You're In Control

I'm not in control, G-d
I've never held the reigns
You're the One who leads my life
Through losses and through gains

And when I sometimes try to shove You
Out of sight and out of mind
You just keep on reminding me
And place me in a bind

Till I'm forced to remember
On Whom I do depend
It's You who's always been there for me
And been my greatest friend

And though right now I may feel down
Lost all self confidence
You're stretching way out for me
I can see Your providence

And as I cry myself to sleep
For just another night
As I try to predict the unknown
And fill myself with fright

I feel You helping me along
Telling me to move ahead
To take the next step forward
To not give up and stay in bed

But to give the wheel up to You
And stop pressing on the brakes
To let my life move forward
Despite a myriad of mistakes.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Monkey see, monkey do.
Stare at him, he stares at you.
Hide from him, he hides his face.
Run from him, he joins the race.
Monkey see, monkey do.
Doesn’t he act just like you?

Attention

What do you do with a kid who makes up stories about her life to gain attention? And it's not as if she doesn't have enough really serious stuff already going on... She jus embelishes everything and changes it all around till you're not sure what's real and what's not.

What do you do when that same kid drags another's name into the picture and the other vehemently denies any connection? Which one do you believe?

What do you do when there's someone screaming for help inside but plainly refuses to talk to anyone but someone still in high school?

What do you do when you know that telling someone will probably mean the end for this kid, but may mean a new start for another?

I'm so confused as to whether I made the correct decisions...

My Space

Back off, will ya?
Give me some space.
You're stifling me.
Not letting me think.
And even though you may be right,
Right now, I feel like
Doing the opposite
Of what you think
Just to spite you.
And though in reality,
I'd only be hurting myself,
I need the space
To contemplate
On my own.
Without you asking me questions
Or giving me answers.
Just
give
me
my
space.
Please?

Been Busy

Sorry for not posting any "real" posts of late. I've just been busy and haven't had much time to really think.

Just posting a song someone played for me.

Enjoy!

I Am A Mouse

I am a mouse.
Scurrying about.
Trying to find
Some food
For thought.

Where is Love?

This song always makes me cry...

I've directed Oliver! twice in the past. In my opinion, it's one of the greatest works ever written...

The Lady or the Tiger?

Ever read Frank Stockton's "The Lady or the Tiger"? Yeah, I'm sure you have. It's one of those stories that you rehash in your mind every so often, wondering which ending Stockton would have chosen.

I read through the story once again yesterday, and was struck by a strange idea. Stockton asks which door the princess would have pointed to, being the semi-barbaric soul she was. Now, I want to ask the question - which door would I have pointed at?

I'd like to think that I would choose the woman. To give the one who loved me another chance at life. Yet on the other hand, I've never been in the position of losing one I greatly loved to another. Would I have the strength to live through the torture of knowing that he could never be mine?

Can I truly say what I would do in such a situation?

The Last Day

I don't like endings.
I don't like saying goodbye.
I don't like finishing a book; the coclusion usually doesn't do justice to the plot.
I don't like stopping a song.
I don't like leaving Israel.
I don't like realizing that it's all over.

But it is.
Another Chanukah has just passed me by.
Oh, yes. I did go to parties.
Every night, in fact.
And I sang some, and danced some, and shmoozed some, laughed some and ate some.
I even heard a shiur or two.

But it's not enough.
It never is.

And tonite, I didn't even have the time to stare into the candles like I usually do.

Goodbye, my dearest Chanukah.

Tagged Again!

Corner Point tagged me to list seven facts about myself. Though I did this a while back, I'll be a good sport and do it again.

Here goes nothing...

Rules:
1. Link to your tagger and post the rules.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself; some random, some weird.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post and list their names and link to them.
4. Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment at their blog.

1) I can't do two things at once. If I'm washing dishes, I ain't on the phone. And if I'm on the computer, well... I'm sure not doing much else. So much for women having the ability to multi-task. At least you know this; if I'm speaking to you, you have my full attention.

2) People singing off key irritate me. Nope, sorry. More than irritating; it causes me untold pain and anguish. No joke. I'm working on acting nicer and not leaving the room while suffering from this pain, but it's taking some time...

3) I'm a vanilla person. With toasted coconut topping.

4) I used to get massive headaches from live music. I still do sometimes.

5) My name is just about the first on any of my neices' or nephews' lips.

6) I love experimenting with eyeshadow. I think I own over thirty different shades, and I usually use five or six at once. I think it's so cool that one can play up the eyes so much...

7) I didn't get cavities till I spent two years in Israel. Guess the flouride in New York water really helps.


If you're up to reading this, Illegal Alien, then I tag you. You can post your 7 in my comments.

If You Like Him... (3)

I handed the phone back to Mrs. D.

"You know, he very nice boy. I know his mudder" she told me.

I replied with a nonchalant "Very nice."

"He come now. You see what he is, and if you like him, I can make shidduch."

WHAT?!?

"Ummm... it's ok. Really." I stammered.

"You talk to him when he comes. See if you like him. He very nice, I tell you. Good heart. I know his mum."

Yeah, you said that already. Gosh, this is uncomfortable. How do I get out of this?

I looked her in the eye. Then I squirmed and stammered again "Umm... I guess... whatever."

Then she began another shidduch story.

A few minutes later, Chananel showed up. He was a short fellow, complete with a scruffy beard and a hat unlike the ones my brothers wear. Definitely Chassidish. He did a double take when he saw me sitting in the room.

Mrs. D pointed at me and said "She gave you directions."

He looked at me uncomfortably. "Thanks."

No problem. Now would one of us kindly leave?

She directed him to another chair and stared pointedly at me, waiting for me to begin talking. But I couldn't. I wouldn't. I was shell-shocked.

She looked at him. "Where are you from?"

Boro Park.

She turned towards me. "And where do you live?"

Flatbush.

Pause.

We both squirmed in our seats. Poor guy, I thought. He doesn't know what hit him.

Mrs. D didn't let up. She started another litany of shidduch stories. I tuned her voice out, wishing I was somewhere else. The whole situation was ludicrous.

All of a sudden, my cellphone rang. It was my mother. "Where are you? You finished yet?"
"Don't ask, mom. I''ll be finished soon. I'll talk to you when I get back." I hung up the phone.

Chananel took the momentary lull to go call his mother.

Mrs. D looked at me again and asked "So, do you like him?"

I answered "Well, he's nice and all, but not for me. Thanks for trying."

She looked flabbergasted. "How you know he not for you? I tell you, he has such good heart. You don't find better."

"He's Chassidish. He's not for me."

"How you know he's Chassidish? I never knew such a thing. I don't think he is."

"He is. His long jacket and hat kinda make it obvious." I wasn't giving in.

"I don't think he is." she insisted. "You know what? I'll ask him."

Oh dear. No, please don't do that!

I stared at her. This woman was going to drive me crazy. "I'm telling you he's chassidish. You don't have to ask him. It's obvious."

Just then, Senior D called us in. When Mrs. D told her mother of the shidduch I wouldn't listen to, her mother looked at me, then at him, and with a curt shake of the head said "Loh. Hooh loh hazivug shelah."

And that was that.

I went through the whole towel and lead ceremony; she gave me some perakim of tehillim to say every day and a few strange practices to do, and I was through.

I ran out of there. The second I got outside, I burst out laughing.
I laughed all the way to our apartment...

If You Like Him... (2)

To make things a bit simpler, I'll henceforth refer to the woman as Mrs. D and her mom as Senior D.

So, Mrs. D led me into her her mother's apartment, and directed me to sit in a dirty, worn chair. I sat there, as she explained to me what her mom does, along with visual aids (meaning, there was a couple going through the initiation ceremony just then).

Senior D spoke to the irreligious couple for a few minutes, and then placed a towel over the young man's head. She took a pot from her stove, raised it above his head and spooned led into the water. It sizzled, and she gazed inside.

"Ahhh! Yesh ayin hara! Yesh harbeh. Mah asita?"

She poured the led again, going through similar words immediately following the gazing. She called her daughter over to look at the interesting shapes that had formed, in a kind of frenzy.
"Zeh loh tov. Loh tov..."

She gave him some mussar about living with his girlfriend without marrying her, gave him some perakim of tehillim to say and a couple other practices, and without much ado, went on to the next person in line.

Mrs. D turned to me. "My mom, she very good. Many people come, even from America, to get her advice and to take away ayin harah." (this was true - she got about five phone calls while I was there asking advice on shidduchim and the like...)

I squirmed. This was soooo not my kind of thing.

Mrs D. continued. "You know, I make shidduch."

"That's nice" I commented.

"I make many shidduch. Sometimes not my idea, but I help." She then went on a litany of shidduchim she had helped with, mentioning one or two names I recognized.

Very nice. So what?

Then she decided to make a phone call.

"Allo, Chananel? Yes, my mom, she not so busy now. You want come now? Ok. One minute."

She handed the phone to me and asked me to direct him to the apartment.

I took the phone. "Hello. Where are you?"

"At the Mir."

Gulp.

"Umm, ok." I gave him directions to the place, wondering what on earth was going on...

to be continued.... (don't worry - won't take as long as last time. report card marks are in.)