Author: halfcnote

Bones

I’ve been going to see the chiropractor for about a month or so.  I’d been to one many, many years ago after a car accident and it seemed to help.  I thought I’d give it a go again since I’m lopsided from walking with a limp for so long.

The twins who run the place are very gung ho on the proper placement of the Atlas bone. This is the top cervical bone in your neck – the one that your skull is supposed to rest serenely upon.  Apparently, mine is out of whack because I am not even close to serenity at the moment.

They have a funky machine that looks as if it going to deliver a lethal stab into the base of your skull.  What it does is gently adjust the degree of angle in the Atlas.  No more, “take a breath, relax and try not to think that I’m about to snap the hell out of your neck” stuff. Nope, just a gentle, almost unfelt tap.

My Atlas has been reset oh, six times now.  I’m guessing the little bugger is quite happy being crooked. It just won’t sit still and every time they adjust it, I end up with these excruciating bothersome muscle spasms between my shoulder blades.  You know the kind where that’s pretty much all you can think about?

I was dancing with Yoda yesterday and with every move my back had it’s own little disco party. Today, I’ve been attempting to study for my Archaeology final, but the spasms in my back are making me wonder if I need my own forensics done.

Victim:

Female: approximately 50 years old

Height: feet touch the floor

Weight: filled out

Race: hasn’t run one in 30 years

Teeth: still her own, although they could use a whitening

Body shape: filled out

Musculature: apparently doesn’t eat spinach

Handedness: both there

Scars: emotional and physical present

Past bone injuries: two screws in right ankle; one slightly skewed Atlas

Findings:

There was a crooked woman and she walked a crooked mile,
She found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile.
She bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse.
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.

Until she underwent chiropractic manipulations and ended up in worse straits than before.

Anyone know a good masseuse?

Premiere Reminder Day

Sunday was Bashert’s birthday.  Birthdays are a big thing for her, since many of the other popular holidays throughout the year were not celebrated by her family.  Birthdays were fun, but not earth shattering events for my family.  As I’ve noted before, I can be kind of dense about some things, so its taken me a few years to realize the importance of the day.

I have a hard time being super creative in a celebratory way.  Most of that talent lies with Bashert.  She once had me invite all the people and then decorate my parent’s home for my own surprise birthday party.

I’ve only been able to surprise her a couple of times during our 15 years.

When she turned 40, I gave her a gift a day forty days out from her birthday.  Each gift was accompanied by a short poem to hint at what the gift was to be.  I gave her all manner of stuffs – from a secret message painted on the ceiling (glow in the dark paint) to lip balm to a surprise visit from her sister (who came bearing chocolate cake!).  That was challenging, but fun.

This year, she received her most of her birthday a little early. The first part was a little bit selfish on my part.  She was so totally frustrated with her iPad I dropping her from the internet and I was so totally frustrated hearing the sighs, that I packed up Yoda and part of our tax return and went straight to the Apple store.  We came home with a laptop.  Surprise! No more sighs from either of us.

I had not planned anything specific for her actual birthday.  We were to be out of town Friday and Saturday for Passover at her sister’s place.  And then it happened.  I was in the back room working on my term paper (which I should be doing now) Friday night and I could hear them discussing dogs.

I had internet connection and ding! went my email.  Seems Bashert’s sister, Miriam had found a couple of dachshund puppies offered on Craigslist in our area. I snuck a look and said for those faces, I could try again.  The next day started an email exchange that ended up with a meeting to take place on Sunday.

Once we saw the little thing, there was no doubt he would be coming home with us.  If the other people who had driven all the way from North Carolina had decided against his sister, I believe we would have taken her too.

So, enter Moses, a nine week old, long haired, mini dachshund.  He is a beautiful black and tan and full of personality.  He won’t be much over 10 lbs once fully grown and he has stolen our hearts.  Well, most of our hearts.  The cats aren’t too happy with the new addition, yet.

The older ones haven’t gotten over adding in Ruthie the 3-legged kitten and Ruthie is a little put out about not being the baby anymore.  The pain of the lost dogs still haunts us, but as with all blended families, it just takes time.

We’ll get there.

 

Happy Birthday, Bashert!

Let My People Go

Seder Plate by Gary Rosenthal

Tonight, at least in my part of the woods, begins Pesach – Passover.  The time we all get to enjoy The Ten Commandments and for some unknown reason, Fiddler on the Roof.

Tonight all over the world Jews are gathering together to take part in a centuries old tradition; a Passover Seder to recall the Exodus – the escape of the Jews (Hebrews) from Egypt.

A true traditional seder lasts an eternity. Seder means order and traditionalist keep to that order.  It involves the telling of the story, asking questions and partaking of certain foods at specific times. The real meal doesn’t come until after the story has been fully told. Four hours into the seder and all you’ve had to eat is some parsley and horseradish.  It makes for a long night.

Many homes, including ours have adopted a somewhat shorter version of the story, so as to not have the kids up to all hours of the night, hungry, bored and cranky.  Works for the adults, too.

So here for your edification is the story of Passover – Bedlam style:

Jacob brought his sons into Egypt to escape the famine in Canaan.  Son Joseph was a big mahker in Egypt and set his family up in Goshen, apart from the Egyptians (see Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat).

After Joe died, little ol’ Egypt and its new Pharaoh seemed to forget about the contributions he and his people made to Egyptian society and became jealous and suspicious of the Israelites.  So like all despotic rulers, he made them into slaves.

Somewhere in this mix, it was predicted that a boy would be born to lead the Israelites to freedom. So, again like any good despotic ruler, Pharaoh passed an edict that all newborn boys of the Israelites be killed. Fun stuff.

Now, being a crafty Mom, Yocheved, put her boy Moses in a basket and sent him down the Nile hoping a good family would pick him up.  Moses hit the jackpot and was picked by the nurse of Pharaoh’s daughter.  He was adopted into the royal family.

When Moses grew into a young man, he observed an Egyptian beating an Israelite (Cecile B. DeMile seems to think it was an old woman), Moses got a little beside himself and killed the Egyptian.  And like any teenager who has pulled a major “oops”, he ran away.

There’s not much to run away to in Egypt even back then.  Moses ended up in an encampment of  sheepherders, headed by Jethro (and you thought he was just a galoof on Beverly Hillbillies).  While getting back to nature, Moses takes a wife, Tziporah, who just happened to be Jethro’s daughter.  Always reaching for the top that Moses.

One day while out shepherding, Moses is mysteriously called to a mountain whereby he encounters a burning bush that is not consumed by the fire. Okay, so this is where some faith comes in – through the bush G-d instructs Moses to go back and lead the Israelites out of Egypt.

So, Moses goes back recruits his older brother Aaron and storms the Pharaoh’s place.  He demands the release of the slaves or else. (“Let my People go!”) Pharaoh of course says, or else what and Moses, armed with a mighty potent staff shows him what – nine times.

For those of squeamish nature, skip this section.  Moses brings forth nine plagues. (When telling this part of the story, you get to dip your finger in your wine and put a drop on your plate for each plague – kids like this part).

  1. Water turned into blood – I’d be good there.
  2. Frogs – my sister would be good there.
  3. Lice – parasites, my worst nightmare.
  4. Wild animals – and we are not talking Disney safari here.
  5. Pestilence – dictionary example is Bubonic plague, oh goodie.
  6. Boils – ow.
  7. Hail – ow again.
  8. Locusts – crickets on steroids, ever get one down you shirt? Shiver.
  9. Darkness –  talk to the people in the extreme north about no light for extended time.

Pharaoh being an idiot, again as most despotic rulers are, said no each and every time until the tenth one.  G-d struck dead all the Egyptian first born.  (When Yoda was very little, the firstborn just got really sick.)

The schmuck finally got the message on that one.  Pharaoh in his grief, relented and let the Israelites go.  They fled hat in hand.  – “No time to let the bread rise, Yacov, we gotta go!”

Pharaoh woke up when he realized basically his entire workforce was getting away and took chase after them.  He thought he had them cornered at the Sea of Reeds (Red Sea), but dang if Moses didn’t take that G-d charged staff and part that sea.  The Israelites scrambled across and Moses closed the sea on the Egyptian army.  Only Pharaoh survived to see Miriam dancing with her tambourine in celebration across the waters.

The Israelites were free.  Dayenu.

From this point, the Israelites wander for some time, about 40 years, go through some faith issues and are given the Torah – the five books of Moses and entry into the promised land (minus Moses).  They lead a life of happy urban and agrarian society for many years until the whole persecution thing starts over again.

End of story. Let’s eat.

Add an orange and an apple to your plates this year and celebrate freedom for us all. Happy Passover!

The King and I

Sometimes I think about Elvis.

I know it’s an odd thing just randomly thinking of Elvis.  Its not like he’s a major topic of conversation around the house.  I don’t even know if Bashert likes his music.

What sparks these ruminations, I’m not sure.  Perhaps I catch a snippet of a song on the radio or a phrase from one his songs.  It’s not as if I knew the man, but think of him I do.

The life he led was crazy and he used some of his fame to do stupid things, but I’d like to think that underneath it all Elvis was a nice guy.  Who knows what we would do in his place? I like to think that I would make a better deal of things – you know, Oprah style, but if I was ‘suddenly’ given everything I never had as a kid when I was younger, who knows?  What would you do to maintain?

My family lived in Memphis for four years during the mid-sixties.  We visited Graceland a couple of times before it became a fortress.  I even dipped my hand in the swimming pool.  My Mom says someone came out of the big house and spoke to them about something – probably along the lines of please leave the premises.  We wonder now if he was in residence that trip.

This Polaroid is from 1964 and that’s me on the standing on the bench in my red and white dress.  Hard to see, but that’s my sister, brother and great-grandmother in front of Graceland. Don’t we look excited?  Who knew this would be the home of a legend?

I used to sing Wooden Heart to Nenè back when she was just Munchkin to me.  I barely remember the movie G.I Blues, but the song makes a great lullaby. It’s kind, gentle and surprisingly sweet for a German folksong.

That’s how I like to think of Elvis when I think of Elvis – kind, gentle and surprisingly sweet.

Can’t you see

I love you

Please don’t break my heart in two

That’s not hard to do

‘cause I don’t have a wooden heart.

And if you say goodbye

Then I know that I would cry

‘cause I don’t have a wooden heart.

There’s no strings upon this heart of mine

It was always you from the start.

Treat me nice

Treat me good

Treat like you really should

‘cause I’m not made of wood

And I don’t have a wooden heart.

(words and music by Wise, Weisman, Twomey, Kaempfert)