I’m going to be a grandma! I’m going to be a grandma! Don’t know if I’m actually allowed to say who is pregnant, but anyone who knows the family configuration will soon be able to figure it out. Congratulations to the lovely couple and to the little-big sister! This grandmother gig is really quite wonderful.
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Next week, I’m going to hear one of my grandsons participate in a public speaking competition. In a world where “fear of death” comes in second to “fear of public speaking”, this young man shows no fear in this arena. I had to chuckle, because when I told him that I, too, had done public speaking, but in high school, he said, “Oh, so that’s where I get it from” as if it were hereditary. (Hmmm, maybe I could impress upon him that at age 12, I became a neat freak?) So hats off to a bright, courageous, and articulate 11-year-old!
Alexandra Fuller’s Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight: An African Childhood is a book I picked up last year and read during a business trip. I remember that a couple of women came up to me to say that they’d just finished it and recommended it as a good read. I agree. I think my fascination with memoirs set in other countries, on other continents, has to do with an overexposure to North American coming-of-age narratives. It’s good to know what was happening in the rest of the world while I was growing up in my little corner of a Canadian province. Of course, the narrative reflects the sentiments of the day - the good and bad, the strong and feeble, the racist and ... what is the word for “not racist” or at least “understanding race dynamics” - and putting them into a context that gives us a look into the complexities of existence as a white farmer in an African country in the late 20th century. Read an interview with author, Alexandra Fuller, by an interviewer from Powell’s Books.
I was fortunate enough to be invited by the Shree Mahalakshmi Temple - they are part of the MultiFaith Action Society, as is our synagogue - to represent Ahavat Olam at a Holi celebration at the Michael J. Fox Library in Burnaby. Some twenty years ago, when I did community radio, I was introduced to this holiday, and ever since, wanted to be part of an occasion that celebrated colours. At this event, there was no throwing of colours, so I was slightly disappointed about that, but there were wonderful dance performances that demonstrated various aspects of the holiday and culture. And as a representative of the synagogue, I was honoured with a gift of flowers and a beautiful shawl, and a book about Holi and Hinduism which, it turns out, has many similariaties with Judiasm.
Though my social comfort level is generally awkward when I’m left on my own in a room full of strangers, I enjoyed myself immensely, and in that “small world” kind of way, ended up talking with two women, only to discover that we had friends in common, kind of - one of the women’s sons works with a friend of ours. These small things make us come away a little less feeling like a stranger in a crowd. I may just return next year, with a friend or two in tow.
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I fully expect to get villified all over again for calling it as I see it and not taking sides unconditionally (even when that act would call for me to abandon my principles in the interest of blind-faith solidarity), but I’ve always called a spade a spade and I’m too old to be a hypocrite now. So [deleted] we’re scrambling to catch up with a house that looks like a tornado hit, and way overdue business tasks. At least it keeps our minds occupied.
Was at a meeting last night, and my rabbi handed me a baggie with some Purim goodies - a belated treat bag - this year, I barely noticed that the holiday had come and gone. I burst into tears at the unexpected kind gesture.