A Leaf Grows in Leonia

Artist: Tobias Weissman (1952-2014)

Today we celebrate a new life and I can't help the memories that flood my heart for one who passed through this world much too quickly. Tobias has a grandson, Thiago. The Levine’s and the Kestenbaum’s will be congregating this morning at a Temple to give this new baby boy a Jewish name. Too bad we can’t also give him back his grandfather.

Tobias was a modern day Renaissance man. He made a difference in so many lives and in so many ways. From their days at Erasmus Hall High School, Tobias gifted his friends with his keen sense of humor and fierce loyalty. Norman, Abe, and Tobias all eventually moved on from Erasmus and then retired from teaching, but Tobias kept going, becoming Principal of a very troubled Passaic High School. He turned the school around in the few years he graced the halls with his presence, giving every teen a chance to succeed. In education, Tobias made a difference.

To his family, Tobias was the center of their world. His mother was a survivor of the Holocaust and Tobias wrote a play in her memory. As the playwright of "The Leaf," Tobias brought Edith’s story to life in a deeply personal way on the stage of the Spotlight Theatre. We applauded her life through the words of her son and the music of our son, Sam. To his small family, to Iris and Moriah, he gave of himself in a very big way. He gave them his love and a beautiful tree of life. We all wanted to be a part of his tree. He was the very definition of a family man.

Norman and I have our own favorite memories of this man who is now a grandfather. Tobias and Iris went with us on our honeymoon to Jamaica, a bond that started many years ago and continued to weave us together through early morning sips of coffee with Rivi the dog on the porch in Monroe to a delicious Shabbos dinner on one of his final nights in Leonia. To me and to many others, he was also an artist. His home was filled with pottery he sculpted and designed. His hands were a gift to the art world, a modern day Da Vinci, only a whole lot more talented, if you ask me. 

Passaic High School ran a memorial service for their principal, Mr. Weissman. Our friend who epitomized the legacies of the past through his family morals and traditions was honored in a very modern way. A Twitter feed on a screen above the stage scrolled with hundreds of students thanking him for giving them a chance. He was a Renaissance man who fit right in wherever he walked. He is an angel to Paula, a gift to everyone who knew him, and a grandfather to Thiago. Today we celebrate a precious new leaf on his tree.

Where is the Bread?

Homemade Gluten-Free Challah bread for when you can't find the bread aisle

Change can be strange. And I don't mean something as dramatic as a change from working to not working. That deserves its own rant on another day. I opened up my email today to find out that Gmail changed. I think they warned me about this the other day, but in my preoccupation, I forgot it was going to happen. Now there is a new face to my inbox and I'm not sure I like it. I didn't like when Google changed its logo either. Things have to sit with me before I can appreciate a grand new design that is supposed to enhance my life.

My Shop Rite does this every time another store opens up in the neighborhood. I have a choice of going to Whole Foods, Wegmans, Shop Rite, The Food Emporium, Target, Walmart and a host of other great stores like TJ Maxx and Home Goods, all within 10 minutes from my house. This major decision of which direction to steer my car on any given day is a great brain exercise for any retiree. When Wegman's opened, my Shop Rite went through a transformation with new tiled floors, fancy new signs, and pretty granite counters for the bakery department. None of this made me choose Shop Rite over Wegmans. I simply go to one over the other because Shop Rite sells my brand of dog food and Wegman's sells my all-natural deodorant. Then Whole Foods opened and Shop Rite expanded with its own natural food wing, and shifted everything else in every other aisle, just because it would be fun to drive its loyal shoppers crazy. Now that The Food Emporium moved into the neighborhood, my store did it again. There is nothing quite as ridiculous as me standing in the middle of my Shop Rite screaming out for bread. I don't even eat bread because it has gluten in it. But in case someone at home would like a slice, I can never find it anymore. As much as I would love to have a Trader Joe's within my 10-mile radius of favorite stores, I am keeping my fingers crossed that life stays the same until I can figure out where things are. Change is hard for someone of a certain age.

Today, my husband went in for some oral surgery. My daily routine of planning what to do and what to eat all got delayed this morning. I sat with Norm on the deck and helped him hold the ice pack on his cheek. There was no other place I would rather have been or any other activity I needed to finish. I wish he wasn't in pain, but it was kind of peaceful not making a decision for a few minutes. Sometimes having some forced time to reflect on your life is a good thing. I was able to ponder where I am going, not just for a gallon of dairy-free milk, but with my creative ideas. Hopefully, by the time my husband gets his beautiful new teeth, I will have made a choice of how to retire without driving myself nuts.

One More Bulletin Board

Withdrawal can be hard. Take it from someone who is not an addict.

When Katie was a baby, she would go everywhere with me. The first day I dropped her off at her pre-kindergarten class, I went shopping all by myself and went through a withdrawal of sorts. I rocked the wagon as if she was still in it and I talked to the boxes of food. To any other shopper that day, I must have looked like I lost my mind. Having a baby in the wagon before the cell phone was attached to your arm gave you permission to talk out loud without people taking a few steps away from you. With Katie in school, I had to learn not to talk to myself, something I didn't learn well since I still talk to the dog, the dishwasher, and any other piece of furniture along the way. At least, now, in the age of mobile communication, you can enjoy a walk down the street and have an animated, hand waving conversation. Sometimes complete withdrawal doesn't work. Norman often asks me who I am talking to.

When Katie was the last of my children to finish college, we were all done with back to school shopping. Talk about a well-ingrained habit formed over two decades of our kids' school years! The first year without a teacher list of supplies in my hand, I walked through Shop Rite and passed bins of colorful binders, three-hole punches, calculators, highlighters, cute erasers and packs of pencils. To an artist, these things are like toys. I love new pencils! Instead of passing by the bins and cheering, I threw a couple of college-ruled notebooks in my wagon. Maybe, maybe, someone could use them someday, Withdrawal is hard, even in this.

And then, yesterday, this happened for the first time in my retirement. September is approaching and I should be getting my classroom ready. As the art teacher, that often meant getting other teachers' bulletin boards ready as well. There are emails from Ranney that I simply can't resist reading, giving teachers their orientation schedules. This was always a hectic time with meetings on bloodborne pathogens to sit through, but I always found a new school year to be a joyous time and so optimistic. Fresh new September crayons and all that. When Sam announced that he was going in yesterday to hang his bulletin board, I followed him to his school. Withdrawal is hard. One more bulletin board, just because I love Sam. I hope it's not because I love bulletin boards. That would be just too weird.

I gave up many things in my life, such as caffeine and dairy, but I still talk to myself and I might still be seen buying a cute pocket folder, just in case. Anyone need a bulletin board designer?

Life is like a Game of Tennis

My painting of a tennis ball for my favorite tennis player

Norman organized a bus trip to the US Open. He has been planning for this day, organizing it, promoting it, and collecting money forever. Miraculously the sun decided to shine today and the bus made it to Queens with very little traffic. Surrounded by such tennis greats as Federer, Nadal, and McEnroe, plus 50 of his best tennis buddies from the club, Norman and Zach had the promise of a really good day. Everyone should feel like they can look forward to days like this.

Yesterday, I tried to have a special day of my own and ended up feeling insulted. We all have our moments, I guess. I think I just need thicker skin.

Back at the beginning of this summer, we went to see the documentary, "Won't You be my Neighbor?" I loved Fred Rogers. Our kids grew up watching his PBS show and I cried at the announcement of his passing in the news. I was happy to pay my senior rate admission to see a movie about this beloved man, but I was not prepared for the impact it would have on me personally. As a teacher in a classroom, I should have remembered his approach to people in general and especially to children. I watched him interact with the children in the film and tried to remember if I always looked into the eyes of every student and made them feel as special. Did I work hard enough to earn their respect? As an artist, sure. As an adult in the room, I tried to always be kind and supportive. As a teacher, now I wonder how many I really reached. As much as I could not face the start of another new school year, I wish I could turn back the clock at least a couple of years and head back into my classroom with lots of youthful energy, inspired by the words and actions of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood.

The message from Fred Rogers still rings true today and not just for children. I can't understand the quick and hurtful comments that spill out of people without care for the ones they are slandering. I suppose because I am an artist, I am ultra sensitive. If someone criticizes my work, they are criticizing me. If someone throws stones at anything I have created, including a slight against my children, they hurt me. I not only felt hurt yesterday over something I am working on, I stayed up all night with those lousy feelings growing stronger by the hour. I get that we can't monitor the stupidity quotient of our thoughts, but honestly, people, at least think before you speak. 

Norman is often on the receiving end of such unthinking remarks at the club. Yes, he gets angry, but somehow he returns it all with the grace he displays when he hits a ball over the net. It must be like having a tennis match in his head, playing the comments back and forth across a mental court. I have seen him get fired at least a hundred times for a job that goes unappreciated and then he is offered a bonus as if he is the most important member of the club. He is. I could not handle such lively relationships. Today, Norm and Zach are enjoying their boys day out at the US Open. I'm sure their heads will be spinning from turning left and right all day but there will be a smile on both their faces. Faces that are so dear to me and mean the world to me. I am glad he is with his friends and is in a place that makes him happy. That is all anyone can ever ask for. My happy place is at my easel or a keyboard. I think I just need thicker skin, or maybe a few more band-aids.

Me and My Mac

We found new hats and the lake in Spring Lake. Life is Good with Sam

Nothing makes me happier than lots of people chowing down on food around our big, old dining room table. And now that I can keep things relatively calm instead of making a mad dash to clean up piles of stuff that accumulate after a full week at school, I don't even mind the occasional last minute visitors. Putting together a meal is always fun and seeing our friends and family is a joy. But spending time with my kids, one at a time, is priceless. Sam and I enjoyed a great day yesterday on the shore, wandering around Spring Lake, Ocean Grove and Manasquan. We bought Life is Good hats, picnicked on the beach, and hunted for clothes at the best thrift store ever.

Sam has less than a week before school obligations kick in. We are all losing the lazy days of summer as we get closer to the fall, even though I get to look at a year of no school. With the scare of September approaching, what have I set in motion for my future? One of my best friends this summer turned out to be my Mac computer, and that friendship is the core of who I am and what I do.

I tutor kids in art... my own kids (when they were kids) at my kitchen table, camp kids in arts and crafts, Ranney kids at school, and a few of the neighbor's children this summer. I completed my 10,000 hours and have proven this to the world. Well then. This week, I will sit by my Mac and finally design that flyer to be sent out to the masses. Does anyone want a lesson in drawing, painting, Photoshop, or iPad art? Any age welcome!

I can and have painted dogs and other assorted objects. Another 10,000 hours worth? Eight furry friends are immortalized on canvas and many people say they want one of their own for their own. Well? Where are my pet photos, people? Another website flyer? I'll be busy this week.

Zach and Michele are getting married next summer. I have all the time in the world to help them in any way I can, even if it is just with a hug. It is their day. They should do it their way. But I can create a website for them. I think my Mac and I will become very good friends.

And, speaking about my computer, I sat down and wrote in this journal for 68 days in a row. 68 days! I never do anything for 68 days in a row, other than breathing. Even teaching full time allowed for vacation days and weekends. I don't do anything day after day unless there is a deadline approaching. This must be something I enjoy. Writing has been very therapeutic and it is as creative as anything else I could imagine. The thrill I get each time I hit publish has no equal. Now, what do I do with this new hobby? How do I get my writing out beyond my loyal FB fans? Another account on Instagram just for writers? A public FB page? I will speak to Vicki. She'll know. This week, folks. My best friend Mac and I are getting pretty chummy.

The chair in front of my Mac is not the only seat in the house. Katie's room is now an art studio. Zach's room is now a guest room for Dave. The living room got re-vamped with a new rug. Little by little, my home is becoming a full-time living and working space for this lazy, out of work, bum. I still have projects to tackle, but I have time. No rush. Mondays do not mean going back to school. Mondays just mean me and my Mac.

The Sunday Magazine Section

The paint is peeling but it's still a beautiful rock... by Bob Fisher

How do you spend your Sunday morning? Norman leaves at dawn for the tennis club and he hopes to get in a game or two while he is there. I like to watch CBS This Morning and not move around so much. On a really lazy Sunday morning, I might even peruse the paper. Today, the stories on the morning show were all about creativity in geniuses and savants. I think I fit into the more off-balanced savant category than the geniuses of the world, but I enjoy watching people express their creativity across all spectrums. I also secretly enjoy the scientific explanations behind it all.

Growing up, I watched my father be creative at his drafting table. When I was not much taller than the slant of his table, I would peer over the side and be fascinated with the strokes of his pencil and brush. He would explore something new every few years and turn that into a creative outlet for the period of time it amused him to do so. His evolving search for what made him feel like an artist also describes me to a tee. I am more like my father than anyone else. We used to walk along the water and collect rocks to paint. His beautiful small abstract paintings were influenced by the shapes of the rocks, and eventually became the inspiration for huge acrylic paintings on canvas. The canvases he stretched and painted were very 1960's in style with their Op-art appearance. He used a ruling pen filled with paint to create exquisite lines and illusions, as perfect as any computer could do... something he wouldn't know about or embrace with his own art until years later. At work, his playful illustrations and commercial designs were intended to sell products. At home, his art meant something a whole lot more.

After one of his surgeries, Daddy was under the influence of painkillers and in his dream-like state, he explained how the sharp angles cutting through the circles in his designs, were based on the science of splitting atoms. Wow, who knew that his artwork reflected the advances in science? Not his daughter, that's for sure. I thought his paintings were simply a joyous experiment in color, shape, and design, and they made me want to be an artist.

I travel through my own life juggling between the fun hobbies of painting, writing, and sewing. Underneath it all, I have always been fascinated with science. Not until this morning when I was reading the magazine section of the Sunday Times did it dawn on me, that even in this, we are very much alike. The article I stopped to read was about a branch of human evolution, not many people know about. For most readers, that article would not be where they pause in their Sunday page turning activity. I glaze over politics and geography, sports and fashion. I glaze over a lot that is covered by magazines, making a subscription to a weekly periodical ridiculous for me and certainly a waste of good paper. But an article about anthropology, not the cute store but the science of past human life, gets my attention.

Along with my many romance novels in my Nook library is the book, "Last Ape Standing," by Chip Walter. I loved this book. The author explored human evolution and attributed the development of our resourceful brains to our uniquely long childhoods. By not reaching adulthood as fast as other species, we have more of a chance of retaining the mental qualities of childhood, being curious and being creative. Creativity, it turns out, was the key to our survival. And curiosity was the spark that ignited every genius thought and invention. The stories today on the CBS morning show alluded to that same thing.

How cool is that? We were all born to be creative. My father not only passed down the human genes for curiosity and creativity to his kids, he made it a part of our childhood experiences. Everything I do from sewing a quilt to someday painting a rock of my own is my birthright. It's everyone's birthright. So, go ahead and be lazy if you like, but always be curious. Ask questions. What will you do today?