A Holiday Book Review

We were in the library a couple of weeks ago (aka our natural habitat), and I was gazing at the display of Holiday-themed books. 

Mr. Ginley strolled over and picked one up. He read the flyleaf and handed it to me.

"Here, read this," he commanded.

The title was The Matzah Ball, the author Jean Meltzer. It's essentially a romance novel about Hannukah.

As avid readers of this blog will attest, I love me some Christmas books and Hallmark movies. I know they are formulaic and insipid, but they make me happy. And really, life is too short, and I really don't give a shit what anyone thinks.

Having said that, I admit I hadn't read any romance novels about Hannukah. I was intrigued.

I grew up in Parma, where ethnic diversity only went as far as certain Eastern European countries. Attending a Catholic grade school didn't do much to expand my experiences. It wasn't until I got into the working world that I worked with people who looked different and embraced different religions from my own.

And it wasn't until I started working at J.B. Robinson Jewelers that I had Jewish coworkers. Even at that point, I wasn't exposed to Jewish traditions much because there wasn't a lot of discussion at work about Hannukah. Given the nature of the business, Christmas was the big shiny holiday. People bought lots of gifts for Christmas. They got engaged at Christmas. No one really talked about spinning a dreidel or lighting the menorah. 

Years later, Harry Shapiro came into my life. As it turned out, he would be my boss for 20+ years. From him I learned a little something about how Jewish holy days and holidays are observed. Plus, I acquired a bunch of cool Yiddish words. Being a word nerd, I love Yiddish. It's such a kick. As an alter cocker, I have a real appreciation for Harry as a mensch who taught this goy a little something about Jewish culture.

Back to the book...

It turned out to be a terrific read. Some books you can zip through and others you savor. The Matzah Ball was one I took my time reading. It was thoughtful, witty and well-written. And I loved the characters. For anyone who shares my secret passion for holiday romance novels, I highly recommend it.

And Harry, I know this isn't your usual read, but if you do pick it up, I'd love to know what you (or Ilene?) think. 

As to the author, Jean Meltzer, her story is every bit as interesting as the fictional characters she created. She studied dramatic writing at NYU, has worked in television and even acquired a daytime Emmy. For five years she was in rabbinical school, but had to withdraw due to a chronic health condition. Fortunately, she didn't follow her father's advice – he told her to write a book but "not a Jewish one because no one reads those." She has a second book that just came out called Mr. Perfect on Paper. 

I have it on order from the library.

Mazel tov!

Food Perp

Well, once again we're faced with the food holiday to end all food holidays: Thanksgiving.

photo attribution below

Many of you have purchased a turkey and will be roasting it in the oven for several hours. To you, I say "mazel tov."

I made a turkey only once during my married life. It was shortly after we returned to Cleveland, when we were living with my mother-in-law. We invited my parents and Mr. Ginley's Great Uncle Paul. It was the first Thanksgiving after my father-in-law had passed away. Honestly, it was a rather sad affair.

As I recall, the turkey was still quite frozen the morning of. I have a vivid memory of sticking my hand up into the bird's innards and wrestling to remove the bag of giblets. Warm water eventually loosened the contents and finished thawing the beast, and it cooked successfully after that.

There was an altercation between my Dad and Mr. Ginley. Dad thought my husband should carve the bird. However, having never done so before, Mr. Ginley was clueless and demurred to my father, who, grumpily obliged. 

It was just kind of a weird day. 

That's not why we never had a turkey again. The truth is, Mr. Ginley doesn't like turkey. Or mashed potatoes. Or sweet potatoes. Or gravy. Or applesauce. Over the years, our Thanksgiving dinners have pretty consistently featured (cold) ham sandwiches as the star of the meal with sides of stuffing, potato chips, cranberry sauce and rolls.

To satisfy whatever craving I have for traditional Thanksgiving fare this time of year, I go to Bob Evans. They have a meal on their menu that includes slices of turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce and biscuits. Yum. I may not be eating it on the actual day, but that's okay. We recently discussed the possibility of picking up Thanksgiving dinner from Bob's, which will be open that day. But then we'd have to get dressed and get in the car and drive there and, well, that's really just too much work.

So, I'll be heading to Honeybaked Ham to get the fixins for the big day. I'll throw together a pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce and bake some bread, and we'll be good to go. 

Mr. Ginley will watch some football. I'll take in some silly Hallmark Christmas movie. 

And we'll both enjoy a nice, quiet day of mostly doing nothing.

Sounds good to me.

Pass the Reddi-Whip, please!

Photo attribution: Famartin, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Should It Stay or Should It Go?

Everything is electronic these days, and all our memories are being saved in a cloud.  

Photos, emails and all manner of greetings have been relegated to the stratosphere. Maybe that's why I have such a hard time letting go of old papers and letters.

I have at least three boxes to go through. They're chock full of greeting cards, many from people long gone from my life. Of course, I want to keep the ones from my parents and my son. But do I really need well wishes from coworkers who shared a slice of time with me decades ago? I think not.

And photographs? There are several plastic bins filled with pictures, mostly from my kid's early childhood. I'm sure those could be culled down, too.

Then there are the picture books. An oversized art book featuring Whistler. Doisneau photographs. Beatles snapshots. Noir glamor shots of movie stars. Eye candy that sticks to my fingers like flypaper whenever I consider setting them free. 

On the plus side, I don't buy nearly as many books as I once did. And most of the ones I have been buying are children's books. Whether it's a nostalgia thing or I just love the stories and illustrations, kids' books are the ones that have become my collectibles of choice. They're stuffed willy-nilly this way and that on a shelf. I take them out from time-to-time and read and smile a bit. It's all good.

Then there are the books I'm going to read "one day." Stacks and stacks of them. Some I bought when I lived in Lakewood, before I moved to Virginia. I've schlepped them to the Old Dominion and back, then to our current dwelling. 

In the meantime, like a deranged weasel, I continue to take books out of the library and read them rather than reducing the stack at home.  

I am going to read them, honest. 

Retirement is probably a mythical proposition for me, and by the time it happens, I may no longer have the wits to read. So why am I keeping them?

We'll call it hope.

There is a fear that one day they will come to get me and they'll have to make a path through all the detritus. Fortunately, newspapers are electronic. And they don't seem to print telephone books anymore. I guess that helps.

It's supposed to be a dull, rainy day, so maybe today would be a good time to start digging into the papers – even though I already know what's going to happen.

"Oh look, I remember..."

And so it goes. 

And I'm the only one who knows.

Oldies and Newbies

Facebook can be a land of wonder, of discovery and, sometimes, a real downer.

the official t-shirt (for now)

As I was scrolling along, I saw that Grace Slick had a birthday last week. Grace Slick turned 83.

Wait a minute. This is the woman who belted out Somebody to Love and White Rabbit. A pioneer. A rocker of epic proportions and someone I'd consider part of my generation. One of the stars of one of my favorite albums, Jefferson Airplane's Surrealistic Pillow.  (Which, by the way, youngsters, still holds up against anything that's come down the pipe since.)

Grace Slick is an octogenarian. OMG.

You could say (and you'd be absolutely correct) that my musical preferences are stuck somewhere prior to the 1990s. With a few exceptions, I haven't found a lot to get excited about. Rap has never appealed to me. Some of the cross-over country-rock stuff is okay. And occasionally I find a singer who appeals. I'm not even sure what to call modern music.

Admittedly, I haven't paid much attention to the music scene, being content to replay my collection of CDs or tune into classic rock and oldies radio stations. 

I did get a clue, however, from one of my coworkers (Blaise), who plays drums in a band called This Summer. The genre of his band is emo. 

Emo is defined as a type of rock music that resembles punk but has more intricate arrangements with lyrics that have more emotional topics.

Some of my younger readers (if I have any besides my son) have likely reached the eyeroll portion of the program by now. "Silly Boomers," they may scoff.

Indeed.

But being a Boomer doesn't have to mean staying stuck in the past. We are capable of learning new things, and I'm open to giving it a go. While I haven't attended one of their concerts, I have listened to Blaise's band, thanks to the wonder that is YouTube. I have to say, I did enjoy it, although it's more likely I'd listen in small doses. 

Baby (Boomer) steps, I suppose.

If you're curious, here's the video for This Summer. Let us know what you think.

In the meantime, I wanted to share a story about Grace Slick that I found in my travels. In 2017, she allowed Chick-fil-A to use the Starship song Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now in a TV commercial. However, because she abhors the company's views on same-sex marriage, she took all the profits she received from the deal and donated them to Lambda Legal, which works to advance the civil rights of LGBTQ people and those living with HIV. 

Which kinda proves my point that Boomers can be pretty slick. Especially Grace.