Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 24

What Happens When the Neighbourhood “Changes“?

What does the CEO of the Chobani Yogurt Empire, the brilliant inventor and physicist Albert Einstein, the founder of Google, the creator of blue jeans, Arnold Schwarzenegger, the first woman Secretary of State have in common?
They were all immigrants.

Fast forward to 2021. While in New Jersey a few weeks ago, I had a chance meeting with the husband of the CEO of the Eldridge Street Museum which is located in the Lower East Side of New York City. This led to me meeting the head honcho, Bonnie Dimun, of what is now the Museum at Eldridge Street. The following is garnered from the time I spent with her on a delightful Tuesday afternoon at her home in New Jersey and the source materials she generously lent me showcasing the story of the Eldridge Street Synagogue and its transformation into the museum and cultural hub it is today.
And why should we care? Because the Eldridge Street Museum back-story is a story of both renovation and change. It’s about honoring what a neighborhood started out being composed of. It’s about celebrating each transition – as one ethnic group moved away and another took its place. It’s about honoring one of the most significant parcels of real estate in our country – a lot the size of three tenement properties – that still serves as the landing pad for immigrants arriving in our country.  
 
The Eldridge Street Synagogue, with its imposing Romanesque-Moorish exterior, was built in 1887 for $91,907.61 and served the Eastern European Jews of the Lower East Side. 
Buoyed by the massive waves of immigrants from Poland, Russia and Lithuania, Dimun says, the Eldridge Street Synagogue flourished for over 50 years as a bastion of Jewish Orthodox life.
 
The year 1924 brought two great changes: 
       The Immigrant Quota Laws were enacted
       An exodus of congregants to the outer boroughs began 
 
What happens when a congregation dwindles? 
What happens when the neighborhood radically changes?
What happens when the synagogue’s structure falls into almost non-restorable disrepair? 
 Razing or Resuscitation?The synagogue’s deterioration continued unabated until 1971. 
While searching for Jewish landmarks on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, an NYU professor, Gerald R. Wolfe, stumbled across the Eldridge Street Synagogue. He found decay, damage, dust and beauty beyond compare. 
 
In 1986, the Eldridge Street Project was formed, which led to the saving of the building. Twenty years, 20 million dollars and 18,000 supporters later, the Eldridge Street Synagogue became the Eldridge Street Museum –morphing into a harbinger of hope and activity for all – hosting school programs, concerts, lectures and festivals. A robust website was launched, featuring a section on family research, online courses, historical photos and informative blog postings. 
 
The site was placed on the National Historic Register in 1996. 
 
But it is so much more than just an artifact of a bygone era.
The Eldridge Street Museum is a hub of activity – honoring past immigrants and welcoming the incoming. 
 
Roberta Brandes Gratz, founder of the Eldridge Street Project, notes that immigrant groups move in, then move up and out to live in more prosperous neighborhoods – making way for the next group to repeat the pattern. 
 
The decades come and go and new names are created for the area reflecting the changing ethnic make-up: Lower East Side, Loisaida, Kleindeutschland, Chinatown – and new identities. All reflect the rapidly changing landscape of the city. Says Gratz, in Preservation, “the process of change stays the same. It’s only the players who change.”

The Eldridge Street Museum, now a vibrant place of immigrant life, reflects three enduring Jewish cultural traits: 
     the need to remember, 
     the impulse to celebrate 
     the wish to instruct.
 
This is all encompassed in the Museum’s virtual event: Egg Rolls, Egg Creams, and Empanadas Festival going on during the entire month of June, beginning Sunday.
 
https://www.eldridgestreet.org/event/egg-rolls-egg-creams-and-empanadas-festival-2021-celebrating-food/
 
Gratz, who now holds the official title of founder and president emeritus of the museum’s board said that “if we didn’t save this building, we’d have to reinvent it in Disneyland fashion.”
 
How wonderful that that didn’t happen.
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom and Fighting the Fade, 
Iris Ruth Pastor

Here are my two upcoming zoom appearances:
What: The Donna Seebo Show 
When: Friday, June 4
Time: 11:30pm EST (EEK!)
Link: https://delphiinternational.com/events/   
Fire up your neurons to maximize your well-being. Join me for an inspirational chat focusing on jump-starting change through reflection, imagining and re-booting in order to live fully and joyfully.

When: Wednesday, June 16 
Time: 7pm EST
Link to register: https://www.jewishtampa.com/jewish-federation-events/womens-philanthropy-event
 
PS I’m not the only one whose voice should be heard. Voice yours on the subject of PAK – Parenting Adult Kids. https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/F3W3XMX

Out of my Comfort Zone – Once Again

I’m visiting my son in New Jersey.  While strolling his neighborhood, I spot a guy about my age walking toward me sporting a baseball cap with a big “C.” I immediately think it’s a Cincinnati Reds hat – my favorite team – my hometown team. I approach him with a big hello. 

“Wow a Cincinnati fan in New Jersey. Who’d a thought?” I call out.

He looks a little puzzled. “Actually,” he sputters, “it’s ‘C ‘for Chicago.”

I’m momentarily disappointed, but we continue chatting and one subject veers to another. I learn he is a close neighbor of my son and daughter-in-law and that his wife is the CEO of the Museum at Eldridge Street in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Immediately, my baseball antenna withers and my journalist antenna surfaces.

I decide I have to meet this woman – the keeper of an iconic building that reeks of the immigrant experience. 

At a time when immigrants in this country are routinely being vilified and attacked, I think it’s important to highlight the ways the immigrant experience is being honored and kept visible and vibrant. This woman is my gateway.

Would I be disappointed? 
Will my preconceived notions about her be out of whack? 
Will this spontaneous encounter lead to disaster? 
Once again, I’ve gotten myself into uncharted waters.

A few days later, I walk up to her house just as the postman arrives. I watch her greet him with great friendliness. I hear her ask him who is in the car behind his truck.

“My supervisor,” the postman replies. 

She runs up to the car exclaiming, “He’s the best, he’s the best!”

My instincts are correct.  Meeting her is going to be like chugging a double espresso – an immediate and pleasurable rush of the senses. 

She’s my kind of woman:
       Dressed in black
       Funky earrings
       Casually coiffed hair 
       Engagingly warm

First, she asks me if I’d like a cup of coffee. Nothing peculiar in that question. Eagerly, I nod affirmatively and began gushing over her unique home, the plethora of flowering plants on her expansive deck, her circular stairway positioned prominently near her front door, and her eclectic art.  

I am floored by her second question: “So,” she gazes at me intently, “tell me about yourself. Start with your emerging from the birth canal.”

WHAT?
Wait a minute, I’m interviewing HER. 
And how in the world do I organize my thoughts in a nanosecond centering on seventy-three years of living? 

I squirm. Cross and uncross my legs. I carefully put my coffee mug down as I frantically and silently catalogue my life into four categories: 

     EXPERIENCES 
     OPPORTUNITIES 
     OBSTACLES 
     RESOLUTIONS

She senses my jumbled thoughts tumbling about in my head. She explains that when you interview someone for a job, the applicant will talk about what they think the interviewer wants to hear in response to how they would do the job they are interviewing for. 

This makes sense to me. 

I surmise from this that when getting to know someone socially, it’s a different focus: a search for commonality. 

And that’s what we did that afternoon.

We talked about what two women getting to know each other for the first time WOULD chat about – husbands, kids, our childhoods, our interests and our struggles. 

After one hour and fifty minutes, we began chatting about the museum in earnest. 

What did I come away with?

As we go through life, we lose people close to us – through death, distance, time. But our need for connection remains. Often unbeknownst to our conscious selves, we constantly seek links to each other to fill the void of loss. 

On that day in early May, sitting in a comfy chair facing a stranger, I realized that I’m never too old to make a “new best friend.” 

And the good part?  I think she felt the same way. 

Next week: The Museum at Eldridge Street 

Keep Preserving Your Bloom and Fighting The Fade,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Here are my two upcoming zoom appearances:

What: The Donna Seebo Show 

When: Friday, June 4

Time: 11:30pm EST (EEK!)

Link: https://delphiinternational.com/events/
(mine is not listed yet)

Fire up your neurons to maximize your well-being. Join me for an inspirational chat focusing on jump-starting change through reflection, imagining and re-booting in order to live fully and joyfully.

When: Wednesday, June 16 

Time: 7pm EST

Link to register: https://www.jewishtampa.com/jewish-federation-events/womens-philanthropy-event

Keep Preserving Your Bloom and Fighting the Fade, 
Iris Ruth Pastor

PS I’m not the only one whose voice should be heard. Voice yours on the subject of PAK – Parenting Adult Kids. https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/F3W3XMX
 

Which is Better? Mouse Steps or Kangaroo Leaps?

This month, as noted before in my newsletter, is Mental Health Awareness Month.

It reminds me of the original “Story of the Starfish” by Loren Eisley.
      A young girl was walking along a beach upon which thousands of starfish had been washed up during a terrible storm. When she came to each starfish, she would pick it up and throw it back into the ocean.
      She had been doing this for some time when a man approached her and said, “Little girl, why are you doing this? Look at this beach! You can’t save all these starfish. You can’t even begin to make a difference!”
     The girl seemed crushed, suddenly deflated. But after a few moments, she bent down, picked up another starfish, and hurled it as far as she could into the ocean. Then she looked up at the man and replied, “Well, it made a difference to that one!”

My immediate reaction: an acknowledgement of the critical importance of just taking One Small Step at a Time. The little girl knew the tide was going out and time was of the essence and recognized the significance of each of her individual actions.

This can also be applied to learning a new skill.
Mastering something unfamiliar can be daunting, but if broken down into small incremental steps, it becomes doable and achievable.

I purchased a machine that turns yarn into firmly twisted straps – for my handknitted purses and totes.

Then I became completely frustrated when I tried to replicate the seller’s instructions once I set up the machine at home.

The machine sat unused for months.

Then I called a friend who is a whiz at machines and knitting – she was going camping.

More months passed.

My frustration mounted.

My friend returned from her camping trip and came by.

Together, we practiced making straps – most of hers were well woven – most of mine were loopy and saggy.

Every day after that, I practiced making my knitted straps with a wide variety of yarns.

Six months after purchasing my machine, I produced the first strap I was comfortable attaching to one of my hand knitted purses.

There is nothing like tackling, learning, practicing and mastering a new skill to raise your spirits and improve your mood. One mouse step at a time.

This point of view can also be applied to beginning a journey toward serenity and a more positive mindset.
Will listening to one self-help zoom call, podcast, or youtube segment improve your mental and emotional fitness and/or change your life? Probably not. Just like one therapy session won’t cure what ails you. It’s unlikely you are going to get a sustained kangaroo leap from just one of anything. And even If you do, it’s probably not going to be sustainable. But what you will get is incremental progress toward greater acuity and self-awareness and mindfulness if you keep at it.

It’s cumulative and IT STARTS WITH ONE SMALL STEP.

I have two zoom presentations coming up. One is a guest appearance and the second is a solo.

If you access my talks, will epiphanies rain down on you, ushering in a whole new way of operating? Probably not.

But it will add an additional tool in your toolbox to draw upon when darker moments threaten to descend.

Here are my two upcoming zoom appearances:

What: The Donna Seebo Show

When: Friday, June 4

Time: 11:30pm EST (EEK!)

Link: https://delphiinternational.com/events/
(mine is not listed yet)

Fire up your neurons to maximize your well-being. Join me for an inspirational chat focusing on jump-starting change through reflection, imagining and re-booting in order to live fully and joyfully.

When: Wednesday, June 16

Time: 7pm EST

Link to register: https://www.jewishtampa.com/jewish-federation-events/womens-philanthropy-event

Keep Preserving Your Bloom and Fighting the Fade,
Iris Ruth Pastor

PS I’m not the only one whose voice should be heard. Voice yours on the subject of PAK – Parenting Adult Kids. https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/F3W3XMX

It’s MY Angst – I bet it’s YOURS too

Arianna Huffington is founder and chief executive of the website Thrive Global – a site laser focused on improving people’s mental resilience, health and productivity. She walks the walk – cultivating all kinds of healthy habits during COVID.
For instance, she only allowed herself to binge watch while on her treadmill.

Omg! I wish I had thought of that. I’d still be troubled, but at least I’d be thin, fit, and toned – along with being troubled.

Yep. I am troubled. But I’m gaining clarity.
And two things happening concurrently are helping:
The pandemic is winding down
And thanks to May being Mental Health Awareness Month, I’m realizing that as I re-enter the world, it’s possible to fix what’s not working in my life. It’s possible to abandon distorted, unhealthy habits and thought patterns that have festered during my isolation.

I’m ready to party
I’m ready to dress up for no discernible reason
I’m back to donning espadrilles and applying mascara
Wearing fitted jeans and jaunty jackets
And I’m psyched to tackle thorny issues

One of those issues: PARENTING ADULT KIDS (PAK)
        What do we do when we start feeling irrelevant, neglected, undervalued,           misunderstood and/or taken for granted by our grown-up
sons and daughters?
        Are our observations accurate or thought distortions? 
        Is our perspective warped? 
        What do we do when the darkness descends? 

I immediately do a variety of things based on my mood, level of angst, amount of sleep I got the night before, how far north the scale registered that morning, and the state of my hair.
I repress.
I block out unacceptable, socially non-sanctioned thoughts.
I intellectualize away my feelings.
I deny my feelings.
I berate myself for having those feelings.
I over think.
I over react.
I distract.
I clean.
I overeat.

On my more “together” days,
I walk.
I ride my tricycle.
I soak in my hot tub.
I breathe deeply.
I knit.
I vent to friends

On all days, I ruminate on my “Parenting Prowess”
Was I a perfect parent?
A near-perfect parent?
A good-enough parent?
Or a truly-awful parent?

My one consoling thought: I’m not alone
Plenty of us are facing challenges when dealing with our adult kids.
Why?
Because though we are still their parents and they are still our kids, they are NO LONGER kids.
And sometimes our expectations for the relationship are set impossibly high.

We can’t control our kids’ lifestyles, values, politics, ethics, morals, partner choices, religious practices and beliefs, how they raise our grand kids, professional/ occupation choices, where they live, food preferences and how much they choose to let us in about both the minutiae and critical issues in their lives

Can you relate?
If you can, let’s tackle this together.

I’m hosting a five-week zoom event focusing on PARENTING ADULT KIDS (PAK) in September. Join the PAK.
We’ll hear from authors, therapists, life coaches, clergy, moms and dads in the trenches, adult kids and YOU.

We’ll hear from authors, therapists and life coaches, clergy, moms and dads in the trenches, adult kids
and YOU.

In preparation for the launch, I invite you to take a short survey. LINK

One parting memo: my kids are not causing my angst. They are caring, loving, and supportive. My inability to make the leap from parenting kids to parenting adult kids is the cause of my angst. And it’s mine to “cure.”

Keep Preserving Your Bloom – Fight the Fade,

Iris Ruth Pastor

A Mother’s Day Message to my Sons

Dear Harry, Frank, Max, Sam and Louie,

Many years have passed
Since this picture was taken.
My nest is no longer crammed
With smelly sneakers,
Discarded bags of half-eaten chips
And crumpled homework papers
Never turned in.
My little birdies have flown away
Leaving me
With an abundance of time
And a much freer schedule.

I’ve come to some conclusions
About the past and how I’ve lived it.
And I decided that often I was the victim
Of my own expert coping skills
And my own smoldering and eternal optimism.
Sometimes, at your expense.

So now I’m evolving into someone more tempered,
More centered – hopefully, more realistic –
As I try to find my way
Through the wilderness of older age.

I’ve decided to let go of useless suffering
And accept that what I did
And what I didn’t do
Under the guise of mothering
Was all that I could do
And could not do
At the time.

At present, I am trying
To understand
Your individual challenges, struggles and lifestyles
By transcending the confines of my own cage
So that I can aid you in this quest called “living”
As you strive to be the best you can be.

I ask for your patience
When I am blinded by my own perspective
And not tuned in enough to yours.
And I ask that you tell me
Both when I falter
And when I rise to the occasion
On your behalf.

I’m filled with so much gratitude
For the wonderful love
With which you have always bestowed upon me
And by your loyalty, trust, patience and forgiveness.
And I’m trying very hard to get comfortable
With what others are able and willing to give
Rather than being awash with always wanting
“Just a little more. “

It’s a constant struggle
To cultivate the garden,
To be satisfied with the harvest –
Whether it’s meager or abundant –
And to understand
In what way I sabotage
And in what way I nurture.

But I’m sticking with the program

Love,

Mom

My Gift to You on Mother’s Day

In Greek mythology, Iris was the goddess of the rainbow, a messenger for Zeus and Hera who rode the rainbow as a multicolored bridge from heaven to earth. In ancient times, the Iris was considered a symbol of power and majesty, the three petal segments representing faith, wisdom and valor.

How ironic that since I began writing in 8th grade, I always felt like I was imparting information – long before I knew the origin of my birth name – long before I knew I was the carrier through which insight flowed from one vessel to another.

Mother’s Day will soon be upon us.
Whether you are a mother or not,
Whether you are male, female or androgynous,
Young, middle-aged or just plain old,
Think about this:

Do you view other people’s problems more clearly and wisely than your own?According to recent research published in the Journal of Psychological Science, the answer is “Yes.” This widespread phenomenon is known as Solomon’s Paradox. We tend to reason more prudently and sensibly about other people’s problems than our very own.

Have you ever found yourself giving excellent advice to others, but not being able to follow your very own advice?Psychologist Igor Grossman coined the term “Solomon’s Paradox” after his research showed many people suffered with this conundrum. Dr. Grossman discovered that people reason more wisely about other people’s social problems than about their own.

King Solomon was the king of Israel who built the first Temple in Jerusalem. He was also the second (after his father, David) and last king of a unified Israel, which was at the height of its power during his reign. He is known for stories told in the Bible about his wisdom and was thought of as a great sage. However, King Solomon, though people traveled great distances to seek his counsel, had another side to him not as glittering or admirable.

King Solomon had a reputation for making bad decisions regularly and had an out of control lust for both women and money. He had 100’s of wives and concubines. King Solomon was also influenced by God’s prophecy to him that his kingdom would be divided. He neglected to instruct his only son, Rehoboam, on how to rule and Rehoboam went on to ruin the kingdom. Hence the name, Solomon’s Paradox. Plenty of wisdom for others; but not for oneself.

How can we circumvent this paradox in our own lives?

When faced with a dilemma, pretend a friend comes to       you looking for
answers and guidance on what to do in that same particular situation
Tell your friend exactly what you would do in their situation.
Boomerang it. Do what you told your friend to do.
Continually practice being your own best friend

May Mother’s Day for all of us be filled with a plethora of blessings, an unlimited treasure trove of creativity, and endless opportunity to grow, engage,and, of course, Bloom –

And keep preserving it,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Money Isn’t the Only Thing You Can Bank

Headlines and stories of violence and lack of compassion and human decency scream out at me:
Deadly Run-Ins With The Police Show No Pause
Cars Turn into Caskets as the disco-like lights of police cruisers induce ripples of fear in the veins of the apprehended driver
AARP Fights Fraud on Online Shopping Sites and New Social Security Scams
Pfizer Confirms Fake COVID Vaccines Found in Mexico, Poland
New Report Notes Rise In Coronavirus-Linked Anti-Semitic Hate Speech
We are simply not kind to one another. And, sometimes, I think kindness is dead.

Let’s unpack my supposition.

We can start by being more aware of the softer side of life. We can begin by banking memories of kind acts reported in the press and in our local newspapers (for those of us who still read them and get them!)  We can begin banking memories of acts of kindnesses shown us personally in the recent past too. Let’s write down our recollections, stick them in a “Kindness Jar” to pull out and access when we need a spirit lift. Let’s deposit regularly – noting who the person was and why they were kind. And when we need that positive emotional poke, it’s there.

The clearest example that comes to my mind is the kindness our postman showed my husband when he was recuperating from back surgery and even a short walk to our mailbox was challenging for him.  Our postman, Enrique, noticing my husband’s wobbly and labored-intensive gait, started bringing our mail and packages right to our front porch.

About a year ago, I placed a notice in my weekly Friday newsletter that I was looking for old buttons – the size of a quarter or larger – to sew on my hand-knitted pouches.  You all sent in so many buttons that my post office box was overloaded by the volume. You all found them at yard sales stashed in between vintage napkins and handkerchiefs. You all raided your own sewing baskets. You combed through bags of hand-me-downs from long deceased grandmothers and aunts and mailed me what you gathered.

My friend, Tawny, who I have known since first grade, entreated her husband to give up ownership of buttons his late mother had coveted and he had inherited.

My neighbor’s sister-in-law, Lynda, heard I was collecting unusual buttons and when she traveled back to Indiana, she sent me an entire box filled with wooden, plastic, metal and painted buttons.

A friend of my daughter’s-in-law – who happened to own a button company in New York City – shipped me a huge cardboard box brimming with bags of buttons.

And I when I placed a notice on our neighborhood online site looking for someone to sew these buttons on my hand-knitted pouches (I SUCK at sewing), not only did I find someone, but she has consistently refused payment. A total stranger is doing this act of kindness out of the sheer goodness of her heart. In my jar went one word: SHERYL.

My kindness jar is on the window sill closest to my kitchen counter. When I chop up the cucumbers and peppers to toss in my salad, I see its shiny glass contours. The late afternoon sunshine bounces off its clear top. I notice the growing volume of notes lining its walls – documenting yet more acts of  kindness extended to me or someone I love.

I can’t wait to reciprocate.

Let’s all think about a kindness that was extended to us and let us do an act of random kindness today as a way of paying it forward.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom
(And, if you think of it, send me a few buttons!!!!)

Iris Ruth Pastor

Life, Death and Good Intentions

It all started when my husband’s junior high school “frenemy”  was pushed out the rear doors of a moving school bus and hit his head on the concrete curb adjacent to the street. Pushed by my husband, I might add.

Fearing he killed him upon impact, my husband was quite relieved when Mickey rallied. Instead of ending up in the morgue, Mickey and my husband both ended up the following morning in their junior high principal’s office.

“Okay boys,” the principal admonished, “you can take a swat or I can call your parents.” (This was the 1960’s and swats were routinely given out as a means of discipline.) My husband was savvy enough to realize a paddle to his skinny behind was far less daunting than a call to his dad at work. Mickey didn’t agree and wanted to avoid the paddle altogether.

My husband politely asked the principal if he and Mickey could confer privately for a moment and the principal reluctantly agreed.

“The fighting will continue between you and me, Mickey,“ my husband threatened, “and I will kick your butt every day unless you take the swat and our parents don’t get called.”

Mickey gave in.

My husband stepped up to the principal’s left and braced for the swat. It came, but was surprisingly mild.

Mickey went next. And as my husband recalls, he had never seen a swat so mightily delivered. Dust mites flew through the air off Mickey’s khakis, reflected in the sunlight streaming through the nearby window, as tears streamed down Mickey’s face.

That scene was indelibly etched in my husband’s memory and details of it were often repeated to me over the ensuing years of our marriage – a recollection leaden with guilt and laced with regret on my husband’s part.

I guess my husband and I – who attended the same high school and graduated the same year – are lucky. Among our class of more than 700 is a remarkable man, Mark Abrams, who faithfully tends our Class of ‘65 website and daily updates our doings. Our comings. Our goings. Our departures.

About a month ago, we got notice that Mickey was being cared for by hospice in Raleigh, NC, where he has resided since 2015. High school and junior high classmates were virtually gathering to share their memories of Mickey with him. We were unable to take part in the get together, but shortly thereafter I noticed a sea change in my husband.

“You know,” he remarked one morning, “I’ve always felt badly about that incident – beginning with me pushing Mickey off the bus. I’d like to call him and apologize.”

Hours later, after obtaining Mickey’s contact information, my husband did just that.

Many phone calls and texts flew between Mickey and my husband over the following weeks. The surprise? Mickey didn’t even remember the bus incident, my husband’s bullying behavior or the ensuing powerful swat.

A phrase Mickey wrote in one of his many texts to my husband was: “I’m very glad we have renewed an old friendship and that it led to an even better one.”

And my husband replied, “If not for family and friendships, what is life at the core of its essence really all about?”

“So true,” my husband’s former adversary noted.

Four days after sending that text, Mickey passed away.

What did I learn? Best to follow-up on good intentions, for it’s always later than we think.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor

Dating After 45 Years of Marriage

The first thing that happened was that a good friend’s mother died. Okay, not that unusual as my friend is in her 70’s; but we all thought her amazing mother would live forever – after all, she was 106!

The second thing that impacted me was that a friend who we haven’t seen in years had a heart attack while playing tennis and died just a few days later – having never regained consciousness.

That’s when I decided it was time to stop postponing a first date with a very attractive man my age.

We met on a Thursday afternoon at a hip bistro. He ordered a fancy flavored iced tea and I chose a cappuccino. We sat and talked for over an hour – while he nursed his beverage and I wolfed mine down (out of nervousness, I’m sure).

I had prepared a massive list of probing questions – perhaps a little off-putting to him. Nevertheless, he good-naturedly mulled over each one and his answers were laced with interesting tidbits.

Here’s a sampling of what I asked him:

What is something people would be surprised to learn about you?

What’s your ideal vacation?

What are you most grateful for in your life?

What’s your favorite time of day?

What would you consider your biggest fault?

What’s the most valuable lesson you ever learned?

What is one thing about yourself you’d like to change?

What do you look for in a partner?

What’s one thing you wish you knew at age 30 that you know now?

What are three things you want included in your obit?

What do you consider your greatest strength?

What advice would you give for dealing with loss and change?

My final question to him deviated from my carefully  constructed format in that it only required a “Yes “or “No” reply.

“Would you like to go out with me again?”

He answered affirmatively.

Before leaving the bistro, we asked one of the servers if she would take a picture of us. She smiled as she handed me back my phone, whispering, “New beginnings are so awesome.”

“Yes,” I said, “especially after 45 years of marriage.”

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor

PS I find that lots of people ask me what I’m reading.

I just started Pachinko by Min Jin Lee, recommended by a member of my book club. It’s billed as an engaging story of a Korean family in Japan and their struggle to achieve a sense of home in this world. It delivers.

Caste: The Origins of our Discontents by Isabel Wilkerson has been on my nightstand forever and I’m about a third of the way through. It’s a book best read in snippets because it prompts  much ruminating and self-examination.

I just ordered from Amazon The Empathy Diaries by Sherry Turkle after reading about it in the Sunday edition of the New York Times. It deals with a recurrent issue: finding connection in a time of uncharted challenges.

Balancing the Balance

It’s hard to strike a work-life balance – even after the nest empties and the chickadees fly from the perch.

What I’ve learned is not every day has to be exquisitely, or even moderately, balanced. For me, an out-of-whack routine only becomes problematic when it is extended beyond reasonable lengths.

A question of balance also applies to the subjects I choose to write about in my weekly Friday newsletter. I strive consciously for variety – some columns are humorous –  some columns are more contemplative –  some columns are meant to  humorous and turn out less so. Some columns are not meant to be humorous – but are interpreted that way anyway! My point, I plan. I write. And my loyal cadre of readers take from them what they may.

I have noticed, however, over the last couple of months that I have written more frequently about my past eating disorder. This is partly due to National Eating Disorder Awareness Week -which was February 22-28 – and partially due to certain opportunities in the professional eating disorder network that I have been afforded.

Recently I made a guest appearance on a podcast called Processing which explores the intersection of food and grief and is co-hosted by Zahra Tangorra and her mother, Bobbie Comforto.

It’s all about sharing personal stories and how food factors into our journey. As the show’s description notes, “Change and loss are inevitable in all our lives. The relationships that we as humans have surrounding food and loss are universal and relatable across different cultures, beliefs, and lifestyles. It is our individual adaptation to the things we cannot control that makes us unique. Processing will expose and digest these commonalities and differences in each episode.”

Zahra, who lives in Brooklyn, is a chef, writer and podcaster. She owned a Cobble Hill restaurant named Brucie, which was renowned for its lasagna and warm, familial atmosphere. Her mother, Bobbie Comforto, who lives on Long Island, is a psychotherapist specializing in bereavement and trauma. In her early years, she was a chef and owner of a specialty food and catering company.

Below is the link and verbiage on my recent appearance on Processing:

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/processing/id1494829164?i=1000514401046

I hope you enjoy it.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
and Happy Easter,

Iris Ruth Pastor