregnancy – thank goodness.  My nesting instinct is manifesting itself as a vision of a second home where my roots are: in my hometown.  As the years roll by, I’m longing to unite and attach to anything and anyone with a connection to my parents. 
     Distant relatives 
     The few friends of theirs still left
     Children of their cronies 
     The neighbors and friends I grew up with I want to frequent and enjoy the places they patronized:
     The Great American Ball Park (My dad had season tickets to the Cincinnati Reds for years)
      Union Terminal – my mother made a commercial at age 88 to vote for a levy to restore Cincinnati’s Art Deco train station and it passed resoundingly
      The boutiques she patronised and the eateries she visited routinely, alone, as a widow
     The jewelry store where she bought for each of her great granddaughters’ birthdays another pearl to string on a necklace she hoped to give them on the eve of their Bat Mitzvahs. 
 
What is behind all this longing? 
Is it a stage of mourning I’ve yet to embrace? 
     I know spotting a mother/daughter duo out together is no longer a gut punch, though it is still cringeworthy. 
     I recognize my siblings – both by birth and by marriage – have become more important than ever 
     I hold sacred the weekly zoom calls with far-flung family
     And gathering together to celebrate, not just events, but our continued good health, with those we have known for decades has become highly prized. 
 
It’s so funny, but once again, I feel like the pain of loss leads me back – eventually – to revel in the joys and the blessings in my life – many of which continue to emanate from my hometown.
 
Home Sweet Home…. 

The December Dilemma 

   

The holidays are fast approaching. Getting through them with a modicum of grace and dignity – minus hurt feelings and ruffled feathers – is not easy. Adding inter-faith marriage to the mix only lights the flames of dissension faster.
 
I would like to devote a column to this timely subject. Please feel free to respond to the questions below. I whole heartedly welcome your feedback
 
Warm regards,
 
Iris
 
What are some potential pitfalls when celebrating with an interfaith family?
 
How do you preserve religious traditions without offending? 
 
What experience have you had with sharing the non-religious parts of the holiday season together?
 
What holiday themed projects can you do together to bond?
 
If you experience something blatantly offensive, how do you deal with it?

Support The Girls, Ladies

My daughter-in-law, Julie, is very special: When she recognizes a need, she fills it.
Her latest project is collecting bras for women who are disadvantaged.
  
Julie put out the call on Facebook and Instagram for gently used bras. She was deluged with donations of bras in every shape, size and color. Julie’s friends and acquaintances have been dropping off scores of bras at her house in New Jersey. Julie collects them, puts them in boxes and ships them off via UPS to an organization called The Bra Recyclers.

The Bra Recyclers  https://www.brarecycling.com is a clothing recycling company focused on the recycling and reuse of preloved bras and other lingerie. Their goal is to educate and influence both consumers and retailers on the social and environmental benefits of extending the life of preloved bras, rather than discarding them in landfills. The Bra Recyclers, supporting women and girls around the world in transition and in need, have donated over 4 million bras to over 100 non-profits globally. 

Julie’s first shipment to them contained 130 bras. And her second shipment is up to 96 bras and growing.  

Why not just drop them off at an area Goodwill or Salvation Army store, I wondered? I did a little Internet sleuthing. With the decluttering craze in full swing, many thrift shops are simply overwhelmed with people’s unwanted stuff. When thrift stores can’t keep up with the large number of donations, many items end up going to textile recyclers to keep the materials out of landfills. Not a bad thing, but it is certainly more gratifying to know that what you are giving away will directly reach the intended audience. 

I came across two more organizations that are bra specific charities. Free The Girls  is a charity organization that takes clean, gently used bra donations. The bras are shipped to human trafficking survivors/victims in Mozambique, El Salvador and Costa Rica. These women are in need of jobs. Free The Girls helps them set up bra-selling businesses. These secondhand apparel resale businesses ultimately become a long term source of income for these women. I Support The Girls  is a group that distributes essentials like bras, underwear and menstrual hygiene products to homeless women, poor women, refugees and evacuees and other women in need. Through an international network of Affiliates, I Support the Girls allows women experiencing homelessness, impoverishment, or distress to stand tall with dignity. Their philosophy is awoman shouldn’t have to choose between feeding herself and her personal health. Every woman should have the ability to maintain her dignity.My take: it’s simply amazing how one person doing one small thing can make such a big difference. Thank you, Julie, for being an inspiration and role model for all of us.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor