Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 7

A New Way of Looking at Old Ways

I am taking time during the ten days of the Days of Awe – which begin with Rosh Hashanah and end with Yom Kippur – to learn new ways to respond to an old situation. 
 
Like many of my friends, who are parents of adult children, we struggle with the power dynamic between the generations and the many pernicious ways generational differences create chaos and make unwanted waves. I’m beginning to formulate a theory: the secret to living happily ever after when you have adult kids is understanding and respecting generational and innate differences.
 
The Babylonian Talmud states: the love of parents goes to their children, but the love of these children goes to their children. 
 
Think about the love of children and the love of parents:
A person loses his father. It is very sad – a time for retrospection and repentance. How does the son feel, however, when he suddenly hears that his father in passing left an enormous inheritance for him?…With the sadness, there is nonetheless still some joy. The grief can be pushed aside for a bit of materialistic joy. 
 
But when the contrary happens and the son passes away and leaves behind more wealth than the world has ever seen…the father doesn’t care (at all) for the money. He cares for his son. He says, “Let the world have the money! What is money to me, alas, I have lost my blessed son! I would rather be the poorest man in the world if I could only have my dearest child.”
Written by Rabbi Mordechai Menachem Reich as found in Jewish Wisdom by Rabbi Joseph Telushkin.
 
Think about when children and parents disagree:
The Torah (the first five books of the Hebrew Bible) teaches each of us to revere our mother and father. But one does not owe one’s parents control over one’s conscience. A child need not listen to a parent who tells him not to forgive or reconcile with a certain person. Nowhere in Jewish liturgy are children asked to disregard their own needs in order to accommodate the needs of the parents. 
Voices of Wisdom by Francine Klagsbrun
 
Think about when parents grow old or become mentally disturbed and difficult:
The child should try to indulge the vagaries of the stricken parent, but if he finds he cannot endure the situation, let him leave and go away and appoint others to care for them properly. 
 
Many sages and scholars say that the most difficult to observe of the 613 commandments is Honor Your Father and Mother. The commandment does not say “love” like it says love your neighbor, love the stranger and love God. Love is too volatile in this case.
 
Honor means giving food, drink, clothes and comfort and leading your father and/or mother in or out when old – accepting one’s parents as they are in spite of their shortcomings.
 
Revere means more like: Don’t contradict a parent’s words or side with their opponents.
 
Both my parents have passed away and all my children are adults. In light of that, the above recommendations are beginning to make a lot of sense – helping me to adopt realistic expectations in relation to the mother/adult son dynamics. And I’m more energized than ever before to honor my adult sons’ perspectives, while keeping my heart open and loving.
 
May we all be inscribed in the Book of Life for the coming year – 
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor

PS: Let us keep in our prayers and thoughts the many victims of devastation from Hurricane Helene and offer aid and resources when we can.

It’s Time to Bloom Again

We are now in the autumn of the year, but it’s always the right time to bloom again in Preserving Your Bloom (PYB) land.
 
How to be my own best friend?
I pose that question to myself often throughout my day.
 
And why do I so often treat my friends with more consideration and kindness than I treat myself? 
I ask myself that question too.
 
Why?
 
These are multi-layered, heavily nuanced questions.
And smart solutions to managing the challenges and complexities of being our own best friend can be illusive.
 
But let’s face it:
The most important friendship we have is the one we have with ourselves . It’s all about self-love.
 

  
Treating ourselves to a mani/pedi, taking time to get lost in a juicy novel, or attending a class to broaden our horizons are some ways we can practice self-care, but there’s so much more to nourishing the critical relationship we have with ourselves. 
 
What are the essential ingredients to living our best lives? How do we get our inner and outer selves in sync? And why do we allow ourselves to be our own worst enemy instead of our own best friend? 
 
We need to recognize our intrinsic worth in order to navigate life’s challenges with the same kindness and encouragement we’d show a close friend.
 
On Friday, November 15, I will be addressing those things and so much more in the last in our three-part Art of Female Friendship series. The focus this time is solely on  YOU , or better said, your “Bestie From Birth”!
 
The event, entitled,  HOW TO BE YOUR OWN BEST FRIEND,  will take place once again at the Shanna and Bryan Glazer JCC in Tampa and will include a boxed lunch, an interactive presentation by me and ample time to make new friends and socialize with the ones we already have. 
 
If you are anywhere near the Tampa Bay area, think about coming on down (or up)!
 
Space is limited, but as a subscriber to my newsletter, you are among the first wave to receive the registration information. 
 
Plus. . . you can turn this event into a great “Girls’ Day Out” by signing up to be a Table Host. All you have to do is fill a table with nine other women or become a Table Co-Host by bringing four friends. All Table Hosts will receive a special gift once your guests are registered, plus special recognition. 
 
I look forward to seeing you.
Link to register: https://www.jewishtampa.com/bloom
 
Registration opens on October 1. Feel free to post about this event on your social media. That would be super!
 
As we say in PYB Land, “What Good is Growing if You Never Get to Bloom?”
 
Hugs,

PS: No lasting damage from Hurricane Helene. We pray for those still in harm’s way.

Who you gonna call?

Remember the famous line from the 1984 movie “Ghostbusters”? “Who You Gonna Call? 
 
If you’re seeing things
Running through your head
Who can you call?
(Ghostbusters)
 
Who you gonna call?
(Ghostbusters)


If you’re all alone
Pick up the phone
And call
(Ghostbusters)
 
I wish there really was someone like Ghostbusters to call when we were troubled, sad or at a crossroads.
 
Power through?
“Not so fast,” a therapist would caution.
First FEEL THE FEELING.
Then – and only then – move on.
 
It seems to me that when we are in liminal space
we need to bask in ruminations, 
explore our options
and then proceed forward to consider what we crave:

     – New travel adventures?
     – A hobby tapping into heretofore unexplored talents?
     – More likeminded buddies?
     – Closer family relations?
     – A firmer, fitter body?

And what are we prepared to sacrifice, modify or change to get there?
 
It’s about finding something that feeds our essence – that couples our imagination and our intuition – that helps us awaken our deepest yearnings and explore our untapped gifts.
 
As Seena B. Frost notes in her book Soul Collage, the beauty and value of a hand-crafted life is a life that is consciously assembled from pieces that you yourself select and put together. It’s self-created. It’s not a life pulled off the rack having been put together by others or by our culture. It’s a reminder to chart our own course and then – as I so often say – “Control Our Own Remote.”
 
That is powerful and somewhat daunting – and yet friends all around me seem to be doing just that:I have a friend who spent seven consecutive summers walking the El Camino – stretching over 500 miles of hilly terrain.                          I have a friend who finds grounding in being physically fit and fills her days going to a variety of exercise classes and pickleball games.       I have a friend who travels to folk schools all over the country learning skills like wood turning, shoe making, and jewelry design.        I have a friend who fills her days serving on various boards with the sole purpose of making this world and her community a better place to live. 
I’m not sure what my path forward is.
I know it entails coming to terms with certain deficits in my life –
giving up getting things that remain unattainable in spite of my best efforts 
and moving toward those people who get my essence and spur me on with positivity. 
 
Where do I find consistent meaning and solace and grounding? It’s never really changed. It’s always been there for the taking:     
      Through discovering new truths,
       learning new things, 
       and traveling to unexplored places.       Through my writing, 
       my speaking 
       and my connecting people with other people. 
It’s not all under my control, of course. But what is under my control will be directed toward filling my life with what brings joy and meaning to me.
And I won’t have to call Ghostbusters after all 
because: I’m done coping.I’m soaring.I’m done ruminating.I’m acting. 
And I’m inviting each of you
to come sit with me at my table –
with your seat belts buckled –
because it’s going to be a wild and rollicking ride.
 
Let the feast begin.
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Not a Comfortable Place

I’m going through a murky time.
I’m restless – not sleeping well.
I’m torn in too many conflicting directions.
I have an over-abundance of choices
and no clear way forward.
I’m wandering  without direction.
Unwanted thoughts assault me.
 
My brain craves predictability, routine and a state of equilibrium – I crave balance and steadiness and instead I get upheaval and uncertainty and cloudiness.
 
So I ponder and toss restlessly – trying in vain to find a way to cope with the my divergent emotions and lack of a clear path forward.
 
One sleepless night, I make my way to my quiet, dark kitchen and start ripping-off Post It notes from their pad. I mark words on each of the assembled squares. And, like a Ouija Board, without my mind’s directions, my fingers decisively layout the notes in a distinct pattern. 
 
Here’s the finished product:
 

 
I hang the cardboard exhibit on the inside cabinet door in my kitchen – the one holding the coffee mugs – so I will be forced to gaze at it daily. I am counting on it to bring clarity and closure to my restlessness. Some hint of a direction I wish the rest of my life to go in.
 
I had hoped my chart would serve as a mission statement – a guiding light through the murkiness – but as the days roll by, I look at it less and less and then forget about it altogether.
 
Until today –  when I came across the term “liminal space.”
 
Have you ever heard of it? I have not.
 
Liminal space is a transitional place or a place characterized by uncertainty, disorientation and a sense of being between one thing and the next.
 
Hmmmm….. I can relate. 
 
Some examples of liminal spaces would be empty or abandoned buildings that appear eerie or forlorn.
 
Hotels and motels are liminal spaces because they serve a transient purpose as people are either coming in or going out.
 
Ditto for staircases and elevators – people don’t spend much time in them or on them.
 
Ditto for airports, bridges, hallways.  
 
On a more existential level, liminal spaces are associated with people when individuals are in an uncertain time in their lives either physically, emotionally or metaphorically. To be on the precipice of something new but not quite there is a prime example. Or on a tightrope in the exact middle – too far to turn around – too far to the destination to feel comfortable going forward.
  
Some examples of liminal spaces that are emotional would be divorce, empty nest, retirement, death of a loved one, graduation, illness. Often after one of these occur, we begin to define our lives as “before” and “after” the event.
 
A liminal space can also exist when we are vacillating between two ideas and, until we make a decision, we remain in that uneasy state.
 
Liminal space can engender fear of not being able to cope and can engender a high level of stress. Liminal space can cause unease, an enveloping sense of disorientation and a lack of a firm identity.
 
On the other hand, liminal space can have a beauty all its own – and can be an opportunity for transfomation and growth. It can be a gateway to learn new things – about ourselves, our world, our people. 
 
Maybe I, too, can view it as a space in my life prompting me to reflect on my experiences and engage in new and untried ways of doing things.
 
I like what Jon Dewaal, founder of Liminal Space, has to say: if you approach it with a degree of hopefulness and curiosity, even if it’s uncomfortable, then an opportunity for transformation is there.”
 
I like that. 
From tumult to discovery. 
From tumult to confidence. 
From tumult to purposeful. 
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

What I Have Always Loved…

I love newspapers:The smell of themThe feel of the crisp paper in my handsThe black ink that sometimes comes off on my fingertips I love the routine of them – some thrown strategically onto my driveway – some coming tucked into my mail box.
And I love the ability to randomly rip out articles that grab my attention.
 
And that love of the printed newspaper is actually how my column got started.
 
When my youngest and fifth son entered preschool, I knew I needed something to serve my interest in promoting connection and my need to challenge myself creatively.
 
In the mid 1980’s a mutual acquaintance and I started a monthly parenting newspaper/magazine in Cincinnati, Ohio, aptly named Cincinnati Kids.
 

 
My column appeared on the last page of the 16-page monthly. And, as expected, my articles focused on parenting, parenting failures, parenting dilemmas and parenting advice.
 
Here’s a tidbit from August, 1988: 
The three most practical things a parent can do for his child to make him feel loved and cherished are the following:Physical touchPositive eye contactFocused attention 
(BTW: works on grandkids and husbands too)
 
The only one of us that made any money was our sales rep. 
 
However, every month when we picked up the huge number of bundled papers from the printer, our psychic income was in the black. Delivering the freebie to neighborhood drop-off points in a euphoric state of happiness still felt like “work,” but my accountant confidently assured me that based on my feeble income from Cincinnati Kids, my “work” was a “hobby.”
 
Eventually, our small little publication was absorbed into a larger local weekly newspaper East Side Weekend where my column and a local priest’s column often ran side by side, aptly titled “The Priest and the Pastor.”
 



 
Soon after, my column was picked up by a larger chain of weeklies and by various monthly parenting magazines across the country.
 
As we entered the Internet age, my “Incidentally, Iris” column began appearing on many websites and online publications. My greatest gig was with The Huffington Post – the older adult section – where I was named a “must read columnist.” Sadly, they abolished that section soon after. It certainly wasn’t for lack of an aging population.
Oh well.

Here’s the link: https://www.huffpost.com/author/irisruthpastor-725
 
My love of writing, reading and newspapers continues. 
 
However, I am increasingly in a minority.
 
Newspaper subscription rates have been tumbling down for years.
 
Television in the 1950’s ushered in the first decline of the newspaper as the main source of news. And the Internet explosion in the 1990’s brutally sabotaged newspaper’s dominance even more. 
 
Why has newspaper circulation declined? Technology and social media platforms have changed the way people consume and access news. And there is an unstoppable move from print to digital.  
 
Even though some stats show that 54 percent of readers like print copies over digital, circulation belies this.
 
In 1990, the average circulation of weekday newspapers was 63.2 million. In 2022, the circulation was down to 20.9 million and it is still declining!!!

To make matters worse, 2100 local newspapers have closed since 2004, affecting 1800 communities. And the number of journalists has dropped 39 percent since 1989.
 
And why the rapid tumbling down? Because we can all get real time information on our computers and phones.
 
But I still love newspapers and believe in their worth.
Next week I’ll profile some tantalizing tidbits of info garnered from their pages. 
 
Until then,
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

I Have a Confession

I have a confession.
 
Sometimes I can say the most tactless things – not fully realizing the effect my words have.
 
A couple of months ago I came across this quote: I LOVE MY FRIENDS. I JUST WISH I DIDN’T HAVE TO SPEND SO MUCH TIME WITH THEM.
 
I lightheartedly repeated the quote to some of my buddies – they were NOT amused. In fact, I think they were mightily offended. 
 
Let’s face it: sometimes spending “quality time” with a friend can seem like work – not pleasure. 
 
I’ll give you an example: I have a friend, Mary Ann, who always has advice about vitamin supplements:How many I should be takingHow often I should be taking themThe miraculous effects the supplements will have on my aging bones. 


Green tea. Fish oil. Zinc. Vitamin C, B complex – the list goes on and on. Just thinking about having lunch with her wears me out. But afterwards, I am always thankful that I have a friend who is both knowledgeable and caring enough to share her hard-earned wisdom. 
 
But during the lunch? I want to pull my hair out.
  
And I don’t know about you, but I need all the hair I still have  – especially on the crown of my head.
So here’s some suggestions if you ever find yourself with a friend who is going non-stop on a subject and you are ready to start some serious hair pulling.Make sure you use her name and interrupt her with a compliment: Mary, Ann, your knowledge is amazing – I so appreciate your sharing all that information with me,Then quickly divert her: I’m curious: How’s it going for your daughter since she started university?See how easy that was? I took the conversation down a whole new path while still showing interest in her. 
 
Good friends can vastly enhance the quality of our lives, but their situations can also wreak havoc on our empathy and patience.
 
My buddy Judy is in a very unhappy marriage – her husband Joe can’t hold down a steady job even though he has a PhD in economics, doesn’t pay attention to her, gambles like crazy and tunes out the kids. Every day I hear a new example on why her marriage is unfulfilling. I am getting very tired of listening.  


 
Let’s face it. It can be marital issues, addiction, neediness, narcissistic tendencies, health problems, emotional problems – all which can entirely occupy the real estate in a friend’s brain.
 
Keep in mind that your friend’s chronic complaining shrinks the part of her brain responsible for critical thinking and problem solving. Research shows it is difficult to create solutions when constantly venting. 
 
What can we do? How can we help Judy?This may sound counterintuitive, but let’s try bucking up and listening to her woes.And listening some more.By helping Judy empty her bad feelings, we are helping her to find a path forward and to think through ways to solve the problem, instead of endlessly re-hashing things. Ask some leading questions: What have you tried thus far? How do you propose to resolve this? What do you see as the answer? What are your options?Let her come up with the answers – it could be spiritual support, journaling, therapy, couples marriage counseling,  practicing the art of gratitude, yoga, etc. Let her lead the way.And when, in a future conversation, she brings up her litany of marital complaints, remind her of what she said she was going to do about her issue.This shows Judy that you are holding her accountable for getting her problem solved or at least making progress towards solving it. 
We all agree: friends are essential to our well-being, happiness and sense of belonging. But many of us have friends who fall short of our expectations and sometimes we just need to vent.  Not confront them. 
 
We need to get out our anger or frustration in a healthy and benign way. 
 
My hand-knitted dammit dolls do just that.
 

 
And here is a little poem to illustrate how they work:
 
Here’s your very own “Dammit Doll”
It can take a whacking
Especially when calm and serenity
In your life are lacking
 
So grasp it in the middle
With its button eyes facing you
Start slamming while yelling “dammit”
That’s all you have to do!
 
Here’s to happy, healthy and fulfilling female friendships….
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

PS:  If you’d like your very own dammit doll for yourself or for a friend, let me know. Each one is unique and comes with the poem.   
$21.99 plus tax while supplies last
Free shipping

Me and You

I think we all have mixed feelings about the profound effect technology, apps, the Internet, Facebook, etc., have on our lives. 

Sometimes, though, magic happens and it did on August 16, 2024 when I came across this beautiful poem written by a former classmate of mine.
 
Thank you Judi Kipner-Wolf for allowing me to share your lovely words with my readers. 
 


RAMBLINGS OF ME AND YOU 
She was young and strong and beautiful 
She was idealistic too
She didn’t need a lot of makeup 
She was me and she was you 
 
She wore her heart upon her sleeve 
Determined in all she would do
She still had years to accomplish her goals
She was me and she was you
 
She quietly wished for freedoms 
Or she loudly made them come true
She tip toed behind or led the crowd 
She was me and she was you
 
She didn’t realize at the time 
That youth was on her side
She took it for granted and watched it go by
She took it all in stride
 
She watched and time was fleeting 
The busy years ensue
She forgot to stop and take it all in
She was me and she was you
 
She made her way through this crazy world 
She laughed, she cried and she knew
That she was the one that carried the load
She was me and she was you
 
Now when she looks in the mirror 
The years show on her face
An older version of herself 
Somehow has taken place
 
But close your eyes and look inside 
She’s still a part of you
She’s in there….young and beautiful 
She is me and she is you
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Friends Don’t Let Friends Miss Out

Only a few short days until
we tackle the complexities and chaos of female friendships  in leading to ACTIONABLE SUGGESTIONS.

Register below:
https://www.jewishtampa.com/bloom

A Startling Revelation

I found it on Facebook – a one-hour candlelight concert held at the iconic Centro Asturiano de Tampa – a club opened in 1902 for Spanish immigrants and their descendants to socialize. (Those old, elegant structures powerfully draw me in.)
 
Advertised as “A one-of-a-kind experience in a candlelit setting,” a four-string quartet from the symphony would be playing a combination of Bach compositions and the Beatles’ top hits.
 
I immediately bought two tickets for my husband and me. 
 
The evening arrived. In a heightened state of excitement, we took our seats. I was delighted to see a couple I knew seated directly in front of us – as hyped up for the upcoming performance as we were. I continued glancing around, drinking in the magic of the 1000’s of flickering lights and the ornate details of the auditorium. 
 
To my left was another couple – about my age, but clearly not quite as bubbly as the four of us. I glanced down at the woman’s legs as the quartet warmed up: stiff as boards. I noticed her hands: clenched together tightly in her lap. Her perfectly sculptured profile remained stoic and unsmiling. 
 
In retrospect, I should have paid more attention to her body language and maybe not quite as much to the music. That was my first miscalculation.
 
The quartet began to perform and within minutes the portion dedicated to Johann Sebastian Bach was over and it was time for the Beatles’ greatest hits!
 
Immediately upon hearing the first strains of “I Want to Hold your Hand,” I  could feel my body gearing up – responding to the familiar notes – I was kinda swishing back and forth with my shoulders to the beat – utterly enjoying myself.
 
Enraptured by “Strawberry Fields Forever,” I barely noticed the very stoic lady beside me moving a seat away from me some time mid-concert. I assumed “Mrs. Wooden” felt her new seat provided better visibility. 
 
Hee hee.
That was my second miscalculation.
 
When the concert ended, the audience rose reluctantly – whispers of awe and wonder floating around us. 
 
“It was simply wonderful!” I gushed to my husband.
 
At that moment, I heard a loud, male voice on the other side of me. I turned – directly facing the man who had accompanied the “wooden lady.”
 
“It WOULD have been very enjoyable if you hadn’t been humming the entire time,” he barked at me. 
 
Shocked and speechless, my first reaction was to profusely apologize – to explain that I didn’t even realize I was humming. 
 
Instead, either I repeated what Mrs. Wooden Lady’s companion said to my husband or my husband had heard it himself.
 
In any case, my husband immediately transformed into ALPHA MALE MODE. “I’m going to beat the crap out of him,” he swore loudly.
 
“Are you crazy? I retorted. “You will do no such thing. Calm the hell down. You are 76 years old not 26 years old – you have a totally fused back, in case you have momentarily forgotten. And two aging dudes fighting will make quite a very ugly scene.” 
 
Thankfully, by this time, the wooden lady and her mate had slipped away into the crowd. And I was sure my husband’s wrath would be dissipated by the time we reached home.
 
That was my third miscalculation. It wasn’t. He continued to rant – saying I was “taking his manhood away” by preventing him from defending my honor.
 
Seriously? 
Are we in the Middle Ages?
All I could do was laugh. 
 
I knew that in his prime he could bench press gillions of pounds.
I knew that in his prime he had won body building contests.
But that boat had sailed. 
 
HOWEVER, as the days passed, I began to think differently. 
 
Facing the reality of no longer being in the “bloom” of youth is tough. Yet, there is something very endearing that, even after many years of matrimony, my husband is still anxious to defend me. 
 
We celebrated our 48th anniversary yesterday. Knowing the above? It was the best present ever. 
 
Keep Preserving (what’s left of) Your Bloom,

Don’t miss out. 
The Art of Female Friendship – the Complexities and the Chaos
August 28
Register today!
https://www.jewishtampa.com/bloom

The Danger of Faulty Assumptions

Faulty assumptions are mistaken or misleading suppositions.
 
Now I DO have assumptions about grand-parenting that have proven to be very true: Regularly doling out unsolicited advice to your adult children on rearing their children is probably not a great idea. Ditto for hovering like a helicopter.  
 
Another assumption: The only way to truly have fun and get super close to your grandchildren is to stay at their house when visiting from out of town.
 
So when my son first suggested my husband and I would be more comfy at the bed and breakfast down the street, I balked – not to him, but silently.
 
“Geez,” I later confessed to my husband, “our grandchildren will get up in the morning and we won’t be there, so no climbing in bed with us. And I bet they will be so disappointed.”
 
Wrong.
 
The first night we stayed in the bed and breakfast, we literally fled there after reading three books to each of our three young grandchildren, unpacked and hit the bed by 8 pm – where we slept soundly and without interruption. Soundly and without interruption would not have happened at my son’s house for sure.
 
We got up the next morning without anyone jumping in our beds – heedless of our aches and pains – long before sunrise. In fact, we got up leisurely, admired the beautiful autumn leaves out our large bedroom windows and then proceeded to the dining room where we were served a scrumptious breakfast.
 
Our grandkids seemed to have survived without seeing us first thing in the morning when we were in town – and when we picked up the 3 year-old at pre-school, her hug was intense and her face lit up with joy. And all she wanted to know was if we had the entire afternoon to play with her, which we did. 
 
By nightfall, we couldn’t wait to high tail it back to our bed and breakfast. 
 
I was wondering what other faulty assumptions I have been lugging around. 
 
On another trip to the New York area, we visited our sons and daughters-in-law who have kids in middle school, junior high and high school. I assumed they’d be preoccupied with their friends and embroiled in the incessant drama of adolescence and teen-age hood. 
 
Wrong again.
 
To my delighted surprise, they were intensely curious to know tidbits of family history and what my husband and I thought about what was going on worldwide. They asked about their great grandfathers’ serving in World War 2, what our opinions were we about the conflict between Russia and the Ukraine and which Arab countries did we think posed the most danger to the existence of Israel. 
 
My most recent faulty assumption concerns my birthday.
 
When raising our kids, I was always the one, not my husband, who organized and followed through with gift giving for our parents. 
 
Fast forward to the present: my sons organize the gift giving for my husband and me. One daughter-in-law always sends an additional gift from her nuclear family, but my other two daughters-in-law send short birthday wishes by text. 
 
I am NOT proud of what I am about to disclose: I took my daughters-in-law’s succinct texts in a negative way – like they didn’t care. It never dawned on me that the dynamic in their families for gift giving was different than the dynamic in my family. It never dawned on me that their not personally picking out a gift, but leaving it up to my sons, was NOT a reflection of their lack of affection for me.                 
Now I’m wondering: What else in my personal life is due to faulty assumptions and not reality?
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Don’t miss out. 
The Art of Female Friendship – the Complexities and the Chaos
August 28
Register today!
https://www.jewishtampa.com/bloom

It Was a Bad Week

It was certainly a bad week. Not just for me, but for my poor mouth.
Massive infection
Fractured tooth needing to be extracted in pieces (OUCH!)
A complicated root canal procedure
And lots of ice packs


I was away from my husband.
I was bouncing between two of my adult kids’ houses. 
I was in a lot of unremitting physical pain.
I was slurping down pints of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream at 1170 calories a pint like it was breast milk and I was a newborn.

My face was swelling from the bombardment of both the drilling and the pulling at about the same rate as my hips were spreading from the ice cream. I was sorely in need of solace, diversion and inspiration on any topic.

I unexpectedly found some from the Internet – Instagram to be more specific.On the topic of HEALING:

Healing can be challenging because different parts of you want different things. 
Your inner child craves love and validation.
Your teenage self might seek revenge for past hurts.
Your adult self desires peace and resolution.
Balancing these conflicting needs makes the healing process complex.

On the topic of motherhood:

My favorite thing about being a mom is constantly being told I’m wrong by someone who arrived on Planet Earth via the portal between my legs.
On the topic of marriage:

For couples who don’t want to grow apart, don’t start talking to others about your relationship challenges rather than to each other.

On the topic of parenting or grandparenting a “difficult” child or grandchild:

Some of us are raising the wild ones, the room-wreckers and the reality-checkers, the fire-tongued and fierce leaders – the wild-hearted and world-changers.
These kids can argue like a prosecutor when you just wish they’d say “Yes, Mummy” and move on.

But one day, they will use those skills to stand up for themselves, for the people they love and for perfect strangers because injustice doesn’t live in their world.
And impacted by the vast volume of ideas on Instagram, I came up with a plan to celebrate my husband and my 48th wedding anniversary coming up very soon.

I asked my husband to find a restaurant for us to have a leisurely rendezvous. And I emphasized the eatery must have the following three things: 

Quiet
Ambience
And a bar

THIS IS MY PLAN

I’m going to wear an entirely inappropriate, cleavage-plunging red satin blouse, slip on ridiculously high stilettos and set out clinging to his forearm so I don’t break an ankle.

When we arrive at our destination, I’m going to gracefully (hopefully) slide onto a bar stool and provocatively beckon him close. 

And here are the questions I intend to ask him:
What is your favorite memory of us?
What do you love most about us?
What do I do that makes you feel loved?
What is something you’d love to do together that we haven’t done yet?
What is your ideal date night?
How do you like to be comforted when you’re upset?

It’s been a long time since I’ve asked those kinds of questions.
Most of the time, I’m anxiously probing and pestering him with the following:
Are you okay? 
Did you take your meds? 
Are you sure you aren’t too tired to drive? 
Did the doctor call back yet?

I’m going to put away my phone.
I’m going to focus solely on him.
And I’m going to stifle my normal impatience if he takes more time to answer a question I pose than I prefer.

And next year, I am going to answer the same ones back to him.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

PS:
Register now for PYB’s second friendship event 5:30 to 7:30pm on August 28. Don’t miss out. Space is limited and is expected to fill up fast. Click on this link for more information and to register https://www.jewishtampa.com/bloom