Inviting Guests

Houses have multiple purposes.  Shelter primarily.  Creating a home.  Allowing for passive financial growth.  Establishing communal roots though retaining privacy simultaneously.  Having a place to share but also a place where you are in charge.  All of these and more.

We moved in forty years ago.  At first we had aspirations of being gracious hosts, raising a family, functioning as squires of a limited estate, returning from work to a night of relaxation.  Most of this happened, at least the important parts.  Elegance that whizzed through our mind as we signed the various closure forms did not happen.  Sharing what we have underperformed.

Now as empty nesters, we have far more floor space than we utilize.  Accommodating aging parents did not happen.  With good fortune, our children remain independent and just the right distance away to renew for themselves what we once did.  Nobody comes in and out now, just us.  We need to expand that.

My semi-annual initiatives for many cycles have included an item for entertaining guests, three per half year.  It gets propagated from one cycle to the next, never fulfilled, though I am now committed to making it happen.  Excuses easy to generate, mostly clutter that we want to keep private.  Or the ravages of our cats on the upholstery.  Or paucity of friends.  That's a more difficult one to overcome than clutter.  Living room, dining room, and lower hall now all clear.  Deteriorating sofa replaced.  New curtains with rods appear much more inviting than the draperies that preceded them.  Kitchen fully functional and modernized with an annual bonus I received during my working years.  Still a bit cramped to have one of those help me make dinner evenings but perfectly adequate for meal preparation at the highest level of my skill.  

Now ready to invited people.  Will delegate guest list.

The Rival Congregation

It's been a while since I attended services across town.  I had been a member for 17 years but defected for a variety of reasons, from excessive blue penciling of the traditional service to a Rabbi less than fully cordial to a macher dominated structure.  I moved my allegiance.  My wife joined me five years later.  A dear friend had been systematically mistreated by Important People.  We were not Important People.  Despite a new Rabbi of great talent, he could not change the culture.  We went more traditional, Orthodox Rabbi, full liturgy, no machers of special entitlement, nobody designated as deserving torment, all on the upside, but marginalizing women's participation on the downside.  And that's where we are twenty-years later, with my wife one of the pillars despite her genetics. A span is more than ample for cultures and circumstances to change.  For us, rabbinical retirement and transition, along with a cultural change.  We've become more inbred with recycling of officers, almost creation of the USY-Cliques of our youths.  I was not in the clique in the 1960s, nor am I now.  Everyone's cordial.  Nobody invites friendship, and to an increasing extent, nobody invites new people onto their committees either.  Like a CPR code in a hospital, once you have the key doc or two on site and enough others to compress and bag, you really neither need nor want the room cluttered and send everyone else who responded away.  And if you are more useful than important, even if the utility is limited to an annual dues check that can get successfully cashed before Rosh Hashanah, you will be treated as useful.  My check always arrived on time and never bounced, giving me a share in what had really become a Gated Community.  And we have full liturgy, that litmus test of the traditional Judaism.  Yet on shabbos morning, I follow in the appropriate books, daven shacharit, read my Aliyah or two from the scroll when they need me to, and do a good job chanting the Haftarah on the diminishing occasions when invited. 

It is that Invited, which has atrophied in a disheartening way.  On occasion, I suspect my current seat on the sidelines with summary squashing of any initiative I propose to the current In-Crowd targets me personally, but I give them too much credit to think so.  More likely it reflects a cultural shift, one where above threshold or good enough or easy to execute becomes the aspiration of those with the sometimes thankless task of filling the schedules.  My time in the sanctuary, and I really have no reason to be on-site other than the sanctuary, is devoted to following along in the appropriate book, having the Rabbi compliment my shirt during the Torah processional, and following my tradition, started at my Bar Mitzvah congregation z"l when I was underage, of pouring 15 ml of scotch into my cup in lieu of the hideous Manischewitz filled plastic cups.  In his anthology Jewish Megatrends, Rabbi Sidney Schwarz cited his four aspirations for meaningful Judaism:  Chochma or Wisdom, Tzedek or Righteousness, Kehillah or Community, and Kedushah or Sanctity.  That tetrad written by me in Hebrew letters onto the whiteboard that sits in my line of sight to the left of my desk has become my checklist for what my Jewish experience should aspire to.  And my shabbos morning experience used to score a lot higher than it does now.

What's not on the checklist at all is the means of reaching each of those four objectives.  Extent of liturgy or what the community permits its women to do may be appealing or not.  Who engages you in conversation at Kiddush to enhance personal connection or stimulate your thoughts is very much the essence of Kehillah as is the invitation to be a meaningful participant who designs the activities, not just partakes of the final product.  That cultural shift very much disheartened me, enough to think maybe shabbos morning services might register as more meaningful someplace else.

My community has a lot of potential someplace else's, even more when expanded to Philadelphia 45 minutes to the north and Baltimore an hour and a half to the southwest.  Indeed, my wife often seeks satisfaction at the congregation in which we were married outside Philadelphia forty-five years ago where women of her level of talent have parity with men.  Moreover, she has female peers of comparable skills there.  I saw an Orthodox Rabbi from Baltimore on Jewish Broadcasting Service a number of years ago.  I drove to his synagogue one Shabbat morning, found the experience fully engaging, and until Covid worshiped there quarterly.  My community has a Chabad where I migrate when I need a change of pace, always treated warmly when I go there.  And when saying Kaddish for my father, prior to my retirement, the local Reform synagogue offered the only Kabbalat Shabbat service with a delayed start that would enable me to complete work and have shabbos dinner first.  Lovely people to be among, though they mostly tended to leave me to myself.  Continued to seek out those Friday nights periodically after Kaddish concluded, again terminated by Covid.  "I'm not going there again" never emerged for any of these alternatives.  Yet, none of them were my congregation.  I was always a visitor to a place that really had no obligation to me beyond the derech eretz, or civility, that Jewish people are expected to convey to one another.  Each is what it is, each had a particular objective, be it Kaddish at a convenient time, the warmth of the Chabad rabbi, the intellect of the Baltimore rabbi, or egalitarian Philadelphia without any reduction of liturgy.  I enjoyed them all in their time and their contexts, felt entitlement to none.  For my own congregation where I have a financial share and presence in their Gated Community, I do have some entitlement with a strong measure of tacit reciprocity that strikes me as not having been fulfilled for too long. My entitlement to be a contributor had been sidestepped if not bludgeoned at its highest levels of operation.  I missed it.  To my own detriment, perhaps, I resented feeling this way, no matter how accurate, and even from the perspective of the Clique, justifiable.

Since loyalty evaporated as an anchor, I set a few criteria that would bring me to my home congregation on a shabbos morning.  All invitations to serve as leader of shacharit or chant the weekly haftarah would be accepted.  Torah reader would be suspended to a specified date with the provision that I would only accept invitations to read Aliyot that were new to me, not recycled from prior years except for yom tovim where they are all often repeated and I've done most at least once previously.   But even there, not the one I did the previous year. I had an obligation to my friends the Gabaim who schedule shacharit and haftarah, neither part of the governance, but not to the VP Religion who schedules Torah readers, or to any other VP or committee chairman that excluded me.  My wife has a more acceptable presence.  If she participates, I will be there in support.  And there are special events: Shiva minyanim, friends needing a minyan for kaddish, an honorary kiddush, a visiting rabbi candidate to replace our departing one.  There are enough of these that I will not really be absent, though I doubt anyone will identify the pattern of when I am there and when I am not.

Setting fixed criteria to ration my presence, go on strike metaphorically perhaps, seemed rather easy.  It's not really going on strike, though, as real labor discontents articulate what they want in exchange for their return.  Finding that what I want knowing it will not be fulfilled makes my project much more difficult than going on strike.  Probably what I want may be to respect the logo on the letterhead which announces Embracing-Engaging-Enriching.  I recall the Board discussions, given the agenda item "Branding".  It's purpose in those discussions was framed as attracting new members and their checks, not really changing the culture of the congregation so it can really deliver those goods.  And for me, it didn't.  But it remains a reasonable benchmark.

Where is it fulfilled?   I don't really know, since sitting in the audience as religious services proceed never generates all three.  That comes from interactions beyond worship, being invited to create something that will delight others, having a forum to politely but candidly express what you think without having it dismissed with the wave of a hand, never seriously considering that you've been blackballed or fenced out of the clique.  Perhaps I want to revisit my medical training programs, both as student and teacher, where Embracing-Engaging-Enriching was that coin of the realm which had a way of ultimately benefiting patients a generation later.  That's the model of Rabbi Schwarz'  Chochma/Tzedek/Kehillah/Kedusha.  Being in the audience or partaking what somebody else built for you without having a share in its creation does not really satisfy our letterhead logo, yet that's how it seems to be pursued.

This past week, no requests from either of the Gabbaim to place me on the bimah.  Wife limited to an indivual in the congregation without particular activity that requires her advanced preparation.  Did not meet my directed criteria for going there.  While going no place often offers the best alternative, it is still shabbos where the four commentaries on the weekly portion that I review each Thursday at my screen acquire a public reading.  There's commonality to ceremony along with its variations.  I did not want to stay home.  It's been years since I attended an ordinary shabbos morning at the United Synagogue affiliate where I once had my primary membership.  My congregation rented space in their chapel for two years after we sold our own building, always as something of a supplicant, but also our leadership drifting to its path of least resistance in a place everyone knew and associated with Judaism.  I did not dislike entering the building those two years.  Indeed, I admired what I saw as I wandered around.  An upgraded foyer, modern rest room, a bin with premade nametags.  Their officers, or committee conferences, judged it important that nobody be anonymous.  Guard at the entrance for the security that synagogues now require.  They had a flat screen noting events, from the name of the Bar Mitzvah to activities in the upcoming week.  They created a different type of community from when I had left, much less top-down or dependent on king makers.  Yet in those two years, I had only attended a few hybrid weekday morning services that we formally shared with our synagogue landlords.  Never shabbos.  Never Festivals.  And their High Holy Days are admission limited spectacles that always disheartened or irritated me the years I belonged there, even though I was one of their Torah readers most years.  Of my options, sampling their actual worship seemed my most attractive destination last shabbos.  

And so shabbos arrived.  I left my house in time to arrive about ten minutes after their scheduled beginning.  While parking in their lot is limited, at my arrival no cars sat along the sidewalk on either side of the building.  I captured my space, took my tallis bag from the back seat, then walked to the entrance.  A sign indicated they found it acceptable to skip Covid protective masks that morning, but I still slipped mine on.  No guard sat at the door to let me in, though it was locked.  I waved to some people in the foyer.  The young man finishing the table set-up came to let me in.  A past-President offered me a United Synagogue version of the siddur and Chumash.  After putting on my tallis, then clipping it to minimize slippage, I entered unobtrusively, picked a seat in the back row away from anyone else, and placed my tallis bag and idle Chumash on the seat next to me, though soon moving them to the windowsill behind me as more people entered needing chairs.

And then a few hours of shabbos delight commenced.  Their new Cantor, really an ordained Conservative Rabbi with musical skills, began at the beginning.  It is the congregation's practice to limit the preliminary prayers to ones with tunes, but once to the Morning Service proper, the liturgy was recited in its entirety except for repetition of the Amidah.  This being Rosh Chodesh, or the New Month, Half Hallel was inserted, georgeous chanting accompanied with guitar chords strummed by the Cantor as she chanted.  Torah service there has always been abbreviated to be completed in three years instead of one.  Several people divided the seven portions plus a supplement chanted by a woman from my shul from a separate scroll to commemmorate Rosh Chodesh.  The service itself has elements of commonality shared by shabbos worship all over the world but portions of uniqueness that display the imprint of the congregation.  Much of this occurs during the Torah Service and the sermon that follows.  Three aliyot were read interlinear fashion by a retired rabbi who used to do this in her congregation, something I had never heard previously.  

A worship gathering also does double duty as a public assembly, indeed the term used in Israel for a synagogue is House of Assembly, not House of Prayer.  Congregational business gets conducted during or just after part of the Torah reading.  Individuals from the congregation who are ill are offered a prayer by name for healing.  By then about 50 people sat in the chapel and another 18 were attending electronically by Zoom.  Each ill person noted by an attendee got a blessing.  In the diaspora, we request success of our country, then solicit Divine protection for Israel.  And Ukraine also received a word for the protection its people currently need.  Congregations celebrate special events.  A woman completed her conversion this week.  She chose a Hebrew name for herself, explained why she chose those two names, then received her honor of her first Calling to the Torah.  She is to be married shortly.  Her fiance then had his Aliyah, known as an aufruf.  And after the Torah was put away, the weekly message on the portion was masterfully presented by another ordained rabbi, the same gender spouse of the one who had done the interlinear Torah reading.  Another masterful presentation weaving three key words from the portion to a unified theme.  And while all this took place, the senior Rabbi, who because of geography and circumstance became the Rabbi to the current President of the United States, inserted short comments, insights into the supplements for this Rosh Chodesh day, and more importantly a word or two of prays for each person of honor from the convert, groom, their new Cantor, each Torah reader, the woman giving the sermon, all in real time as they took their moments in their personal limelight.

What I experienced to sum in a paragraph is the pageant that shabbos, or also expanded worship, is intended to be.  It is not as a former college classmate who became Chancellor at the Jewish Theological Seminary once remarked to a journalist, "rote prayers, dull sermons, and people strutting with great self-importance."  This was celebration of time and of people who came there when they could have been engaging in their Saturday morning recreation.  Some Jews were new to this but are now full-fledged Jews.  Many had to devote personal time to enhancing their skills, thinking what the selected passages of Torah were trying to impart.  Many people deserved praise, and the Rabbi never failed to publicly acknowledge each achievement in real time as it happened.  And I was part of that pageant, though  merely a visitor.  And for those two hours or so, if the sanctuary sparkled, I sparkled too. 

At a service's conclusion, it is customary to greet each other, drink an ounce of wine, maybe add a few sweet or savory calories.  How people familiar and unfamiliar are approached may say more about a Kehillah than the worship that preceeded it .  Many people there knew me for other settings, some Jewish, some professional.  I had  ample well-wishers, a few more curious.  What I did get to do was tell the Rabbi and a few old friends how much that morning in their sanctuary glowed.  It did.  I will be back.

Even better would be to export that more than perfunctory appreciation of for what the participants did, those celebratory moments for a brand new Jew, for a sermon guest who was sought out by the Senior Rabbi for her known knowledge, for people new at Torah reading who did more this shabbos than they could do before, a new Cantor inserting her liturgical talent to create beauty to expand some of that glow to my more usual shabbos morning experience. We have our culture too.  It's different.  But as every college Hillel alumni knows, it is that importation of the highlights of multiple elsewheres that generate a unique and inviting presences right here.  

And for the verbal praise:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nN5VwaAsN5M

High Holy Days In View

There are orthodox neighborhoods in which minyanim assemble at the earliest time permitted by halacha, imparting the blast of the Shofar to the neighbors who have no reason to be awake at that hour.  A requirement of the morning services of Elul to usher in the Holy Days as the month ticks down.  Locally, at the Conservative and Reform congregations, those three days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur dominate the annual calendar.  Admission to their services provides leverage to collect annual synagogue dues which pay the salaries and keep the utilities going through the next year.  Crowds attend, far in excess of what will populate those buildings any other time of the year, excepting perhaps the funeral of a VIP.  People at the end of summer vacation hit the beach outlets for a discount in appearing stylish when they will mingle with the others who display their prosperity.  But in exchange, they also seem to display their best manners.

In my student days, the Holy Days brought reconnection with friends not seen that summer.  They come too early in the academic calendar to be concerned about exams.  So the conversation goes to what courses are you taking and how did your summer go?  Football openers usually take place in proximity to these Festivals.  In the northern climates, summer clothing goes into storage, long pants, closed shoes with socks, and shirts with long sleeves appear, though the logo sweatshirts will need to wait another month.

Atonement?  For some.  Reset and renewal? For most.  Herding people back into community after some summer scatter?  Usually. 

Other than my teen and college years when I reassembled with friends, those Holy Days registered as less an annual high point than synagogue hype tried to promote.  I learned of shabbos pre-teen.  That focuses my mental Jewish calendar, also a demarcation point but more frequent.  Fewer throngs but synagogue populated more by people who really want to be there.  How did you enjoy yourself this summer gives way to what did you work on that brought you satisfaction, or sometimes might I offer some empathy to your frustration.  There are annual cycles determined by astronomy but also weekly cycles determined by people that have no natural set points. 

In this mindset, the Holy Days are sure to disappoint.  Perhaps even when the highlight of the year, they are designed to disappoint.  Perhaps that's why nearly everyone at the places that showcase them keep a low profile external to their congregation until it's time to ante up for dues next year.  That annual large gathering with pageant makes for kehillah, or sometimes the illusion of kehillah.  Shofar inspires.  Fasting generates commitment or resolve.  People really do return to their studies or to their professions with renewed diligence.  But it seems the weekly cycles of shabbos sustain this more effectively than the synagogue spectacles of the Holy Days which only appear annually.  

I'm still a shabbos person.

Got Up Reluctantly

Big day of errands and doing stuff I really don't want to do tomorrow.  Tackle the procrastination list.  But today, perhaps, revel in that procrastination.  Or not.  I considered not getting up.  iTouch Slim buzz got a mental Not Now.  More than an hour later, still not motivated, my rational self took over.  I still need to take my medicines, tend to my injured joints, step on the scale for its weekly measurement, and see what the yellow tape measure declares about my waist circumference.  Coffee would help as an eye-opener.  There is still a newspaper to move from driveway to front door.  And at least some of my semi-annual projects could nudge ahead in some way.  So reluctantly I'm up, though at the expense of Sleep Hygiene which does better when I respect the assigned time for getting up.   Ice pack on knee.  Anti-hypertensives swallowed.  Newspaper moved.  Weight/Waist measurements recorded. E-mail that could have waited reviewed.  Week's easy The Atlantic Crossword completed in 1 minute 42 seconds.  Coffee having its first effects.

Took the Day Off

Since I completed my monthly paid writing obligation a couple of days in advance, updated the representative handling my toll violation notices from my stolen license plate and received an onerous task that is better handled with a pre-determined time, I assigned myself sort of a day off yesterday.  Unlike others, I did not assign the time to mental or physical pleasures, just not doing some of the things that grate on me.  It was a treadmill day, and I faithfully performed the session at its assigned length and intensity.  I kept up with washing dishes.  I even timed a session to slog through the family room clutter.  Yet it was also a rare day that I didn't go to Microsoft Word or respond to anything on social media in a substantial, erudite way, though still tried to be helpful to some of the Jewish queries on Reddit.

Like most days in retirement, the best parts are connecting with one or more other people, which I got to do on an errand to pick up a package of mini-challot for shabbos.  My soulmate of discontent from the synagogue monitors the store's Kosher section, not on the store's payroll, so we got a chance to exchange notes on the congregation, he as a renegade, me as a malcontent but not yet a defector.  Conversation mostly about piddled opportunities, in-crowds, the relentless pursuit of mediocrity, and now with a search for a new Rabbi, secrecy.  Absolutely convinced me to sample next shabbos at their rival synagogue.

Went out for a soda, a very ooky WaWa soda with too little cola syrup and too high a price.  My last one there for a while.  

Slept poorly, but now in a better frame to do the avoided task at the assigned time, then maybe reward myself with a Dunkin Donuts Latte when I do a good job.  And treadmill too.

Culture of Neglect

y neighbor has a special birthday with a celebratory reception.  She identified a special fund at her synagogue to receive donations to honor the occasion, so I accessed their web site to contribute.  Most of my Tzedakah donations are now conveyed electronically, a great convenience for record keeping, though also at the expense of the notes of appreciation I used to insert with many of the written checks.  The organizations get their money faster, also with less bookkeeeping effort, though a small bank processing fee that's really a fundraising cost.  As I accessed her congregation's donor portal seeking her preferred fund, dozens of targeted funds that this synagogue had accumulated over time appeared on the drop-down menu.  I selected the one I wanted, authorized payment, and within minutes, a receipt appeared in my email.  While I knew that this congregation engages its members in all sorts of initiatives, from interfaith outreach to internal education, the extend of the array of donor options, that ability to target what offered them meaning as a contributor surpassed any expectation I might have.  Many of the funds are likely dormant, set up as memorials and in receipt of mainly periodic supplements from those families.  Others probably paint a more accurate portrait of what the congregation values.  Money is collected to create activities that engage its members.  The local Conservative shul has a parallel donation processing system, a less extensive drop down menu of selections, but still with subagencies specific enough to figure out how their congregation tries to capture the interests and talents of its participants.

Ours is much more limited, in many ways a reflection of what has slouched to a culture of neglect.  Online donor choices from the dropdown would include:

1. Operating fund
2. Chapel Fund 
3. Building Maintenance
4. Library
5. Endowment
6. Kesher Committee
7. Kiddush Fund
8. Rabbi Discretionary
9. Sanctuary Flowers
10. Sisterhood
11. Torah Repair

We sold our building with its chapel several years ago, becoming renters.  Essentially purged our library of books, though technically we would have some space for a library if anyone wanted one, haven't seen any flowers in years.  In effect nobody maintains the list.  To the best of my knowledge, no officer has ever reported on activities of these funds in recent memory.  Have no idea what a Kesher or outreach committee did to serve us internally or externally.  We do probably value and use our Torah scrolls more than other synagogues.  In addition to what is really defunct, no initiatives requiring targeted money have been added, perhaps a more pernicious problem.  How you use your money, whether ample or in short supply, says a lot about what you deem important.  We really don't have a presence in the larger community, even though we could be the banner congregation in support of Israel which seems more at our forefront than a priority for others.  We could spend money decorating our rental interior or target funds to expand what can be accomplished in our kitchen.  Organizations raise money for the purposes that they want to pursue.  What I see from our limited options is really organizational languishing, a culture of good enough, and in some way

s neglect.  What escapes uniquely from us as an organization may be that culture of purpose.

Sipping a Brewski

One of the incentives that our regional blood bank offers as a donation incentive is a coupon redeemable for a discounted beer at several pubs in the state.  They place the coupons at the registration desk where people can take one on arrival, still valid even if turned away that day as a donor by the screening process.  Only one place near my home participates, a small chain that brews its own beer in a central location, then distributes to its restaurants.  I pick a day to redeem it, usually as a reward for completing some notable project at home by 4PM, then link my presence to their Happy Hour which runs from 3-6PM weekdays.  Not only did that time arrive, but my wife asked to join me.

We picked a spot at the end of their bar, read their beer menu.  I selected one of their own which they said included a saaz hop.  Not knowing what this is, I ran a search, found that it tempers bitterness, and order a pint.  My wife got one from a craft brewery not part of this home network.  It was good.  Carbonation much finer than what I would get from anything I'm willing to purchase at Total Whine, which for price reasons I limit to mass brewers.  I sipped a little, chatted with my wife a little about things that would not generate a complaint.  I need a new carry on, My Space needs the closet emptied of stuff that has no realistic future use, which is most of what's in there now.  I felt pleasant, and I was pleasant.  Took my time sipping and enjoying the fine bubbles.

I don't know when the blood bank promotion ends, though I'm planning another donation shortly after I become eligible in early September.

Getting a New Cell Phone

My devices fail suddenly.  Boost phone got wet.  The phone that replaced it failed to take a charge.  I had to replace it on short notice a week before my Adriatic cruise.  The phone that replaced it, my current Samsung Galaxy J7 Star, had no serious issues in its not quite four years of faithful service.  Yet it took an unanticipated wave from the sea, never quite working right in the four days that followed.  Initially it had an overheated message, then auto shutoff.  I went to the T-Mobile store to see about repairs or replacement, writing down the model numbers of their affordable inventory.  I selected one, but by the following day, the phone worked fairly well, though the speaker never recovered.  I could get sound with headphone but not with the telephone or You Tubes.  Damaged beyond repair.  I had one false alarm previously, dropping it on the concrete front walk resulting in a glass crack.  Followed online repair, small enough to stabilize with some superglue.  No loss of function that time.  Followed the self-helps on the WWW, no luck.  Time for a new phone.

This sort of brings me to a branch point.  The path of least resistance would be to go to the T-Mobile store and get one of theirs.  Not that T-Mobile endeared themselves to me.  Never liked going to the store, reminds me too much of my synagogue where very little thinking goes on and the staff really don't register anything you try to tell them.  T-Mobile telephone agents have been a better experience but I often didn't get what I wanted.  If the price of other carriers is comparable, I'm open to a different company.  Could go to Staples, maybe should. I did.  They abandoned their in store cell phone business. Probably shouldn't go to Best Buy, but could at least take a look.  Sufficiently deterred by my last two times there not to give it third round.  I'm not desperate for a replacement and can still get sound with earbud use.  Check the options.  Decide by day's end.

In the meantime, I went to Target which had options that I mostly didn't understand.  So I called my friend in NYC who does understand.  Advice:  stay simple.  Just go back to T-Mobile, get one of their phones and pay them to set it up.  So that's what I did.  Chose the one I preferred from the list I made a few days earlier.  Setting it up not straightforward.  I wanted this straightforward.  To do that I needed to select another Samsung Phone.  They had one in my budget, so now we're ready to go.  The agent plugged stuff in.  I added a new charger and a screen protector, as cracked screen from dropping is the most likely source of premature demise not covered by warranty.  Agent said all done.  Since it has C-cords, I went to Five Below down the road apiece, purchasing one cord with a C-insert at each end and another with a C-port for the phone and a USB port for my car's outlet to use it when driving.  

As soon as I got in my car, I realized that the Toyota App did not transfer.  Neither did any of my other apps.  I reinstalled Toyota, paired my new phone, confirmed that I could connect to the car's navigation system.  Then home, more than a little irritated as I settled on the Samsung brand because it could make the new phone identical to my old one.  My wife being a much nicer person than me, most notably when I am irate, we both headed back to the T-Mobile store.  Yes, the apps should have transferred but that requires a minimum level of charge on the old device, which it didn't have.  So I charged it in the store, he then transferred the apps and confirmed that the transfer would complete in an hour or so even when no longer plugged in.  

I returned home with all my stuff in the pink paper shopping bag with the T-Mobile logo.  Left it on a kitchen chair overnight.  The apps all transferred, though they appear on the new screen in a different order than the old one.  But I think I'm ready to do things that I did with the previous device.  I can check email, access the internet, take pictures, make a YouTube additions to my dr. plotzker's mind series, read library books from Hoopla, and ignore text messages.  A bit more of an ordeal than I would have liked.  Takes some time getting used to the new format.  Generally my phones last four years or so, almost regarded as semi-disposables, but I anticipated nearly full restoration of previous utility soon.

Tackling Achiness

Doctor's appointments completed.  Advice acknowledged.  Taking two methylcellulose tablets each morning is easy.  Bottle next to antihypertensives in morning pill case kept adjacent to my laptop.  Once a day.  Takes seconds.  Ortho guidance more intricate.  Ice joints twice a day.  Stretch joints with two programs three times a day. Icing can be done in My Space while I type.  Logistics of stretches harder.  I need to designate set times and places.  Kitchen seems best as one program calls for straddling legs across chairs.  I may as well do both legs.  None of this helps my other achiness.  Stretch has been on my Daily Task List forever, but I never do it.  Time to just pick a stretch program from the Search option of Xfinity Streaming and a set time to do it.  I've done very well with treadmill once committed.  Achiness and joint pains are enough of an incentive to apply a similar effort to the stretch, maybe for two months, and log the progress in my physical progress log that I fill out each Tuesday evening.  Some things do better with formality.

Salvaging a Tough Week

Medically I did well.  GI and ortho issues expertly addressed by the specialists with plans to remedy the problems.  I have not yet entirely followed through, but I will starting today.  Not much else has gone well.  My submission to the NEJM was not selected.  While I understood this to be a long shot, and challenged myself writing it, the rejection still had its sting.  I asked AKSE Presidents for help with an article I am writing on expanding participation.  Ignored.  I'm not really part of their Clique.  The rejection irritates me.  

I had my heart set on going to Florida.  I hesitated too long on purchasing discounted air fare.  The trip is not worth the high transportation costs.  I really wanted to go but not at undue expense.

Made it to Rehoboth.  Rested until a wave damaged my cell phone, which I thought I had adequately protected.  Ruminated over it the rest of the time there.  Went to T-Mobile where they weren't helpful.  Looked at replacements, surveyed options on internet, all within budget.  But to my surprise, my own phone seems to have reset successfully overnight so perhaps a replacement won't be needed.

Tomatoes from garden mostly spoiling on the vine, but the few that I successfully harvest have tasted better than commercial supermarket tomatoes.

Salvaged leftover strawberries.  Trader Joe's did not have small containers of whipped cream, so I made strawberry souffles with the remainder.  Needed more berries, less cornstarch, though I followed the recipe.  A useful future addition to my dessert options, and with pareve ingredients, if I get a new souffle dish, I can make this for a shabbos dessert with a fleishig dinner, though I much prefer dessert cakes.

And prostate acted up, leaving me with urgent laundry and car cleanup.

Irritations and setbacks are inevitable.  Unfortunately, I did not default to corrective resolve or equanimity but to resentment and frustration.  Reset my inner attitude to proceed in a more purposeful way.  I still have the NEJM piece that can be submitted elsewhere.  I really don't need AKSE Presidential feedback to submit my thoughts to a publisher.  Other dates can be picked for the Florida trip or I can still keep my eyes open for low airfare for unsold seats closer to my optimal travel dates. Whipping cream in a small quantity can be purchased someplace other than Trader Joe's.  I can tend the garden more than I have been doing, which may help what is available to me.  I would like to invite shabbos guests, which will allow me not only to have an elegant kitchen but share it.  The phone seems to be correcting itself, but I have ample funds to replace it when I need to.  And doing laundry on short notice isn't that hard, though car seat cleanup may be more challenging, though there are solutions for that too.

So it's not just the setbacks, clustered a bit this week, but a commitment on my part to addressing them in a better way.

Prepping a Haftarah

This invitation came by email, linked to another email discussion.  I accepted on the spot, not having seen the text but aware that I can sight-read most, if not all of them.  Then I looked at the complex Isaiah text.  I cannot sight-read all, including this one.  Unfamiliar grammar, some unfamiliar vocabulary, phrasing that is not straightforward, perhaps a little more than average length.  Definitely the most technically difficult of the Seven Haftarot of Consolation.

This one needs practice.  Online texts available from Chabad and Sefaria.  Took out an old Chumash but my eyesight no longer acute enough for the faded compressed font and ultrathin musical markings.  Artscroll Tikkun easy to read but bulky.  I could copy it.  But for now Chabad online text allows me to sound out the words and Sefaria text can be enlarged for easier reading.  

At two days effort I am probably at threshold of performance.  Our congregation functions by good enough thresholds, that relentless pursuit of mediocrity.  But even if only a few of us appreciated the difficulty of this particular prophetic selection, I need to do it as well as my skill allows, which requires a little more practice before next shabbos.

Final Fifteen Minutes

My sleep pattern subsequent to withdrawal of my chronic SSRI seems to be declaring itself.  Bedtime uncertain, though later than before the SSRI.  Into bed also less certain as is the latency between putting myself supine and actually entering one of the sleep phases.  First wakening approximately 4AM, sometimes 5AM.  Nocturia usually not the cause but a convenient time to empty bladder to avert another awakening.  Then drift off to sleep an hour later.  When the wrist alarm prods me at 6:30AM, I don't really feel ready to arise.  I always feel obligated, but haven't always been getting up.  Real biologically driven wake time arrives closer to 7:15.

Good sleep hygiene depends upon predictability, something not yet adapted to my CNS so longer supplemented with the SSRI.  Some variations to the pattern.  Nocturia at 6:15AM.  Could wait for alarm, but really couldn't wait.  Returned to bed, got a real snooze for twelve minutes, glance at iTouch Slim, then semi-snooze until the wrist buzz.  Didn't really want to arise this time but did, moving along to dental hygiene followed by a stroll downstairs to check my indoor plants, make coffee, finish last night's dishes, retrieve newspaper from the driveway, empty recycling, and make a k-cup.  Those fifteen minutes of snooze, and maybe a little grit on my part with morning dental care, seems to have put me back in control of my time, at least for the morning.

Recovery Day

Too much kitchen, inconsistent results, but treating my wife for our anniversary is a noble cause.  Feeling a little wobbly the day after, achy as well, with a lot of fleishig dishes to wash.  Naproxen and daily antihypertensives entering circulation with an approximated dose of caffeine.  Expect to feel better shortly.

While no fun activities on the Daily Task List, washing the dishes by hand offers its measure of relaxation and later a measure of accomplishment.  Not planning to go anywhere but should get in the car later and drive off to someplace unplanned.  But mostly a restorative day to avoid being harsh on myself for doing little.

Making Dinner

My anniversary, #45.  Ordinarily if it is not shabbos, we go out, usually our fanciest and most expensive evening out together.  This time I opted to make a gala dinner instead.  Already had my first minor misadventure, though one without physical injury. All doughs made, one for French bread, one for a berry pie, and one for samosa wrappers.  Brisket seasoned.  There's some time and equipment planning, which is much of what engages me about home cooking where I only have one oven and four burners and one stand mixer and one food processor.  I will need the final few hours in the oven for the brisket.  The bread will need to go into the oven at its appointed time.  That means the pie needs to be baked first, probably as soon as the dough is suitable for rolling.  

For the stove top, I will need to assemble and fry the samosas.  Boxed couscous is straightforward, done at the end.  Glazed carrots also done near the end, but the prep can be done sooner.

Gazpacho needs a tad of stove to peel the tomatoes, but for the most part it is cold.  I think the cucumber salad is all cold, unless the dressing needs a brief stove top.

And elegance needs cleanup.  We had a recent fly infestation, something we can expect every couple of years when eggs somewhere in our kitchen or dining room hatch.  Bug spray worked well, but I need to vacuum their remains.  Got a special red wine, maybe chill for an hour before serving.  Bread on a plate or platter.  Samosas in a bowl.  Salad in a bowl, maybe use our best one.  Gazpacho in the tureen, served in bowls.  Brisket on platter.  Couscous and Carrots in separate bowls.  Pie in pie dish.

Clean up as I go.  Will not use stand mixer or food processor.  Will need granite pastry board later.  And finish washing crock pot from shabbos.  Get blender from basement for gazpacho.  Maybe use mandolin for slicing, or I could wash food processor and use slicing disc for cucumbers, or just my good chef's knife.

Finish coffee, then prep vegetables.  Make pie filling.

But first finish coffee.

Immersed with Others

My personal interactions have seriously atrophied, maybe even dangerously atrophied.  Partly retirement which took me out of circulation, but not exclusively.  Covid isolation made a significant contribution.  While OLLI and much of the rest of the world compensated with Zoom offerings, introducing some outstanding exposure to people of professional prominence not previously available to me, they could not duplicate those personal interactions that occur in the lounge sipping coffee.  As our masks got set aside, other people became better able to venture in public places, though not yet returning to baseline.  

With this paucity of personal contacts, made worse by not only excessive screen time but by the moguls of cyberspace interactions and idea exchange who devalued our need to connect in a meaningful way to sell us things instead, I am very much among the many who recognize isolation, loneliness, and languishing.  While FB brings me to Friends, some real, some an illusion, I signed myself off for the month of July to escape much of its toxicity.  As I return in a more cautious way a month later, the distribution and frequency of who posts what, or at least what their algorithm approves for my passive feed, has not changed in a noticeable way.  I had one real meeting with one real friend in NYC that month after paying long overdue respect for people to whom I was once close at a cemetery just outside the city.  Visited my son and daughter-in-law.  A few real chats competing with screens, along with a shabbos morning at Tree of Life Synagogue's current reality.  Shared remembrance of one of the victims with the congregational president was my only meaningful personal interaction that morning.  And my synagogue, which should be my principle weekly outlet of personal contact, has largely trivialized it with its perfunctory "good shabbos, nice tie" as the surrogate for floating ideas about Judaism or about events of the days that preceded shabbos.  

This past week I selected my OLLI courses using their new flat fee, unlimited course registration format.  I targeted only classes that meet in person without a Zoom alternative, making an exception for one half-term course given from downstate by an instructor who did an ace job last time.  Talking heads gone.  What has not returned post-pandemic, though, seems to be those small in-person discussion based sessions, limited to an enrollment of under twenty.  

Could I even retain the skill now to immerse myself with others, particularly strangers?  That got tested yesterday, demonstrating that not only I could but that it restored a personal feeling of having meaning.  I volunteered to check people into on-site OLLI registration, even though I really didn't know how.  This being the final day, nobody showed up, which left me with two other volunteers.  We talked about OLLI, food, inflation, doctors.  All the things that would have made chat in the OLLI lounge between classes, and hopefully still can as on-site enrollment ticks upwards.

Then I went to Sprouts, not my usual store but the best option for premium produce.  For practical reasons I checked out in the line with a cashier.  It had been my custom when shopping in large places to opt for self-checkout where there is usually no wait and I sense control that I don't have to defer to a cashier.  But this time, having somebody else do this, even if the only interaction was to tell me the total, seemed preferable to being totally on my own.

After a couple of months away from the Blood Donor center due to a setback in eligibility, I self-treated the problem while I await formal medical care for it and wanted to see how successfully I did this. Over the years, few things have given me more satisfaction than my periodic platelet donations.  In addition to benefiting somebody I will never meet, since retirement this has become among my most reliable social interactions, even if limited to 6-8 week intervals.  Each time I am greeted, then interviewed, and if my Hb> 13g/dl I am taken to a reclining chair where ladies, or rarely a gentleman, insert two IVs, takes samples to assure safety and future eligibility, then leaves me alone to watch Netflix with occasional returns to check my progress or reset their collection device when an alert appears.  I've done this frequently enough that some of the veteran RN's know me by name and face.

I passed screening this time.  IV's inserted, Queer Eye video started, but afferent IV failed.  Donation aborted, as they are only permitted to reposition an aberrant IV line, not repuncture the skin.  Still I had a pleasant few minutes in the post-donation canteen with some diet Sierra Mist and two chocolate chip cookies served by that room's volunteer.  I could have gone to Costco's or Cabela's instead but decided to just go home.  Having left my cell phone in the car for the donation, which also serves me as an escape from being reached or being lured to cyberspace, I returned to my car to find a message from the last remaining first cousin with whom I maintain contact.

We mostly share my late father as our common bond.  He lives in Florida now, not far from Dad's resting place which I'd like to visit not too many months in the future.  Modern cars now allow me to talk safely with the cell phone via audio boost from the car, so once in the optimal lane on the highway, I returned his call, really needing only a finger or two to do this.  We spoke about platelets, our doctors, his intraocular injections, retirement activities, general chat that too often eludes me.  We agreed to do our best to get together when I travel there, which gives me a significant incentive to complete my airline and hotel reservations, starting with specific dates.

Our Torah text begins with a lot of It Was Goods.  There aren't too many It Was Not Goods, being alone perhaps the most famous of the few.  While I cannot realistically return myself to a daily pageant of circulating among throngs, I can reduce screen time, be more personally assertive when OLLI resumes next month, target a new place to be with people I've not met before each week, or make an effort to invite myself onto the blood donor schedule as my eligibility allows.  As my home reaches its suitability to entertain guests, I can be more consistent with invitations.  Being back in circulation in a serious way yesterday, after a substantial absence, reinforced the benefits of this, and its personal importance.

Slept Through Alarm

Sleep Hygiene has been a struggle.  Each day starts, or is supposed to, with a buzz to my left wrist from an iTouch Slim at 6:30AM, to which I respond but forcing myself upright for daily dental hygiene.  Those hours preceding the vibratory jolt vary, with few nights really continuous sleep from lights out the night before to the morning demarcation signal.

On occasion, I will intentionally await the morning buzz, acknowledge it, but for one reason or another, usually rationalized as legit at the time, opt to delay getting up.  Those times are few.  Not noticing the signal almost never happens, but it did today.  Ironically, I was awake about 40 minutes before, committed myself to the final less than an hour of snooze, before moving on to the only day this week when I can count on being around other people.  I also resolved not to check the time before the signal appeared.  It took an unusually long time.  While the ability to judge how much time has actually elapsed from perception is not very good, as any SAT taker will well remember, I felt surprised that I had not been aroused up yet.  I glanced not at my iTouch Slim, but at the red digital numbers of the alarm clock behind me.  The out of bed time was twenty minutes before.

I felt pretty good, probably better than I would have if interrupted from what must have been more than a superficial sleep stage by the alarm.  Sat up for a few seconds to get my bearings, then on with the rest of today.

Taking My Medicines

 

Six pills that I take with virtually complete compliance.  Not done as well with the topicals.  They have different purposes.  The antihypertensives and statin affect my measurements, which are really intermediate markers, but intended for a longer term measurement, longevity.  The PPI may keep me from acquiring a Barrett's esophagus but it is really intended to avoid GERD symptoms, which it does rather well when I take it but symptoms return with a lapse of only a few days.  The multivitamin has Iron 18 mg.  Its purpose is to remedy an immediate shortfall with the immediate intent of restoring my eligibility as a platelet donor.  If anything, it harms my longevity if correction of the anemia becomes an excuse to neglect its causes.

Topical diclofenac I thought would reduce inflammation in my knee and ankle.  It really eases pain, though not enough to affect my treadmill use, which was its purpose.  Orthopedic appointment on the schedule, but for now I can still keep up with a reduced treadmill intensity.  But it is the more demanding exercise, currently on hiatus, that affects longevity.  That goal has not been achieved with the topical, or with PRN oral NSAIDs.  

SSRI now gone about two months.  Its purpose was less clear, probably better function at work and more professional achievement.  No longer a prime goal in retirement.  It's effect on me changed my mind and personality, for the better in some aspects, probably not in others.  My perception of the world seems better when not chemically muted.  It's gone.

When committing to daily medicine, a certain discipline is required.  Urgent like PPI or supplemental iron is fundamentally different from longevity enhancements that have only surrogate measurements to follow.  Also, very uncertain outcome.  If my cardiovascular event occurs this year, was it delayed from last year because of the anticipatory intervention?  There's really no way to assess this accurately.  

Too Hot

Mini heat wave.  One with humidity.  Keeps me indoors.  Checked the tomatoes in the garden yesterday.  Additional harvest can wait a few more days.  Too hot to week but I will need to do that.  Retrieved newspaper.  Will treat myself to coffee at Brew HaHa later in the morning, venturing from front door to air-conditioned car and then from cooled car to shop and back.  But mostly I'm an indoor person today.  

My Daily Task List fills nearly two columns, but only a few sub categories:  advancement of my mind and making my house more presentable or perhaps functional with a tad of personal recreation squeezed in.  Should do a little of all three, but with foggy mind, I think by the end of the day it would be more productive, and therefore more fulfilling, if I did what I could around the house.

No big irritants today, the biggest resolved yesterday.  It had been my intent to make my second beach respite, but my wife wanted to go this time but is in the middle of an acute illness.  There will be other days for the second trip.  For today, see what I can do around my house, one room per session, guided by a timer.  And some time for my mind, maybe a brush of recreation too.

Arranging Dinner

As I analyze what constitutes True Fun, I was able to isolate an activity that combined Playfulness/Connectedness/Flow.  I arrange to make dinner for my upcoming anniversary.  I started with a centerpiece, this time a brisket that has been frozen a while.  Need a bread.  I could buy an Italian bread, but haven't made French bread in a long time.  We all like samosas.  Never made these.  Had to select a recipe that could be adapted to non-dairy for our meat meal, but found one.  Halved the quantity.  No better soup in August than Gazpacho as tomatoes become plentiful.  Selected the Good Eats version.  Cucumber salad is easy and can be made early.  The brisket needs a rub after shabbos the night before and a few hours on low cooking.  I found a rub that I can assemble on Friday, season meat Saturday night and leave wrapped in plastic in refrigerator overnight.  Only boxed segment, couscous.  We have a lot of boxes to use up.  It's easy and reliable.  For dessert, a triple berry pie, really the only extravagance.  And a red wine, which gets me a trip to Total Whine, forcing me out of the house and among people.  Then a day of effort on Sunday, making for another episode of Playfulness/Connectedness/Flow.  

Seeking True Fun

One of my pleasures, though technically not True Fun, has been to watch a TED talk from an accomplished person previously unknown to me, search them and read something they've written, which usually takes far more than the 18 Minutes TED allows for the presentation.  I have a variety of ways of selecting which TED Talk I will watch, yes watch, as visual supplements, mannerism, and even chosen attire are part of the presentation.  One from the most recent series involved how to pursue fun, and even how to identify True Fun from its surrogates.  To say the least, I am fun and laughter deprived, though not absent.  When I got invited to a morning at U of Delaware for a reception to acknowledge something I had created, that met her criteria of True Fun:  the intersection of Playfulness/Connection/Flow.  So I know what it is, which gives me a head start of other readers of her book, of which I am about one third through.

There was a time during Covid isolation where I truly languished.  Not so much now, but I'm not flourishing either.  There are definitely times when I am playful, fewer when I am connected, some where I can identify being in Flow, very few all at the same experience.  I don't feel connected to anything important, indeed react to some experience with unjustified hostility.  Since connection seems the most glaring and frequent lapse, it is unclear at this point whether restoring strained connections is better or creating new connections might be preferable, or perhaps focusing on the ones not yet seriously strained, or most likely some combination.

Finish the book this week, credit its reading as one of my twelve semi-annual projects, and make an effort to acquire her composite of True Fun as my summer proceeds.

Up All Night

Sleep Hygiene can get out of hand.  For some reason, I awoke at 2:30AM.  Not a full bladder or other physiological hint, just wide awak and abrupt.  Turned on bedroom AC without benefit.  Withing a short time, I paced over to the recliner in My Space.  I had recorded a fair number of shows, mostly travel and Jewish, so time to catch up.  I did.  No drifting off at all, and got to watch some pretty good programs.  Some YouTube perhaps.  No benefit.  After a few hours, still fully alert, I'd give bed a second chance.  Not drowsy, but not wired either.  I considered staying in bed until mid-morning, but I have anti-hypertensives to swallow and crock pot shabbos dinner to assemble, along with daily dental hygiene, so I just did these.  A book awaits for me at the library later, and it's a treadmill day, though I think better postponed until the afternoon.  Just see how long the unanticipated alertness lasts.

On a Down Cycle

As much as I like driving to no particular place by myself or typing on the keyboard in My Space, these are fundamentally isolating activities.  It's now been a month since interacting on FB, which added to the isolation despite many benefits of not being there.  In Pittsburgh the morning at Tree of Life followed by a stroll inside the Pitt main campus brought me in contact with others for a short time.  Despite family gathering as the purpose for traveling there, I spent most of the time horizontal in their guest room.  

Since returning home, I've not felt badly, though not particularly well.  A heat wave has minimized time outside my house.  

Some reversal of this down cycle seems imminent.  Out for breakfast, not that I'm hungry, just want to go out.  Need some medical care which should prod me out of the house in the coming week.  Want to take next beach trip, which doesn't generate a lot of interaction but puts me in a small crowd.  Mostly leave house to appear in public.

OLLI Selections

OLLI Course selection week.  The fall semester has its challenges.  Yom Tovim cluster on Monday-Tuesday this semester with Yom Kippur on a Wednesday, so my classes will need to meet W-R-F.  That eliminates a lot.  Instead of a registration fee and a separate fee per class, they consolidated tuition to a single lump payment which allows up to five classes.  I intend either three or four.  

Most importantly, the purpose of OLLI, high priority for most seniors, is to have people interact.  They just got too complacent with Zoom offerings, which dominate.  Those are fine for connecting New Castle County to downstate Delaware, but as I go through the catalog, I am selecting out only those that meet in person.  It is my intent to take at least two of those, maybe three or all four.  I would consider two of these on the same day to encourage me to take an interclass snack to eat there.

I made a grid of class times.  Using only in-person classes, I have enough.  And not to exclude Zoom entirely if there is something I might particularly want, particularly one held downstate.  But after looking over the catalog I designate immersing myself with other people the highest objective.

A Recovery Day

Traveling for visiting isn't exactly the same as vacation.  Being a house guest differs from being a paid hotel patron.  It was a difficult trip to visit the kids.  A lot of driving.  A few breaks.  Minor touring.  Some lapses in health that created challenges.  Yet I got to see the kids, take them out, talk or argue medicine with my son, see him in his lab coat with his name on one side and the institution on the other.

I took a different way home, about six hours on the road with a stop at the Flight 93 Memorial.  Route 30, known as the Lincoln Highway, went through towns and over Allegheny's.  I looked over the towns, wondered what the people did for a living and when they finished the day's work.  At home, I looked up some of those towns on Wikipedia.  None of the blurbs answered my mental questions, though I understand why they vote differently than me.  Some Appalachia, most not, though probably not a lot of people with high salaries that my son's employer pays to thousands.  

A Zoom meeting not long after arriving home.

A day to rest up.  Ignored the iTouch buzz.  Funeral later, which I'll watch on Zoom.  Planned rest of week, including a more pressing need to arrange medical care.  But today, recover from the trip to make tomorrow a reset for the remainder of my summer.