Decidedly not black

Diamond Peak, from the window of the cabin where we're staying.

I wonder why they call it Black Friday? It sounds ominous. To me, the idea of lining up to charge, mob-like, into a Walmart is ominous. Maybe a shopper-phobic made up the term, I'm not sure.

Today I will be nowhere near a Walmart, or any kind of retail store. I'm with my sister and her family and grandkids in a cabin at Crescent Lake on the eastern slope of the Cascade mountains. Shopping is not a part of today's plan. We're going to take a walk by the lake in a little while, come back for a lunch of leftovers and probably a nice nap this afternoon.

Let's see - charging into Walmart vs. a walk by a beautiful mountain lake? It's hard to imagine anyone would have trouble deciding which activity is preferable.

One among my theories is that the urge to join the mob on Black Friday has more in common with the tradition of running with the bulls at Pamplona than about getting a deal on a new TV. It's about jumping into the fray, snorting and running with the herd.

Sounds like hell to me.

Thanksgiving was a total success, but it's over now. Onwards to solstice.

Shalom.

My grand nephews. That's Isaac looking at the camera. Eli is focused on the iPad.

Jet set

A fancy hubcap.

Tomorrow morning well before the crack of dawn I will walk out of the chateau, get on an airplane and fly to a place 3,000 miles away. I won't be back for a week. The weird part is: I'm looking forward to it.

It's weird because I dislike traveling for a number of reasons, especially by air. Earlier in life I had my fair share of hideous travel-at-the-holidays experiences. I might have vowed to never travel at the holidays again, I can't remember, though it's easy to remember how I was at that time in my life - obstreperous, prone to issuing proclamations, pointing and gesticulating. Good lord. I had so much energy then.

Here ye, here ye: the vow is broken. I'm assembling piles of stuff to take with me, thinking and rethinking what I'll need, smiling.

I'm leaving a day earlier than the worst of the holiday travel rush, returning a day after the chaos of the extended weekend - I hope. Last year when I went to Kansas City I timed my visit to fall between T-day and Christmas. My travel part of it was so uneventful, I can't even remember it. All my memories are of my wonderful visit with my sister. This is my hope and prayer for the trip to Oregon. May it be so.

Some people are at ease when they travel, some people love to travel. I am not among them, but I am among those who love to feast, relax, and celebrate in the company of nears and dears. I haven't seen my sister in years. One of my mottos since turning 60 is, What am I waiting for?

Indeed! I love my sister and her family, I love the mountains. Perhaps I won't love the plane ride but I will prevail. L'chaim, y'all. L'chaim.

I don't really have room inside for plants, but just before the Arctic cold front arrived in DC, my rose begonias bloomed. I couldn't leave them to their fate outdoors. They're lovely!

dog gone

Night shade.

Jake has been visiting my dreams of late. Jake, the gold puppy for whom this blog was named. It's so good to see him in these dreams. He appears much more relaxed than he ever was in real life. Often in these dreams I'm trying to find the accoutrements needed to take him on a walk, the leash, poop bags and such. He's following me around, as he used to. When he was a puppy, he leapt into the air when I grabbed the leash. He was enthusiastic.

One reason he's on my mind is because I'm going to dog-sit for a few days over Christmas. Christmas is always such a weird day for me. I'm thinking that hanging out with a dog will make it a lot more fun. The dog's name is Presley. He's a very good dog, they tell me, so right from the get go he'll be easier than Jake ever was, a good thing.

I figure the dog-sit will provide hours of amusement on a holiday I have never connected to, remind me again of why I don't want a dog of my own, and make for some good stories, fun walks, and maybe even good photo opps.

Perhaps the experience will make me want a dog no matter how much of a hassle it would be, who knows? At the house on Tennessee Avenue, we three had dogs. We covered for each other. Dogs are pack animals; they need more than one person. Trying to fill every need for a dog would be too much for me. It wouldn't be fair.

Seeing Jake in my dreams has rendered me sentimental for the big lug. Here's a picture of him I took in 2008. He was so photogenic.

Thankful

See the window? I was pointing the camera straight up.

Once upon a time I hated Thanksgiving. As a single person who never had kids and whose family is far-flung, it was always a weird day for me. I was often invited to "orphan" dinners. I hate that idea. I am not an orphan!

When I worked for Whole Foods, my loathing increased exponentially. Oh the customers, the throngs. Oh the fuss and carry on of said customers. And the turkeys. Oh god the turkeys. The store hired a gigantic refrigerated truck to hold all the pre-ordered turkeys. They were fresh turkeys so we received them all at once, on the Sunday before T-day. After they were unloaded, we had to sort them by size and then try to find the right size when customers came in to claim them. The truck was freezing cold, but sometimes I took a shift back there. It was worth it, just to get away from the customers, some of whom completely melted down, especially the day before the holiday. Such a kerfuffle! We tried many different organizing techniques for the turkeys, but somehow it always got out of hand by Wednesday. At that point, out in the truck, we were slinging turkeys as fast as we could. It was freezing - and disgusting!

Inside the store the customers ranted, shouted, carried on - about the stupidest crap like about a turkey 1/2 lb. bigger than ordered. We tried to be patient when we explained that there was no way to exactly regulate the weight of the birds. A half pound too much just means another sandwich or two the following day. We tried to smile, but it was always a grimace. I mean, really.

I worked with an international staff at WF, hence learned how to say, in 7 languages: Kill them all. That way, at a moment of high stress (which was every moment of Thanksgiving week), I could turn to any fellow employee and say, in a deadpan, in that employee's native language: Kill. them. all.

I only remember the Wolof and French expressions, have forgotten the rest. It has been awhile.

After I left that job, I railed against Thanksgiving for several years. I always stayed home, made brown rice and vegetables, and watched movies on TV - alone. Those were rather harsh years for me, come to think of it. That was during menopause. God, what a time.

Slowly, over the years, I began to warm to the holiday. In recent years I've attended many different feasts, all of them kind of the same, kind of different, all of them great fun. One year I celebrated with a huge family of Puerto Ricans. I had no idea what they were saying, but whatever it was, it was fun. We laughed and drank, then cranked up the salsa music and danced after dinner. The women wore lots of make up and stiletto heels. I loved it that rice and beans were of course a part of the feast.

I even hosted T-day here at the chateau a couple of years ago. A control freak in my own kitchen, I insisted on cooking the entire feast. I worked non-stop for two days! I'll never take on the whole feast again - though I would love to host again here at the chateau.

Last year, through no fault of my own, the feast I planned to attend got cancelled due to a death in the family. Sadly, everyone I might have foisted myself upon was traveling last year. Hence I spent the day alone. It was a lonely day. I felt sorry for myself and resolved I would not spend it alone again.

This year, I'm going to spend the day with family! Holy cow. I'm going to get an on airplane, travel 3,000 miles! I am the designated apple pie and gravy maker. Wow.

There are those who say people don't change, can't change. OK, at my core it's still the same Reya, but as an old lady I have a far greater capacity to enjoy and connect than I ever did when I was younger, during the holidays and at other times, too. I love being an old lady! Cheers!

Spiritual Forestry

Someone very wise said to me that, before age 60, we must be like the tree that grows tall, puts down deep roots, branches out, produces flowers, fruit and seeds. We must welcome the nests of squirrels and birds, weather the storms, ride out the harsh winters, hot summers, droughts and floods. We must abide over time. But after 60, he said, it's our job to become the forest.

I think about that a lot, what it takes to become the forest. We must join the chain of the generations after 60. We need to hold the circle of life for those who are younger, who are still growing and striving and thriving. We surely must.

Last year in December I went to Kansas City to put a gravestone on my mother's grave. This year in December, my father's family's yizkor memory book will be translated from Yiddish to English. I've exchanged emails with people who have done a lot of this work, who are part of the Yizkor Project. I'm still trying to figure out how to choose one. Something is always lost in translation. How do I determine which one of these competent translators is right for the job? I want the soul of those stories to come through the translation. How do I explain this? Still mulling it over.

When the pages of Viszygordek memories are translated, they will become part of the project and will be available online through the New York Public Library site for anyone who might be interested.

This is definitely one of the ways one becomes the forest, right?

Meanwhile I've been reading some of the translated stories from the Kremenets yizkor book. It was the large town close to my family's village. They are quirky, something I of course adore. The one I was reading yesterday was not so much a memory as a rant. It was all about how Jews who only study Torah and don't learn a trade do a disservice to all Jews. He goes on and on about how the ancient Jews worked the land and all Jews should learn a trade to support the community. Wow. I think they're having similar conversations about this in Israel today! So interesting.

The other thing I've been reading about is Crescent Lake, on the eastern slope of the Cascades in Oregon. That's where I'll be spending Thanksgiving. I love mountains and I love mountain lakes. The land will be just right for me.

Where does my love of mountains come from? I feel at home in the mountains. That terrain always feels good under my feet. I love the land at Tahoe. I love the Appalachians, too, also the Rockies, of course. (I was born in Denver, lived there until age 5. I never really adjusted to living in the muggy, harsh weather and seasons of the midwest.)

Is this love of mountains nothing more than a personal character quirk or is it embedded in my DNA somewhere? The reason I wonder is because Vszygordek in situated in the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains, in a valley of the Kremenets Range. Mountains are my favorite natural environment, which perhaps begs the question of why the hell I live in a swamp. Don't ask me!

I will likely never know why I so adore the mountains, but it sure is fun to think about.

What I do know is that life is good and I am grateful. I really am. Shalom.

Here they come

Yes, it is still beautiful in DC. But I'm over the Stendahl syndrome. Thank goodness!

It's windy and chilly this morning in Washington DC, though a glorious day out there, clear and sparkly. I'm sitting on my sofa drinking coffee, reading emails from possible Yizkor book translators. I am not a big fan of Brother Wind, especially when he's whipping around recklessly, hence I decided camping out this morning is the most prudent idea. I'll take a walk between clients later.

In a little while I'll have to get cleaned up because clients are coming, but for now I'm tousled, unkempt. While in Oregon I hope to spend many mornings just like this - except I'll be with my sister and a portion of her extended family. I look forward to the luxury of unstructured days.

Will it be weird not to work? It has been many years since I took this many days off work. I love my work - it's grounding and when I'm working I feel I am a force for healing in the world. I'm just one person but at least I'm doing my bit. On days when I don't work, unless I have projects lined up, I admit to feeling a bit out to sea.

This is why I will not retire, not ever, not that I could retire, even if I wanted to. But it's OK. I could see working less vigorously as I grow older, but to stop working altogether? That would not be a happy situation for me. I am a working animal, happiest while productive. When I sit around too long, I fall into a state of chronic rumination. My thoughts start spinning, pick up speed, and before you know it, I'm mired in the ruminants. Yikes!

However, even the hardest working animals (and I am not among that group for sure) need a break. Taking a week away from my natural habitat and habits and work will be great for me.

As you can see, I'm prepping myself for this big holiday trip. I'm gearing up for the holidays. Ah the holidays! Bring 'em on.

Mended

I think I may be recovering from Stendahl syndrome. I'm so relieved. I don't feel overwhelmed or unnecessarily tender. I slept hard last night and the night before, an indication that I'm more relaxed. Also, and this belongs in the category of you-can't-make-up-this-stuff, the leaves suddenly - overnight - became more dull. It was subtle, but I noticed. I wondered if it might just be me thinking they had turned the corner, but some friends and neighbors noticed the same thing. It was a sudden turn away from drop dead glorious to a bit muted.

That the leaves turned the same day I started feeling normal is righteous timing. The landscape here and me? We're like this (presses fingers together). I'm a part of the landscape.

Today dawned gloomy and rainy. They say we're in for a few days of gloom. That should help clear the last bits of the Stendahl left in my system. I am grateful.

I feel free, at last, to think about something other than beauty and love and the ancestors. It was great, but onwards and upwards.

Today I'm thinking about Thanksgiving in Oregon. I'm going to actually get on an airplane, during the holidays, in order to sit at table with my sister and some of her extended family. We're going up to the mountains to stay at a cabin so there will be snow! There will be good food, sitting around the fireplace, board games. There will be laughing, and maybe some drama (a part of the feast of abundance). We will drink red wine and toast all the things we're grateful for.

Last year, I spent Thanksgiving on my own. I walked around and took pictures in the very quiet city, had a nice meal. It was ok but this year I want to celebrate the feast as the ritual is meant to be - with a critical mass of family and all the abundance that attends such a gathering. I am so looking forward to every part of it except for the airport/airplane segments.

I was thinking about how the Melikiers got around, on foot, horseback, by car, too - after they were invented - but my guess is that there weren't a lot of cars in Vzysgordek, even in 1941 when the town was destroyed and everyone was killed. Can't imagine a rush hour in Vzsgordek, or a traffic jam. Can you?

Given how convenient it is to step on a plane, then, a few hours later step off the plane 3,000 miles away, why do I complain about the discomfort? It's the marketing, probably - the way you're supposed to think it's luxurious when really they're packing most of the passengers into a pathetically tight space. They should be honest. United Airlines: Unless you fly business class, your journey will be a bitch, but we'll get you there in one piece. That should be the tag line.

It's so worth the horrible airport/airplane experience to get out of town, to spend a good chunk of time with my sister and her family. I can't wait!