Quaterns

Yesterday I received my copy of Writer's Digest. This month's poetry corner was on Quaterns: 4 quatrains, eight syllables each line with a refrain.  I skimmed the article briefly before heading out to the mall to buy a birthday present for my mother and was immediately hit with three lines that would make some Quaterns.  In the car I jotted down this one from the first line that struck me:

I went out running this morning


I went out running this morning.
The fresh air moved my feet along
the black, buckled asphalt pavement
in the early morning sunlight.

Other runners greeted me as
I went out running this morning
with the promise of summer's kiss
lingering on my sweaty face.

I could hear the sparrows singing,
saw puppies pull their masters as
I went out running this morning
at the end of the spring season.

My spirt felt renewed, refreshed
as the squirrels and bunnies played
on manicured suburban lawns.
I went out running this morning.

My Very Own Garden

When my boys were little, we read Lobel's stories about Frog & Toad all the time.  The one they loved the most was when Toad tried to grow a gardent from the seeds Frog gave him.  Toad yelled at them continually to start growing until Frog came along and determined they were too scared to grow.  Toad then was worried the seeds would be too scared to grow if he left them alone, so he read to them, sang to them and stayed up all night until he finally fell asleep.  At last the seeds poked up out of the ground and there was much happiness on Toad's part.

Many years ago, a folk singer wrote a song about the story and I used to sing it to the kids.  (I know it was many years ago because my oldest just graduated from college last week... so it had to have been at least 20+ years ago.)

Yesterday, with the sun shining and summer's scent on the breeze, I figured it was time for me to once again plant my very own garden.  I visited the local community farm and picked up a couple of varieties of tomatos, tomatillos, lettuce, broccoli, sugar peas and peppers.  I picked up some herbs to add to the herb garden and planted them in fresh soil all while singing the story of Toad's garden.

This morning, I looked out on the gray New England morning that was such a stark contrast to yesterday's bright sun and noticed that the little broccoli seedlings I was so worried about seemed to nestle in and stand up a little straighter.  I could also see my tomatoes and tomatillos reaching up, willing themselves to grow and the peppers saying, "Not so fast, bubb... I can do this too!"  In that moment, I knew there was also a story growing in that garden.

I don't know what it is yet, like the little seedlings, it needs a chance to wiggle its roots around in the fresh earth and reach up towards the sun.

Goals?

The mysterious cabal of "they" always say writers have to have goals.  Sometimes "they" get motivational speaker level specific about wishes are actions that aren't acted upon and to make actionable wishes or "they" say put the big rocks in the bucket first then fill in from there and so on.

I tend to feel, "If I wanted a Tony Robbins lecture, I'd watch an infomercial...."

It's not that I don't understand the value of goals, I do.  It's just they're sort of like outlines: a good idea for some and an attack by the Black Hand on Franz Ferdinand for others; losing your nerve until a lucky shot creates an opportunity to maybe (hopefully) nail it and... oops, did I really mean to start WWI over this?

For the past 3 years, I've gone into National Novel Writer's Month with a lot excitement and dread.  This summer, my goal is to take my 2010 novel idea and turn it into something legible.  This is a goal.  While I'm sure for some this is not enough.  I envision "they" would be pounding their fist and demanding I break this down into actionable steps or apply habits of success to create a sellable product.

Me, I'm OK with "them" working themselves into a lather about foreign subjects while I dance around my home office singing Katy Perry at the top of my lungs or envisioning the music video I would make to Imagine Dragons' song "Top of the World."

Thanks to National Novel Writer's Month, I have achieved step one: write the damn thing.

I have achieved step two: break the damn thing into 3 acts.  This is my problem (and I must emphasize it really is my problem).  I start strong with a general idea.  The opening is always strong and then I get lost and then I feel like I have to stretch and end it.  When I'm done, I feel great about hitting 50k words and a complete (if pretty flawed) story and then wonder what to do next.  Now that I have figured out the three acts, I can take that weak middle and the "am I at 50k yet?" ending and turn them into something that can be read without too much pain.

Part of that step included some background on the society.  I have already done all the character background: how would I set up a Facebook page for my character?  What photos would I put up?  If my character was in high school, where would the character sit in the lunchroom?  The usual.  I don't always think through the society beyond the cafeteria.  That came out as I figured out my three acts.

While these are all the sorts of things "they" get all excited, these steps are more of a treasure map without the path drawn on it yet for me.  I can see the map and the markers, now I have to connect the dots to where X marks the spot.

It's a stretch for me as I'm so used to short pieces.  I used to make a living telling my story in 800 words or less.  Stretching the story to 50,000 words, well, now that's a challenge and, dare I say it, a goal.

Higgelty Piggelty Pop, goodbye Maurice

I grew up with some rather conventional children's books.  Essentially, if it wasn't a standard Golden book, it was either something crazy from my older siblings (yes Spider, it's all YOUR fault for giving me Dr. Suess books for Christmas) or hand me downs.  Discovering Maurice Sendak on my own opened up a whole new world of imagination for me.

It's no surprise that my children, nieces, nephews and other little ones received lots of Sendak (and others) from me.  One of my sons decided he was going to learn German at an early age after I read him "Wild Things" in German.  I'm not surprised to see inspiration from those books I read the boys long ago in another son's artwork and secretly suspect that he will eventually find himself immersed in the world of children's literature and art.  (When you have mentor like Tony DiTerlizzi, how can you not?)

Recently I introduced "Pierre" to a room of first graders who were studying folk tales.  It fit the lesson in when we discussed what made a folk tale, the kids listed talking animals and a moral lesson.  I absentmindedly replied, "There once was a boy named Pierre, who only could say, 'I don't care.' So read his story my friend and, you will find in the end, a suitable moral lies there."  The kids all looked at me and I asked, "Have none of you heard of Pierre?"  They all said no.  Off to the internet to find Carole King singing the nutshell library and, as a reward for good behavior, I showed them the video of "Pierre."

The kids were so enchanted, the asked to watch it again.... and again.  I instructed all of them to look for the Nutshell Library the next time they were in a bookstore.

I am known for my reciting of "Where the Wild Things Are."  I make the kids put on and zip up their invisible wolf suits, we have a wild rumpus and I point out how the illustrations grow and grow like the jungle in Max's room and shrink as he returns to his world.  I use it as a lesson that, no matter how big our imaginations grow, we need to write within constrained spaces.  The magic comes from transporting your reader to your wide open imagination.  It's a lesson that older kids love and gets younger kids thinking.

But right now, I'm feeling the need to dig out my copy of "Higgelty Piggelty Pop or There Must Be More To Life."  A book Sendak wrote to deal with his grief in losing his beloved dog, Jenny.  I hope that he is now happily playing with her and feeding her salami.  I need a way to deal with my broken heart in losing a man who changed my life.

Higgelty piggelty Pop, the dog has eaten the mop.  The pig's in a hurry, the cat's in a flurry. Higgelty piggelty pop.

What are my responsibilities?

Last week I visited my 90+ year old uncle in the nursing rehab facility he's been in for a couple of months now.  While there, he told me some great stories about my mom, dad, aunts and uncles.  My favorite was he told me a story about before my dad was dating my mom.  In WWII, my dad was a navy medic and was stationed in Okinawa.  As a result of his job, his tent had a wooden floor to keep the living area from getting muddy.

My uncles Jimmy and Ernest - who were twin brothers - were both stationed in Okinawa as well.  Ernest relieved my dad's unit and moved into my dad's tent.  Jimmy was with the SeaBees.  Jimmy went to visit Ernest with some buddies and had Ernest show him around the camp.  He had his buddies steal my uncle Ernest's booze that was hidden under the floor boards.  When my dad and mom started dating after the war, Ernest told about how someone stole all his booze and he knew it wasn't my dad because he had already moved to the next assignment.  In the background, my uncle Jimmy was signaling my dad not to say anything.

I told the story to someone who said, "It's a shame we're losing these stories as these guys die off."

I thought about it.  Is it my responsibility as a writer to be capturing these things?  I have thought about it a few times, tracking down WWII vets and recording their stories before they're lost.  The issue is, as always, time and money.  The question then becomes, do I have a greater responsibility?  Do we all?

On my end, I'm going to go back with a voice recorder and start capturing some of the stories.  I don't know how much longer my uncle has, but anything I catch is better than losing it all.

Resolved for Adventure

To resolve, according to the dictionary, means to come to a definite decision and determine to do something; to make up one’s mind. So moving into the new year, what do I resolve and why?

Well, one thing is that I will buy a calendar since my 2011 Kliban cat calendar doesn’t really work for 2012. That’s more of a practical resolution. Along with the new calendar, I guess cleaning the house over the next couple of days before a party here on Saturday falls into that category too. But beyond that, I don’t have a lot of resolutions.

I’m taking a new approach this year and creating more of a treasure map than a road map.

Treasure maps are fun, they are the things of which dreams are made. Think about it for a moment and picture a treasure map in your mind. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

I bet it was brown with age, curling at the edges and tattered. Did yours have big, thick broken dashes curving and swooping across the page to mark the route? Did it have a skull and cross bones on it? An ornate compass rose? How many cool, scary names of places were on there? Was there a big X to mark the spot?

Mine starts in 2011 and ends with an X over a treasure chest labeled "2013" and most of it can’t be read yet. It wanders through dangerous swamps like “save money” and “lose weight/get healthy.” (Not surprisingly both swamps have a distinct pig-like shape.) One corner has a robot built of Legos on it and another has an ornate feathered quill hovering over a parchment labeled “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” the famous unanswered question posed to us by Lewis Carroll. There is a runner passing through the “half marathon” ribbon. The path is still unclear in how it is all connected. I suspect that it will be come clearer as the year progresses. As it becomes clearer, I'll draw in the dashes connecting the various sections.

I decided on a treasure map after I looked at my traditional list and realized it reminded me of something (other than every previous resolution list). It reminded me of a grocery list and I had to ask myself: isn’t life more exciting than something that looks like: milk, eggs, bread....? I didn’t need another to-do or check list. I needed something to remind me what the year is full of new adventures.

I’m saving the check list for the practical “buy a calendar, clean the house, go food shopping, etc.” stuff. For resolutions, I’ll seek out the treasures the year is hiding.

After all, I deserve an adventure.

Channukah is NOT the Jewish Christmas

I wrote this sermon a few years ago for a service at a UU Church and discovered it while unearthing stuff in the office this week. I figured it was a sign to share it:

Harlan Ellison, the science fiction writer, once postulated that one's love of food could be traced to their religion. I would extend that to say the way one celebrates holidays can be directly related to one's religion as well. Now if you want to talk about people who know how to celebrate holidays with food, then let's talk about the Jews.

This is a group of folks who party like it's 1999 marked down from 5768.... Oy!

Seriously, there aren't a whole lot of religions out there that have a whole holiday dedicated to eating cheesecake while engaging in raucous religious study all night long or have a holiday that commands you to get so drunk you can't tell the hero from the villain of the story.

You're guaranteed a five pound weight loss in the spring (just before bathing suit season) by basically going on a religious version of the Atkins diet during Passover - which is a holiday that has the added benefit of making sure you have to clean your house at least once a year as you scour it to get rid of any chumetz, leavened food, before Passover starts.

The only thing that could make this religion any better would be a holiday devoted to eating fried foods and chocolate.

Oh wait, there is: Chanukah!

This is the holiday where we gamble with a spin of a dreidle while eating fried potato pancakes, called latkes, with sour cream or apple sauce; jelly donuts and chocolate gelt. As the song by the LeeVees says, "If goys can eat chocolate bunnies, why can't we eat chocolate money?"

But for a while, Chanukah was viewed as the Jewish Christmas. Middle class Jews with a more modern take on the world than their black-hatted religious counterparts. They erected evergreens dubbed "Chanukah bushes" and trimmed them with dreidles and lights so, from a distance, they looked like their neighbors in the subdivision instead of those embarrassing folks stuck in the past.

They sent generic holiday cards, bough presents from "Hanukah Harry" and invited the neighbors in to light the menorah while munching on latkes and honey glazed hams and washed it down with egg nog (because no one drinks Maneshevitz unless they have to).

So I have to ask myself a real and serious question: how did a holiday celebrating a faith that defied all odds to insure they wouldn't be assimilated by Hellenistic culture become the holiday that is now, in all likelihood, the most assimilated it can be into American culture? In fact, if it weren't for the fact that Chanukah falls so close to Christmas, ironically on the 25th of Kislev, it would be ignored by everyone but the Jews.

So what exactly is Chanukah if it's not the "Jewish Christmas?"

The story goes like this, when Alexander the Great conquered Syria, Egypt and Judea he allowed everyone to keep their traditions, religion and other aspects of their lives and world. BUT, ever the clever one, he inundated the region with Hellenistic traditions, statuaries, temples, celebrations, etc. It didn't take long for people to just kind of meld their lives with the prevailing culture.

Starting to sound familiar?

A few generations after Alexander was Antiochus, who was not a nice man. He decided to go after the Jews that hadn't assimilated with a vengeance. He installed Hellenistic priests in the Temple and instructed them to slaughter unkosher animals, mostly pigs, on the main altar. He banned the study and teaching of Jewish religion and culture and began to aggressively exterminate those whom didn't conform with his new laws.

Again, thinking of modern history (think: the war on Christmas), does this sound familiar?

A handful of farmers and priests banded together and staged a guerilla war for 3 years. In spite of the odds being stacked against them, they continued to teach and fight for their beliefs. At one point when the large, well armed army was attacking the rag tag band of brothers, things looked bad. That is until one member managed to roll under a heavily armored elephant and kill it from underneath. The general calling the shots from atop the elephant was killed and the troops lost their direction. Along with the political upheaval in other parts of the empire, the occupying forces left and the Jews went back to clean and purify their Temple.

Now here's the part of the story most people know. It took a week to press, purify and sanctify the oil used for religious ritual in the Temple and there was only enough left for one day. The decision was to light the lamp in the sanctuary and hope for the best until the new oil could be prepared. When the lamp was lit, a miracle happened. The flame burned for eight days until the new oil was ready.

So what do we learn from all this? Outside of sometimes it's better to be lucky than good, because if it weren't for the reality of coups happening in Syria and dissent within the Assyrian army, we wouldn't be here to talk about Chanukah, there will always be those that refuse to assimilate and eventually build up enough steam to reassert themselves on their own terms.

It couldn't be clearer or less surprising to see a backlash from a new generation of kids who were raised without a strong sense of Jewish identity to strike at the belly of the elephant... so to speak.

One way that began to happen was back in the late 50's/early 60's. A number of people were were close to the core Jewish leaders in the US began to spread the belief it was time to be Rabbis for the world, not just the Hassidim. Rabbi Zalman Schecter-Shalomi's vision of wrapping himself in a robe of light was heretical. Rabbi Shlomo Carelebach t'zl teaching a generation thirsty for a message of connection and love to take joy in creating sacred lives through music was heretical. Rabbi Mordechai Kaplan saying that Judaism is a progressive process and actions should have meaning rather than just rote traditions was heretical. Yet it was these heretics that saved Judaism by teaching those who had started to assimilate.

All of them, and so many others, forged the path for the new generations by finding a way to not feel like they had to compromise between their culture and their faith but they don't have to hide or blend in either.

Let me give you a recent example. I was in Target and noticed a large number of end caps with "Happy Hanukah" cards alongside the Christmas displays. So this would seem to be assimilation but what stopped me was on a card that had me laughing hysterically. Two very obviously Jewish looking boys and an oversized black baseball player were watching a spinning dreidle. One of the boys was leaving with the words, "Call me when it stops spinning" and the caption: Why you shouldn't play dreidle with Barry Bonds.

Think about it. How would it be obvious the boys were Jewish? They were wearing kippot, skull caps. There are no stars, trees or anything else anything other than these were a couple of American kids on their own turf and their own terms with their traditions. There were no generic holiday messages nor anything suggesting these kids were missing out on anything by being Jewish.

Rabbi Carlebach once wrote, "Kindling the Chanukah lights is a lesson in Jewish history. Knowing the past is vital, but living it and re-living it is the obligation of the Jew. History is important, but merely knowing facts is pagan, an aspect of Greek culture. A Jew survives in the present because he also experiences his past. And what is it about Chanukah that we celebrate? Not the amazing feat that seventy priests defeated a highly trained army of Greek soldiers... The Maccabees fought to restore the glory of G-d, but today we celebrate the miracle of the lights. Each day that the candles burned was a great miracle. G-d promised the Maccabees that the lights kindled by them would burn forever. Each day we add one more light. We must teach our children to remember the holy ancient lights, but also to add new lights, new ways."

We are starting to see how our children are adding new lights rather than reflecting in the light displays of Christmas time.

Think about the people from my generation who grew up watching "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer," Charlie Brown and other specials. After years of asking, "Why not us?" they began to write their own songs and specials. Along with the traditional holiday music you will hear on the radio, you will hear Adam Sandler's popular declaration, "Paul Newman's half Jewish, Goldie Hawn is too. Put them together and that's one fine looking Jew." If you're in public when that song comes on, you will also see kids of all shapes and sizes and faiths singing along with him as he sings, "You can spin the dreidle with Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock - both Jewish."

For almost two decades now, the animated specials started on Nickelodeon, the kid's channel. Mark Weiner,of Weinerville fame, wrote a Chanukah special that he wished had been around when he was a kid. A year later came the Rugrats Chanukah special, which was so successful, it was followed by the Rugrats Passover special, both are now staples in Nickelodeon's holiday rotations.

Jewish kids who grew up listening to rock and roll bought instruments, started garage bands and began recording. Jewish bands like Soulfarm have appeared on the same stage, and jamming along, with the Grateful Dead and Phish. Matisyahu proved he wasn't a novelty act as kids rap along with "Jerusalem if I forget you, let my right hand forget what it's supposed to do," quoting directly from the Psalm. Bands like Moshav and Blue Fringe aren't far from taking up playlist space next to their Christian counterparts Creed, Jars of Clay and Lifehouse.

Within the narrower Jewish spectrum, I look forward to more and more people reinterpreting classical Judaism, whether it's a band like Golem that does punk klezmer or magazines like Heeb that give voice to a generation wearing t-shirts emblazoned with "Moses is my home boy." This generation of young, hip movers and shakers that wear their Judaism with the same pride as many of their Christian compatriots.

It allows people like me to wrap my sons in my vision of a robe of light so when they pray, they can find their own paths.

We won't be seeing Hanukah Harry along side Santa in a mall any time soon, we've beaten back that level of assimilation. We will continue to see more and more of the assertion that Chanukah is not the Jewish equivalent of Christmas, even if we can't spell Hanukah the same way twice.

In the meantime, if you want to find me I'll be camped out listening to Radio Chanukah on XM, eating latkes and spinning a dreidle for chocolate.

It's not like Christmas, it's better.